Here’s the thing. I’m fat. Yes, fat. I’m 5’4” tall, and weigh 177 pounds. At least, that’s what I weighed 10 minutes ago on my cheap Wal-Mart bathroom scale. I’m sure the cruel bastard we all know as a doctor’s scale would tack a few extra onto that number. I am not interested by what that jerk 
would have to say. He’s a bastard anyway, who cares what he says? Seriously. So, that puts my BMI into the startling “obese” category, at 30.38. Now, really, I am not comfortable calling myself “obese”. The BMI magicians may call it that, but using that word dramatizes weight in a way that I am not comfortable with. I’m young, and my number is on the cusp. I don’t have a front butt (and please, those who know me personally, shoot me if I ever do), nor do I have cankles or extra chins (maybe a chin-let, but not a full-fledged extra chin). I’m just rounder all over than is generally healthy. I’m okay with rounder. I’ve got relatively big bewbs, and my hips may never fit into designer standards. I’ve got that classic hourglass figure (which maintains that “healthy” .80 ratio no matter what my weight), which I love and am grateful for. I’m not ugly, but I have reached the point where I am uncomfortable with my weight.
Like most women, my weight has fluctuated drastically throughout my late teens and early twenties (I’m currently 27 years old). I’ve weighed as little as 135 at 3 points in my “adult” life, and I spent a good few years comfortable chubby in the 150 to 160 range. I loved being 135 (and a size 7 jeans), but it takes a level of exercise which I have found personally impossible to sustain to keep me there. The last time I weighed that little, in 2005, I was running 8 miles on the treadmill 5 or 6 days a week, religiously. I felt fantastic, and could eat any damn thing I wanted, but finding 85 minutes every day to dedicate to that was difficult. And then I sprained my ankle during a show at college, and since then, my right ankle gives out relatively often, and can’t take the kind of running I was doing. Needless to say, the weight has flown back on since then, both because I have stopped running, and because I never modified my diet during that time. I loved running, but I can’t do what I was doing then. Further, my wild success back then is a stumbling block to me when I do try to begin running again, because my brain still thinks I’m capable of running 8 nine minute miles back to back, when I am in fact capable of MAYBE 2 twelve minute miles. It’s frustrating, because I know what I used to do, and I rush myself to get back there, exhausting myself and causing my body to mutiny. And then I get depressed and start eating horribly again, because food is comfort. This is, how you say, a vicious cycle.
So, why are we here? Well, I’m sick of this extra weight, and need to do something about it. My 10 year high school reunion is coming up next year, which is horrifying for any number of reasons: one of which being that if I can’t be a professional success yet, I’d like to at least look good, damnit. Better than I did then, if possible. Further, I will be thirty in a little over two years, and yikes, I don’t want to be a fat-ass when I hit that big scary number. I’m also chronically single (nary a date since that play in 2005. Hook-ups, yes, but no dates, and certainly no boyfriends) and while I don’t attribute this single state to my weight, I recognize that I personally don’t feel great and hot at this size, so I am not exuding the same confidence I do when I am even 10 pounds lighter, which IS less attractive.
Which brings us to this blog. I want a mechanism to keep me accountable. I need to record my progress and setbacks, and privately noting my weight and measurements hasn’t been cutting it. Hence, weight-loss blogging, which I recognize is horrendously over-done and boring to read for those not currently struggling with weight-loss themselves. To which I say suck it, it isn’t like anyone is reading this blog regularly anyway, so if I want to moan to myself and the walls about my fat ass, then I’m going to do it. K?
