On a Break

Blog number six and I'm already struggling with the next post.  Not a good sign.  It's not because I've run out of ideas.  I know exactly what I want to write about.  It's more the fact that before I can do so I have to call bullshit on my own damn self and I really hate doing that.  I mean I REALLY hate it.  It's bad enough when someone else tells me I've got it all wrong.  I shouldn't have to do that to myself.

If you're even half a girl you've probably seen Bridget Jones' Diary and you watched Mark Darcy list out all of Bridget's faults and neuroses only to finish by telling her, "I like you very much.  Just as you are."  And you swooned.  Don't even lie.

That's what I've been looking for.  My mission is to do the work it takes to be able to say that to myself.  Not because I made it to a certain weight or fit into a certain pair of jeans.  I want to love me just for me and I want to do it v.v.v.v. much.

At the same time I've trying very hard to get back to a weight I'm more comfortable at.  I work out about 6 days a week.  I track my food and keep account of all my carbs and proteins.  And I use the scale and body fat percentage to measure "progress". (I'm going to pretend those quote marks represent a more philosophical argument that progress could be measured in a multitude of ways but in this instance I was actually just trying to infer sarcasm over the rate in which the scale is moving.)

I'm trying to love me just the way I am while simultaneously trying to change the way I am.  I'm having a real hard time rectifying the matter in my head.  How do I do them both at the same time?  It's like an enigma surrounded in riddle wrapped in bacon.  And so far it's been total bullshit for me.

One could argue that providing healthy activity and nourishment is a form of loving oneself.  However, I'd counter that it can be unhealthy if one has basically got a white-knuckled death grip on the Spin bike because she's trying to force the scale into submission.

 I'm one of those people that loves exercise.  I really do.  So much so that I did it for a job for quite awhile.  However, sometimes I lose focus on what my real motivation for doing it should be.  And it all boils down to that stupid number.  And if there is one thing I know for sure it is this.  Getting that number to say what I want it to say won't fix me and it won't make me love myself.  Been there, done that.  Didn't work.  And you, too, will be waiting a long damn time if you are waiting for the right number, the right job, the right partner before you can finally say, "I'm fixed. I love me now."

As a personal trainer I had many ways to measure progress with clients. Sure, we started with measurements, body fat and the scale.  But there was also watching their endurance increase. There was a measured progression in the complexity of the exercise or the weight being used.  And one of my favorite ways to see progress in the confidence in my clients was to look for when they finally started watching their own form in the mirror.  You have no idea how many people won't look at themselves while working out.  That day I would catch them staring into the mirror and know they were watching the workout and not thinking negatively about their body - that was a good day.  But in the end, if the scale didn't say what they wanted they still weren't happy.

Sadly, I'm no better.

So the scale and I have to take a break.  I need to work on the issues from the other direction.

1. Work on my inner Mark Darcy. (This will probably encompass steps 1-78 but we are simplifying here)
2. Exercise because I like the way it makes me feel and I love feeling strong.
3. Eat healthy foods that make me feel good instead of sluggish
4. Stay off the god damned scale because it's a total mind fuck (especially when one seems to have more gravity that the average person of the same size).

Some of my trainer friends or past clients may think it's a cop out.  After all, how will I know if I've made progress at all if I don't step on that scale and see if all the hard work has made any difference?

Maybe I'll know when I can look at myself in the mirror and like me just as I am, v.v.v.v. much.

Walk of Shame

A good friend of mine confided in me today and told me she had a rough food weekend while attending a couple of get-togethers.  She ate more than she intended and she drank more than she should have. She was feeling pretty defeated after doing the walk of shame to the bathroom scale this morning and seeing how much she was up.

I told her she was disgusting. I said she was ugly and fat and would never get it together.  I told her that she wasted a good month of hard work at the gym and clean eating. I told her she was a failure and, to add insult to injury, I reminded her that the pictures I saw posted of her on Facebook this weekend made me sick.

If you know me at all you know that I am incapable of saying those things to anyone, even someone I don't like. But I sure have no problem talking to myself that way.

