Return of the Binge

I had ‘one of those days’ at work today. It was filled to the brim with deadlines and delays, lazy co-workers whose slack needed to be shouldered, and bi-polar bosses. By the time 2pm rolled around, I was ready to rip my face off and flush it down the John. When the clock hit 5pm, I sprinted for the door.

I pass a pizza joint on my way home from work every day. As I was making my way toward it, a sinister thought entered my mind, ‘I could go inside those doors, order a large pie, and devour the whole entire thing right this very second!’ Of course, I didn’t go through with it, but I did consider it for a split second. Perhaps ‘consider’ is too strong of a word. I kind of just nonchalantly tossed it out there into the universe for shits and giggles. I knew that ending my day neck-deep in a salty greasy pie would do nothing for me in the long run. It would not erase the stressful day I had and it would not make tomorrow brighter in the least.

So instead of hitting the neighborhood pizza joint, I came home and made my own pizza using organic part-skim mozzarella, eight slices of turkey pepperoni, two table spoons of low-sodium organic tomato sauce, and two whole-wheat pitas. They were ‘Mmm, mmm good!’

And then I ate three ounces of ocean-caught salmon with hot sauce.

And fourteen organic flaxseed tortilla chips.

And four pieces of organic (78% cocoa) dark chocolate.

And two 97% fat-free National Hebrew hot dogs.

And seven more organic flaxseed tortilla chips.

And one tablespoon of organic guacamole.

In like, an hour.

I can’t remember the last time I stuffed an ass-ton of food down my throat in a lame attempt to feed some sort of emotional monster hiding out in my belly. I really can’t. At one point, I began to wonder if there was going to be an end. Literally. I imagined passing out on the kitchen floor clutching a box of Kraft Bagle-fuls (don’t worry, they’re not mine…ew). After the second helping of tortilla chips and scoop of guacamole, I grabbed a bottle of Raspberry Lime Sparkling Water and left the kitchen (for the 5th and final time).

I’m ending the night 499 calories over my 1500 calorie-goal, but hey. At least I didn’t down a large cheese pizza.

Bi-Polar Comment Disorder

When I began blogging about my ‘Weight-loss Journey’ back in December of last year, I had no idea that there were approximately one trillion people just like me doing the same exact thing. I had no idea that there was an entire world full of Former Fatties, Struggling Suzies, and Denial Debbies blogging about the ups and downs and in-betweens of going from Zero to Hero in ‘x’ amount of time.

The worst part? Everyone seemed to know each other. Every blog I visited contained a blog roll that was incredibly similar to the last. I was convinced that I had stumbled upon some sort of Super Fatty Sect and that I was going to be kidnapped in the middle of the night, hog tied to a pole in the middle of the woods, and interrogated by the Ring Ding leader him/herself.

Even though there was a giant scary world out there, I didn’t mind too much. No one was reading my blog and I was completely fine with it. After all, the purpose of my blog wasn’t make friends or fish for compliments. It was about putting my journey down on ‘paper’ and becoming more accountable. Everything else was just butter.

Then it happened.

I acquired something called ‘readership’.

I guess Notorious B.I.G was R.I.G.H.T all along.

Mo’ readers = mo’ problems.

Last week, my Google Reader readership declined by 50%. I couldn’t help but wonder why. Is it because I mention my bowels in 90% of my blog entries? It it because I am totally fixated on my workout schedule? Is it because I am heavy on the enthusiasm (as in ‘this bitch must be on uppers‘)? Is it because I don’t cry myself to sleep after eating a single Oreo cookie and or slit my wrists in the bathtub after I’ve eaten a slice or two of pizza? Or is it because of my double-jointed pinky fingers?

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT IS IT?

And why do I care?

Before ‘readership’ entered my life, I didn’t worry about choosing the right topic or digging way down deep or using correct grammar all the time. I didn’t worry about linking to someone’s blog because they’ve linked to mine. I didn’t worry about littering my personal space with advertisements or hosting weekly giveaways. Most of all, I didn’t worry about comments.

Comments!

To be honest, receiving comments is sometimes a painful experience for me. Compliments are still alien to me. Do people think I’m fishing for them? Pep talks are awkward for me. Do people think I’m going to throw everything down the toilet due to an ‘off day’ and thus feel the need to ‘build me up’?

Then there’s:

Are people commenting because they feel obligated to do so? Are they commenting because they want me to feel obligated to comment back? Are they commenting for the sole purpose of increasing their readership? Are they commenting in an attempt to sell me on ‘their’ program?

Or are they commenting on my blog for the one reason I comment on other people’s blogs:

Because they actually feel compelled to?

No way. That can’t be why.

I count my calories and exercise regularly.

What’s so riveting about that?

