On weight.

My intention in life was never to be a fat person, as I suppose it isn't truly the intention of anyone.  I didn't want weight to define me, and probably to most people, it's a non-issue - I like to think that fat, skinny, toned or beefy - whatever your body type, people look inside first.  That certainly is the case with my husband, who has never made me feel less than beautiful.  He finds me mildly amusing, he likes to hold my hand, and he tells me how much he loves me every single day.  The things he finds attractive about me have nothing to do with what the scale says.

But the fact is that I have allowed weight to define me.

Gaining weight is so easy; effortless, really.  It happened practically over night.  It happened in and around life happening - between jobs and boyfriends and moves.  It happened while I was falling in love.  It happened while we navigated family court.  It happened in the months leading up to my wedding.  It happened every week between Monday and Sunday.  It gained momentum over me and before I could stop it, I weighed more than I had ever thought possible for myself.  And even as the scale tipped in a precarious direction, I seemed unable to permanently change the course I was on.  My weight fluctuated based on what I wanted at the time.  It was never really about me, it was always about things that I wanted: to look good in my wedding dress, to have a baby, to be seen in public in a bathing suit.  And while these were all noble wants, they weren't long term goals.

But the diet would always start tomorrow.  Or I'd set unrealistic expectations for myself and the moment that I didn't meet them or fell off of the wagon or didn't go to the gym that one time - I quit.  I didn't allow myself the opportunity to redeem myself because my short-term wants did not equate to long-term goals.  And so I spent years with my weight fluctuating up and down - heavy one month; less heavy the next month.  But it was never consistently moving in a downward slope and I was never truly healthy.  And then I got pregnant before I could loose the weight that I wanted to and I gained 56 pounds (I just threw up a little bit in my mouth writing that.) on top of the 50 pounds that I had intended to loose before I got pregnant.  You do the math.  Surprised I had a healthy, full-term baby without any complications or prenatal diabetes?  Yeah, some days I am, too.

I was not active at all during the 9 months that I was pregnant.  I came home after work - waddled home, is more like it - on feet that hurt even though I had basically sat all day.  I craved oranges and chocolate milkshakes (although, thankfully not together).  And was still somehow surprised that between milkshakes and growing a human, I gained a lot of weight.  It's true that you do loose some weight after you expel said human, and I did.  When I stepped on the scale at my 6-week postpartum visit, I breathed a sigh of relief the the number had gone down.  But my weight loss hit a plateau because I wasn't nursing and I still wasn't active.  I spent the months following Finn's birth feeling extra heavy and extra tired and extra unambitious.  I have precious few pictures of Finneaus and me from his first few months.  I never put myself in front of the camera because I didn't like what I saw.  I was doomed to repeat the same cycle I had encountered before: the diet was always going to start tomorrow; I gave up too easily; I was looking for a short-term fix.  Or I used the excuse of being too tired with a new baby.  I went back to work and by the time I got home in the evening, I just wanted to play with my baby before he went to sleep, eat dinner with the rest of my family, and spend time with my husband.

When the opportunity to move away from the city fell into our laps - and with it, the security for me to stay home with Finn and Abby - we jumped on it.  Suddenly I would have time - time to exercise, time to plan and eat healthy, time to make a long-term weight loss goal.  But moving is a wicked form of torture and as my last day of work came and went and was replaced by the stress of packing, of finding a place to live, of unpacking, of dealing with the emotions of an uprooted 11 year old girl high on drama, I found myself as tired as I was in the city and with even with even less motivation and energy than I had when I worked full-time and came home to take care of my family.  I was suddenly navigating single-parenting while my husband worked 12+ hour days.  I felt as though I was doing it all (although, I think some of that was the high of the move wearing off and the stress of being in a new place with no family within a 3 hours of us for the first time in the history of all of our parenting years) and I found myself falling into bed at the end of the day a little bit uncomfortable with this new stay-at-home life that I thought I was going to love.

And then the best thing in the world happened to me.

I threw out my back.

