I see skinny people and immediately want to ask them – what, exactly, do you eat? How much? Really?No, really? Tell me really.

It doesn’t seem to matter how many conversations I have with the dietitian, I just keep screwing it up again and again. I let myself continue to be bad the day I go to the dietitian…and the day after…and then, soon, it’s the day after that and I’m still being bad, still eating chips, still stuffing my face.

It feels to me like I’ve always eaten like this. Like I’ve always eaten too much, more than I should, more than I could possibly burn. I don’t want to be fat. Don’t want to weigh as much as I do. Don’t want to be uncomfortable in my own skin, mystified by the folds and flab.

I see women in wedding dresses and before I consider anything else…I consider the shapeliness of their shoulders, collarbone visibility, any visible overflow at the armpits…and, typically, I discount the dress as an option for myself someday.  I know I’d like to wear a strapless dress someday.  Or, at least, to know I have the OPTION.

My sister wore one last year and she’s a curvaceous person (more generously proportioned then than now). I’m sure it would be OK either way as long as the dress fit. I just like the way slim people seem able to pull it all off without any risk or fear. I’m not even engaged for pete’s sake, but I’m suddenly thinking about these things.Thinking that I need to get my act in gear so that when it happens I won’t suddenly feel like I need to go on a diet. I don’t like that I’m even thinking about this.I don’t like that I want or need to be thinner.

Forget the wedding dress.  I just want to be able to go into Reitman’s and shop at the front of the store.  There are dozens of sundresses on the racks out front this year and NOTHING on the racks at the back.  I want something cute to wear.  Something light and fun that makes me feel good.  I’m tired of all of the “big momma” wear…tired of the same old, same old blouses and pants, the same polyester tops (now with even more patterns!)…I want to look and feel my age.

If you’re still out there, please update your links:

http://roadtoambition.wordpress.com

Thanks!

This is the post where I decided it was OK to switch the old blog back on and let people know (if there were any left) that I was posting again.  Sort of.

On September 11, 2008 I merged the two blogs.  Might as well include the backstory, right?

My friends and I have been going to Pilates since February of last year (with a break for the summer).  We have a private class and it’s one of the best parts of my week.  Even when I wasn’t moving much on my own at least I had an hour a week when I knew I would be…and when life is moving too fast to catch up with friends there’s always Wednesday to look forward to.

For quite awhile, our instructor has been telling us about “Boot Camp” and all of the benefits we might get out of it.  One of the girls took the bait a few months ago and RAVED about the benefits.  And then she quit both Boot Camp and Pilates because she was having some health problems (I would guess that she’s + 50 lbs heavier than I am; problems were joint and heart-related).  The divine Ms G has continued to tell us about the class (never a pitch, just something we might think about) and this week, after another gain, I decided to go for it.  I mentioned it during our class and two of the others said they would be up for it.

Today was the day.  I got up around 7:45 and made myself a bowl of oatmeal.  G’s instructions were very clear:  eat something at least an hour before class.  We’d need the fuel and if we waited we’d puke.  Never a fan of puking, I finished my oatmeal and drank about 750 ml of water.

I was the first to arrive and G cheered for me as soon as I walked in the door.  Another instructor (also a colleague) came around the corner and grinned.  “You’re here for Boot Camp? That’s GREAT!”

Cut to the chase:

It was awful and awesome.  My feet killed me during certain parts of the circuit (I got a fab new pair of sneakers on Thursday; wore them all day Thu and Fri…no issues but I do need some kind of gel insert or something for the heel / arch) and there were times when I came close to tears.  Very close, actually.  But I did it.  As hard as I could (which wasn’t always very hard but I kept moving, kept pushing myself through the moves), I did it.  It was HARD.  F*$% me, it was hard.  But I did it.

