Category Archives: Uncategorized

This Year > Last Year

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It’s amazing the difference twelve short months can make. Just 365 little days…
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Last May, I was about 40 pounds heavier and a bunch of inches thicker. I was four pant sizes and two-three (depending on the store) shirt sizes bigger. I couldn’t dream of shopping in “normal” stores, save for the maternity section or the occasional tunic or dress that I fashioned into a form-fitting shirt (Yes, really. I did both).
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Last May I was uncomfortable wearing t-shirts and wouldn’t dream of wearing tank tops. No one wants to see all that flab flapping around. When I did finally start to wear tank tops, it was the biggest deal. I remember calling my mom as I stood at the big box hardware store wearing a sleeveless dress. I was nearly in tears I was so proud…and so terrifyingly self-conscious.
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Last May I didn’t leave the house without my hair and make up done, my outfit acceptably perfect. Why give the world another reason to judge me? I may be The Fat Girl but I would never dream of being The Ugly Fat Girl.

Last May I struggled to run for 30 seconds. I stuck mostly to the elliptical at the gym, because I was afraid of how unattractive and out of shape I’d look trying something new. I didn’t make eye contact and I stayed in the back row of my darkened spin class—the only group class I would attempt.
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But now?

This May, I’m still stuck in a seemingly never-ending weight loss plateau, but I’ve lost over 60 pounds in about a year, I’ve tightened and toned my body to the point where I sometimes like what I see in the mirror. I haven’t given up. I regularly shop at normal stores in mostly normal sizes. Sometimes, I even need to grab a smaller size.
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This May, I cry in dressing rooms because I can’t believe I fit in the size 14 shirt not because I have to grab the 3X.

This May, I’ve run a 5K race, with a goal of doing five more this year (three are on the calendar!). I’ve gotten my heavy body up on a paddleboard…while wearing a swimsuit. I’ve taken (and love!) a boot camp and a weights class—where I’m constantly uncomfortable and pushed to my physical and self-esteem limits.
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This May, I rarely wear makeup when I’m not at work or going out socially. I’ve stopped caring what I look like in the best possible way: I still want to look cute, obviously, but I no longer spend an hour getting ready to go to Target on a Saturday afternoon.
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This May, I wear t-shirts. And tank tops. And dresses that show off (most) of my legs.
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This May, I explore the world around me. I try new things. I put myself out there socially (something, I admit, I’m just starting to feel out). I’m less afraid of others, less afraid of myself.
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This May, I’ve mostly made peace with myself. As is, right now. Fat and all. The scale doesn’t define me, your opinion of me, and what fat girls should and should not do, doesn’t define me. I define me. And I like me. I’m proud of me.

This May, I can’t wait to see who I am next May.

I Make My Own Sunshine

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Today was exactly what I needed.

My behavior over the past month and a half has mirrored this Minnesota spring: gray, bleak, not a lot positive going on. On a rare day, we get glimpses of sunshine and warm air and I have a day where I workout, eat right, and feel like progress is being made. Every few weeks, like today, we get yet another snowstorm. The ice falls in sheets, the snow is whipped into a frenzy by cutting winds, and I sit inside, unmoving, feeling sorry myself, making countless poor choices.
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I need sunshine and green, I need fresh, warm air…and I need to stop making excuses, get off my butt, and get back on track. But all of that seems impossible as I stare out my window at the frozen muddy ground blanketed again in thick white.
Photo 18There’s been a fair amount of drama and change at my work lately that I’m—thankfully—not directly involved with. Now, I truly love my job, mostly because it provides me with the flexibility to focus on my weight loss (you know, when I actually used to do that on a consistent basis).

But if there’s one thing I hate, it’s workplace politics, drama, and all that other nonsense that leaves the average American bemoaning their career choice daily on social media outlets. I’ve been in that position before and it’s the most miserable, scary, self-defeating place to be. No, thank you. I’ve come way too far to go back to there.
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So as I was working from home this morning, avoiding the mid-April thundersnow as the locals were calling it (seriously, snow coupled with lightning and thunder), more drama filtered into my inbox. I immediately felt that same pit in my stomach that I’ve felt in the past. It infuriated me like you wouldn’t believe.