We're not talking a little tweak in the back.  We are talking a full-blown, muscle-spasms, wrenched back; a pain that the pain-killers I had left over from giving birth couldn't touch.  It was worse than childbirth and, as I have now experienced both, I feel as though I can say that with some level of confidence.  I made noises that I didn't think were possible when I sat down or stood up or bent over to pick up the baby (because Finn wasn't walking yet) or laid him down in his crib (which was more like a tuck and roll maneuver that inevitably woke him up, not that I can blame him.).  Remember that part about Uriah working 12+ hour days at his new job?  That also meant that there was no sick time for him to be able to stay home and help me, or to even leave work early or go in late to give me a break.  I was on my own.  I went to the chiropractor without relief (and without insurance).  My husband helped me into bed at night and I stayed in the same position because, even though it's uncomfortable to sleep in one position without moving, it was more uncomfortable to try to move and when I did move, the pain woke me up. After x-rays and ultrasonic treatments (those hurt like a son of a biscuit, let me tell you!) and so many adjustments that I felt like the chiropractor was my new best friend, the pain started to ease.  I was still afraid every time I sat down that I wouldn't be able to get back up again and that the pain would return full-force.  But slowly that fear started to ease, as well.  I still woke up every morning so stiff it brought tears to my eyes, but the muscles seemed to loosen throughout the day the more I moved.  The best advice I got from my chiropractor was to move and keep moving.  And he told me, gently but firmly, that loosing weight would help this awful pain to not repeat.  I read between the lines.  I needed to do something about my weight immediately.

So every morning, bright and early, Uriah would help me out of bed, he would change Finn and slather him in baby sunscreen and carry him down the stairs for me because it took me at least 10 minutes to get dressed.  I took the stairs one at a time, one hand on the banister, the other clutching my back to make sure the muscles wouldn't spasm.  I eased into a chair, breathing through my nose and clenching my teeth, and waited for Uriah to put my socks and shoes on for me and then he'd carry Finn outside and secure him in the stroller.  Then we kissed Uriah good-bye, knowing he would be long gone by the time we returned from our walk, and we took off down the road.

Old ladies passed me every single morning on our walk.  I shuffled for the first mile, and by the time we hit the "turn-around spot," I could set a bit brisker pace.  And by that, I mean I could walk like a normal person, not shuffling, exactly, but by no means could my walk be considered anything more than a casual stroll to an on-looker.  We walked as the day heated up.  We walked before the mosquitoes got bad.  We walked every morning and sometimes in the evening if we were lucky enough for Uriah to be home before the sun went down.  Our two-mile daily walk - which had me huffing and puffing and sweating through my shirts - turned into three then four miles.  When Uriah brought home a bike trailer for Finn, we mapped a 5 mile bike ride on the trail and slowly increased it to 10 mile bike rides by the end of the summer.  I started to breathe easier.  My clothes fit a little looser.  My face stopped feeling so puffy.  I wore shorts for the first time since 1993.  I lost 20 pounds over the summer just by walking and modifying my carb-intake.  I felt like I had more energy in that one summer than I had at any point in the past 5 years.

The fall and winter found us walking less and less outside.  I started a part-time job and I tried to keep up with working out on a treadmill after work, but walking on a treadmill is a lonely business.  I much prefer to talk with Finn about leaves and birds and squirrels as we traverse the trails.  I like the smell of the trees and fresh-cut grass.  I like the way the wind cools me down.  I like hearing Finn's constant chatter and his fingers pointing out every truck and motorcycle and puppy that passes us.  I like it when Abby comes along; it gives me a chance to grill her on the intricacies of 7th grade life - it gives us a chance to be together and to show her that being active isn't just limited to basketball and volleyball during the school season.  I like it when Uriah comes along - he pushes the stroller and gives me a chance to swing my arms a little bit (arm fat is a funny, giggly thing.  I need to lift more weights.).

I hit a plateau this winter, though, and needed to change some things.  More to the point, I needed some accountability.  A low-carb diet works fantastic for me; my body seems to hang onto any carbs that I eat for dear life, so when I cut them out, or cut back on them drastically, I tend to loose weight.  However, it wasn't a practical lifestyle choice for the rest of my family.  I like to share a grilled cheese sandwich with my son and I really like mashed potatoes.  What I didn't like was feeling guilty when I did have something that was high-carb (crackers with my cheese snack, potato chips on our picnic).  I also needed to learn how to eat correctly - maybe healthfully is a better word - and what portion control really meant.  Since I couldn't do it on my own, and admittedly, I am my own worst enemy when it comes to weight loss, just before Christmas I joined Weight Watchers.