My legs were jelly when I walked out and I could already feel it when I laughed or climbed a couple of stairs.  I had a bowl of Fibre 1, a glass of milk (1%) and a tbsp of peanut butter about 45 minutes after I got home and have been drinking water since then.  One of the two seasoned members of the class warned us not to just go home and sit / flop, so I’ve been doing load after load of laundry and hanging it out on the line.  The lugging up stairs and the reaching overhead is rough but it’s good.  I’m glad I’m still moving the muscles because holy hell.  I can already tell the next few days it’s going to be rough.  It’s muscular, though.  I like it.  My bod does too.  It remembers this feeling.

At this point, I hope to go back next week if I can squeeze it in (I’ve got two other commitments later in the morning).  For now, off I got.  There’s lots of cleaning to be done while my endorphins are high and my muscles haven’t figured out how much pain they’re *really* in.

Happy Saturday!

Eight months ago, I gave up Diet Pepsi. I was an addict, barely managing a +2 litre/day habit. I was rarely seen without DP, I dragged it to every party and complained (mostly to myself, but sometimes not) when beverages would be put out for a meeting and DP wasn’t included. If I ran out, if there was none in the house…I thought constantly about when and where I was going to get more. I couldn’t tell you how many litres of diet pepsi home from the grocery store or how my little heart pounded wildly when it went on sale for $0.88/bottle. I drank it in the morning. I drank it in the evening. I drank it before bed and if I woke up thirsty in the afternoon, I’d drink more.

It was nuts. I knew it was nuts but I couldn’t help myself. Or, at least, I didn’t think I could.

I went on vacation in July, visiting my sister and meeting friends in Montreal. I went through at least 18 cans of DP while staying with my sister and I packed what remained of the second case when I left for Montreal. It was hot, damn hot, and I felt miserable even as I tried to drink a bit of water to ensure hydration.

Here’s the thing — with the amount of DP I was drinking, hydration just wasn’t possible. By the time the end of my vacation rolled around I felt crummy. I’m sure I felt the same way at home but it didn’t matter there. There were lots of things to make me feel crappy at home, so the DP-crappiness was overlooked.

The day before we left Montreal I read an article about pop (diet in particular, I think) and its effects on the human body, particularly on a person’s metabolism and the activity of their heart. Maybe that’s not what it was about but that’s what I think it was about.

I had two cans of DP left and I made a decision: when I got home, I was quitting.

To be continued…

I met with the dietitian on Tuesday afternoon. We had a good meeting and she was pleased to see my little notebook, praised me for keeping myself accountable and cheered me on when the scale showed a bit of a pay-off (-1.2 lbs – YAY TEAM!). We talked about my challenges and successes, set some new goals and I went away feeling great.

Since then, it has been a hectic week. Wednesday was wild. I worked through lunch and went full tilt until I dropped into bed (in another city altogether) around midnight. Thursday morning I was up at 6:30 and meeting and greeting people at a conference just an hour later. I started the day with orange juice and a piece of cheese but followed it with 2.5 danish-type goodies. Lunch wasn’t bad (a sandwich and a very small serving of corn/veggie chowder) and supper was pretty good (a huge salad + 2 hotdogs; it kind of balanced out)…

No one cares what I had for lunch. The point is that I’ve made reasonably good choices when possible but I’ve also had more than I should have of the ‘bad stuff.’ I haven’t written a thing down since my appointment on Tuesday and I already miss the accountability. I like seeing how much water I’ve had to drink, highlighting the veggies and keeping an eye on the patterns (am I eating constantly or are there breaks in between? did I just graze all day or did I have actual meals?). I can’t believe I miss that already. I need to dig out my little book and get back at it.

I did well on the weekend. My beau and I were at his mother’s house for most of it and it was amazing to see the difference between Easter Sunday at my Mum’s house and Easter Sunday at his Mum’s house.

First of all, I think that the best thing about being a grownup is that we can have cake for breakfast whenever we want to. We don’t all do that, but the point is that we can.

In my world, Easter Sunday is the one day when kids and grownups alike get to have their cake and eat it for breakfast! Everyone wakes up early to find what the Bunny has left during the night, i.e. chocolate and skipping ropes in the dining room and chocolate eggs or jelly beans hidden all around the house. The egg hunt happens almost immediately and, assuming they haven’t been total punks, the kids are allowed to have some chocolate or other goodies first thing.