I guess it’s not up to me to decide why people may or may not leave comments or why people may or may not subscribe to my blog. At any rate, I’ve decided to re-enable comments. I suppose I should face this ‘Comment Demon’ (which, of course, is simply a vessel for something one hundred times more complicated and meaningful than actual comments) head-on instead of sweeping it under the rug. After all, that Shell Game mentality is how I got to 271lbs in the first place.

The Two-Fold Journey

I cannot begin to explain how effing annoying it is to have created an average calorie deficit of 8,492.5 calories each week for the past two weeks only to lose a total of .5lbs.

My spreadsheets and equations and counting of calories and expending of energy and consumption of gallons and gallons of water and lowering my sodium intake and increasing my protein intake and getting enough sleep is not translating into digital format and it’s pissing me off greatly.

Yet, posting small numbers has taught me something else. It has taught me the importance of having goals beyond simply ‘losing weight’. It has taught me that physical, emotional, and mental strength are far more important than a number on a scale. And that’s where 10K training comes in.

Training for the ‘impossible’ is a hundred times more rewarding than sleep-walking through the week just to see how much weight I’ve lost. Training means getting in touch with my body. It means pushing myself beyond what I have once deemed my ‘limit’. It’s about stepping outside of my comfort zone (even if that means enduring an hour of painful stomach cramps after jogging five consecutive miles!). It’s not about a number on some stupid scale or a calorie or a portion size. It’s about standing on my own two feet. It’s about creating opportunities and taking action. It’s about making the world my playground.

Fitness guru Jonathan Ross could not have said it better in his most recent TV Trainer Watchdog post over at Inspire where he provides a trainer’s perspective on the show everyone loves to hate — The Biggest Loser:

“As much as the show focuses on the scale, it ultimately doesn’t matter that much. Lowering the numbers doesn’t give you a better life. Getting fitter, more capable, and able to participate in your own life is what really matters.

This is what really motivates the contestants (and all of us). Beneath the surface of “lose weight,” or “get in shape,” lies a deeper, more meaningful reason that fitness matters to all of us.

Shay now has that new awareness. Anyone who pursues fitness with an understanding of the “why” is going to be more likely to have success.”

Instead of feeling poorly about a small loss, I feel great about the strides I’ve made with my training. If I didn’t have that to fall back on, who knows. Maybe I’d be face-deep in a box of powered donuts instead of writing this blog entry.

Stealing from Peter

I usually head to the gym around 8:30p on weekdays and around 12p on Saturday. I’ve never been a huge fan of working out so late, but I do so to avoid the post-work crowd. Otherwise, I’d be stuck battling to the death to secure a treadmill only to endure a stingy thirty-minute cap employed by the YMCA between the hours of 5-7pm.

No thanks.

Instead, I suck it up and hit the gym when no one else in their right mind wants to be there (and it shows). I generally rush home after work, eat dinner, tackle some freelance if need be, and leave the house by 8:15p. When I get home (around 9:45p), I shower and immediately plant my ass on the computer for some quality blog/Twitter time or to tie up any loose freelance-ends. I eventually peel myself away from the computer closer to midnight, but give myself just enough time to wind down (about thirty minutes in-front of the boob tube) before crawling into bed.

Judging by my schedule, you’d never guess that I’m actually married.

And that’s a problem.

Although the wife and I don’t work terribly different schedules, the two-hour difference between them creates enough of a gap to fit an ocean-liner. I work 8a-5p and she works 11a-7p. We never eat dinner together because I need to eat early (thanks, Gym) and she eats late. By the time she gets home, I am getting ready for my sixty-five minute date with The Belt. By the time I get home, I am either in the shower, on the computer, or in bed. I tend to stay up later than I normally would in an effort to ‘spend time together’ but being in the same room doing totally different things without engaging too much is about as far from ‘quality time’ as it can get.

It’s sad, really. And mostly my fault.

This journey started out as a quest to become a fitter, happier, healthier and overall better person, friend, daughter, and most importantly wife. Instead, it’s turning into a massacre. For someone who is all about ‘staying present’, I cannot rely on the end-results to justify the means. We’re not on this journey together, but it’s definitely affecting her. I just need to do a better job at making sure she is reaping the positive benefits of my transformation rather than the nasty shit that can come from it. I’ve always been a ‘balls to the wall’ type of person (‘OCD’ may be more politically correct). When I am focused, I am impenetrable. When I’m not, I’m a seizure on legs. Determination is one of my better qualities, but it can also become my Kryptonite if not administered in the proper dosage.

Good to know.

In an effort to make myself more accessible, I’ve decided to change my workout schedule (again!). Rather than going to the Y from 8:30p-9:45p, I’ve started to go directly from work. Yep. I will no longer be working out at the Y during the week. Instead, I will be working out at the Sheraton.

