Ah, obsession. Obsession with clean eating, meal planning, my BodyBugg… I wake up in the morning and have a need to check my stats. I am logging each and every meal and comparing what I eat to my expended calories. I weigh and measure each and every morsel.
The old familiar obsession that feels oh so normal.
You know, the proverb “Ask and You Shall Receive” is dead on. I was all confused and verklempt yesterday about what to do, how to do it, yadda yadda yadda… and then as soon as I finished blogging, the motivation flooded in. I checked my FB page, and there were all these posts from women on the Black Women Do Workout page, posting about their inspiration for losing weight and feeling their best. Then I scoot on over to ECD.com… tons and tons of “grasp the new year by the balls” posts from the awesome chicks on there. Talk about a kick in the ass!
And then… I proceeded to just do it. Eat right. Plug in and strap on the Body Bugg. Log my meals and count my calories. I mean, shit. What was so friggin’ hard about that? Why be confused? Y’all should have seen me – I was in here boiling 3 dozen eggs, defrosting tilapia, and making my famous strawberry/spinach/soy smoothie while crafting the perfect meal and exercise plan for my schedule. Easy as pie.
Sometimes, you just need a kick in the ass.
Yeah. Okay. Let’s talk about me falling off the horse. Deep breath… but a quick story first.
The guy I’m dating is on an exercise mission. He’s so damn cute. We had been talking about how he was getting bored with the gym (which took him off his routine), and how a friend had recently set up a fitness bootcamp near his house. He switched to the bootcamp, added a cross-fit class, and now he’s hooked. He’s even got the “Lose It” app for his iPod Touch and is logging each and every meal, workout, drink… did I mention how cute he is? Friggin’ adorable.
But I digress.
His dedication to this path has me jealous, actually. Where he is is where I was just a little while ago. I’m even a little (okay, a lot) reluctant to read my own damn blog and see how focused I was. Between the BodyBugg obsession, the Power 90/rebound two-a-days, the clean eating fanaticism, I was in heaven. But now, I feel lost. I’m back at that place where I cannot wrap my head around what I am supposed to do… and that makes no sense, especially since I just typed out what I’m supposed to do! Sometimes, Carla, all I can do is shake my head at you.
I know the first step is blogging about my current state of confusion. Getting clarity by blogging daily will lead me back to my path of righteousness. I love that feeling of exercise obsession, but so much has happened in the last couple of weeks to knock me off my routine. How can an ingrained Virgo who salivates at the idea of all things quotidian and structural learn to “go with the flow” when things shift?
How do I get back to my heaven and keep that state, no matter what?
I remembered that I hadn’t fulfilled the promise of doing an HCG review after I finished the first round. My bad, people! I was in deep-seated emotional turmoil!
All-in-all, the HCG was a success. I lost 22 pounds and a little more than 8 inches in 40 days. I could have lost much more, but towards the end of the round, I was eating anything that was not nailed down. When I was following the protocol to the letter, I was losing about 1.25 pounds a day without hardship. Bliss, I tell you.
Here are some of the major discoveries I made while taking the drops:
1. I wasn’t as hungry as I thought I would be. 500 calories a day can be surprising (a.k.a. frighteningly impossible) to most people, but it wasn’t that hard. Yes, my stomach would grumble, but it was more of a notification of a bodily function instead of a call to dinner. Mostly, I just ignored it.
2. Just like when switching to clean eating, you have to be uber-prepared. Like, UBER, people. You do not want to be out in the world of fast-food and nonsense without a packed lunch tote. It was important to take the extra step of prepping my food each morning (or evening, depending) and setting my drops/food alarms on the trusty iPhone to ensure nothing was ever missed. You can tell my Virgo-like tendencies need that kind of structure.