This is not an endorsement of Weight Watchers, although if you ask me, I will tell you why I think it's great and why it works so well for me.  Instead, I will simply say that I am learning how to eat all of the things that I love - carbs included - in moderation.  I am learning how to make small changes that won't cause my family to revolt on me - fat free this and light that - a little at a time.  I am learning that food doesn't taste different when I make those changes.  I am learning what a portion really looks like.  I am learning how to be active, eat correctly to fuel my body and, most importantly, I'm learning to be comfortable with the more healthy person that I'm becoming.

And after 4 months of following the plan, I can check an additional 20 pounds off of my weight loss goal.

Is every day a healthy picnic in the park?  Hell, no!  It takes time and patience - time, I have; patience, I lack.  but being healthy happens one day at a time.  Some days I really just want a hamburger and french fries.  Those are the days that I have a support system in place and I rely on it heavily.  Uriah will ask me if  I really want to blow all of my daily points on one meal.  Obviously, I don't and obviously I know that it'll just blow the rest of the day because it's not realistic to eat just one meal.  Instead, we come up with alternatives.  Yes, a few french fries are okay - if they're baked oven fries.  Instead of a hamburger, we'll do a turkey burger or a chicken burger.  Uriah helps me plan meals that are going to stay within my eating guidelines and I am very, very lucky to have him in my corner.

I am not even close to the end of my goal - I have a lot of pounds to go, but the momentum is there and I am well on my way.  I had to train myself that the weight was going to come off slowly this time, to give my body time to adjust and become comfortable with less of things.  This time, weight loss is a marathon, not a sprint.  My goal is to be healthy: for myself, first and for my family, second.  I want to bypass my family's history of diabetes and high cholesterol and high blood pressure.  This is all about me, my friends - but in a good way, this time!  I want to know that I can keep the weight off - or, if we choose to have another baby sometime in the future, that I can keep my weight in check and not allow it to get out of control (side eye to the milkshakes that I loved before!) and get back to a healthy weight in a healthy amount of time afterwards.  I want to continue to stay active.  I want to run around my backyard with my son and not have to sit down because I'm out of breath.  Most importantly, however, I want to set a good, healthy, and active example for my children.

And, selfishly, I want to wear a bathing suit in public without feeling self-conscious or embarrassed.  I told Uriah the other night that by this time next year I will be ready to take a vacation to Mexico.  And I will buy my swimming suit from Victoria's Secret.

It's all about having attainable goals, right?!

This post has gotten really long, thank you for reading this far!  It has taken me a lot of days to write and reflect, and honestly, to get up the courage to share it.  Weight and weight loss are such personal things and most of it is tied into more than just an inability to put the spoon down.  The thoughts and feelings that we each have regarding our own bodies can be the starting point for some really great discussions if we can first get past our own reluctance.  If we each make small choices, I believe that we can help each other be stronger and healthier.  If you've done something great for yourself, or for your family, to become healthier, sharing is always good!

That being said, join me on Monday, won't you?  I'd like to show you in pictures what a difference 40 pounds can make.

My intention in life was never to be a fat person, as I suppose it isn't truly the intention of anyone.  I didn't want weight to define me, and probably to most people, it's a non-issue - I like to think that fat, skinny, toned or beefy - whatever your body type, people look inside first.  That certainly is the case with my husband, who has never made me feel less than beautiful.  He finds me mildly amusing, he likes to hold my hand, and he tells me how much he loves me every single day.  The things he finds attractive about me have nothing to do with what the scale says.

But the fact is that I have allowed weight to define me.

Gaining weight is so easy; effortless, really.  It happened practically over night.  It happened in and around life happening - between jobs and boyfriends and moves.  It happened while I was falling in love.  It happened while we navigated family court.  It happened in the months leading up to my wedding.  It happened every week between Monday and Sunday.  It gained momentum over me and before I could stop it, I weighed more than I had ever thought possible for myself.  And even as the scale tipped in a precarious direction, I seemed unable to permanently change the course I was on.  My weight fluctuated based on what I wanted at the time.  It was never really about me, it was always about things that I wanted: to look good in my wedding dress, to have a baby, to be seen in public in a bathing suit.  And while these were all noble wants, they weren't long term goals.

