We Had A Time

Over the weekend Aunt Abbe and cousin Stacey came to visit.  We talked about Weight Watchers and the trials and tribulations we've been experiencing.  We gave each other exercise tips and discussed new recipes.  We talked about our feelings: how it feels to be overweight, how it feels to lose weight, how it differs from how we thought it would be. 

We discussed the next Turkey Trot, and I convinced Stacey to do it with me!  Stacey and Leah went swimming for a bit.  Aunt Abbe told me she send me some of her old pants that are now my new size. 

We had a good weekend, and, like you could imagine, we got to the part of the conversation that talks about how you were not there to talk with us.  How you would have been making this weight loss journey with us; how you would have been interested in the 2 point zucchini muffin recipe; how you would have resisted doing the Turkey Trot but ultimately would have tried.

The fact of the matter is that you should have been there.  But you aren't.  YOU gave up.  You looked for an easy out and you didn't find one.  And, therefore, you missed out.  We had a time.  And you weren't there.

Weight Watchers

I’ve been following Weight Watchers since May 17th now. As of this past Tuesday, I am down 12.2 lbs, which means I’m averaging 2 lbs a week. I am happy with this pace, yet I fear I won’t be able to hold on to it for very much longer.


I thought by this point I’d have the new points plus system down better. I don’t. I am nothing without my tools to tell me how many points foods are, and I dutifully find myself entering meals into the system with no idea of how many points they’ll turn out to be until the screen blinks out a number.



I have not been able to exercise regularly, and I feel that exercising is the only thing that will enable me to hold on to that 2 lb a week loss pace. I am switching jobs (again? I know.) in a week which will give me some more free time. I plan on integrating running back into my life.



Other people on Weight Watchers see the plan as, “Oh I can eat anything I want--just in moderation,” while my outlook isn’t as cheery. If I could eat in moderation I wouldn’t be here. Clearly, that’s an issue for me. I look at Weight Watchers as the way I have to eat, with restrictions on foods and portions, forever, if I want to be lighter and healthier. I see it as a war that I’ve lost and my punishment is a very tight rein on my diet for the rest of my life; something that I need to comes to grips with and accept. I’ve tried to live my way with regards to food, and it didn’t work out, so now we do it someone else’s way, and succumb to the fact that I’ll need to track, report, weigh in, and attend meetings in order to curb my eating habits for the rest of my life.



It’s almost like someone in a drug and alcohol treatment program--someone who tried to handle their addiction on their own but failed and is now accepting the fact that they were wrong and need help. Quite often we see certain behaviors and objects as benign, and those who struggle with them as enigmas. When I realized that overeating and poor food choices were issues in my life, and made an effort to change that, I began treatment for my addiction.



It’s incredibly difficult to sit in a room with women who are strong enough to make a life change through diet and exercise, which, with all the fast and easy ways of losing weight this days, can be described as the long and hard way. I look around at these women who know that this is the right way to do it and are fighting the good fight, despite the uphill battle ahead of them. It’s not difficult to handle because I’m one of them, and can glimpse 10, 20, 30 years in the future and see myself still needing this program to stay healthy. No, it’s difficult because of the one person who gave up on this. The person who introduced me to Weight Watchers so many years ago, and who went back time and time again. Who saw results- although meager and short-lived- after her hard work. But then who gave up. Who succumbed when the battle became too much. Who saw a light off to the right, rather than through the long tunnel, and went to it.  And then got burned.

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I Dreamed a Dream

I try to make this blog positive and not dwell on the negative, but there are times that it's difficult for me to remain that way.  There are circumstances and happenings that occur in which her absence is painfully obvious, and I get agitated.  I really try to pretend that I'm not longing for her, or that I don't need her, but, sometimes?  I really do.  And usually I just get sad.  But there are times that I get mad.  

I'm pissed at my mom. 

There.  I said it.

You can slice it and dice it any way you'd like, but she's not here any longer because of her desire to be thin.  And, not only her desire to be thin--NO--her desire to achieve her goal via a shortcut.  She didn't die because of some freak exercising accident, or as a result of a diet gone wrong.  She died because she needed to be thin quick and easy.  And THAT is why I'm pissed.

Hey, guess what, mom?  I would love to be thin too.  But rather than undergo some elective surgery that someone with a heart condition probably shouldn't have had in the first place, I spend three days a week running.  Yes, my large butt puts on tight pants and a sports bra and an ugly t-shirt and a headband that is so hideous, my two-year old laughs at it.  But, it's better than sweating in my eyes.  Which, BE TEE DOUBLE-U, I DID FOR THE FIRST TWO RUNS.  Because I forgot to bring a headband. 
And then, I drag my already-worked-an-entire-day-plus-a-3-hour-commute-haven't-seen-my-daughter-yet-today-butt outside, and I run.  There are times that I am sure the oncoming vehicle doesn't see me and I'm going to have to slide into the nearest lawn.  There are instances where I can actually feel my butt jiggle.  And, the other day?  I'm pretty sure the mailman laughed at me.  But still, I press on. 

