You look Flab-uous!

In a completely non-creepy, Silence of the Lambs way, I would just like to say that it would be highly beneficial on many levels if I could take the extra skin I am sporting as a result of this weight loss, and turn it into something useful, like a cool handbag or a pair of shoes. This shit is wackadoo freakish and I don’t dig it in the least.

On the top half of my arms it's total I-will-rock-your-universe-if-you-mess-with-me muscle thanks to yoga and the Shakeweight (yes, I own one and love it!). I will arm wrestle you Sylvester Stallone style with my hat turned backwards, ala the movie Over the Top and flex awkwardly to show you were the gym is on occasion. And if I can’t take you down with my super human girl muscles, I can flip it and smack you upside the head with the elephant-like skin hanging off the bottom of my arm like a fleshy stalker. Because the bottom of my arm will salute you with the eternal wave. It’s that flabby, leftover, extra skin that has nowhere to go and “hangs” around waving for days even after you have lowered your arm. And it’s pissing me off.

Don’t get me started on the beanbag attached to my lower abdomen. While my ribs are now present once again, and my tummy has gone down considerably, I am now wrestling with the extra, stretch marked skin that has formed a home in the shape of pizza dough at the bottom of my stomach. It is smushy and fun to play with, but I do not like that it hangs low, or that I can swing it to and fro. I do not want to tie it in a knot. I do not want to tie it in a bow. I will not throw it over my shoulder like a continental soldier…..ok, I’m done. But seriously, where is the justice in this? It’s a constant reminder of what I did to my body. No amount of yoga or running or pleading with the gods will make it go away. And I have to learn to be ok with it. Or buy lots of Spanx and just fake it.

Now, I’m not complaining….oh wait, yes I am! But it’s a little bit defeating that despite working out 5 days a week and following all the rules I don’t have the guns of a previous Biggest Loser contestant. I just want my body to reflect the time I am putting in to be better and to look better. On the same scale, I do appreciate the fact that I am healthy again. It’s not to say sometimes I wouldn’t trade some of my healthiness for a buff body with abs of steel and an ass you could bounce a quarter off, but I digress.

Back in the day, ya know when I was the size of a small house, I had a GREAT ass. A fat ass, but still a great one. It garnished its share of whistles and dirty compliments, and while it couldn’t always fit into a chair, it was still a pretty nice ass. Now, it’s flat, and a little saggy, and if I wear the wrong underwear, I not only get panty lines but I also have the honor or sporting four butt cheeks. Now, that’s sexy! I went from having an ass that was, let’s say “prominent” enough to be able to rest your coffee cup on to an ass that can no longer hold up a pair of jeans without a belt.

There are so many things about myself that I am still getting used to. Like the fact that I now have normal boobs again. No more 44DD’s for this girl. Now I have to rock my little 34C-cup with pride. And buy bras with super-human-push-up-powers to make it look like I still have a set of twins that you want to motorboat. On the flip side, at least now my boobs stick out further than my stomach so I guess I should shut up and be happy with that. Or with that fact that my boobs aren’t so deflated that I look like the December cover of National Geographic.

These are just some of the changes I am learning to appreciate and accept about myself. It’s not always easy and sometimes I hesitate to share all the gruesome details, but it’s my journey and my story to tell and if I can’t be honest and real about what it felt like, I always run the risk of forgetting and ending up right back where we started. And can you imagine what it would look like to re-inflate this balllon??

On that note, Merry Christmas to all!

WTFat?

Every once in awhile, my body speaks to me.

Sometimes, it says “Hey, good job being less fat! Let me allow you to button those jeans!”

Other times, like last week, it says, “Hey dumbass! While I appreciate your efforts at being more ninja and less flabby, if you don’t relax, hydrate and feed me, I am going to donkey punch you right in the baby maker and force you to lie down!”

I had a rather scary and unpleasant experience with low blood pressure for a few days. Basically, anytime I sat up, stood up, opened OR closed my eyes, or even attempted to move my head, the whole world got blurry and spun like I was on some demented merry-go-round while knocking back Tequila shooters. And while I do enjoy a good Tequila buzz and the occasional amusement park ride, this was not a good time for me. It forced me to come out of downward facing dog, turn off the treadmill, eat a nice salty meal and drink water until my kidneys were dancing the cha cha alongside my bloated bladder.

As my one year “birthday” approaches, my mind is clouded with thoughts and feelings regarding who I am as I lose weight and take back control of my life. There are days I almost forget I’m not that person anymore, so when I put on a pair of skinny jeans or put my hands on a waist where you can no longer pinch extra skin, it seems very surreal to me and takes me a second to adjust.

Let me break this down for you like this. In 9 months I have:

Lost 140 pounds.

Lost 15” from my bust.

Lost 17” from my waist.

Lost 16” from hips.

Gone down an entire shoe size.

Seems crazy, right?

Look here:


















I basically sweated and pooped out an entire human being. Nine months ago I may as well have been carrying my 10 year old son around on my back all day long. Yet when I try to swing a 20-lb kettle ball over my head I still feel like I might die. At least now I can do yoga without crying and I can run without my ass bouncing around like two pigs fighting under a blanket.

Now, you may want to take a moment to call the WHAAAAA-mbulance because I am about to whine and be a total ASSHOLE when I tell you how HARD this has been for me. When I started out, all I wanted was to lose 100 pounds. I have a photo of me on Facebook and the caption under the photo reads “50 Pounds Gone! Halfway there!” and I remember being SO proud of myself. 140 pounds later I wonder how I ever thought 100 pounds would have been enough. Then I wonder, what will be enough? When I lose another 25 pounds I will weight what I did when I graduated high school. Will that be enough? I feel almost unstoppable some days. Like, if I did this in 9 months, just imagine what I could do with another 9! Typically, you lose all the weight you will have lost within the first 18 months so if that is true I could achieve goals I never would have imagined for myself. But at what cost? My health? My sanity?

Because, if I am being really honest with myself, food and exercise are becoming an all consuming obsession. And in a completely different way than they were 9 months ago. If I am not researching the nutritional info in food or planning my meals, I am researching info on yoga, doing yoga, running or thinking about how much running I will have to do to burn off the food I spent all day researching, making and eating. Should I feel guilty for the chocolate I treated myself to or for the skinny caramel macchiato I just had to have after a long week?

Where do I find that happy balance?

When do I stop and allow myself to really be proud of what I have done?

When can I take a compliment without feeling embarrassed?

When is enough, enough?

And most importantly, will I figure it out before I exhaust myself and cause harm?

Eat me.

The day I have dreaded most is finally here. The day I remember what it feels like to be hungry and to want to eat for no reason at all. At almost 9 months and 130 pounds post surgery I find myself sitting at my desk wanting to graze and snack all day long even when I am not hungry. Like an alcoholic with coin in his pocket, standing in front of his favorite bar, I sit here in misery craving a Twix bar or a bag of chips to satisfy a non-existent hunger. I know what you are thinking: So, have a Twix bar or a small bag of chips, right? Well, I have and the craving….it’s still there.

At night, when dinner is cleaned up and put away and the kids have gone to bed and I finally get to sit down and relax, my first instinct is to look for something crunchy and salty, or melty and chocolately to stick into my piehole. It’s like all the ugly and compulsive desires to overeat and devour unhealthy food is sneaking up on me like a bad yeast infection on your wedding day.

I CANNOT go back to being that person. I would rather die than every try to squeeze into a booth at a restaurant or buy slip on shoes rather than ones that tie to avoid bending over ever again. I like being able to see my feet without having to lean forward. I like crossing my legs and buying pants that don’t have to be folded in half to fit on a clothes hanger. I like having only one chin and I like wearing clothes whose size don’t equal my age. Shouldn’t that be enough to stop the urge to binge eat? One would think so, yet here I sit with a skinny angel on one shoulder holding a fat free cheese stick, and a fat little devil on the other shoulder offering me a bite of his ice cream. That devilish little bastard is heavy and loud and keeps spilling drops of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey down my blouse.

