I'm still me.

As I expected, I fell off the wagon. The wagon then backed up and ran me over. It's been a long haul, guys. Seriously. But, I still exist! Granted, I exist in slightly larger pants than I was existing in last time I sat here to write something. But I did not undo all my efforts, just 50% of them.

It's disconcerting to me now to realize that depression made me numb to the number on the scale climbing. So numb, in fact, I stopped getting on the scale at all. Depressed Me was very much in the mindset of "Fuck It"; the part of me that had made me move my ass and get motivated to do anything or go anywhere was hibernating somewhere far within the recesses of my mind. I cannot stress enough how deeply-rooted my apathy was. That is what I thought, anyway. That is, until December.

December brought with it a life-altering, stomach-churning level of anxiety where I honestly thought I was in the process of exiting my meat suit for good because I was certain my heart was about to burst out of my chest. I have had anxiety attacks before, but never before did they start while I was asleep. It was jarring, and traumatic. Never before did I confuse them with a heart attack.

Going from dreamland to dying in 2 seconds was something I hope I never experience again. Thankfully, the logical part of my brain was screaming at the part that was losing its shit to calm the fuck down, and I listened and forced myself to enact some deep breathing while looking at the ceiling fan and petting the dog. It took about 15 minutes of sweating, hyperventilating, checking my pulse, and finally relaxing before I was exhausted enough to sleep again.

Sadly, this event triggered a few other events, doctors appointments, and anti-anxiety meds just so I could go to the dentist and behave like a normal person. It also triggered my highest level of "Fuck It", and goddamn, I was really good at it. I am lucky to have such a wonderfully supportive and understanding husband because he really lifts me up when I feel like I am sinking. He didn't stop me from getting fatter, though (goddammit Kevin!), so I ate whatever the hell I wanted. All winter. All Spring.

Then, out of nowhere, the fog lifted and I started feeling like a person again. I was cheerful again. I was funny again without the gallows humour. I was me; I got up, showered, made the bed, got dressed. I didn't have to force myself to go out, I actually wanted to go. I started reading again, which was something I just didn't have the focus to do previously. And instead of watching the same old thing on TV all the time (I know every word to every episode of How I Met Your Mother...thanks, depression!), I decided to turn on something new for a change one morning a couple weeks ago.

Enter WHAT THE HEALTH, a documentary on Netflix that just peaked my interest one morning. I sat in my recliner, coffee in hand, and pressed Play. It started out a little slow, but it gained momentum; I had such visceral reactions to the content in places that I retched a couple times. I felt angry at, in awe of, and absolutely disgusted by the human race for the rest. I watched the entire thing, and I felt something in me break. The mere thought of dead animals as a food source made me feel like I was going to vomit. The chore of making meatballs the next day for my best friend's bachelorette party made me feel physically repulsed. As I said to my husband the day the dam broke, it was like a veil had been lifted that I couldn't put back on. What the fuck had I done to myself? We host people for parties and BBQs etc all the time... no way could I keep that going unchanged. How could I ever be so hypocritical as to call myself an animal lover and then sit down to eat one because everyone else is doing it?

The short answer is, I couldn't. I can't. Not anymore. There are countless reasons why I won't eat meat again, and why I wish other people wouldn't either, but none of them are going to convince anyone of anything. I know myself goddamned well enough to know that if someone had told me not to eat meat 3 weeks ago, I would have laughed & told them to go fuck themselves. And when I realized that watching that video was the catalyst for my own shift in thinking, I cried. I was scared that my husband was going to think I was nuts. I was scared my friends and family would mock me for my choice. So scared, in fact, I partly lied to them. I told them I am giving up meat because of my stomach issues, and while that is true (eating beef and pork are like playing Russian Roulette for me), the main reason for me is ethical, based on a slurry of emotions and logic. Not feeling like I am going to shit a meat-wrapped brick every time I have a steak is an added benefit.

I should note, my husband is being his usual, incredibly supportive self and is eating clean right along with me, with a few exceptions: obviously me changing my mind about meat on the fly didn't magically morph all the things in our freezer into veggies and tofu. A couple of meals of ours have been as simple as mine having extra vegetables and his having a meat component. I am not militant, wasteful, or insane. We bought it for food, and he will eat it as food.

