I have been a complete emotional mess today. I went through a range of emotions in a span of about 15 minutes that started with a great mood and ended at sobbing. It seems impossible to believe that my moods are so tumultuous right now for no good reason, but I have nothing to attribute the craziness to.

I was in a pretty good mood throughout my class this morning, but noticed that I was having a hard time motivating myself to make it through the half hour of cardio that I planned to do prior to meeting with my trainer. 3 minutes in and I was having to give myself a pep talk. 7 minutes in and I had decided to quit at 10. I never quit prior to completing what I plan, so I didn’t, but I wanted to. VERY badly. It wasn’t just cardio, though. I started watching the clock 15 minutes into my session with my trainer, which is something that just never happens.

I headed to a nearby store before going home and just happened to notice an older man sitting on the front porch of a house a few blocks from my own. Seeing him sitting there, just watching traffic … it shattered my morning. Thoughts of my grandfather flooded my mind and the sadness that I’ve felt throughout the years since his death was incredibly strong. I could see him sitting on his front porch, smiling, waiting for me to get out of my car and come sit with him. I could feel the love and happiness that he displayed so easily.

Then a song came on the radio that immediately took me to my youngest brother and the time years ago when we listened to this particular song over and over because it was his favorite … which pushed everything further downhill. I thought about both of my brothers and the paths they’re taking, my mom, my dad, my husband. I thought about how much I miss all of them and about how short life is. One day I could talk to my vibrant, full-of-life grandfather and the next he was just gone. Have I made the right decision moving away from my family? Is money really worth being away from my husband every week for weeks at a time?

I used to cope with food. Have a bad day? Eat a Big Mac. Feel sad? Pizza! I don’t know what to do anymore. It sounds ridiculous when I type it out, but I honestly don’t know how to feel sad and not seek food to make myself feel better.

The good news is I didn’t stop somewhere and buy a bunch of junk food to make myself feel better. The bad news is I didn’t stop because I’m just exhausted. I have GOT to remember to take the vitamins.

More good news: I’ve somehow managed to drop 5 pounds since last weekend. Being back at home, back in my routine and back to journaling my food has helped tremendously (a lot of that specific weight loss can be attributed to a reduction in general bloating since I’ve stopped eating crap, though). August has been a crazy month with 3 weekends of trips, a semester ending, a semester starting, a week of visiting family for me, my birthday and travel every single week for Jon. I’m honestly surprised that I have continued exercising and working on my eating habits because life has always gotten in the way before. Looks like this lifestyle IS my life now. I really couldn’t be happier about that.

I have never been so sore in my life. The slight pressure it took to shave my legs hurt my calf muscles this morning.

I have been working out 3 times a week since April with a trainer who focuses on teaching me how to strengthen myself using my own weight. She uses a boot camp approach and has me use very little equipment. I use an exercise ball, a bosu ball, hand weights and will occasionally use exercise/resistance bands. That’s about it. Nothing fancy, but I love my time with her and I’ve most definitely seen progress and have gained strength.

Last week I asked her to accompany me to the gym to teach me how to use the equipment there. Right now I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking. Using this equipment has never been part of the plan for me, but I wanted to know how to use it correctly, just in case. Good God. #1 – it wasn’t very fun. The equipment is bulky and clunky and just plain awkward. #2 – I don’t feel just sore, I feel like I’ve hurt myself. I don’t know enough to know if this is normal, so I’m going to have to assume that it is and that it will get better.

A new semester just started, so I have a completely new schedule to adapt to. I’ve worked out a good exercise plan that should last through December:

Monday, Wednesday, Friday: 1 hour session with trainer each day, 30 minutes to 1 hour cardio each day prior to session with trainer (tentative plans for Friday cardio to be accomplished through 1 hour spin class)

Tuesday, Thursday: 1 hour cardio each day

Saturday: Nothing

Sunday: 30 minutes cardio, 1 hour weight lifting (alternate upper & lower body each week)

I’ve also come up with a weight loss goal for September 1 through January 1 since my initial goal ends this week (which is unbelievable to me – I’ve not only stuck with all of this, but have surpassed all fitness goals I created for myself and have a lifestyle I never dreamed possible. The work out schedule I outlined above is extremely doable and enjoyable for me now, but would have been laughable at this time last year.)