I hosted Book Club this past Friday and had fun doing some cooking and spending time with friends.  I laughed so hard I cried and I promise I will never hear or say the word "spelunking" again without cracking a smile.  On Saturday night we went to a Halloween Party and again had a great time.  But I did eat too much this weekend.  To be specific, I ate way too many carbs, which I've been very careful about lately.  I drank more wine than I should have and had too much punch from a witch's cauldron. And, *gasp*, I had desserts for the first time in week and weeks.

If I had to pick one skill that I had, one thing I excelled at more than anyone I know, it would be bloating.  I bloat like it's my job.  The kind of bloat where you know you better not take your shoes off because you probably won't be able to get them back on. Don't even think about challenging me to a bloat-off.  I got this.

Today is no exception.  Do I know logically that it is impossible IMPOSSIBLE to gain that much in a weekend?  Of course.  Does it still mess with my head.  You bet.

If a friend or client had come to me with the same feelings I'd have had a whole list of things to say to them. 1) Get off the God damn scale. 2) Persistence, not perfection. 3) Success is measured by how many times you get up, not how many times you fall down. 4) Even skinny people eat too much at parties.

That number I saw on the scale doesn't take away the fact that I've been eating cleaner than I have in ages.  That I've been more consistent with my workouts than I have been in forever.  That I've been seeing changes in my body and I've been feeling so much better than I did 6 months ago.  But sometimes I let it do those things.

When did it become acceptable, even expected, to be nicer to other people than you are to yourself.  Where did I learn that it was ok to speak to myself the way I do?  No one has ever spoken to me that way and if the did they'd learn real quick how mean my right hook is.  Yet I still do it to myself.

I first joined a gym after losing about 75 lbs. on my own. I hired a trainer on day one and he changed my life.  But one of the sessions with him that I remember most vividly was the day I told him that I had hit the 100 lbs. lost mark and I wanted to thank him for his help. We talked for a bit and then he asked me, "So how does a person get to be 300 lbs anyway?"  Anyone else may have been offended by this but I knew what he meant.  How do you get to 200 and not notice?  Or 250 and not decide to stop?  Granted, he had never had a weight problem so he truly didn't understand the battle.  But it freaked me out that I didn't have a good answer for this.  The only thing I came up with was this, "I didn't love myself enough to stop". 

I've never figured it out I guess.  That's why I'm back here again.  And it's why I allow myself the internal dialogue that I do.  I swear if I never lost another pound but learned how to love myself the way I am, the way my friends and family love me, I would be more successful than I ever have been.  I know I post a lot of obnoxious "Love your Body" and "Accept your Curves" themed pictures and articles on Facebook.  I'm not being preachy here.  I'm trying desperately to change my thinking. Please take the time to share any thoughts, articles or favorite books you have on the subject here in my comments because I know this problem of forgetting how to self-love is epidemic. (Not that kind of self-love.  If you haven't figured that out yet, I can't help you.)

I went for a long walk with a very good friend yesterday and she said, "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes."  I wish I could, too.  I'm working on it.  I'm never going to stop going out with my friends.  They are my air.  They remind me that I am worth loving just as much as I love them.  And they make me laugh.  I'll probably eat too much with them sometimes or drink too much.  But I'm not going to stay home and hide and live inside my own brain. I've proven that's not always a loving place to be.

Besides, what's the point of being skinny if you are sitting at home by yourself.

Deconstructing the F-Word

I've already gotten some feedback to this new blog of mine and I love it.  I love that people can relate and the encouragement to keep going has been fantastic.  I also had a suggestion from someone who liked the blog.  She thought that perhaps I should not call myself fat because it may be a turn-off to those that were heavier than me.

I totally understood where she was coming from.  It's hard to listen to someone thinner than yourself complain about their weight.  When someone that is a size 4 complains about the 10 lbs she's gained it takes all the effort I can muster not to throw something at her.  In a loving way of course.  Keep in mind that I trained and supported people smaller than me at the gym for almost 4 years.  That's a lot of stuff not thrown.  But body issues are body issues no matter the person's size.  I totally get it.

But today I'm going to tell you why I will continue to use the word 'fat' in this blog.  And if you are easily offended this is probably not the blog to follow anyway. I can't for the life of me figure out how to make this funny today.  We will return to our regular programming next time but today I'm getting real.