The plan: I will blog at least once a month, on a Tuesday if possible, to record my progress and thoughts on my weight/body image/the general suckiness of the weight loss machine. My goal is to lose 10 pounds by Christmas, which means I need to drop about a pound a week between now and then. Ultimately, I would like to reach 140 pounds, and stay there, which means I have 37 pounds to lose. My plan is to monitor my calorie intake in a food journal, staying between 1200 and 1600 calories a day. I’m living a fairly sedentary lifestyle at present, but if I begin exercising regularly, I will readjust this number. And of course, I will keep “Stuck” updated on my progress on Fat Tuesdays. Excellent. Hopefully this won’t be the only Fat Tuesday post I ever write. ;P
would have to say. He’s a bastard anyway, who cares what he says? Seriously. So, that puts my BMI into the startling “obese” category, at 30.38. Now, really, I am not comfortable calling myself “obese”. The BMI magicians may call it that, but using that word dramatizes weight in a way that I am not comfortable with. I’m young, and my number is on the cusp. I don’t have a front butt (and please, those who know me personally, shoot me if I ever do), nor do I have cankles or extra chins (maybe a chin-let, but not a full-fledged extra chin). I’m just rounder all over than is generally healthy. I’m okay with rounder. I’ve got relatively big bewbs, and my hips may never fit into designer standards. I’ve got that classic hourglass figure (which maintains that “healthy” .80 ratio no matter what my weight), which I love and am grateful for. I’m not ugly, but I have reached the point where I am uncomfortable with my weight.Like most women, my weight has fluctuated drastically throughout my late teens and early twenties (I’m currently 27 years old). I’ve weighed as little as 135 at 3 points in my “adult” life, and I spent a good few years comfortable chubby in the 150 to 160 range. I loved being 135 (and a size 7 jeans), but it takes a level of exercise which I have found personally impossible to sustain to keep me there. The last time I weighed that little, in 2005, I was running 8 miles on the treadmill 5 or 6 days a week, religiously. I felt fantastic, and could eat any damn thing I wanted, but finding 85 minutes every day to dedicate to that was difficult. And then I sprained my ankle during a show at college, and since then, my right ankle gives out relatively often, and can’t take the kind of running I was doing. Needless to say, the weight has flown back on since then, both because I have stopped running, and because I never modified my diet during that time. I loved running, but I can’t do what I was doing then. Further, my wild success back then is a stumbling block to me when I do try to begin running again, because my brain still thinks I’m capable of running 8 nine minute miles back to back, when I am in fact capable of MAYBE 2 twelve minute miles. It’s frustrating, because I know what I used to do, and I rush myself to get back there, exhausting myself and causing my body to mutiny. And then I get depressed and start eating horribly again, because food is comfort. This is, how you say, a vicious cycle.
So, why are we here? Well, I’m sick of this extra weight, and need to do something about it. My 10 year high school reunion is coming up next year, which is horrifying for any number of reasons: one of which being that if I can’t be a professional success yet, I’d like to at least look good, damnit. Better than I did then, if possible. Further, I will be thirty in a little over two years, and yikes, I don’t want to be a fat-ass when I hit that big scary number. I’m also chronically single (nary a date since that play in 2005. Hook-ups, yes, but no dates, and certainly no boyfriends) and while I don’t attribute this single state to my weight, I recognize that I personally don’t feel great and hot at this size, so I am not exuding the same confidence I do when I am even 10 pounds lighter, which IS less attractive.
Which brings us to this blog. I want a mechanism to keep me accountable. I need to record my progress and setbacks, and privately noting my weight and measurements hasn’t been cutting it. Hence, weight-loss blogging, which I recognize is horrendously over-done and boring to read for those not currently struggling with weight-loss themselves. To which I say suck it, it isn’t like anyone is reading this blog regularly anyway, so if I want to moan to myself and the walls about my fat ass, then I’m going to do it. K?
The plan: I will blog at least once a month, on a Tuesday if possible, to record my progress and thoughts on my weight/body image/the general suckiness of the weight loss machine. My goal is to lose 10 pounds by Christmas, which means I need to drop about a pound a week between now and then. Ultimately, I would like to reach 140 pounds, and stay there, which means I have 37 pounds to lose. My plan is to monitor my calorie intake in a food journal, staying between 1200 and 1600 calories a day. I’m living a fairly sedentary lifestyle at present, but if I begin exercising regularly, I will readjust this number. And of course, I will keep “Stuck” updated on my progress on Fat Tuesdays. Excellent. Hopefully this won’t be the only Fat Tuesday post I ever write. ;P
I read your blog regularly. :)
ReplyDeleteYou know, they have cute little progress bar thingies for blogs. I use them for my WIPs but you could use it for this.
ReplyDeleteHere's the link:
http://www.tickerfactory.com/ezticker/ticker_designer.php