3. The only major setback was not using products with oils while on the drops. I am a product JUNKIE, folks. There’s nothing my skin likes better than a good body butter, and, since growing my hair out, I’m all experimental when it comes to conditioners, pomades, and natural hair care. All that goes out the window on HCG. I mean, I’m sure there are people who still use the stuff, but I didn’t. I even switched to a natural deodorant and used Dove sensitive-skin soap as I wanted to leave nothing to chance. For my hair, I found an HCG-approved leave-in conditioner spray (Biolage) and used an aloe-based shine agent. For my skin, I used plain-old mineral oil. Yes, I walked around ashy for 40 days, but hey. No one said sacrifices weren’t necessary.
4. For someone who cherishes their bathroom “elimination” time, I was heartbroken by the amount of constipation I experienced. I’m now doing the Dr. Natura cleanse just to get my backed-up system back to normal. Ugh! That was THE biggest drawback for me. Not the 500 calories, not the lack of products with added shea butter… the lack of SHIT.
Again, basically, it was a success. I was willing to try it for 26 days, and then found that extending to the full 40 was worth it. It was hard as shit to take on the drops during the holidays, but I made it through semi-unscathed. In February, I’m going to do another 40 day round.
Today I stepped on the scale and stared at the number. 240.2. That’s 31.2 pounds gone since I started this puppy.
Everyone associates certain numbers with certain things. When I was in Oregon last year, I remember being frustrated that the scale only read 242 after months of being vegan, rebounding and Bikram yoga (of course, there was lots of fast food in there too, but I wasn’t paying attention to that). Three ago, when I was living with my ex-boyfriend and we had decided to go on a serious exercise kick (or, HE decided for us and I reluctantly plodded along), I stepped on the scale and was 233. Several years ago, after a five-day fast, I stepped on the scale and was 228. That was probably the lowest weight I had been since college, when I was about 180.
I can easily remember where I was and who was around me at each of these weight points. Most importantly, though, I remember that I wasn’t quite happy. I was doing these things because I thought they would work or I wanted to please someone (mostly that) or I was frustrated with my life… some bullshit reason. And, no matter WHAT I did, there was always some form of fast food I was craving and/or diving head first into, despite my “efforts”.
I put “efforts” in quotations because really, I was just bullshitting. I see that now. I wasn’t working out as hard as I could have or with any true consistency. I would go for a couple of weeks eating “right”, and then have a total self-induced food orgy. There was no real balance in my mind, body or spirit.
That’s not true of me today. I am more even than I ever have been, and I think that’s why it’s been easier than before to shed the weight. I no longer think of food as this major crutch to get me through WHATEVER. I see, more than ever, that clean food + exercise + water = weight loss.
31.2 pounds. Holy shit. 100 pounds still feels like a long way to go; it still feels like a huge number. But how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.
I was walking down the hallway to the ladies room. A co-worker, walking towards me from the other end of the hall, stops about 100 feet away and asks, “are you shrinking?”
I didn’t quite hear her (… yeah, right), so I asked her to repeat herself.
She said, “Not that you were heavy to start with (bless her deluded heart!), but lately, you seem to be shrinking!”
Yeah, buddy.
So yesterday, I admit, I had a moment. We’re not going to call it a panic attack or anything, but it was a bit melodramatic. I blogged about how I was afraid of Thanksgiving with my family, about how I was afraid I wasn’t over my food addiction, about my weekend food obsession… blah blah blah. Like I said. Melo. Fucking. Dramatic.
After the blog spew, I curled up with the book “Women, Food and God”. I’m interested in reading further after the first two chapters, but I couldn’t really get out of my own head, so I fell asleep. When I woke up this morning, I was greeted with tons of supportive comments, which (let’s face it) is an awesome thing to wake up to. It’s cool when people know where you’re coming from and can kick you in the hindparts with love and affection. However, this comment from Amacuba takes the cake:
“OK girl. Get a snazzy broach to firmly clasp that cape you wear to your throat. Feel it fluttering in the wind behind you. Stand up, stomach in, boobs out, kick-ass high heeled boots making your ass look FIERCE, and, symphony swelling in the background, yell with all your heart and soul, “I AM NOT FOOD’S BITCH! I WILL NOT WORRY ABOUT HOW ANYONE FEELS ABOUT MY LIFESTYLE! I AM DOING THIS FOR ME, NOT FOR ANYONE ELSE!!!”