Anyway, with all the energy and motivation back, I have lost 7 lbs in the past 2 weeks from having to really pay attention to what I am eating. I am happy, I feel refreshed, and I am still me.

Hibernation ends now.

It has been a long, cold, and busy winter. Very busy, in fact, but unfortunately not busy with fitness or watching what I eat. I haven't put on more than a couple of pounds here and there (much of that can be chalked up to weekend binges at parties, or a drink or two too many), which I've been smart enough to make up for and get to fall back off. I've been holding steady, but that ends now.

After selling our house and buying a new one, we moved into the East end of the city, away from the outskirts we've called home for the past 5 years. We now live in a neighbourhood full of people who go outside. People with dogs and kids, fire pits and BBQs. For the longest time, I felt isolated in our old neighbourhood. KJ never understood that because he got to go away and do things, and see things. He never really got it until we moved and saw a change in the amount of activity around us, I think.

I loved the place, don't get me wrong, but something was missing. I often felt like the sole member of the Neighbourhood Watch because people were always away. I was on the call list for pretty much every neighbour's home security system because I was usually home while they were gone away for months at a time. Coupled with the fact that my husband also goes away for work, living in the sticks can feel pretty goddamned lonely. I often joked that if I was to choke on popcorn at home alone, even walking outside to be found collapsed in the driveway wouldn't work because I was the only one on my street most of the time.

Maybe if I wasn't such a pig about it, I wouldn't choke.

In this new house, with this new neighbourhood, I go outside and meet people on every walk with the dogs. I can watch planes take off and land from a runway clearly visible from the playground I take my nephews to visit when they're here. I can walk to a convenience store that is actually convenient, not just conveniently named. And I am a 2 minute drive from the gym, a 5 minute drive from my best friend, and so close to amenities that shopping at Costco doesn't instantly make me regret having been born when I need to go there. And on the days when I don't feel up to going out or interacting with people, I have this amazing home to just hole up in and feel at peace knowing that if I happen to choke on popcorn, I have countless neighbours who will see my lifeless body sprawled on the sidewalk with my phone in my hand because, in a neighbourhood with sidewalks, people go outside.

So, where does my lack of exercise and weight loss factor into all of this? Well, it's simple math: (Me + Moving) - Energy = Takeout. More takeout in the past 3 months than I've had in a year of intentionally eating well. Getting settled into a new house takes time and energy. I'm not cooking healthy meals like I normally would. I'm not making time for an actual workout where I break a sweat like I should. Yes, I am walking the dogs more and painting walls/arranging furniture, but I am also eating more sugar and fat because it's easier to open a bag of junk food or go for Chinese food when I'm too lazy to get out of my own way. I haven't been tracking everything I eat like I was, either. It's a shit show of excuses.

Despite the shit show, one of the lessons I have learned through the course of all of this is not to beat myself up for not moving forward. I am doing the best I can with what energy I have, and even if that is holding steady instead of losing weight, I can be happy with that and not hate myself for not doing better. The old me would have already said fuck it and started shoving gluttonous amounts of food in herself for being a failure.

So, now that the kitchen is painted and the house feels like home, it's time to get back on track and start from scratch. I'm still down 45lbs from where I started from scratch last year, and that is no small accomplishment. But I have more work to do, and it has to start somewhere. Why not here?

Happy New Year

"New Year, New You"

I see this slogan everywhere. What is it about the calendar rolling over one digit that makes everyone assume the universe is going to intervene and make their lives somehow different than it was yesterday? Whether it's for better or worse, I don't think the universe is too concerned with an arbitrary numbering system we have placed on it, and I certainly don't think it gives a hot shit that you ate 3600 calories yesterday because "tomorrow I start my diet!".

KJ and I went to the gym on NYE morning (mainly to counteract the volume of alcohol we knew we would likely consume that evening) and it was jam packed. Likely with people doing the same thing we were doing (pre-drinking exercise makes up for the impending hangover that will force us into napping and not exercising the following day, right?). It's a terrible cycle, but I don't expect the magical New Year fairy to fix it for me.

So what did I do yesterday instead of exercise or hope the New Year would save me? I tracked everything I ate, like I did the day before that, and the day before that, and so on, because a new year does not mean a new me. I am me, and I need to keep myself on track. And this morning, I got up and went to the gym, and I tracked the calories I burned, as well as the food I ate when I came home.