New goal: Lose 24 pounds. I have 18 weeks, so that averages to right around 1.5 pounds per week. I think know this is a realistic goal if I buckle down and quit having pizza for dinner every night. I’m excited!

Jon has decided to redo his goals, too, and needs to lose 15 pounds to be at his goal weight. Given 18 weeks, he needs to lose a little less than a pound a week to reach that by January 1. Again, we’ve loosened our standards, so I think this is completely realistic for him if we continue to revamp our eating habits.

I’m planning to put something in the sidebar showing our progress in hopes that it will keep us motivated.

The fat vs. thin debate bothers me very much for reasons that I can’t quite pinpoint. The only thing I can come up with at the moment is guilt.

I’m fat. I think it’s fine to be ok with being fat. I think one of the most important things we can do for each other is to practice acceptance and understanding of all aspects of humanity. I think people of all sizes are beautiful. I read quite a few fat acceptance blogs and sites and I’m happy that they are available to anyone who might be struggling. My self-esteem is great (been called arrogant, in fact). I know that I’m perfectly capable of living a full, happy life as a fat woman because I was doing it.

Having said that, I hate being fat. I really just hate it. I hate it because I’m not fit. I don’t believe that a person can be fat and fit, which means that I certainly don’t believe that it is better to be fat and fit than skinny and unfit. (Cue GUILT)

It’s probably unfair for me to have this belief, so I will admit that I’m not basing it on research of any kind. I’m basing this belief solely on my experience as a fat person who doesn’t know another fat person over the age of 45 who is fit or who doesn’t have an obesity related issue of some kind.

Maybe I just don’t know how to be fat and fit. Maybe I’m missing something since my fat is going away throughout my quest to be fit. I don’t believe that my current fitness level would’ve been possible at my highest weight, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that’s not the point.

Maybe fat and fit are extremely relative terms. What is fit, anyway? None of the articles seem to clearly define it. The article I linked says women qualified as fit (for the particular study) if they could stay on a treadmill for 5.5 minutes. It doesn’t clarify what “brisk walking pace” is, but still … Seriously?

That is not what fit is to me. I was not what fit is to me. Fit, to me, is being able to jog without dying. It’s being able to do push ups and squats and lunges with injuring something. It’s having lots of energy. It’s being able to walk around a hilly campus without needing a break. It’s taking the stairs and not the elevator. It’s finding myself jogging to my car when I’m in a hurry. It’s seeing muscle definition. It’s being able to play on the floor with the dog. It’s being able to tell my trainer that I’ve moved up a level on the stairmaster. It will someday mean being able to run a 10k. Honestly, it’s being able to keep up with the skinny people around me.

I’m not so naive that I’m willing to believe being skinny will guarantee health and I certainly don’t believe that being skinny equals being fit. I do, however, believe that being skinny gives a person a health and fitness advantage. I am 100% certain that diabetes, high blood pressure and/or heart disease would’ve been coming had I stayed at my highest weight or continued to gain. Fit or not, I believe being fat puts me at a disadvantage because I feel and see the disadvantage. I see it in myself, my overweight family members, and in lots of the fat acceptance blogs I read.

I don’t know how it works out for other people and will never claim that my experience is the common experience.  I know that fat and fit don’t work together for me. I’m ok with that.

It’s probably bad that this article had me trying to figure out just how many hours a day I can carve out for exercise … just to be able to eat more. 12,000 calories a day?! I doubt I could even pull that off. Wouldn’t mind trying some days, but damn. I don’t know how he keeps it up. I admittedly don’t know what it’s like to spend five hours a day exercising, though, either.

I spent an hour with my trainer yesterday and had one of those days when everything is hard. I felt weak and sore before we were even halfway through. There were a few things that I struggled through that I haven’t had issues with in a long time and I felt very frustrated. I had planned to go to the gym afterwards and do at least half an hour of cardio, but I left her house feeling shaky and worn out and decided to just go home.

I was exhausted at dinner, asleep by 9:30 last night and slept until 8 this morning when I woke up exhausted again. I don’t really know what’s going on, but I think it’s safe to assume my iron is low. You’d think even a complete idiot would’ve been able to figure that one out earlier given the unexplainable bruises and the fact that I forgot to take my vitamins on the various trips and have had only one in about 15 days, but it didn’t occur to me until this morning. I typically start feeling better almost immediately, so I’m hoping that the vitamins kick in quickly. I have a really busy week ahead of me that includes a couple more sessions of strength training, classes starting, another trip this weekend that is not for fun and will require me to think and I would like to fit in an hour of cardio each day. I need to be able to stay awake.