Since the gym in my building (@ work) is not fully equipped with a pool, they struck a partnership with the Sheraton next door. For an extra $30/mo, members of said gym can use the Sheraton’s swimming facilities which includes a four-lane pool, a hot tub, and a sauna. On top of that, the Sheraton also boasts a pretty spiffy gym complete with eight treadmills (individual TVs and all!), plenty of ellipticals, a few bikes, twenty or so weight machines, and a full-service locker room.

The catch? I’m not a member of the gym @ work, but Janice is. And since the Sheraton is but a hotel with one seriously kick-ass fitness room, there are no check-in desks or perimeters. All you need is a hotel key (in my case — Janice’s!) and you’re golden.

Becoming a member of the downstairs gym was and probably will never be an option for me (unless I find myself in a super desperado situation) for the following reasons:

1. Tying my workout schedule to my work schedule = annoying/pain in the ass (especially since I’m all about maxing out my vacation time). Having to commute into the city on the weekends = ridiculous.
2. Working in one of the most prestigious buildings in Boston = a slew of business executives and power suit Nazis from hell. If it pains me to share an elevator with them, I can only guess how bitter I would be sharing a rowing machine.
3. Working out with co-workers = unfun times.

Why is the Sheraton different? Simple:

1. Even though the Sheraton is connected to the building I work in and thus will be tied to my work schedule, I will still have access to the Y if and when I decided to stay home to indulge in some quality hooky time (and the weekends).
2. The place is absolutely deserted except for a few stragglers.
3. I won’t have to worry about running into co-workers since most people would rather spend their hard-earned cash on beer rather than a second gym membership to the Sheraton.

Thanks to Janice’s affinity for water, I now have full access to the Sheraton’s facilities for the low, low price of $15/mo. It’s probably not the most ‘stand-up’ option on the table, but it just might do the trick.

Hot 100 Challenge

Funny how things work sometimes. Kimberly over at Watermelon Waistline stopped by and left a comment in my last blog entry. How is it possible that I’ve missed out on such an awesomely named blog containing such an amazing story for so long? Needless to say, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, but her latest post has inspired me to the point of action (and sharing — hope you don’t mind!):

I was all ready to post about how proud I was to have finally made use of the swimming pool at my gym on Monday (yay!) and then I saw an excellent motivational challenge on another blog – South Beach Steve’s “Log My Loss” – and got sidetracked by its brilliance.

Today – Wednesday, September 23 – marks the start of the final 100 days of 2009. In Steve’s words, let’s go out with a bang! He’s issued a challenge to get folks to set some goals for the next 100 days and then, of course, work toward meeting those goals.

I’ve decided to take the challenge.

Rachel’s Goals for The Hot 100

Be more accessible - For the last nine months, I have been incredibly immersed in this world of food, fitness, and fat blogging. Losing weight has saved my life, but at the same time, it has become my life. I have made myself inaccessible to those who matter most, and although I truly believe doing so was necessary at the start of this journey, it’s time to come back down to earth. I will continue to lose weight and I will continue to train for my 10K, but I can’t do these things at the expense of those I love and cherish most. What’s the point of ‘becoming a happier and healthier me’ if I have no one to share it with? I’ve got to find that balance.

Reach the 100lb mark - I am just 22lbs away from that sweet, sweet number.

Cook more/introduce more variety into my diet – I may be dining out less, but I am not cooking more. Even though I tend to stay away from processed foods, I seem to cycle through the same 10-15 meals over and over again. I’ve eaten the same breakfast M-F for the past nine months (..still yummy!), but I’d like to introduce new foods into my lunch menu and cook more/add different foods to my dinner menu.

How are your last 100 days of 2009 going to shape up?

Making the Unreal a Reality

Starting weight: 271 lbs
Current weight: 193 lbs
Loss this week: 0 (!)
Total Loss: 78 lbs

I came in slightly under my calorie goal and hit the gym hard this week, but the damn Devil Machine refused to give it up. I did skip Thursday’s training session to take full advantage of my new hair cut in all of its ‘perfectly styled glory’, but it’s hard to believe that one missed opportunity is the cause of a giant digital goose-egg. I probably should have sucked it up like the Superhero I have become and went, but c’mon. When was the last time I had cute hair? Pretty much never.

The upside of skipping Thursday’s workout meant one thing and one thing only: a shot at actually completing my glorious distance jog on Saturday without begging the Treadmill Gods for mercy. And that’s what happened.

I didn’t just jog five miles @ 5mph. I stomped those five miles @ 5mph.