[Things have evolved over the years but one hard and fast rule remains: chocolate before Cheerios]

In my beau’s world, things are different. On Sunday morning, everyone got ready for church and had breakfast as they went along. The first evidence of the Bunny’s visit was seen at church where eggs were ‘hidden’ in full view. After church, my beau found me in the living room eating a tiny, peanut butter-filled egg.

“What?” I asked, suddenly feeling guilty.

“You’re going to spoil your lunch!”

“No way. There’s no way it will spoil my lunch and, besides, chocolate for breakfast is the RULE on Easter at my house!”

“Well…I’m glad you’re able to bring some of your traditions with you,” he laughed.

[Note: He truly thinks I’m perfect just the way I am.]

So we had lunch and eventually got down to Bunny business. The goodies were lovely and I enjoyed the company but it made me miss being at my Mum’s place.

For the most part, we’re grazers at Mum’s. I unselfconsciously pick at food all day, whether it’s chocolate, chips, crackers or some other goodie. I’m not saying it’s healthy, but it’s how we operate. Things really aren’t that much different at my place. I rarely make myself supper when I’m home alone, which is most of the time.

At my beau’s, whether we’re at his place or at his mum’s, we eat meals and snacks…but with actual gaps in between. I liked it. I missed the pick-pick-picking but I didn’t feel deprived. A little bit out of sorts at times, like I was missing something, but overall I liked it.

Back to work this week, I’ve been keeping track of my food intake to see what the natural patterns are like and to see how well I do eating enough vegetables, etc. So far, like I say, the grazing pattern is shining through loud and clear. Yesterday, after a morning long breakfast of mini eggs (5), an orange and an All Bran bar, I had a two servings of fresh green beans, a turkey sandwich and a small piece of cheese for lunch. Everything was washed down with a couple of litres of water. But I still wanted something. There needed to be more. When the coffee cart came around, I bought a bag of plain chips. I ate two thirds and closed them up. Then I ate half of a 39 g bag of mini eggs. And then I put those away.

I was virtuous for a whole 40 minutes.

CHOMP! CHOMP! CHOMP!

The rest of the chips and chocolate disappeared.

I kept drinking my water and tried not to feel guilty about it.

I skipped supper in favour of a late night graze on chocolate and a small bag of light microwave popcorn. And more water (4.25 L total by the end of the day).

This morning, I started again.

Immediately, I was off track. Three mini eggs this time, followed by an orange and an All Bran bar. Around 11:30 I started working on my green beans. At 12:30 I had a bacon and lettuce sandwich and a piece of cheese. After all of that I felt physically full but not mentally. There was still a hole there, still a little growly feeling, still a need to eat. At 1:30 I started fantasizing about the salty goodness I would buy when the cart came around.

Amazingly, I took action. Positive action.

I made myself a bowl of instant oatmeal, added a bit of brown sugar and used it to fill the gap. Now I’m full. Seriously full. My brain wants salt but I can’t possibly eat anything.

I need to be sure to eat supper tonight. I have a meeting out of town and will need the fuel to get me through until I get back sometime late this evening when thankfully, mercifully, I’ll be able to go to bed for the night. Can’t wait!

I’ve decided to start writing about trying to lose weight and getting motivated again. The blogspot version of Road to Ambition was good to me, way back when, but I need a fresh start. No skeletons, no nothing. This is me. This is now.

I went to see a nutritionist a few weeks ago and I weighed 231.6 lbs. Ten days later, I weighed in again (after, admittedly, not doing much of anything) and I was .4 lbs higher and exactly 100 lbs heavier than one of my favourite people.

It’s not about them, though, it’s about me.

I need to get my weight under control and down to a level that no longer puts my health at risk. I need to stay motivated and focus on eating well and exercising more. I need a place to write about my struggle with all of this and I know from experience that sharing it out here can be a very good thing. Blogging has helped to motivate me in other areas of my life (and it’s helped with this one in the past, to a point), so why not now?

All signs point to yes. It’s time to try again.