I have replaced sitting on the couch, downing a bag of Doritos while watching Maury for yoga and running but something has got to give because while the surgery and the exercise will keep me losing for a little while longer, eventually time, age, life and mini chocolate bars will get the best of me and I have worked way too hard to ever let that happen again.

Take this job and shove it...not really, but it's catchy!

I swear, I have not fallen off the face of the earth, or into a giant vat of ice cream (as much as that sounds like a purely delightful way to go), but rather I did the unthinkable. I got a J.O.B. That’s right, it was time to strip off my yoga pants and baggy t-shirts and start sporting my big girl clothes again.

The first week I harbored a lot of resentment both towards my husband for pushing me back to work and then towards myself for knowing I had to work if I ever wanted to shop again. It’s a necessary evil, and as far as jobs go, this one isn’t the worst. With a treat and a good trainer, a monkey could pretty much fill my seat for 9 hours a day and do a comparable job. Hopefully my employers don’t catch on to that (or to the fact that I am blogging on work time!) because I am sure a monkey would settle for a smaller hourly wage and a bunch of bananas.

I was also afraid that work might complicate my workout and eating schedule. Sitting on my ass for 9 hours a day when I was used to being out walking or cleaning the house could not be conducive to my weight loss. But, surprisingly, I am still motoring right along. I have to fight the urge to boredom eat every now and then but one afternoon stomach ache resulting from a package of Snackwells cookies set me straight on that one. No matter what I have to do after work, I still make sure to get my workouts in 4-5 nights a week and I’m proud that I am keeping motivated despite being completely exhausted.

Speaking of the weight loss front, changes are taking place once again. My body is transforming like a computer generated image everyday and I am pleased with it….most of the time. When I stop kicking myself in the shins over some extra skin or a belly that is still far from firm, I actually take notice of things like the fact that my “girls” are now smaller and perkier and looking more like the breasts of a 25 year old rather than those of a 50 year old Aborigine on the cover of National Geographic. My ass, while not yet considered small, is now average and can no longer hold a coffee cup on its ledge. My calves do not look like the calves of a Pittsburgh Steelers linebacker, but instead thin and feminine like a woman. I can shop anywhere and almost always find my size. I also notice, with some resentment and bitterness, that it seems the plus size world is finally catching up and making clothes for the youthful and fashionable plus size woman rather than the housecoats of grandmothers past. While I am happy that the beautiful plus size women of the world will now have the option of looking fashion forward, I can’t help but want to donkey punch the world for not releasing these options sooner. But I digress…..

Life in general is good. As it always seems to be if you look hard enough, long enough, and take enough initiative to make it that way. It’s not always easy, but every now and then you stop, take a breath and just realize it is what it is, and it will be what you make of it.

Now, really, I should probably get back to work……so, until the next time I am lacking adult supervision at work, enjoy your day!

90% Mental, 10% Fat Ass

There is a big difference between being fat in mind, and fat in body. I am no longer fat in body by most medical standards. The nurses don’t break out the big blood pressure cuffs anymore, and the doctors don’t end my checkups with the whole “you’re going to get diabetes/have a heart attack/stroke out on the toilet” speech anymore. But, mentally I am still the fat ass that I was 105 pounds ago. I still feel like people stare at me as if I don’t belong whenever I enter the misses section of a department store. I still feel a little embarrassed ordering food in a restaurant as if they are judging me. I still look for clothes to hide my body and I still hate walking away from people because I feel like they are staring in disgust at my enormous backside.

I still have trepidation about sitting in chairs, buckling seatbelts, and walking on treadmills for I am certain that the last six months has all been a dream and the moment I let my guard down and do anything without caution I will break a chair, need a seatbelt extender, or snap the belt on the treadmill.

I look at old pictures and can’t begin to remember or rationalize the life I used to live. How did I think it was ok to scarf down a pint of Ben & Jerry’s every single night and sometimes follow it with a Butterfinger chaser? Why did I not see the damage I was doing everytime I devoured a Red Robins A-1 Peppercorn burger (2000 calories and 96 grams of fat, yessir!!), an order (or two) of buttery garlic and parmesan steak fries and a tower of greasy onion rings? The list could on and on and on…..just as the size of my waistline once did.

My greatest anxiety now is how to never end up back in that same place. Mentally, I just constantly tell myself I can’t have this because of the surgery, or I can’t have that because my stomach can’t handle it, but what about the day a year or two from now when that is no longer true? I don’t want to become the statistic that so many assume I will be, who starts gaining weight and old habits back after a couple of successful years.

For the most part, I am over my love affair and obsession with food. I no longer crave it more than I yearn for breath as I once did. I no longer turn to it for comfort, need it to feel socially relevant, or resent my inability to consume it. But every once in awhile, I will find myself bored and reaching for the chips or the chocolate or some other decadent little snack cake and I have to stop myself and wonder why I was doing it. Or, more importantly, how can I stop the instinctive action that has dominated me for most of my 35 years?

How can I take what I see on the outside and make it match what is on the inside? Is it unreasonable to assume that it’s even possible.

There is one thing of which I am absolutely certain, and that is this – obesity/overeating IS a disease, whether genetic or environmental. Naysayers of the (thinner) world, before you shake your empty heads, just remember that unless you have lived it or lived through it, you should remain open to its possibility. I myself can’t understand how someone becomes an alcoholic or a drug addict, yet the world is full of them and the rehab centers that help them.

If this is true – the addiction of food and its subsequent obesity – than would it be safe to say that I will always be obese, even if it is just in memory? If so, then I humbly present myself to the universe in a thinner shell and say:

“Hello, my name is Lisa and I am an overeater.”

And hopefully, this serves to remind of that from which I came, and how hard I have worked to get to this place, and how I never want to go through it again. From my ice cream stained lips to God’s ears.

100 Reasons I Love Being 100 Pounds Lighter

This post is long overdue, slightly narcissistic and will more than likely make you wonder how I came up with the whole list at work and didn't get fired as I laughed and cried my way through it. I figured I would commemorate having finally lost 100 pounds last week with a list of 100 reason I am grateful to have done so. Feel free to pick and choose rather than gouge your eyes out after reading the entire list, or if you have time on your hands and you don't have ADD, read the entire list and see if you find yourself nodding along.

In no particular order:

1) I get a "do over" in life. I get this one shot to rectify all the wrong that I have done to my body in allowing it to get so fat and out of shape. I also get to correct all that medical science has done to contribute to my cellulite and ever spreading ass.

2) I can chase my kids again, and not just when they are in trouble!

3) I can steal a sweatshirt from my husbands closet and not worry about whether it will fit because I am bigger than him.

4) I can buy smaller shoes. No lie. I went from a size 11 shoe to a 9.5. I never knew feet stored so much fat. Perhaps my arches are just higher without an extra 100 pounds suppressing them.

5) So long full butted undies. Hello, cute little boyshorts!

6) Being able to bend over to tie my shoes without holding my breath. Seriously.

7) Never again having to get on an airplane and ask for a seatbelt extender circa my 2009 trip to Arizona on Southwest. The flight attendant gave me the wonky eye when I asked for one and I had to refrain from donkey punching him in the face since I just didn't have time to submit to a full body cavity search.

8) Being able to walk around without sweating or getting leg cramps. Sad, I know.

9) Getting undressed in front of my husband without shutting off the light or making him "turn the fuck around or you will never have sex with me again!".

10) My kids putting their arms around me and saying "Mom, you are SOO small now!". That never gets old.

11) Attacking clearance racks with the speed and vengeance of a jungle cat attacking its prey. Step aside and let me at the size L's and no one will get hurt!

12) Picking furniture/exercise equipment and NOT having to check the weight limit on it.

13) Having an ass that doesn't knock things over.

14) Having only ONE chin, and no turkey neck. Gobble, gobble!

15) Not having to shop only at plus size stores. Which generally entailed getting ass raped with ridiculously high prices.