If hoping for a miraculous change is what gets you out of bed in the morning and keeps you chugging forward, great. But New Year, New You will only get you 2 weeks in before you realize you need to make your own miracles sometimes.

I hope everyone had a great Christmas (or whatever celebration your family observes this time of year), and I hope everyone has a happy and healthy year ahead. I also wish you all the luck and strength in the world to reach whatever goal you set for yourself. Just do yourself a favour and don't count on the calendar alone to be the way to make it happen.

It's been a while

Two months to the day, to be exact. I will admit, I have slowed down some. I have not been exercising as feverishly as I was. I haven't been to the gym much. I haven't been walking the trails much. I've just come to a crawl.

That said, while I have been crawling along, I have still continued to either maintain or lose weight. The plateaus last a little longer, but that's bound to happen when all I'm doing is watching my intake and not really putting much other effort into weight loss or fitness.

This morning, I weighed myself in at 44lbs under where I started in March. I have a goal to lose 50lbs in a year, and it looks like I may be on track to meet that goal a little earlier than anticipated, so what I will be doing from here on is exercising again to make that happen. Once I hit 50lbs lost, I will be 2/3rds of the way to where I want to end up, and the last part will be much easier on my mind.

I don't give myself a hard time anymore when I slip up, and I don't let one cookie ruin my day. I'm not going to put on 5 lbs from having something I really want once a week. The human body is pretty resilient that way. It's the bad habit of sitting there and mindlessly gorging on junk , or eating whatever we want every single day that does us in, and that is something I simply do not do anymore. If I want some potato chips, I weigh my portion and track it. It really is not hard once you get into that habit, just like it really isn't hard once you get into the habit of swallowing a ream of donuts in one sitting.

No thanks.

On the way down

With KJ back at work for a couple of weeks now and my will power not yet broken, I am proud to say I have been successfully working on weight loss again instead of just maintenance. For the past couple of months I have had no notable change in weight, but yesterday I weighed myself and for the first time since early 2009 I am below 220lbs.

That means that I am down 37lbs from when I started this trek toward being healthier in March. I've had a few hard days, but for the most part I have to say, I've been doing really well. All I need to do now is ramp up the exercise side of things a little more so I can feel fitter, not just lighter/thinner.

In the meantime, I will just continue to enjoy putting on clothes that fit and don't stick on to multiple lumps on my torso.

Weight Loss vs Dressing Yourself

Over the years, my weight and size have gone up and down slowly, and I always kept a collection of "fat clothes", but also an inspirational collection of items I wished to fit into again (or for the first time). On my most recent upswing in dress size, I decided to give away the inspirational clothes because they only reminded me of how fat I'd gotten and how gross I felt. Not my finest half hour, but I limbed out my closet and dresser of every offensive non-plus-sized article of clothing I owned. The inspiration had left them. They inspired me to put on PJ pants and stay home, and that was about it.

Because I got rid of all those clothes, I am currently shrinking inside of most everything I own and have nothing to wear aside from capris and a dress. I'm not complaining, but this is going to create some expensive problems in the next couple of weeks. For example, I currently have only 2 bras that fit. One of them is a hot pink racer-back sports bra. I made the mistake yesterday of wearing a push-up bra that I hadn't realized had grown too big. Pair that with the skinny jeans that fall down when I walk, bend, sit or move in general, and I felt like a train wreck. My mother loaned me a bra that was a cup side too small to cram myself into so I wasn't swimming in the empty padded cups of the now-too-large push-up.

I never expected to lose boobs...they've always been a given.
This wasn't part of the plan!

Fitting 10lbs of shit in a 5lb bag

It is beautiful today. It is sunny. It is hot. It's not windy or humid. It is literally everything summer is supposed to be. It is also 3 days before KJ returns to the ship for 4 weeks and, since we've had approximately 3 nice days since he's been home this month, we are trying to squeeze all the summery fun activity into today that we missed out on.

We got up this morning and walked the dogs to exhaustion to start out on the right foot. That way we won't feel guilty being out and about all afternoon while they're home occupying themselves. Between drives, downtown walking, and social obligations, we are going to make today count!

This post is short, and not funny (#sorrynotsorry), but it is a momentous occasion and I had to document it happened because I've been on the brink of madness with all the oppressive fog and drizzle.