First and foremost, I will use the word fat because, frankly, I've more than earned the right to.  I've been morbidly obese.  Hell, according to BMI (which is total bullshit on any planet), I'm still in the obese category. Most of my adult life has been in that category.  I'm not as fat as I was at my heaviest, but I'm definitely fatter than I was at my lightest. I am, and always will be, a card carrying member and no one can take that away.

The first time I lost weight I was part of an online community, mostly women, who all needed to lose over 100 lbs. I met some fantastic, beautiful people there - many who are still in my life today thanks to Facebook.  We affectionately called each other fatties.  It was the fatty board.  Occasionally a newbie would show up and announce that the term was offensive and boy did she get a verbal beat down.  You don't get to be 100 lbs overweight by not having something we called 'fatty brain'. We don't think like skinny people.  Food is first and foremost in most of our daily thoughts. We reward ourselves with food when we've had a spectacular day.  We comfort ourselves with food when it's been total shit. We think about what we'll eat when we wake up and we get nervous when we don't think there will be enough. This issue with food and weight creeps into every aspect of our lives.  It's who we are.  And just because I'm no longer 100 lbs overweight doesn't mean it's still not there.  It's like an alcoholic who is celebrating sobriety - are they no longer an alcoholic just because they aren't drinking?  I will always be susceptible to self-medicating with food and it's a reality that I can't ignore.

Second, I'm trying not to give that much power to the word fat. It's not offensive. It's just matter of fact. A good portion of the fat we carry on our bodies is essential. The rest is extra, but it's not evil.  It's actually a product of a very well designed biological process.  Our bodies are doing what they are supposed to be doing with the lifestyles we are giving it.  We just aren't living the right lifestyle.

I struggle daily with not tying my weight to my self worth but that is not the fault of the word 'fat'. My weight is not who I am. Unfortunately my feelings about my weight do affect me, though.  On what I call my "ugly days" where I hate everything about myself - those are the days I need to be very careful with the word.  But when I'm thinking clearly and logically the word has no emotional impact on me other than to sum up my current situation.

And finally, for a person larger than myself to be upset that I called myself fat one would have to assume they didn't already know they themselves were fat.  I'm calling bullshit on this one. She knows she's fat from the moment she wakes up each day to the moment she goes to sleep.  She knows it when she struggles to buckle her seat belt when she can't actually see the buckle. She knows it when she has bruises on her hips from the arm rests on movie theater chairs.  She remembers it when she goes to bend over or squat down and the inseam of her jeans rips open from stretching too far. She's painfully aware of it when her legs have friction burns from her thighs rubbing together under a skirt. She feels every bit of it when she has to ask a flight attendant for a seat extender in front of a whole fucking plane of people or when she's terrified to sit in someone's lawn chair because she knows she's going to break another one.  She knows it when she leaves an appointment where her doctor said it was probably time to consider gastric bi-pass and the kid in the elevator asks her why her bones are so big. Or when she's asked to get off a kiddie roller coaster in front of a huge line of people because the safety bar that would protect her youngest son won't lower far enough to latch.  And she has to beg and plead with the roller coaster operator while trying not to cry in front of all those people to please, just please make an exception and let her two boys ride without her.  Just one time. Please. 

If she gets upset because I've called myself fat it has more to do with the fact that she's not ready to face her own issues with weight yet.  And it probably means she's not going to like this blog, either.  And that's ok, too.  I'm not for everyone.

Do you want to know when that fat word doesn't work?  When you use it on someone else.  Never in the history of forever has calling someone else fat ever helped them.  No amount of calling your spouse fat will encourage them to lose weight.  Never has a mother telling her daughter that she'll never find a man to love her because of her weight ever given her that light bulb moment. It's not an intervention. The f-word is hers to own, not yours to give.

I don't believe in punishing myself.  I don't believe in negative reinforcement - like putting pictures of cows and pigs on the fridge to deter myself from eating.  I detest fat jokes and I'll call you out every time if I hear you make one about someone else.  But I know I'm fatter than I want to be and I know if I ignore it my fatty brain will put me right back where I was.  And I'm not going back.

Confessions of a Recovering Personal Trainer

Once upon a time I was 308.5 lbs. Three-Oh-Eight. I vaguely remember that person and I have occasional glimpses of her even now, real or imaginary.  I think I'm still her in those last few seconds before I pull my jeans up all the way and pray that they will still button. When I work up a lather wrestling myself into a pair of Spanx - yep, I'm that girl. And I'm her when I walk between tables at a restaurant and still turn sideways between the chairs, even though I fit now.  Most of the time.