I laughed hysterically. Amacuba (a.k.a. Manda-Bunny) is my ace-boon-coon from ECD.com. She’s a riot, and we are constantly Inboxing behind the scenes. Her comment struck me to the core – in addition to reminding me that I am not food’s bitch (LMAO… again!), she reminded me to laugh at myself. I mean, what am I doing? This is not as hard as I am making it out to be. I was freaking out about the anticipated freak out, when there IS no freak out to anticipate!
I know you know what I meant…
We make such a big deal about the holidays and holiday eating. But I forgot to practice what I preach: it’s a lifestyle change. One day will not make or break me. And why am I thinking that I’m going to go overboard and eat a bunch of junk? First of all, my family doesn’t MAKE junk. Second, I know my stomach by now. It won’t even let me tolerate the madness! Third… so what if I eat? Will that totally derail me? No. Will I get right back on plan on Friday? Yeppers. Why? Because I know this way of eating – of LIVING – is what’s right for me. I’ve lost thirty fucking pounds. I’ve BLOGGED about it. Bared my soul to cyberspace. I’m not going to throw it all away now and begin shoving McDonald’s into available orifices. (Ugh! The visual! Sorry about that…)
Sometimes, you just need someone to remind you of how silly your mind wants to make it all out to be. But it’s a new day, and my snazzy broach is firmly affixed at my throat. The cape is flying (the one with the big EC on it). I’m standing in my high-heeled stiletto boots. Stomach in, boobs out, and I’m yelling at the top of my lungs….
Yeah. You got it.
I have the book, Women, Food & God at home, but I haven’t picked it up yet. I heard from a second-hand source that it’s all about food addiction, so I am eager to read it to see if I’ll be able to pick up some pointers. I believe I am/was/am addicted to food, and I need to get over this.
I know that I WAS addicted to food when I first started this whole thing. I remember clearly the feeling of trying to fight the food urge, and the simultaneous feeling of relief and shame when I gave in to McDonald’s or Baja Fresh or Wendy’s. I hated that feeling. It made me ashamed of myself. Since beginning this program, there has been so much less of that, as clean eating makes me feel wonderfully guilt-free. Even the strict 500-cal HCG plan makes me feel great, because it’s a means to an end. But when I have a cheat day, the guilt and angst return.
This feeling comes up in me for three reasons – first, I was way off my eating this weekend. Second, my family, albeit supportive generally, has started making “comments” about my eating lately. Third, I’m worried about Thanksgiving. Really worried.
Let’s tackle ’em one by one.
After the 5K this weekend, I had Popeye’s chicken and fries. I was STARVING after the walk, and was ill-prepared, food-wise, for all the time that public transportation took to get anywhere. By the time we hit the Popeye’s, “fuck it” was my general attitude. PLUS, I just came on my cycle, which I know didn’t help my hunger pangs or attitude. Sunday, the cramps and the home-alones didn’t help the situation any. When I weighed having broiled tilapia against delivered pizza, the pizza won out. I did better than expected, having a small pizza and drinking a gallon of water instead of a larger pie with some sugary drink, but excuses, excuses. Over the course of the day, I had the pizza. It was delicious, yeah, but the after-guilt is kicking my ass.
My family has started making small comments about my eating. I am not a fan of this turn, people… not a fan at all. They are giddy over my weight loss, but when I say I can’t eat this or that, I’m starting to get the rolled eyes and the snide comments. I mean, what the fuck? When did this happen? Maybe it’s getting to me more because I’m mid-cycle short-fusing, but still. I dread the whole “we have to have a conversation about this” feeling that’s coming up in me. I mean, we HAVE talked about this. They should just be supportive, period. No one likes when I go all hermit-like, but I will in a heartbeat to avoid any bullshit.