I don’t want to deal with the bullshit. I don’t want to live to work, as the saying goes, I want to work to live. I want to create, run, see, touch, feel. I want to travel. I want to be a stay at home momma or finally open my own little bakery/café. I want to be happy. I want a big, full life that doesn’t necessarily begin and end in a cubicle, or a life so big that it makes dealing with the cubicle walls a non-issue…

And that chain of thought was like the Universe kicking me in the butt, saying, “Duh! That’s what this whole journey is about!”

My life is not tied to career aspirations. Worrying over promotions with 2% pay raises, passive-aggressively whispering about co-workers behind their back. Ugh, NO. I used to subscribe to all of that, but now I don’t see a point in any of it. Life’s too short and I have too much I want to do and be.
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I want my life tied to family, friends, and living on my own terms. That’s what making a life is all about to me. And that all happens (fingers crossed) when I lose this weight, find my confidence, and get healthy—body, mind, and soul.

And now I’m ready again. I’m ready to make some of my own sunshine–this grey Minnesota weather be dammed.

Entrepreneur

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I’m in the business of making my life. I’m building an empire here, something that won’t be easily defeated. I started with nothing but heart and determination. No capital, no savings, no team to work with, nothing.

Building a business requires the hardest of hard work. It requires you to be a self-starter. No one’s going to hold your hand and pull you up to the top You have to get yourself up that damn mountain. By the bootstraps and all.

You have to hustle. You have to move like you stole it. Put your blinders on, keep a single focus on the end result. On getting that business in the black as soon as possible. There’s no letting your stakeholders down, no letting yourself down. You don’t get another chance here because you’ve invested everything you’ve got into this business of making your life. It’s a now or never, do or die situation.

The first quarter of 2013 was spent getting everything in order, closing the books on the tumultuous year that was 2012. Yes, I saw profits. My efforts paid dividends, but there was also a great deal of self-doubt, of uncontrollable uncertainty, of working with the wrong people in the wrong circumstances. Now, I’ve got my answers, I have my market research. The rest of 2013 will be spent expanding my brand, putting in late hours at the office, sharing my success story, monopolizing the market on how to build a life.

Shutting everything else out to just go.
Work. Build. Be.

I'm in the business of me, living the fullest life possible.

Ok, Universe. I Get It.

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You might say I had a bit of a moment the other day…

The day started with a coffee date with an old colleague of mine. She is one of those people who is super easy to talk to (about anything) and very straight forward. AKA my kind of people.

We eventually got on the topic of my weight loss and I shared that, depending on the day, I’ve shed about 60 pounds since last January. Like I always do, I downplayed the loss: 60 pounds is nothing, not when I see others both bigger and smaller than me doing much more amazing things with their own journey.

But, my colleague reminded me, 60 pounds in a year? That is amazing. That’s huge. You can’t discount that.

And she is right. In the grand scheme of what I’m trying to do here, 60 pounds is a mere drop in the bucket. But it’s a drop nonetheless–and drops add up. Scale numbers may remain the same day after day, week after week, but progress is being made in other ways—big and small.

And then the Universe decided that just in case I wasn’t getting the point, he/she/it would slap me upside the head with it.

I decided to treat myself to a new pair of black work pants since I was drowning in the pair I wore to work that day (yes!) While at the store, I decided that maybe a new Easter outfit was necessary. So, as I tend to do these days, I started grabbing everything cute in a bunch of different sizes. Just for fun.

Now, let me preface this by saying this particular store I went to never fits me right. Things tend to consistently run awkwardly small on me. Except for the boobs. Somehow the boobs are always gigantic…but I digress.
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The typical result I experience in the dressing room…

There I stood with an armful of pretty springtime clothes, popping with color. All in sizes I haven’t worn since…college? High school? Ever?

The first pair of pants I tried on, a size smaller than the ones I walked in wearing, fit like a freaking glove. I smiled.

The flowing pink dress and the yellow sheath dress (a style my hips never tolerated), both three sizes smaller than what I wore when I started this? I could have walked out the door in either of them. I smiled a bigger smile. Teeth and all.

The adorable coral and white stripped tunic that I was dying to wear with leggings? The smallest size there, a 14/16, was too big. Too. Big. Me and my perma-grin got a little giddy, did a little dressing room dance.

Finally, the mint chiffon shell with white beading. My hips also do not tolerate chiffon: it clings and does not stretch. So I started with the size I squeezed into last spring (and then had vented out the sides so my hips fit): a 22*. I was swimming in a sea of minty fabric. I could have fit two of me in it. Well, maybe me and a smaller man-friend…but I digress.