I was over 300 lbs. and a size 26 when I decided I had had enough and I was going to do something about it. Just a little under 3 years later I was 129 lbs. lighter, a size 10 and a Personal Trainer.  The journey of how I got there is a story for another day - the one that had a happy ending to that "once upon a time".

This is a different story.  The one where I hated the word "inspiration".  There one where "motivation" made my teeth hurt. The one where getting up to teach a class or train clients who are actually thinner than me made me want to drive right to Dairy Queen on the way home from the gym and get a Peanut Buster Parfait. (I never actually did that.  I do have some self-control.  I sent my husband after the kids went to bed.)

It starts as your typical love story.  Girl meets Gym. Girl obsessively stalks Gym. Girl gets a job at Gym so they never have to be apart. Sadly, it ends the same way as those love stories, too.  Girl gets her heart broken. Girl eats a whole pizza by herself. (Ok, I haven't done that in YEARS.  I swear!)

I think I can pinpoint the exact moment when I made my mistake. I was interviewed for an article in the local paper which highlighted my story of going from morbidly obese to personal trainer.  I had agreed to do it begrudgingly because I thought it would bring publicity to the gym. But, contrary to popular belief, I loathe being the center of attention and detest the pressure of being a "role model". The article very nearly gave me hives. I did it anyway.

At one point the journalist asked me, "So why did you want to become a personal trainer?" I gave her the real answers: 1) I wanted to give back to the Gym that I loved and to which felt like I owed so much. 2) I wanted to show other people who were just like me that they could do it, too, without resorting to surgery. 3) I thought that working in the fitness industry could serve to be part of my maintenance plan and help keep me in check, because (wait for it...) "Nobody wants a fat trainer."

I swear if you think back on that day - if I could give you the exact moment - you would recall that you felt a slight shift in the air pressure.  Maybe a chill that wasn't there before. I know you had to have some sense of impending doom that you couldn't quite put your finger on.  I will tell you exactly what it was.  That was Ms. Karma and she was chuckling to herself while polishing up her bitch slapper. That week was my lightest week on the scale - the smallest number I ever saw in my adult life. And it was all up hill from there.

I think I was pretty good at what I did.  My classes were full.  I had a ton of clients.  I made them laugh and I pushed them through discomfort to do things they didn't think they could do. I gave them good workouts and taught them proper form.  And when they needed hugs or needed to cry, I was there.  And there wasn't one emotion about weight-loss that I couldn't sympathize with them about.  I've experienced each and every one.  What they told me most often was that they liked me because I was "real". (I think this was a nice way of saying I wasn't a rock hard fitness goddess they could never measure up to. Ok, I'll take it I guess.)

Flash forward 3 1/2 years. I was physically and emotionally drained. I felt devoid of any passion. I felt brow-beaten and disrespected by an employer who called me venomous and derisive. I felt like a stranger half the time in my own home because I was absent so much due to my schedule. I had given every bit of myself to Gym and I was leaving with so little.  Except for one thing - that I had in abundance. Karma is nothing if not true to her character because I. Was. Fat.       Again.

I taught my last classes and trained my last clients a little over 4 months ago.  There were a lot of tears that week.  Who am I kidding? There were tears every day for weeks before that week and probably for more than a month after that week.  I'm in full recovery mode now.  I'm trying to heal and make myself a priority and be healthy again and it's about 1,000x harder than it was when I was 308.5 lbs.  Back then I was full of hope and excitement and the dreams of "Oh, God, please just let me get to a size 16 again.  If I could get there I could be happy forever." Trying to start over when you are broken and damaged and embarrassed of where you are now compared to where you were? Well, played, Karma. Well played.

I'm starting a new story now.  One where I learn to care for myself again. Where I make peace with my body and respect it rather than try to beat it into submission.  Where I find joy once again in feeling strong and fit without doing it in the public eye. And maybe, just maybe, my story of fat-to-trainer-to-fat again will help someone else down the road so that they don't make the same mistakes I do, forgetting to take care of themselves first. And if not, I hope I at least make you laugh and not even care that you have a fat blogger.