The best part? This jogging business was born out of just five minutes per day on the elliptical back in mid-November. After a week, I bumped it up to seven. Then it was ten, twelve, and eventually twenty minutes. I switched over to the treadmill in April and started a Couch to 5K program. In June, I successfully jogged my first 5K (it was actually 3.5 miles) in forty-eight minutes after having jogged just twenty consecutive minutes a week prior. I started training for my first 10K mid-July and struggled to complete two miles in my first week of training even though I had successfully jogged 3.5 miles less than a month prior. I was convinced that I would never make it through my 10K training, but it finally seems like a possibility.

AFTER TEN WEEKS.

Lesson learned: don’t give up — ever.

Suspect the Unsuspected

I decided to do the ‘lunch thing’ with Janice this afternoon after passing up Indian food (one of my faves!) earlier this week. Why would I agree to indulge in burritos with someone who called me ‘lame’ and deemed my improved eating habits ‘annoying’? Two reasons:

1. I was starving
2. Boloco publishes their nutritional information online

They actually have a really great interactive system that allows you to modify the hell out of their menu items. You can start from the ground up or alter any of their pre-designed burritos to your liking. My goal was to order as much food as possible while keeping the calorie + sodium count low and the protein count high. Like I said, I was starving.

The verdict?

I walked out of there with a large paper bowl containing white chicken chunks, brown rice, black beans, and cilantro. It was ghetto supreme, but it was filling, tasted pretty darn good, and was decent on all nutritional fronts:

467 cals
9.69g fat
1.62g saturated fat
487mg sodium
47g carbs
9g fiber
44g protein

While I was still working on my bowl-rito, Janice commented on the tastiness of her burrito and how ‘nutritious it must be’. Oh misinformed one, your nativity may be cute, but it’s most certainly not going to help you lose those five pounds you’ve been bitching about for the last three months. Why? It’s as simple as hitting up their website to find out that a regular-sized ‘Classic’ burrito w/extra cheese contains:

819 cals
37g fat
12.6 saturated fat
2234mg sodium
76g carbs
7g fiber
42g protein

I am not one to judge what other people choose to eat, but this is a prime example of how disconnected most of us are when it comes to the realities of prepared food.

Cannot Compute!

The hair has been cut and the aftermath has begun.

I say ‘aftermath’ as if receiving a compliment (or ten) is a bad thing. While none of my co-workers have chased after me with a flaming pile of hay and a pitch-fork in hand, I’m counting down the minutes until I can get the hell out of here. Sounds crazy, but after spending the last seven years of my life hanging out in the Back Row of Life, being closer to the Front Row is something I’m still trying to get used to. Nothing like fastening a big ‘ole rocket in the shape of a choppy bob to your ass to get things movin’.

The upside? It gets easier every day.

Breakfat

Oh, Twitter, you are an endless source of information, good vibes, and pick-me-ups.

I just took a quiz tweeted by @FAT_Life and was thoroughly impressed with my score. 100%, baby! Nine months of calorie counting and getting back to basics has surely paid off. I won’t say that I’ve ‘mastered’ calorie counting, but I’m definitely getting there (and fast!).

An amazing side-effect of dramatic weight-loss: increased awareness.

Are you up for the challenge?

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I’ve been pouring over hairstyles all day trying to find the perfect one for tomorrow.

Yes, I am finally getting my hair cut.

The last time I got my hair ‘professionally cut’ when was I was in 11th grade. Since then, I’ve either cut it myself while in the shower (don’t ask) or asked The Girl to cut it for me. It didn’t really matter who cut it or how it was cut. As long as I kept it at a manageable length that could be slinged back day in and day out, I was happy.

Hair cuts were phased out once I started to pack on the pounds for two reasons:

1. I didn’t give a flying shit about my appearance
2. I didn’t want to give people multiple reasons to laugh at me

It’s one thing to navigate life as the ‘token fat girl’, but it’s quite another to be the ‘token fat girl with a retarded haircut’. I just could not chance it. And I didn’t! For nine years.

I’ve been meaning to go in for the kill ever since I hit the 50-lb mark, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Even though losing 50 lbs is nothing to gawk at, it wasn’t ‘enough’ to quell the ‘fat girl’ fears deep inside. Couple that little slice of reality with the plethora of ‘transformations’ I’ve experienced within the last nine months and you’ve got yourself one hyper-sensitive former pizza addict with zero safety nets.

Now that I am hovering the 80-lb mark, I feel a lot more comfortable in my skin and change is something I’m becoming accustomed to. Besides, if the unthinkable happens and I walk out of that salon with a jacked up do, I won’t default to the Rachel Special that has plagued me for so long:

I won’t automatically assume people are laughing at me because of my weight.

An amazing side-effect of dramatic weight-loss: improved perspective.