16) Buying regular size panty hose. And having a weight that doesn't exceed their size chart.

17) Being able to spoon with the hubby on the couch without having to suck in my gut the entire time as half of me hung precariously over the edge.

18) Not having to squeeze in my gut AND my ass to get by someone in a tight space.

19) Being able to fit in restaurant boothes.

20) Holding up clothes and thinking there is no way MY fat ass will fit into that, only to find it does. With room to spare.

21) Owning a bathing suit that doesn't have a "dress" attached. Ick.

22) Being able to comfortably sit indian style without my stomach sitting in my lap.

23) Being called "Slim" by dad for the first time since I was 18. Seriously, better than fitting into skinny jeans.

24) Not having to hide behind people in pictures.

25) Smaller pants NOT made by Omar the Tent Maker.

26) Sitting in a plastic lawn chair and not feeling the legs bend beneath my girth.

27) Having to pull the seat closer to the steering wheel and not having my stomach touch it.

28) Hugging my husband and not being afraid to let him put his arms around me because I no longer have back fat.

29) Hearing my parents say they are proud of me, and knowing by the look on their face that they mean it.

30) Seeing my ex and silently laughing everytime I remember all the times he said I could never lose the weight.

31) Not sweating when I eat. Seriously, you would think I was a marathon eater scarfing down 100 hotdogs in 2 minutes with the way I used to sweat!

32) Saving money on take out food since I a) can't eat most of it and b) when I do go out I can usually just share food with someone.

33) Gaining knowledge I can pass onto my kids so they never have to struggle the way I did.

34) My daughter telling me I am beautiful and was never fat.

35) Being able to RUN up and down flights of stairs without holding onto the railing for dear life or having an asthma attack.

36) Not struggling between what I should eat and what I want to eat.

37) Wearing clothes just because I like them, and not because of what they will hide.

38) Wearing belts again. Especially since they are no longer the size around of a radial tire.

39) Having small, feminine hands again rather than stumps with sausage fingers.

40) Not being self conscious about eating in front of people. Except for those awkward moments that I drop food and it lands in my cleavage. That is always awkward.

41) Never EVER having cankles again.

42) Being able to cross my legs when I sit for the first time in 15 years.

43) Not leaving huge indentations in the couch where I sit that deform the cushion.

44) Wearing cute flats because I don't need heels to make me look longer and thinner.

45) Going for walks through town, rather than just around the block.

46) Wearing a necklace and not needing to attach a necklace extender.

47) Being able to run for 30 minutes and still feel like I want to do more.

48) Doing yoga and not having to do the "modified" version of the moves. Or crying when I can't hold the poses. Yeah, in the beginning I did that way more than I care to admit to. And couldn't even wash down the tears with a Little Debbie snack cake.

49) Going to the pool without fear of being harpooned.

50) When I lost 50 pounds I could totally see my body transforming. More than meets the eye.....

And *BREATHE*.....feel free to break for a snack. Let's all go to the lobby! Let's all go to the lobby! Let's all go to the lobby, and get ourselves a snack!

And resuming the insanity.....

51) Buying bras off the rack (no pun intended. OK, total pun intended!) rather than in a box or with cushioned 10" straps.

52) Not buying wide width shoes.

53) Never getting into someones car and hoping against hope that the seatbelt will buckle.

54) Not being ashamed to step on the scale at the doctors office. At one appt the nurse was going to bypass this ritual and almost lost an eye because of it.

55) Feeling beautiful for the first time in a VERY long time.

56) Hearing my sisters tell me how proud they are of me.

57) Not feeling like the "token fat friend".

58) Running in public without fear of people staring, laughing and pointing at me.

59) Curling up in the corner of the couch and feeling small.

60) Being able to zipper a pair of boots over my calves.

61) Learning a very important lesson - We must learn to eat to live, rather than live to eat.

62) Coming out of a lifelong depression thanks to exercise.

63) Buying/Ordering clothes that don't have an X in the size.

64) Being able to stand up without grunting.

65) Not having knee or foot pain after a night of dancing in heels.

66) Having an ass that looks like an ass, and not a shelf you can set your coffee on.

67) No lovehandles or muffin top!

68) Finding out who my real friends are, and making new ones. Gastric bypass patients are like a secret society and sometimes it takes one loud mouthed ex-fat ass to get them to open up about it.

69) Being able to ride rollercoasters again without fear that the safety latch will break against the weight of my body.

70) Being able to sit in a chair with arms and not have my thighs protruding out the sides.

71) Having my boobs stick out further than my stomach again.

72) Being able to wear corduroy pants and not worry about the friction from my thighs starting a spontaneous fire.

73) Finding that I did still have ribs and hip bones under all that fat.

74) Not having to suffer through wearing Spanx under dresses and fitted shirts.

75) When I had lost 75 pounds, I was no longer considered a "plus size gal" and could finally buy pants in the Misses section rather than the forbidden, tiny back corner of shame.

76) I no longer resent my skinny friends or want to slip them a roofie and fill them with carbs.

77) The day my husband could pick me up and not pop a groin muscle.

78) The look on peoples faces when they haven't seen me in awhile.

79) Being able to wear heels without the pain inflicted by my weight.

80) When I lost 80 pounds, my dad saw me for the first time in months and cried.

81) The look on my moms face when she came home for a visit and saw me in person for the first time since before surgery.

82) For the first time in a long time, someone told me I was "hot". I think that implies that I am also a MILF, which is slightly creepy yet exciting all at the same time.

83) Letting go of the fear of new things and adventures because my weight no longer inhibits me. This winter I want to learn to ski!

84) The surgery forced me to quit smoking which is something that makes my kids very happy. With the exception of the occassional "I've been drinking so a cigarette totally makes sense" smoke.

85) That food is no longer my comfort or my enemy.

86) That I finally set my mind to do something that seemed completely out of my reach, and achieved it without shortcuts.

87) That I finally feel like I can be the role model my kids deserve.

88) For the first time in a long time, not only does my body feel lighter, but so does my heart and that has helped me to break down walls and love more unconditionally.

89) The day my grandmother walked by me and didn't recognize me was the day I realized just how much I have changed and I loved it.

90) When I lost 90 pounds I only had 10 pounds and 2 weeks to go and my body gave me the one finger salute, closed the window and went on vacation. Bastard. But I didn't give up and only vowed to work harder.

91) I learned that I had more cheerleaders and supporters than I ever could have imagined.

92) When someone pays me a compliment I can finally just say thank you.

93) I purposely pick the further parking spot at the store because it feels good to be able to walk without pain.

94) Taking tub baths again because I can actually fit all of me into the tub.

95) At 95 pounds lost I was so close to my goal that I could taste it. But I was afraid to because I didn't want to risk gaining back any weight.

96) I finished my first 5K with a walk/run and didn't die. Even got a t-shirt to show for it!

97) Learning that in order to appreciate my successes I would have to openly share my failures.

98) Finding out I was worth investing time in.

99) I can walk by mirrors and windows and not be afraid to look.

100) It took me an extra week longer than I had planned to lose the 100 pounds but it was totally worth the weight (HA!). Being able to come up with 100 reasons I love my new life means I will release something into the universe that will always remind of where I started.

This has been a long and arduous journey. At times, I wanted to give up. I often wondered if I made the right decision. I've cried, raged, laughed, screamed, rejoiced and fallen apart on a weekly basis. And when I look at the road ahead of me, and remember that the journey is far from over, I don't want to lose sight of any of the emotions that have carried me this far.

My insecurities have kept me humble througout this process and for that I am grateful. Because nothing is worse or more annoying that a narcissistic ex-fat chick with a smaller ass and a big head. I still look at myself sometimes and feel every single one of the now 105 pounds I have lost, but that is a blog for another day.....

Happy (Kinda) "Birthday" to me!