I’ve run across a bunch of bloggers participating in the hundred push ups training program and I think I’m going to give it a try, too. I pretty much hate the physical act, but I like that they make me feel strong and capable of doing something that I would’ve never been able to do 45 pounds ago. I also just really like challenges.

I’ve decided to do the initial test tomorrow. My upper body and shoulders are so sore today that I don’t feel like I’d get accurate results. I was able to do 32 knee push ups in one minute a few weeks ago when my trainer did a follow-up fitness evaluation, so I’m pretty excited to see what I can do. I plan to do standard (“good form”) push ups, so I’m hoping for at least half that.

(I wonder when the little voice in my head that tells me I can’t do these things because I’m too fat will go away? I just had to do two “good form” push ups to convince myself that I can even do them before publishing this post and committing to the challenge. I honestly don’t know where my fear comes from or why I always feel as if I’m not capable of doing something that I am apparently perfectly capable of doing. It really shouldn’t be surprising, but it always is.)

The top picture was taken sometime around the end of September 2006 and the bottom was taken yesterday.

I logically know that I’ve lost weight. The various scales I obsessively check and the three times smaller clothing I wear pretty much solidify the weight loss fact. I look at the pictures, though, and see very little difference, if any. I’m not unhappy with myself, generally, and don’t feel as if I’m losing weight simply for vanity, but I’d be lying if I denied that I looked at the picture taken yesterday and didn’t feel immense disappointment in the weight I haven’t lost.

I can’t believe that we didn’t start losing weight until January of this year. Losing weight was on my mind when the top picture was taken, but was definitely not a priority. I was having some serious denial issues.

I am reworking my goals for the rest of the year and hope to soon have another picture to add to the comparison that will reflect even further progress.

This is my problem and I’m sticking to it.

So maybe it’s not my only problem, but it seems like a convenient excuse at the moment. It seems much easier to convince myself of this than allowing recognition that my response to stress is to eat everything in sight.

I swear I feel what I imagine a drug addict would feel. I’m stressed, I’m an emotional mess and I’m having trouble controlling myself. I think about it when I’m eating cheetos at midnight and it seems like a nonissue. I think about it now and I feel absolutely ridiculous. Why can’t I control myself? What is wrong with me that makes me want to constantly eat? Why do I use food to make myself feel better? Of all the things available to me, why would I choose the worst (cheetos)?

I thought I’d be able to be strong throughout the past week with my family, but I failed miserably. I came home sick and had to eat antacids to make it through the night. I didn’t necessarily eat a lot of junk, I just ate larger quantities than I’m used to and ordered things at restaurants that I’d typically avoid. I also ate something dessert-ish every single day.

I’ve been home to sleep overnight twice in nine days (and am out of town again tonight) and it’s wearing on me. I’m making bad choices and I’m almost reluctant to think about what it will take to get myself into a better mental place. I wish I knew the secret to staying on track when my routine goes out the window and stress creeps in, but I don’t.

My effort to find something positive about the week: I had the foresight to schedule an appointment with my trainer at 2 on Friday, which meant I’d have to leave my mom’s house by 5am to make it home in time. I was completely exhausted and emotionally drained, but am very glad that I did it.

So. I’m feeling better.

I think I lost sight of why I’m doing what I’m doing and was instead focusing solely on the number on the scale. I will probably always feel frustrated when I see a stall or a gain, but I’m going to try to be more rational about it. It seems pretty ridiculous to beat myself up over something that I can easily change. I’m still dedicated, I’m still loving the exercise, I’m still wanting this and I’m ready to start focusing again on the positive aspects of the weight loss process. It’s crazy how a short trip away and the end of a stressful class helped to put things into perspective.

I ate a ton throughout the weekend, but we shared almost all of our meals. I have always been extremely resistant to do that in the past, but lately I’m finding it to be my preferred method when eating out. I am finding myself wanting smaller portions and am very reluctant to feel that miserable full feeling. This weekend was no exception despite eating at fabulous restaurants, which kind of shocked me.