Then I tried the 20. Still treading water.

The 18? Nope.

The next available size, the smallest they carry, was a 14. As I was working the top off the hanger, I was chuckling at the absurdity of me even trying to get this garment over my head.

But then…the damn thing fit.

Except for the boobs. Of course. Damn things. But if that’s my biggest problem? I’ll take it!

That smile on my face was quickly accompanied by some big ol’ tears. I was having quite the ‘ah-ha!’ moment in that dressing room.

Ok, Universe. I get it. Just like the size of my butt, hips, stomach, arms (everything but my boobs) is changing, so is my life. Even when I feel like collapsing in a heap, even when I see that same damn number on that devil scale, I’m changing. I’m progressing.

I am making my damn life.

My boobs be dammed, I walked out of that store with that mint tank top in a size 14. Just because I could. Thanks, Universe. You’re a pal.

*Disclaimer: I’ve never “publicly” and purposefully disclosed my sizes/weight…big deal for me, guys!

PCOS? More Like POS, Am I Right?

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Because a bunch of you asked for it, I wanted to share more about my (limited) experience with PCOS and Hashimoto’s. This post is mostly about PCOS, since that’s what I’m being treated for right now (Is that what you do with PCOS? Treat it? Can you cure it? I know so little about this!) My apologies in advance for the wordiness and potential oversharing, but, hey. This is my experience, and you asked for it :)

First, let me say that PCOS is not a made up fat person’s disease. Let’s clear that up right now. Plenty of your typical skinny chicks have PCOS as well as plenty of us bigger gals. It’s an equal opportunity employer, guys. Though that stigma is quite the bitch. Also, I am not diabetic or even pre-diabetic. My just tested sugar levels are aces. Perfection, even. I know, I was surprised, too.

I say all of that because several people have had the gall to tell me that either PCOS is not a real thing or that I only have it because I’m fat. To them I say, hush your dang mouth. I don’t need you bringing that attitude to my life. I may not know what the hell is going on with my body right now, but I do know that I don’t have “the sugars” and the medical community is not making up diagnoses as part of a larger conspiracy.

What do I know about what’s going on? Well, I know this: Metformin, the medication I’m on to help deal with my PCOS, has been kicking my butt. My body is normally pretty tough and doesn’t really react adversely to much of anything…probably the reason why I’m the weight I am, huh?

Anyway, Metformin is typically used to treat diabetes, but more and more it’s being prescribed to help women with PCOS, especially those who are overweight, lose weight and gain normal ovary function (i.e. have normal periods/symptoms). I’ve been slowly upping my dosage of Metformin for the past three weeks, increasing by 500mgs each week.

Why have I been slowly increasing my dosage? Because, like I said, it’s kicking. My. Butt! The most common and disgusting side effect of Metformin is that it wreaks havoc on your tummy. The last three weeks have been full of constant nausea, vomiting, and several other not so pleasant and downright disgusting bodily functions. Let me tell you, it makes it very difficult to live your life when you have to excuse yourself to hit up the restroom every few minutes. My mom offered to buy me Depends. I took a day off work because I was afraid to leave my bathroom. I am a mess. Oh, and the hives! I oddly get hives on random parts of my body early in the morning and again late at night–right before I take the medication.

Is the medication working? I don’t know. Some experience change immediately, some say it takes months. My ongoing health concern, what led to both the PCOS and yet another thyroid diagnosis, has been that I think my hormones are the culprit in this weight loss wasteland. My PMS symptoms, which happen before, during, and after my actual period, have been out of control the past eight or nine months. I mean, the crying, the mood swings, the insane cramps…it’s been a nightmare.

This month, though, besides some serious exhaustion and overeating, they have actually been manageable. I haven’t been angry/crying/popping countless pimples…all signs of hormonal progress for me. I’m really looking forward to getting my workout and eating back on track so I can use April as a barometer for how things are or aren’t progressing.

So that’s that. March has been a rough one, as many of the past months have been. Not seeing progress on the scale, the anxiety I feel at having to see people who expect me to look different each time they see me…and I don’t…it’s all been weighing heavily on me and I feel myself buckling more and more under the weight of it each day. I mean, I’m not giving up. That just won’t ever be an option, I know that. But the motivation to press on even harder when you see no change for months? Almost a year? It’s becoming a bit unbearable.