Today is momentous for many reasons. First and foremost, today is the six month anniversary since my surgery. It’s like a half year birthday, except instead of cake, ice cream and presents, I get fruit, water and smaller pants. And on this anniversary of my rebirth, I am happy to share that I have lost…..drum roll, please…… 95 pounds!! Now, if you are reading this you are probably like holy-shitballs-and-mother-of-mercy-that’s-a lot-of-weight, but I have to admit I am a little miffed at my body for being a complete asshole. I set this completely unattainable goal of losing 100 pounds in 6 months. At about the four month mark I didn’t think it was possible to even get close. I stalled out like a rusty Yugo full of fat clowns on more than one occasion and was tempted to drop kick my surgeon in the nut sack. But over the course of the last two months, the weight was flying off. I mean I lost almost 30 pounds in just two months. So my hopes were raised higher than Don King’s hair and I was sure I would be able to pull off that last 10 pounds with no problem. Then I only had 5 pounds and one week to go. Surely, I could do this! I had my husband and daughter hide my scale so I wouldn’t obsess all week, I started my water aerobics classes and was running every other day……and then yesterday happened. One day before my “birthday”.

I was looking through my daughter’s desk to find some tape, when lo and behold I stumbled across my arch nemesis. The scale. That saucy little bitch who rarely tells me the things I want to hear and who taunts me daily, daring me not to exercise or to indulge in a cookie. The whore who mocks me, sometimes for weeks at a time, with little to no weight loss. The dirty little mistress who even manages to shock me on occasion with good news, more than likely out of fear of being smashed in the backyard with a sledge hammer.

So, there she was, looking up at me all glib and shit, daring me to step on and take a look. And being the moron that I am I thought to myself, “it’s only one more day till the weigh in anyway, maybe I should just see how great I have done this week”. True to form, the bitch royally fucked up my day. Because despite all the swimming and running and gross fat person sweating that I have done all week, the scale did. not. move. one. pound. I stood there completely dumbfounded as to how this could be true. Was I bloated? Retaining water? Carrying a fetus inside my vacant and non-existent uterus? Perhaps I was backed up and carrying 10 pounds of poop inside my intestines? Because there is NO WAY I worked this hard to stall out now. So after I kicked the scale across the room, threw it back in the drawer, threw a temper tantrum, cried to my mommy and vowed never to work out again, I came to my senses.

I mean, so what if I didn’t lose 100 pounds in 6 months? I am still in a better place now than I have ever been in my life. I am happier and healthier and doing things I never thought would be possible. Like completing my first 5k on September 11, 2010. Look, I swear, I did it!

































I walked/ran it and it was incredible! I’m taking water aerobics and yoga and hiking and running and these are things I never could have done six months ago. The rest of the weight will fall off, of this I am certain, and I need to take a step back and remember how far I have come on this long and winding journey. I'm gonna stop crying, put on my big girl panties and deal with this in the best way I know how.....by moving forward. And running over the stupid scale in my driveway.

Now, this hasn’t been all sunshine and roses, just to be clear. Besides the weight loss setbacks, I have experienced everything from “dumping syndrome” to constant nausea to a raging case of hemorrhoids, but it has all been worth it to look in the mirror and begin to like what I see. The struggles I have with food and wanting to eat to satisfy my emotional needs is lessening everyday. The sweet-baby-jesus-and-holy-mother-of-mary hot flashes are still controlling my life, but at least I’m not eating my way through the day anymore. And whereas before I used to mourn the loss of food and eating whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, I am learning to embrace the idea that we eat to live, rather than live to eat. It’s all very eye opening and enlightening and all that spiritual crap that people say that makes you want to smack them while you sit there happily eating a cake roll.

So, new goal…..

For my one year “birthday” my goal is to be confident enough in what I have achieved to post a before and after pic along with my actual starting weight and my present weight. I was thinking of a tastefully artsy nudie pic for your entertainment, but until I learn how to airbrush out my stretch marks and cellulite and make myself look like Demi Moore in Striptease, that ain’t gonna happen.

What I did on my summer vacation.....

What a crazy roller coaster of a ride this summer has been. It's been loops and turns and a little bit of vomit, but when it finally came to an end, and I had regained my sense of balance, I shouted "WHOO HOO, WHAT A RIDE! LET'S DO IT AGAIN!" We celebrated so many blessings this summer, that I leave the warm weather behind with a heart ten times bigger than when the summer began, feeling like I truly got to enjoy the time spent with the people I love.

Friday August 13, 2010 marked a new beginning in the birth of my newest nephew, Mason Christoper Reeves. He breathed life into our family, brought us closer, and stole my heart. He is perfection in Pampers! No, serioulsy, look....




















We also celebrated the birth of our newest niece (compliments of my step-sister!) this past July. Welcome to the world and our crazy family Ms. Abby Tubiolo! She is perfect and gorgeous and now Mason will have a playmate his own age!




















A few weeks ago, my mom and step father came home for a visit and for the wedding and it just felt like everything was right with the world for a little while. This past weekend was a whirlwind of family and love and marriage and monumental moments. And when I say whirlwind, I mean that quite literally as we faced 35mph winds and impending storms! On September 4, 2010 my baby sister married her soulmate. It was so surreal to stand at the alter I had once gotten married at and see my little sister walk down the aisle, gripping onto my fathers arm, to become someones wife. But when I looked over at her groom, and remembered what a wonderful and honorable man he is, I felt a sense of relief wash over me because I know that he will take good care of her. I will always have this built in need to protect her from the world, but I have to pass the baton to him now and allow him to be her world. Not an easy task by any means. I almost feel like a mother giving away her daughter and it still makes me very emotional. This marks another new beginning that I was witness to, and I am honored to congratulate the new Mr. and Mrs. Carl Motz.














































































The day after the wedding, we got to celebrate my grandmothers 85th birthday. It didn't come without its fair share of family drama, but what do you expect from a family as large as ours? The first pic is of my grandmother and her 11 children. That's right...11 children. She was a busy woman! The second is a pic of grandma with most of her grandchildren. Yes, most. You look at the pic and say WHOA! and then remember we are still missing a couple handfuls. The third, is my grandma with most of her great children. This is not a joke people. We are seriously all related. And despite the drama, no one got hit or run over so all in all it was a Grade A day.










































And now, nothing signifies the end of summer like the first day of school. I am giddy with excitement at the prospect of getting some peace and quiet, being able to grocery shop without two hungry gremlins on my heels, and being able to go out for a run without dragging along two kids who are distracted by the sight of friends riding past on bikes or the distant sounds of the ice cream truck. Hopefully, soon I will find a job so I can return to the real world, put on heels, dress up in something other than yoga pants and t-shirts, and be a big girl again. The summer was full of new beginnings, and the fall is full of new possibilities and I cherish and look forward to them all.

But be warned! With all this new time on my hands, you are sure to be inundated with my crazy thoughts, experiences, and ramblings once again. I'm back baby! My pooping schedule can return to normal, you can hear about my weight woes and yays, and laugh at my random blogging about stupid drivers and people who just generally annoy and amuse me.

Buckle your seatbelts, strap on your helmets, put your purse between your legs and slap on an adult diaper if you have a weak bladder and get ready for the ride!

I am like the absentee mother who left her blog in the car on a really hot day. It should be taken away from me until I start to pay attention to it and fulfill my obligations as a blogger. But alas, there are no blogger police and I would spank myself for my negligence but I'm afraid I might like it and then we'd end up right back where we started.

There is SO much going on right now and I don't have the time to write it all because I have a meatloaf in the oven and a football practice for my son in an hour, but I wanted to memorialize this moment in my blogging history before an epic event happens. To date, 5 months post gastric bypass, I have lost....

Drumroll, please.....

90 POUNDS.

Which means I am 10 pounds away from my first goal of 100 pounds.

No, seriously.

Sounds obscene, right?

I have lost a small teenager. How fantastic and yet disturbing is that? I feel like a whole new person. I am still running, and while I can't yet run a 5K, I am signed up for one in a couple of weeks. I don't care if they have to drag my lifeless corpse over the finish line, I will complete it.

