Tag Archives: motivation

This Year > Last Year

Posted on by

2

It’s amazing the difference twelve short months can make. Just 365 little days…
IMG_20130424_123726

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).
20120815_174956

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.
IMG_20120410_185801

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.
20130422_161453

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.
20120702_180203

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.
20120923_082217

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.
20120818_084955

This May, I wear t-shirts. And tank tops. And dresses that show off (most) of my legs.
20120714_132145
20130506_160351

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.
IMG_20130507_121706 20130427_094733

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

Posted on by

2

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.
Photo 15

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.
fe79ddac4d10fd712935058f2f633f53

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.
7593450312_8c6a61695f_z

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.

Stop Starting

Posted on by

0

I’m guilty of making excuses, over and over…

The weather is bad.

I don’t want to deal with rush hour traffic.

I’m too tired—rest is important, too!

I can start fresh tomorrow.

I’m too busy.

I need to clean my house—I can’t deal with anything else until that is straightened out.

Etcetera.

Etcetera.

Working out consistently has been a constant struggle for me on this journey. But I’ve learned a few things throughout this struggle. Perhaps the most importnat thing I’ve learned? Don’t pay attention to what anyone else is doing. Fit your workout to you.

For example, I know that if I don’t get up for  a morning workout, I’m going to struggle to work out after work. I’ll make one of the above excuses and have little problem convincing myself it’s valid. And then one day of skipping turns into an entire week. And then I start making bad food choices. And then the guilt sets in. And then I’m screwed. It’s a vicious cycle and a very real problem, friends. One I’ve been stuck in for quite some time.
free-1

But if I drag my behind to the gym at the crack of dawn, even if it’s for a super quick, half-assed workout, that small action sets the tone for my entire day: I make healthier choices across the board, I’m happy, have more energy, and I’m even more prone/inspired to knock out a second workout after work. And the pride I feel in that successful day makes it that much easier to roll it all into the next day, and then the next day…

So, my point is do what works for you, but do something. We think that we have to be perfect, or perform in a certain way to be successful. We have to follow this person’s example, workout for this many minutes because Betty Bootcamp did. But, no, you don’t.
f94dc85ec80729493dbf9a07d7735291

Just get up and move. Try new, fun things. Fail at them and try something else. If you can’t stand the treadmill, as most of us can’t, screw up the courage to hit a group class at your gym. Or, weather permitting, get outside. Put your headphones, sunglasses, and hat on and you can pretend the world doesn’t exist (not to mention the vitamin D and overall mental health boost you’ll get from all that sunshine soaked, chirping bird beauty). If you aren’t feeling the work out you’ve got scheduled, switch it up to something that does seem fun—even if you’re going to burn less calories or exert yourself less. Just move more and do what fits with your mood, your day, your schedule.

Make the most with what you have where you are. 

Ok, Universe. I Get It.

Posted on by

1

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.
Stuck

stuck 2

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!

Yes, I Am

Posted on by

0

url-2Often, Amanda, simply showing up is enough.

Because the friends, abundance, and health you now dream of possessing have long been in place.

Because the coincidences, surprises, and serendipities that will transform your life already lie in wait for your passing.

And because little else could speak louder of your belief in success than physically putting yourself in a position to receive.

It’s fun to stay at the YMCA,
The Universe

P.S. Not to mention, Amanda, we can hardly wait to see that look of shock and delight on your little human face.

March Goals

Posted on by

0

Woo hoo! We survived February: the worst of all the months! It’s March and we’re that much closer to spring and sunshine and warmth and the ability to be outside without the possibility of losing appendages!

February was a rough one for my goals as well. Surprise! I didn’t achieve any of them!

Well, it’s a new month and I’m newly motivated to move past my recent health drama. I think I’ve been struggling because I’ve been floundering with no answers, no guidance, no clue as to why my body is being such a little b-word. Now that I know what’s up, I feel ready to start working to defeat it. I’m looking forward to the hard work–an awesome feeling :)

37858453087242964_CxzlqiG9_c

Goals for March

1. 1,000 calorie burn each day
2. Complete my food journal each day
3. Run 3 times per week
4. Try a new gym class
5. Compliment myself every day

And finally…a month without alcohol! It’s recommended that I avoid alcohol while on my new medication, so…I’ll miss my BFF vodka, but I think it’ll be a good way to keep the extra carbs/cals in check.

As always, I’d love for you to join me! Pick a few goals from my list, or come up with your own, then share your list in the comments below.

Fat Is…

Posted on by

9

Being fat is alot of things.

It’s frustrating, infuriating embarrassing, a turn-off. A barrier, a burden. Isolating and ever-present. Uncomfortable.At the same time, it’s entirely too comfortable. You find comfort in the uncomfortable. Over and over, until the days melt into years and you find yourself looking back, wondering what in the hell happened.

100_0566When you’re fat you learn to deal. With a lot. You learn avoidance and coping mechanisms. You laugh at yourself before someone else can. You learn to shut down emotionally, as your body begins the agonizing process of shutting down physically. Easy becomes your middle name–and not in that way.

You crack jokes about getting your cardio in while shimmying into new jeans in the fitting room. True story.

109_0462_1.JPG222

109_0726You sit at home, alone, surrounded by grease-stained packages and wrappers, empty plates and bowls, waiting for the stomach ache, and even more, the empty ache, to subside.

You mull over and over your own little mental scrapbook of moments. Mainly moments of full-on humiliation. Like the guy who texted his wife about how huge you were as he sat next to you on the airplane, breathing on you, taking more than his share of the armrest.
232323232fp53253>nu=9--;>-63>239>WSNRCG=34343553-232-nu0mrjDSC02494_editedOr the time you fell through the rickety wooden chair at a family wedding, the noise of the splintering wood reverberating loudly across the marble hall as all eyes turned to the fat girl sprawled and red faced on the floor.

You recall breaking your foot in 10th grade and allowing it to be the excuse that ends you tenure as a high school athlete–the only thing keeping the beast in check.

You live with the constant and soul-crushing disappointment you feel in not having the typical adolescent experience, in not giving your parents the experience of raising a typical adolescent. No prom, no breaking of curfew, no steady stream of boyfriends nervously ringing your doorbell.

That poor, poor horse...

That poor, poor horse…

Picture 299

You can never fix that, can never go back. You can never give that back to them. Or yourself.

You worry that disappointment will extend to your future. You may never walk down the aisle with your dad. Never give your parents grandkids. Never get to raise your own typical adolescents.

When you’re fat you feel all this, you live all this, day in and day out.

232323232fp53246>nu=9--;>-63>239>WSNRCG=3434357-;932-nu0mrjYou. Alone.

And you become numb. You float along, achingly, miserably content in your non-existent existence. Comfortable.

But nothing changes if you’re comfortable…

Being fat is alot of things. But mostly, it’s easy in the worst possible way. Easy to continue on the same extra-wide path you’ve cleared for yourself. Easy to lie still, unmoving, afraid to breathe, think, or speak lest you stir up the pain.

Though, while life may be a lot of things, for a fat person, it’s never truly easy. Not in the ways you want.

So you’ve got to push. Extra hard. You’ve got to stir things up. Take the impassible, difficult roads. Make yourself consistently uncomfortable.
Photo 2 Photo 3 Photo 4

Because change happens in that uncomfortable space. Your life is waiting in that uncomfortable space.