And I keep telling myself, Oh, my mother could NEVER run...she could NEVER do a 5K.  You know what?  That's BS.  Because you could have run, if you had ever tried.  If doing things the long way, or the right way, or the hard way was of interest to you.  But apparently it wasn't.

And so, I get to attend a BBQ where I watch a little boy's grandmother follow him around, doting on his every move.  And I get to watch my brother practice changing Leah's diaper for when his daughter his born.  And I witness some of Leah's more unsavory behavioral traits wondering what the hell I am doing wrong, and I'm pissed.  I'm pissed off that Leah doesn't have what that little boy has.  And that Marco won't have you to help.  And I can't ask you for advice.  And that our lives must go on without you and you could have prevented your death.  You didn't have to die. 

Don't get me wrong, if you showed up tomorrow claiming you had to fake your death to escape the Armenian mob due to gambling debts, I'd welcome you with open arms and delete this post immediately.  But I know you're not living in the Caribbean, working the docks in a fishing village, answering to the name Bernice.  I know you're gone.  And I know that you didn't have to be. 

My life, and the lives of everyone in my family, are forever changed in a horrible way because you died.

And today I'm pissed off about that.

And still I dream she'll come to me,
that we will live the years together. 

 

 But there are dreams that cannot be,
and there are storms we cannot weather.

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Running Update: Highly Motivated, Slightly Able

Can I just tell you that I think about running non-stop? I mean, all.the.time. I flat out refuse to listen to music that’s not intense, fast, and motivating. I think about how my goal of running a 5K on Thanksgiving is lofty, but I am driven to do it. I imagine how nervous I’ll be before the race, and pray that my body’s usual way of dealing with anxiety--a certain bodily function I’ll leave up to your imagination--will not make an appearance. I dream about how proud I’ll be if I can keep up with Adriana and Gabrielle. I think about if anyone I know will come out to cheer me on. I wonder if I’ll cry when I see Leah at the finish line with Greg--actually, I wonder if I’ll see the finish line at all. I wonder if I’ll be able to jog the entire thing, and I pray that I won’t completely lose it if I have to bring it down to a walk at any point.


I’m putting so much on this goal--so much more than just being able to say I’ve completed a 5K.

This is something that I’ve never done and never thought I could do. This is something that my mother would never have expected from me. (I come from a long line of shoppers, not runners.) This represents a lifestyle that doesn’t include weight problems, health issues, heart conditions, mobility limitations, and weight loss surgeries. This represents life. A long life with my husband, child, dad, siblings, friends, future children, grandchildren family.

Now, if I can just stay focused and not think about how soon I will be training in 90 degree heat, I will do fine. I’ve completed week two of the running program I am doing, and today I will begin week three. I’m on a slightly slower track than the program suggests, but I have the extra time and I feel that I am benefiting from completing an extra workout before moving onto the next stage.

I’m not the most attractive runner on the track, if you know what I mean. I’ve never actually seen myself run, but I can only imagine I look tragic. I don’t have great form, or any form, really. I have to keeping reminding myself to land heel-toe, heel-toe with each step. I’m usually preoccupied with my pants and whether they are staying up, and my shirt, and whether it’s staying down.

But, you know what? I’m running. That’s what.
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A Life of Diets

My mother was obsessed with her weight.  She spent a good amount of time in her life dieting.  There are times when it consumed her, and eventually her obsession is what lead to her decision to have weight loss surgery. 

But, before all of that, before she could even understand what the word diet meant, my mom was once a little baby with no worries. 

What's a diet?

I, too, struggle with my weight.  I try to not let it consume me, but there are times that it's all I can think of.  The difference between my mom and myself, however, is that I know I control my weight.  I am the one in charge of my body.  What I eat and how much I exercise directly effects my body and my weight. 

My mother felt that her weight was out of her hands; that no matter what she ate, or how much she exercised, she would always be heavy. 

But, I don't think that was true.  I don't think my mom tried as hard as she lead others to believe.  I'm not so sure that her dieting efforts were as strong as she claimed they were.  I think that there was a little bit of withholding the truth, or perhaps leaving out some important facts, when it came to my mother's willpower on a diet.

It's very hard to speak about her like this.  It's uncomfortable to say that I think she lied about how strict she was on her diets, especially since she's no longer alive.  It's difficult to think that maybe I could have prevented her decision to have weight loss surgery if I made her face the facts.  If I told her that she wasn't trying hard enough.  Or that she knew the exercise she said she was doing was not her doctor's idea of exercise. 

What's the most difficult pill to swallow, though, is the thought that if I had worked harder with her--if I had pushed her to eat better with me, if I had spent more time discussing and explaining and exercising and JUST PLAIN BEING THERE--then maybe seeing a difference on the scale would have no longer been as important, as would have the need for surgery.  Maybe what she really needed was a little support; a friend to turn to in times of need.  A daughter to talk to.

Sometimes I feel like I moved out and never looked back, and I missed my mother's cries for help.