And that brings up Thanksgiving. I have a small family, and we LOVE to relax, break out a board game, put the DVDs into rotation, and eat some great food. My aunt makes a 7-Up cake that will make you smack somebody, and the rest of the Thanksgiving eats are equally scrumptious. We’re not a “junk food” Turkey Day crowd, but there is plenty of hummus and crackers, mushroom soup, my world-famous collards (made with olive oil and plenty o’ seasonings), etc.
None of which is on the HCG program.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to derail my success thus far, but I also don’t want to hear my family’s collective mouth if I don’t eat or bring something else to eat. I mean, I know people reading this will say to go ahead and have the damn food, just don’t go overboard. I hear and appreciate that, but especially after eating this weekend, do I do it? I’m driving myself crazy with all this fucking food thinking!
Which brings me back to the food addiction thing. This is why I think I’m still there… I think about food WAY too much. It’s really bothering me. Many people could just have a day with their families, eat the damn food, and then get back on track the next day. Why am I freaking out about this so badly? I think it’s because of the fact that I thought about food so much this weekend – when my day is quiet, that’s when the food shit comes up in me. When I’m busy, it’s not a problem. But downtime sucks. SUCKS! it hit me like a freight train, too. Caught me completely off-guard, because I haven’t been hungry at all during the HCG. There’s all this stuff about HCG and your period, but I ignored it. DAMN!
I am trying to relax about this, but I’m freaking out a bit. What I want is to keep going. This is the smallest I have been in about 2 years. I do NOT want to fuck this up.
For the first time in, well, maybe my whole life, I am falling in love with my body.
Before now, I never recognized what an awesome body I had when I was younger. Before college, in college, in my twenties… I was completely oblivious to how people looked at me. I alwasy thought I was fat because I was the biggest/tallest of all my friends. I never appreciated my body, and I grew older, this turned into a severe case of separation anxiety. I separated my head from the rest of my frame and only paid attention to what was above the collarbone. I hated looking in mirrors, and I hated taking pictures below the neck.
I feel like this is all changing now.
I have a long way to go, sure, but now I’m beginning to look at my body differently. Especially my lower body – of late, I hadn’t been in love with my thighs or butt, and I downright hated by belly. I’d do whatever I could to hide the lower half of me. Now, however, I find myself really admiring my thighs. My butt hasn’t been my strong suit in the past, but now, I’m starting to see how I can change that through weights and lunges and stuff. In the meantime, I’m kinda digging how cute it is! My tummy’s smaller, so even thought our relationship was dysfunctional in the past, I see signs that we’re on the mend.
I see my body being reshaped. I see the fat pockets and the cellulite leaving me. I see my limbs as long, smooth extensions of the whole of me, and instead of rushing past the mirror in the morning, I take that extra second to look. To REALLY look at my whole body and appreciate the curves I see. That mirror time is my time to wonder how it’s all going to look when it’s flatter or rounder or cut or tighter. I’m not scared to look at it. I don’t criticize it. I see all of me, not just the parts I didn’t like.
I can honestly say that, for the first time ever, I love my body. Not for what it will be (as I will love that, too), but for what it is and looks like right now.
I love my body.
I was putzing around the house this morning and thought… “Hey! When’s the last time I took my measurements?” So I break out the measuring tape and get to work. After all was said and measured, I’m down 20 inches, total, from the start of this project, and have lost almost 9 inches since last I measured. This is WITH the 8 pound gain from a few weeks ago! I mean, I’ve almost gotten rid of that gain, but the fact that the measuring tape is showing the shrinkage is BOSS!
Yeeeeaaaaaaahhhhh, boyeeeeeeeee!
Wishing Aint Doing 