So, before the meatloaf burns and my son has to run a gazillion laps for being late to practice, let me write a short synopsis of my life right now, and I promise to elaborate on the details later in the week:

My mom is visiting from AZ for three weeks and all is right with the world.

My sister had her baby on Friday the 13th and he is the most perfect baby EVER, and I am totally in love :)

My baby sister is getting married in 11 days and her bachelorette party is this weekend so I have total "what am I going to wear" ADD.

My sons first football game of the season is this coming weekend. The day AFTER the bachelorette party. This is NOT going to be good.

The kids go back to school in 2 weeks. Thank you sweet baby Jesus.

I am applying for jobs like a maniac and had a super interview today for a great job that I have a real shot at.

Hopefully, this gives you some insight into the craziness that is my life and wins me some sympathy so you don't abandon me for someone who actually blogs on a regular basis.

Oh, and here is me MINUS 90 pounds:

If you need something to do until I get back, feel free to look back through my blog at old pictures and point and laugh. Until next time....

Thinking Thin Mantra #8...Part Deux

Do you need it? Or do you want it? There’s a big difference.

I wasn't sure what I was going to write as Part 2 of this blog, until this past weekend. Then it all came crashing down and I got smacked in the face by reality harder than a $2 ho gets smacked by her pimp on a $5 night. I had my first (and hopefully only) ambulance ride. And FYI, the EMT's were NOT hot, they didn't rip my shirt open like on ER to get good "breath sounds" and when we pulled up to the ER door, there were no interns with rock hard abs and lustful misery in their eyes waiting for me. Total rip off.

Saturday morning started out great. I woke up so happy because I had family coming out to spend the weekend. We were going to have a picnic at Letchworth State Park and hike and take pictures. It was all going to be very Swiss Family Robinson and shit. I remember at one point, I got up to go to the kitchen and I had a slight pain in my belly. I ignored, as I often do, and just figured I moved wrong or ate too fast. When the family arrived and we headed to the park, I noticed it was getting a little worse. I still ignored it because apparently I am a RETARD. Once we ate lunch, I was in quite a bit of pain. And, knowing that I should listen to my body and perhaps rest, what did I do next? Logically, I went hiking of course! Not the smartest idea I had all day. By the time we were finished with our expedition, we were sweaty and sticky, took lots of tacky tourist-y pictures, were sick of listening to kids scream and I was in utter, and complete agony.

We got home and I changed into comfy clothes because I was sure this would solve everything. Within a half hours time I was writhing in pain on the couch screaming as if a 10 pound turd were going to shoot out of my ass at any minute. The pain was like someone had taken my guts in both hands and was twisting it in opposite directions. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move and all I wanted at that moment was death, sweet peaceful death. Let me say this, I have NEVER in my life even CONSIDERED calling an ambulance and I have gone through some painful shit in my life. But when my husband asked if he should call the ambulance that day it was everything I could do not to scream through clenched and shivering teeth, "YES, PLEASE FUCK JESUS CHRIST CALL THE GODDAMNED AMBULANCE!!!!". I don't even remember half of this ordeal, it hurt that bad. I do remember the two volunteer EMT's who smelled like they just came from a cow tipping contest or a rodeo of sorts putting me on the stretcher and then DROPPING ME three feet to the ground. This was NOT going well.

The hospital I was forced to go to has been mocked, sensationalized and told to be one of the WORST hospitals ever, and it surely lived up to its reputation. They left me in a room, with some half assed pain killer, for almost three hours before taking me up for a CT Scan. No one came in to check on me, take vitals, see if I needed a blanket, or even make sure I was still alive. If surgery were needed, I would have been better off letting my husband perform it with a rusty coat hanger and some Tylenol. Finally, they came in after the scan (and after my husband almost ripped the nurses bell OFF of the wall and tore them a new asshole) and gave me drugs that knocked me out. For about 20 minutes. Then just as the pain kicked back in, the persnickety and almost unintelligable on call doctor came in and said the CT scan was fine, here are some Darvocet for the pain, and have a nice life you dumb bitch. Well, without the "dumb bitch" part but it was implied.

I got home and slept. And slept. And then slept some more. Over the next couple days of resting the pain was subsiding. To this day, we still aren't sure exactly what happened. My regular doctor that I saw Monday morning says more than likely I overdid it and pulled a muscle at the abdominal incision site. It happens apparently when you are a maniac who never slows down. Or listens to your body. Or tries to run and exercise like you are 100 pounds lighter and 20 years younger.

The moral of the story is this. You can't always get what you want. For me, I WANT to be a runner in the worst way. I WANT to finish losing this weight ASAP and be thin and fit. But what I NEED is to realize it isn't going to happen overnight, and that by pushing my body beyond its physical limits, I am only going to deter my progress and possibly cause damage that I won't be able to reverse. I WANT to finish this 5k next month stronger than I have ever been, but I NEED to remember that the fact that I am doing it at all is something greater than I ever thought I would even be capable of doing.

Sometimes getting what you WANT without listening to what your body NEEDS only lands you flat on your ass, doped up on pain killers, missing out on life.

Thinking Thin Mantra #8...and other things...

Thinking thin Mantra #8:

Do you need it? Or do you want it? There’s a big difference.

Part 1 of a 2 part series....

This statement can pertain to OH SO MANY THINGS....but for the sake of keeping my ADD in check, and keeping this PG Rated, let's say it pertains to my new lifestyle.

I want to warn you that I am about to whine about something completely ridiculous and unnecessary, but it has to be done. I used to have a closet full of clothes that would rival Christian Dior. I had more clothes than I could even keep out at one time. Twice a year, I had to pack away one set of clothes to make room for entire bins full of other clothes. I had two dressers and an oversized closet full of kick ass jeans, gorgeous sweaters and blouses and items I forgot I even bought that still had tags attached. Granted, they were all 10 sizes bigger than I am now, but I was pretty rockin' for a fat chick. I no longer own a single remnant of that life. It has all been sold, donated or given to friends. I have been reduced to ONE closet that now houses everything I own and empty dresser drawers. No sooner do I buy new clothes than I grow out of them and need new ones. I have become the exact person I used to scoff at. I am the mom grocery shopping in my running sneakers, yoga pants and t-shirts that are too big. I can't even bring myself to buy things most of the time, because I know as soon as I love them and get attached to them, I will have to give them away. I am sure there are women all over the world reading this right now wanting to drop kick me in the spleen for complaining about losing too much weight, but if you only knew how much I LOVE my clothes, you would understand.

This is where the want vs. need mantra comes into play. I WANT new clothes because I NEED new clothes, but I cannot keep throwing money away on things that I don't get use out of. I become emotionally attached to a good pair of jeans that hug my smaller ass or a sweater that makes my stomach look flatter than it really is, and to give it up before our affair is over just seems sad and wrong on so many levels. And that makes me so much more impatient about getting to my goal weight so I can re-stock my wardrobe and feel whole again. I realize losing 80 pounds in 4.5 months is a pretty big deal, but I wish I had a fast forward button that would take me to the end of this journey and to the front door of the nearest shopping mall.

I am trying to remind myself that it is important to remember each and every day of this journey I am on so that I don't end up back at square one, but fall trends are out and I am jonesing for a shopping spree. Even my shoes have gotten too big and to giving them up is like giving away a child, or an appendage. It is painful and filled with teary eyed sadness. There was a moment recently when I sold my very favorite shoes EVER on eBay, before I even got to wear them, and I swear I sat in my room with them on my feet for a good 10 minutes before I was able to put them in the box and ship them off. Goodbye my high heeled friend, it was nice knowing you.

I guess the opposite side of this situation is that there are SO MANY more options out there for regular sized clothes. I mean, the websites and sales never end and this could be a really scary thing. I definitely need to go back to work....and have my husband build me a bigger closet....and another dresser. I "window shop" online, meaning I fill cart after cart on webpage after webpage, and rack up thousands of dollars worth of wish items that I would like to own, and then I empty them all before I burn a hole in my credit card. Because at this stage in the game, what is the point really?