But I’m looking forward to hopefully sharing more positive news with you all about this in April! Now, time to go think some positive thoughts, work out, and drink more water. Right? :)

Attitude Problem

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I’m not a big believer in the notion that everything happens for a reason. I’m far too cynical and jaded, and there’s far too much inexplicable evil in this world.

When we’re presented with any sort of negative, painful situation, from the mundane everyday to the tragic, we often feel completely immobilized. Like, making any sort of effort to address or rectify the issue is too much effort. We let it overwhelm us, we let it bury us, we push it down, we ignore its presence. And while some of these problems are beyond our control, there is one thing we can always control, no matter the problem: our response to the situation.
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As a long-time Negative Nelly, this is not how I’ve typically viewed the bad bits of life. I used to submerge myself fully in the “woe is me” attitude and a box of donuts. Now, though, I figure what’s the point of that? The situation is going to suck no matter what, so you might as well look for something good in it.
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Look at these moments as opportunities for growth, a chance to push yourself, make yourself uncomfortable. Too often we do get bogged down by these things that seem scary. In reality, though, if you take just one step, make one move to attack these so-called problems, you’ll realize that A) they aren’t as awful as they seem and B) you usually learn a bit (or a lot) about yourself in the process. That you’re stronger than you thought. That you can get through it, you can do it…whatever it may be.
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So, while I don’t know that I’ll ever buy into the idea that the Universe or whatever God-like being you worship is flawless and has a plan for everyone and everything and on and on, I do believe that when situations are presented to us that are challenging, scary, or sometimes, unfortunately, devastating, there is always a lesson to learn. While these moments may or may not be happening for a reason , they are certainly happening as an opportunity for you to alter your perception. For you to grow.

Choose to see the positive in the negative. Choose to take action. To make yourself as uncomfortable as humanly possible. Put yourself out there. Re-examine your preconceived notions and perceptions. Find the opportunity in every impossibility.

Facing Fears

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url-1If there’s something you’re afraid of, feel the fear and do it anyway.

This is the mantra I’ve been trying to live by more and more lately in both big and small ways. My self-esteem has long been MIA. As I’m starting to inadvertently recognize myself in moments of change and growth, I’m pushing myself to purposely push myself—put myself out there, try new and scary things.

To wit, last week, a friend convinced me to try a boot camp class at our gym. My understanding of what boot camp would entail boiled down to this: a ridiculously challenging hour of moving my body in new and uncomfortable ways in front of people I don’t know who would judge and stare. AKA one of my least favorite ideas ever.

For the most part, this class was exactly that. It was crazy hard—burpee after burpee after burpee (side note: at one point, my friend turned to me and said, “Lord, I hate burpees.” To which I replied, “Me, too. But you know what I hate more? Being fat.” Amen!) Also, I’m a sweater (as in, I sweat a lot. I’m not a warm shirt made of wool), and that was embarrassingly obvious during the course of this class. There also happened to be a fair number of men in this class. Thankfully they weren’t all that attractive, but they were men nonetheless. And the lights were on in this class, and the walls are lined in mirrors, and I’m not one who easily blends in with the popsicle stick gym girls. I felt incredibly on display and incredibly uncomfortable.

For about five minutes.

Everyone was there to work hard. They weren’t there to look good, to flirt, or to stare at one another. We were all there to sweat and challenge our bodies. And that we did.

While I definitely struggled with a few of the moves, so did everyone else. But, unexpected bonus, I had moments of feeling proud when I noticed myself running faster than skinnier girls and  picking up heavier weights than some of the guys.
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As I was walking out after class, a girl stopped me and informed me that she had been admiring my body during the class. Okay… She started talking about how all the women in her family are shaped like me, with the big butt and hips. She continued on for a few moments, making me feel more and more uncomfortable. Then, she stopped and said, “Basically what I’m saying is that once you reach your goal, you are going to have the most bangin’ body. I know plenty of women who would kill for what you’ll have.”

My point in all of this is twofold: first, people don’t think about you nearly as much as you think they do. And if they are thinking about you, it’s not necessarily always negative. Maybe they’re just admiring your soon-to-be bangin’ bod.

Secondly, and on a related note, always, always do the things that scare you most. Whether it’s a boot class at the gym, tackling an overwhelming project at work, or finally being able to make eye contact with strangers (more on that later), simply taking some sort of action rather than continuing to worry and analyze always pays off. Always.