I got much more movement in during this trip than I expected. We went to the gym before leaving on Friday even though I did NOT want to. We walked quite a bit on Saturday and did a short hike on a trail listed as moderately strenuous. I didn’t have any issues at all even though we’d been on our feet for hours at that point, so I was (and am) very pleased. We passed a couple of people who had stopped to catch their breath and/or just rest and they reminded me of how far I’ve come. My energy levels are so much higher now. There is just no way I would’ve been happy spending 5 hours on my feet. I would’ve whined my way through the entire day and I’m fairly positive I wouldn’t have even attempted the hike prior to losing some weight.

My trainer is back in town after being gone for two weeks, thank GOD. I didn’t realize just how much meeting with her keeps me focused. I can get to the gym and do a cardio workout because I enjoy it, but it seems like I still need her influence to stay on track with everything else. I thought that I might have a hard time since I’ve done no strength training at all during the two weeks, but this morning was fine. I will probably be sore tomorrow morning, but I actually miss that feeling. Blows me away.

I am extremely frustrated today and am having to convince myself that I will continue to lose weight, that I’m not destined to be fat forever, that I am having a minor setback and that the world is not ending.

I have concluded that I just can’t base my caloric intake on the numbers calculated for my body weight and activity level. I can easily maintain, but I can’t lose even if I stay within the losing range of calories. I have been tracking calories and WW points and have found that while I feel like I’m starving when eating the amount of WW points calculated, it’s the only method that works.

I am beginning to believe it’s the consistency. I might vary the calories between 200-300 per day given that I try to eat within a general range, but with WW I eat a strict number of points, which keeps the calories very consistent. This is the second time I’ve slacked on points and tried to rely just on calorie counting and it’s the second time I’ve had a complete weight loss stall.

I’m not even going to try to pretend that it’s just the method of keeping track of my food intake that’s causing problems. I’ve been eating a lot of junk the past few days. Tuesday was Mexican food that included cheese dip and a ton of chips, Wednesday was a 10pm trip to an ice cream place, etc. I’ve relaxed my standards, which is exactly what happened the last time I stopped counting points.  I’ve learned my lesson.

My frustration today stems from feeling like I’m going to be a slave to points and calories and food journals for the rest of my damn life. I’m just sick of it. I’m not so sick of it that I’m ready to quit, I’m just sick of having to think about this stuff. I’m sick of not being able to have ice cream without stress. I wondered that night, as I watched the other people with their ice cream and brownies and milkshakes, if they were silently evaluating their food choices for the day, their calories, their exercise and thinking about how it all fits together.

(This frustration also obviously means that I haven’t broken the weighing habit.)

I absolutely know that I shouldn’t weigh myself every morning. It’s a bad habit and I’m familiar with all of the reasons why it’s a bad habit, but it’s a habit I’ve been reluctant to break. The weight affects my day and my outlook, but not in a hugely detrimental way. It more or less keeps me on track. A gain typically motivates me and a loss typically motivates me even more. Seems like a win-win situation, right?

I weighed myself yesterday (Monday) morning and was the exact weight I’d been for the past couple of days. I was fairly upset because I expected to see a minimal loss given my exercise throughout the weekend. Prior to weighing I had been in bed thinking up numerous excuses for coming home after class vs. heading straight to the gym, but the weight changed my mind and boosted my motivation. Weighing myself worked to my advantage even though the scale didn’t reflect what I wanted it to.

I weighed this morning, again expecting a minimal loss, only to find that I am up 0.4. I was pissed. This gain did NOT motivate me. I swore that this is it. No more working out. No more counting calories. I calculate everything that goes into my mouth, I work out when I don’t want to, I try hard! I spent the morning having one hell of a pity party and wondering if any of it is worth the effort. I felt bad about myself and doubted my efforts. I started to wonder if my obsession with weighing myself might actually be unhealthy.

I didn’t go straight to the gym after class as I usually do, but I’m now planning to go tonight. I’m over it. I don’t understand what’s going on and will never understand, but I do know that persistence pays off. I spent 10 weeks fluctuating within a 10 pound range only to have those 10 pounds disappear seemingly overnight. Persistence and consistency made it happen, so I’m having to chant that to myself today.

I haven’t decided whether I should break the weighing habit permanently or not, but I have decided to give it a break for a week. The thought terrifies me, which just confirms this is something that I really need to do.