So tomorrow, part 2 of this post will actually pertain to that for which it was intended...exercise and lifestyle change. But I just had to get this whole clothing thing out in the open because it was emotionally draining me. Everytime I looked in my closet I wanted to cry and go shopping. And if you can't imagine how it is that I could have outgrown everything I owned in 4 months, let me just show you this:





















Craziness, right?

Life is Sweet...and Ironic...

Anyone who knows me, knows I like to commemorate things with a tattoo. Apparently, I have had 22 life changing moments to date. Today, I made it 23 with an appropriately ironic tattoo that commemorates my new life. It's my ex-fat self laughing at the road blocks and voices of adversity, while my less-fat self appreciates the journey and all it's joys and sorrows. I decided to get a cupcake tattoo that says "Life Is Sweet" as an ode to this new life I am living. Kind of reminder of where I was, where I am, and where I still hope to be.

This is me getting the tat and wanting very badly to kick my oh so beautiful tatto artist in the face for the pain she was inflicting upon me:














It was two hours of mind bending pain that had me laughing, flinching, slightly crying and wondering why I continue to torture myself for the sake art. But the end result was totally worth it:




















Life is sweet, and sometimes painful, but the final destination is still always worth the ride!

For better or worse....

In just over a month my baby sister is getting married!! It's such an exciting time, but really makes me realize just how OLD I am getting! When did the little girl with bad hair, an enternal puss upon her face and an attitude that could induce murderous thoughts, grow into this beautiful woman who is about to be someones wife? I for one, am not having it. It simply can't happen because her being grown up leaves me no excuse NOT to be grown up. And being a grown up is highly overrated and exhausting.

Her bridal shower was a success and she got so much stuff, especially for her kitchen, that I think our families have single handedly raised the stock for Kitchen Aid. I keep trying to tell her that when you have fancy shit in your kitchen, people actually expect you to use it! So, while she is finding recipes to make me strawberry crepes, cakes that are perfectly round from her springform pans, and casseroles for days, here is her wedding party:














We are a rag tag team of bridesmaids, each with her own issues that you can't help but to laugh at. She couldn't get regular women who could just go pick out dresses and show up at the wedding. Oh no, that would have been too easy! Instead, from left to right she got the following:

Melanie (the grooms sister) - Probably the ONLY bridesmaid without a protruding belly, some sort of surgery or body dysmorphia issues.

Jacquie (Theresa's best friend of like a thousand years) - If being super tiny and having big boobs is a problem, than I wish all my problems were as serious!

Tracy (our sister) - due with our nephew anyday now! So when buying a dress she had to anticipate how early, or how late, she would go into labor and then somehow foreshadow exactly how her body would look just weeks later when the wedding rolled around. Ordering the dress size was a total crap shoot.

Theresa (the Bride!) - totally has dress ADD. She bought her dress last year when she went to visit my mom in AZ because she wanted mom to be a part of it. She has since spent the last year willing herself to continue to love it as a years worth of new styles have presented themselves.

Me - I couldn't buy my dress until the last minute because I didin't know how much weight I would have lost before the wedding. I finally bought a dress thinking I was in the clear with 6 weeks to go, and guess what, it's too friggin big!

Melissa (our lifelong friend) - Has a life busier than Obama's, I swear! She constantly has a million parties going on for various family events and just started a new full time job.

Amy (other future sister in law) - as you can see in the pics, she is currently like 5 months pregnant, which means she will be 7 months pregnant come the wedding and really, how do you buy a dress when you have no idea if you can get one made by the bridal shop, or Omar the Tent Maker? I, myself have been in this predicament before. Not a fun time.

You throw that together in a giant pot of are-you-fucking-kidding-me and it's a wonder and surprise that my sister hasn't murdered us all, and moved her wedding to a remote island where we couldn't find her. But I mean, really, look at these faces and tell me if you could be mad!














My niece Cailyn (Jr Bridesmaid), my niece Taylor (Flower Girl) and my daughter Danielle (Jr Bridesmaid) aka The Divas














Acting like asses after the shower














Practicing the walk down the aisle


















Me, 70 POUNDS LIGHTER!!

Now, we are onto the bachelorette party, which in my opinion is the real reason we get married. You get to go out dressed like a total tramp, get shitfaced and make a complete ass of yourself and you can blame it on the fact that you are entering into the sacred land of holy crapimony....I mean, matrimony. Good times are sure to be had by all. Besides, walking in high heels, trying to maintain my balance after too many "good luck" shots, and possibly dancing on a stripper pole can subsitute for a workout, right?

Let the good times roll!

Thinking Thin Mantra #7

So, thinking thin mantra for the day.....

Excuses leave room for error—and you don’t have time for either!

Let's be honest here: If we had a dollar for every excuse we have made on why we don't work out or why we can't stick to a diet, I would have stomped Oprah on the Forbes list. I am talking, I would have one house strictly for shoes to be displayed, Imelda Marcos style, a seperate house for my clothes and one to live in. I would be able to dress myself in hundred dollar bills (ya'll) and bathe in gold coins. Yeah, that is how many excuses I have made over the years.

And to listen (or read) to me you would think I stopped making excuses, because how can you drop 70 pounds while making excuses? I mean the surgery helps, but it doesn't do all the work. You have to turn off Jerry Springer and hop on a treadmill every now and again. And EVERY SINGLE DAY I find myself trying to create new and inventive excuses that will allow me to stay glued to the couch watching Wife Swap all day. Some days, it's just the reality that I am tired and don't feel like it. But I do it. Other days I try to get out of running by psyching myself out of my ability to do it. And then there are the days where I get really creative. Here are a few of the shameful ways I have tried to excuse myself from working out:

~My legs were prickly despite shaving them the night before so I can't focus on yoga when they rub together and irritate me.

~The sports bra that keeps my boobs from bouncing back and giving me two black eyes when I run was in the wash.

~I hyperextended my vagina while doing lunges so there is no way I am doing anything until that injury heals.

~I had a nightmare that I flew off the treadmill and through the drywall, spraining my ankle and causing swelling on my brain so horrible that they had to shave my head and remove part of my skull to keep me from dying. In turn, this leaves me with a giant bald spot that will either have to be covered with a yamaka (provoking religious inquiries) or I will have to face the world Sinead O'Connor style until it grows back. Neither thought appeases me. Plus they might have to put the "spare" piece of skull inside my abdomen so it remains viable until it can be reattached and I don't need anything being inserted that will make my stomach or thigh look bigger. Why chance it, right?

~And my favorite excuse for all things un-fun....I haven't pooped in days and that makes everything uncomfortable.

Despite my best efforts, I seldom give in to the devil on my shoulder that tells me to just relax for the day. Instead, I put on long yoga pants and the dirty sports bra, give my vagina a little stretch, put on a helmet for safety, and hope I don't shit myself while running. What else can I do?

Exercise isn't the worst thing in the world (I mean I was married to the world's biggest douch for 9 years), but it isn't something I wake up and spring out of bed for either. I can always find an excuse to fail, but I think it's finally time to find a reason to succeed. True, my life is a little emptier without cake, ice cream, milkshakes and tiny chocolate bars, but what I have gained from this change is so much more relevant to my life. To be able to chase my kids again, or take walks without feeling an aneurysm coming on, or to throw on a pair of pants without worrying about whether they hide my flab, is a pretty cool feeling. To squeeze by someone or something without knocking knick knacks off a table definitely helps too.

To look in the mirror without crying is something I never thought I would be able to do again. To face people and not fidget with my clothes making sure my giant badonkadonk is covered, or to smile for a picture and not have a face with so many chins that I look like a human sharpei is something worth setting all the other excuses aside.

Life is short and complicated. By the time we've navigated our way through it and figured it out, we are gone. We might as well make the final destination worth the long ride in a stinky car, with no air conditioning, only AM stations and two whiney kids in the back seat asking "Are we there yet??". Instead of bitching our way through it, roll down the windows, stop for ice cream and buy some duct tape for those nagging kids. I'm just sayin'.....

Thinking Thin Mantra #6

I fully admit that I am being blog blocked by life and children. Lack of time and energy has sucked all the funny out of me. If only it were that easy to suck the fat out! That's what summer has been to me - lipo for my funny! But I am here today ready to entertain and enthrall the masses so buckle up buttercup!

Ok, back to the mantras!

Thinking thin mantra #6:

Exercise is not your enemy. Fear of it is.

The thinner part of me nods her head up and down vigorously shouting "Yes! This is so true!!", while the never dormant fat girl in me says "Seriously? Exercise was created by Satan and since God hates Satan and wants me to be happy, maybe I should trade in the soy yogurt I am currently choking down for a soft fluffy donut!". Cause we all know Jesus loves me, this I know, for the bible tells me so. And I am pretty sure baby Jesus doesn't want me miserable and hungry. On the flip side, my ass is sick of having its own zip code and my stomach is permanently lined with scars from tight jeans of years past, so exercise is a necessary evil.

I don't think it was ever exercise I was really afraid of, it was the fear of not living through it and making an ass out of myself. I set all these mental limitations for myself and as the years went by, the limitation list grew longer as my will and motivation further faltered. Pretty soon I was every fat woman in the gym that wouldn't run on a treadmill because I was certain that everybody in the gym was pointing and laughing at the fat girl and her jiggling cellulite. As if they were all size 6 supermodels with nothing else to do with their day. And if they did point and laugh, why did I really care? Wasn't the fact that I was there testament to my will to succeed in the world of less fatassedness?

I admit, I was a gym going short-timer. When I set my New Years resolution to lose weight, or went through my ok-this-is-enough-and-I-am-going-to-go-to-the-gym-everyday-until-I-drop-a-gazillion-pant-sizes phases, I was like a motivational speaker for all the women who start something that they never quite finish. I would start out going to the gym everyday. For like a week. Then I would rationalize cutting it back to 4 days a week by saying I didn't want to burn out. Week three excuses ranged from "I'm not losing enough weight because I am gaining too much muscle from working out too much" to "I have a hangnail and it hurts to lift the dumbbells". Eventually, you trade in strength training and cardio workouts for 8 oz curls of Coors Light on the couch while scarfing down a bag of Lays potato chips and an entire container of chip dip while you ponder why it is that the world is conspiring against your will to be thin.

I don't know if it was necessarily a fear of exercise as much as a fear of failure that kept me off that treadmill. I loved exercising, and I loved the way I felt when I was done, but I guess in the back of my mind there was this nagging bitch that beat it into my brain that I just couldn't do it. She was about as subtle as a hammer to the back of my skull in reminding me that if I hadn't done it yet, what made me think I could do it this time? So I gave up. Because I was weak and afraid. That scary little bitch feeding me oodles of negative energy was like a back alley crackhead who wanted to beat me over the head with a two by four and steal my dignity. And for years, I let my fear of running into her defeat me.

Even today, 70 pounds later, running three times a week, working out like it's my full-time job, I still hear her screaming at me from blocks away. And somedays I almost give in and hide. But then I remember that I am stronger than her now and I am pretty sure I can take her. The fear used to be what distracted me from the goal, but now that same fear is my constant motivator. Because this time it isn't fear of getting to where I need to be, it's fear of ending up back where I started. And I know everyone says they will never end up in that place again, but I intend to be one of the elite few who means it.

So suck on that back alley fat bitch.

This isn’t a race; slow down and enjoy the ride.

Thinking thin mantra #5 is:

This isn’t a race; slow down and enjoy the ride.

Um, really? Not a race my ass!! Everyday of my life has been a race towards, or away from something. And the ride? Don't get me started on the ride. It's like being on a Nascar racetrack, strapped into a five point harness, going 150mph with a drunk racecar driver through rings of fire. It's never boring, it never slows down and it is complete insanity. But you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.

This journey, for all of its crazy turns and mind bending speeds, makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like I have a purpose, and with every changing day, it reminds me that I can determine where the road will take me. For a long time I was a passenger, sitting quietly, buckled in, watching the scenary as life passed me by. I never bothered to dictate what direction my life should go in. Turn right here? Turn left there? It was easier to let other people decide than it was to unstrap myself, open the door, jump out of the car and hitch a new ride to a new place. Because familiar is better right? Only, familiar landed me at a size 26W, miserable, depressed, unable to walk up a flight of stairs without my knees creaking and my lungs seizing. Familiar landed me on a surgical table fighting to get my life back. Familiar is for suckers. I choose the new and the unknown because at least it forces me to be present.

I fight for this life every single day. Every morning I choose not to be a passenger. I choose to get up, make the right choices, do the right things and turn on my internal GPS so I can get to where I have always seen myself going without the help of anyone else. That's not to say I don't appreciate the love and support of those who truly believe in me, it just means I have to learn to do it on my own for once.

I find that I am surrounded by a lot of backseat drivers on this little road trip. People whispering in my ear that I'm still not good enough. That I still can't do this. And somedays, those voices are loud little fuckers. So I have to remind myself that there are earplugs in the glove compartment. And I have to remind myself to put them in, crank up the radio, roll down the windows and find ways to drown out the naysayers. Because I am worth this struggle. I DESERVE this happiness. And I can't allow myself to be less successful or pretend to be less proud of myself because other people aren't happy with themselves. For this moment in time, it is all about me. At least in my car, while I am driving, the journey is about ME.

So I will enjoy the ride, but I refuse to slow down. I plan on moving ahead and breaking every speed limit until my legs give out and my heart can't take anymore. And when this journey is over, I plan on taking my last breath with a smile on my face knowing that I finally lived my life to the absolute fullest. So my advice to those who want to enjoy the ride with me is to either get in, buckle up and brace yourself, or get the hell out of my way because I won't be stopping for anyone or anything!

I am alive, I promise!

School has only been out for a couple weeks and I am already completely and totally overwhelmed with summer type obligations. Between dance recitals, baseball tournaments, basketball camp, baby showers, bridal showers and two kids who swear that there is "nothing to doooooooo, and they are boooooorrrrreeeeddddd", I haven't had a minute to think straight, much less organize a blog. At least not a blog that wouldn't make people shake their heads and wonder if I needed to take (more) medication.

We just finished a weekend baseball tournament for my son so that is over at least. This week is the final stretch to my sisters bridal shower, and my son is now taking a 5 week basketball camp two mornings a week. In three weeks, football season starts and shortly thereafter my sister gets married, the kids go back to school and I will sit here, with a totally wasted look on my face, wondering where the summer and my sanity went.

To top it all off, just when I thought I had my writing mojo going BOTH of our laptops shit the bed in the same week. One needed a new hard drive and one needed a new power cord. By the time I got even one of them back I had to fulfill my Facebook and gossip site addictions, and then catch up on over a weeks worth of the blogs I already follow.

Oh, and let's not forget that I am having runners withdrawal. I hurt my knee something fierce - probably the effect of still being a fat ass and not having ran in 20 years - and I had to take a week off to let it heal completely. And I thought I would enjoy having an excuse not to run, but it sucked. I couldn't enjoy yoga as much, and everytime I walked the treadmill I just wanted to hike up the speed and run it out. I tried once, and my knee instantly lit on fire, and I had to go back to a walk. But this week, come hell or sore knees, I am running. In 90+ degree heat no less, but I am RUNNING DAMN IT!! To date I have lost 65 pounds. I no longer have a single stitch of clothing left from my older and fatter life. The rest of it is going on eBay tomorrow and I am glad to be rid of it. I think I may keep just one pair of pants for my bad days. The days where I still don't feel good enough, and I feel like I haven't done enough, or the days where I still feel like the failure that I did 65 pounds ago. On those days I can put on the "before" pants and remember just how hard I have worked and just how far I have come.

And in tribute to it all, I am posting the following pic of me AND my daughter wearing a shirt that fit me before this entire journey began. For prosterity and for laughs.



Enjoy and I promise, after one more day of entertaining the kids and the husband, laying in the sun and being a lazy louse, I will be back!

Babies and Weddings and Baseball...OH MY!

I know, I know, I am the worst blogger ever lately. My world has been upside down with school letting out for the summer, baby showers to be thrown, bridal showers to be planned, weddings to be fitted for and a house that seems to need constant cleaning. Not to mention that the running I was so enjoying has quite painfully destroyed my right knee and I have razor burn in my armpits. And yes, I threw that last one in there for the sympathy vote. Did it work?

Anyway, my sisters baby shower was yesterday and it was a beautiful day. I got all gussied up in my Sunday best, put on a pair of heels and some makeup and spent the day with amazing women. We got to ooohhh and ahhhhh over tiny little shoes, and tiny little outfits and it almost made my non-existent uterus skip a beat....until a baby in the room started wailing like a ambulance siren, and then the moment passed. When baby Mason makes an arrival in 4-7 weeks he will stylin' and profilin' in clothes adorned with monkeys for years to come.

Cutest baby shower cake EVER!

Next on the agenda is my other sisters bridal shower. In two weeks. Which is exactly how long it will take me to recover from this shower. Because I am mentally exhausted. Thank God there were six of us planning the shower because it took all six of our preoccupied, scattered brains to pull it off. I forgot how hard it is to plan these things. Back in the day when I still had sanity, half a brain and some estrogen, I could party plan like it was my full time job. Now, I forget what day of the week it is. And the heat and humidity doesn't help because when I am hot and sticky, I get cranky. And my hair frizzes. Which only makes me crankier. And then instead of thinking of cool diaper games and "give me your clothespin for saying the word baby" games, all I can think of is that my hair must be making me look like Al Sharpton.














The mom-to-be and all the amazing women who made the shower a success!

But on the plus side, what a joyous time this all is. I mean what is better than spending the summer with my family celebrating the joys of birth and marriage? I truly feel very lucky to be in the center of it all with it being my sisters. And I couldn't think of better people to experience such happiness. Cause we are da bomb. Or something like that. And also, since I have lost 65 pounds so far, I have lots of pretty dresses to wear now and heels that can be worn for more than 10 minutes without my knees collapsing beneath me, so that is also part of my joy. Now that I am not a Fatty McFatAss I actually look forward to getting dressed up so bring on the festivities!


















See, how pretty is that dress?

Also, my son is participating in the baseball All-Stars game this weekend which is super cool and has me beaming like a proud mama. Just so he has something to tell his therapist when he grows up I am thinking of being the mom covered head to toe in red, white and blue, carrying an American flag and screaming at the umpire over the fence loud enough so that the next town can hear me. Doesn't that sound like fun?

I will be back tomorrow with the next Thinking Thin installation. I know, you're on the edge of your seat waiting with baited breath, right? Until then.....

I KNEEd to do this!

Today, a part of me died. The part of me that has been a dominant presence in all 35 years of my life was squashed and stomped on today like a barrel of grapes. She is that incessantly annoying voice in the back of my brain that always shouts "You can't DO that! Just quit now and avoid the pain and humiliation of trying!!" She was replaced by a thinner, stronger voice that said "You can do this. You will do this. And if you try and you still can't do it, try once more." I like that voice.

I went into this weeks runs with the mindset that there was NO WAY I could physically handle three minute intervals of running. I mean, I barely made it through 90 second intervals and now they wanted me to do that TWICE IN A ROW?? Sacrilage!! I emailed and texted everyone I knew who was supposed to be doing this challenge with me to see if they were still doing it, looking for even one scapegoat to make it ok for me to quit. No one responded. Which tells me 1) they were too busy running to respond or (and most probably) 2) they all quit or died during the first week. So I was stuck, once again, being accountable for myself and what I chose to do. And it kinda sucked. Because one thing I have learned is that personal accountability is kind of a pain in the ass. If you are making all your own decisions you have no one else to blame.

Take for instance, my broken and pained knees. They hurt in ways that are not human. And it's because of this running I keep doing. And no one is telling me to run. I am doing it of my own accord. Therefore, when I need to someone to call an asshole, I have to look in the mirror and that's just no fun. Because I already know I'm an asshole. Otherwise, I would have quit running two weeks ago.

Last night I went back and forth on whether or not I should run today. My knees seem to take longer and longer to stop hurting each week. But I have to wonder if it's the "no pain, no gain" kind of pain that comes with the strengthening of muscles I have NEVER used. So, my first instinct was to keep running with the hopes that it would subside over time, and pretty soon I would be one of those super cool, yet annoying runners with my iPod strapped to my arm as I ran the streets in my sports bra and lycra pants, holding my hand up to cars as I crossed the street, and rocking a neon, rainbow sweatband. I know, awesome right?? But then, the horrible nagging "You can't do this" voice said, "But, what if it's real pain and it gets so bad that you can't exercise anymore and then you become the fattest woman alive, all because you thought you were still cool enough, and young enough to run? Asshole." And I can't give up my daily Biggest Loser Yoga workouts because I broke my knee trying to run, right?

This saga played over and over in my head while I slept. And while I shopped. And while I ate lunch. And while I layed on the couch watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy for the thousandth time. And then.....I said fuck it. And I put on my sneakers and turned on the treadmill. And I ran. And I made it through the three minute intervals. Without cheating. No, wait. I didn't just make it through the three minute intervals, I made them my BITCH. Who's the asshole now?

So, while a part of me died today, a part was also born. The part of me born doesn't back down to a challenge. She doesn't take a beating lying down. She jumps at the chance to do the things she never thought she could do before and kills the naysaying voice with ninja stars of death. Because while my knees still hurt, and I may very well still be an asshole, I am an asshole that can run.

Run, Fat Girl, Run!

I am currently on Week 2, Day 2 of the Couch to 5K challenge, and I can say unequivocally that I have never wished for death as much as I do when I am running. This week consists of a 5 minute warm up and a 5 minute cool down combined with 90 seconds of running and 2 minutes of walking. The first 30 seconds of the running intervals feel fantastic. My elbows are tucked in, my shoulders are relaxed and I am running. The next thirty seconds are not as pretty. My hips are out of alignment, my knees are screaming, my calves are burning and I am pretty sure I start limping. The last thirty seconds are a blur. I am pretty sure I black out the last thirty seconds of every run.

Then I am blessed with a two minute reprieve where I can walk. Or at least the clock says two minutes but I swear it skips time and it's only like 20 seconds because I have barely reinflated my lungs with oxygen before it is time to run again. Sweet Jesus, it feels like it will never end. And all I can hear in my head is the Bob/Jillian/Biggest Loser voice that screams, "RUN, FAT GIRL, RUN!!!!" and so I do. Against my better judgement. And against the advice of my fat ass.

And the sick thing is.....I kind of like it. I like the feeling of sweating through my clothes and losing my breath and feeling the endorphins raging through my body. And even when I am sore and tired and kicking myself for opening my big, fat mouth and telling the entire world (aka Facebook) that I was the MAN and that I was going to run a 5k this fall, I actually look forward to the next day I can run. Now THAT is eff'd up.

This weeks has been a "two a day" week combining 45 minutes of yoga with 30 minutes of 5k training because I hit another plateau and didn't lose any weight for a week, despite my committment to exercising and eating well. So, I will fully admit, if I step on the scale today and the number is the same, I am throwing the scale out the 2nd floor window, and I may possible jump after it.

So while I would love to be that motivational cheerleader on the sidelines screaming, "C'Mon girls, we can DO THIS! Strap on your Nikes and let's RUN!", it would be make me the psychological equivalent of that moron that sniffs a gallon of milk and says "Hey, this milk smells bad, can you taste it?". No sir, not the running shoes I intend on filling.