But the diet would always start tomorrow.  Or I'd set unrealistic expectations for myself and the moment that I didn't meet them or fell off of the wagon or didn't go to the gym that one time - I quit.  I didn't allow myself the opportunity to redeem myself because my short-term wants did not equate to long-term goals.  And so I spent years with my weight fluctuating up and down - heavy one month; less heavy the next month.  But it was never consistently moving in a downward slope and I was never truly healthy.  And then I got pregnant before I could loose the weight that I wanted to and I gained 56 pounds (I just threw up a little bit in my mouth writing that.) on top of the 50 pounds that I had intended to loose before I got pregnant.  You do the math.  Surprised I had a healthy, full-term baby without any complications or prenatal diabetes?  Yeah, some days I am, too.

I was not active at all during the 9 months that I was pregnant.  I came home after work - waddled home, is more like it - on feet that hurt even though I had basically sat all day.  I craved oranges and chocolate milkshakes (although, thankfully not together).  And was still somehow surprised that between milkshakes and growing a human, I gained a lot of weight.  It's true that you do loose some weight after you expel said human, and I did.  When I stepped on the scale at my 6-week postpartum visit, I breathed a sigh of relief the the number had gone down.  But my weight loss hit a plateau because I wasn't nursing and I still wasn't active.  I spent the months following Finn's birth feeling extra heavy and extra tired and extra unambitious.  I have precious few pictures of Finneaus and me from his first few months.  I never put myself in front of the camera because I didn't like what I saw.  I was doomed to repeat the same cycle I had encountered before: the diet was always going to start tomorrow; I gave up too easily; I was looking for a short-term fix.  Or I used the excuse of being too tired with a new baby.  I went back to work and by the time I got home in the evening, I just wanted to play with my baby before he went to sleep, eat dinner with the rest of my family, and spend time with my husband.

When the opportunity to move away from the city fell into our laps - and with it, the security for me to stay home with Finn and Abby - we jumped on it.  Suddenly I would have time - time to exercise, time to plan and eat healthy, time to make a long-term weight loss goal.  But moving is a wicked form of torture and as my last day of work came and went and was replaced by the stress of packing, of finding a place to live, of unpacking, of dealing with the emotions of an uprooted 11 year old girl high on drama, I found myself as tired as I was in the city and with even with even less motivation and energy than I had when I worked full-time and came home to take care of my family.  I was suddenly navigating single-parenting while my husband worked 12+ hour days.  I felt as though I was doing it all (although, I think some of that was the high of the move wearing off and the stress of being in a new place with no family within a 3 hours of us for the first time in the history of all of our parenting years) and I found myself falling into bed at the end of the day a little bit uncomfortable with this new stay-at-home life that I thought I was going to love.

And then the best thing in the world happened to me.

I threw out my back.

We're not talking a little tweak in the back.  We are talking a full-blown, muscle-spasms, wrenched back; a pain that the pain-killers I had left over from giving birth couldn't touch.  It was worse than childbirth and, as I have now experienced both, I feel as though I can say that with some level of confidence.  I made noises that I didn't think were possible when I sat down or stood up or bent over to pick up the baby (because Finn wasn't walking yet) or laid him down in his crib (which was more like a tuck and roll maneuver that inevitably woke him up, not that I can blame him.).  Remember that part about Uriah working 12+ hour days at his new job?  That also meant that there was no sick time for him to be able to stay home and help me, or to even leave work early or go in late to give me a break.  I was on my own.  I went to the chiropractor without relief (and without insurance).  My husband helped me into bed at night and I stayed in the same position because, even though it's uncomfortable to sleep in one position without moving, it was more uncomfortable to try to move and when I did move, the pain woke me up. After x-rays and ultrasonic treatments (those hurt like a son of a biscuit, let me tell you!) and so many adjustments that I felt like the chiropractor was my new best friend, the pain started to ease.  I was still afraid every time I sat down that I wouldn't be able to get back up again and that the pain would return full-force.  But slowly that fear started to ease, as well.  I still woke up every morning so stiff it brought tears to my eyes, but the muscles seemed to loosen throughout the day the more I moved.  The best advice I got from my chiropractor was to move and keep moving.  And he told me, gently but firmly, that loosing weight would help this awful pain to not repeat.  I read between the lines.  I needed to do something about my weight immediately.

So every morning, bright and early, Uriah would help me out of bed, he would change Finn and slather him in baby sunscreen and carry him down the stairs for me because it took me at least 10 minutes to get dressed.  I took the stairs one at a time, one hand on the banister, the other clutching my back to make sure the muscles wouldn't spasm.  I eased into a chair, breathing through my nose and clenching my teeth, and waited for Uriah to put my socks and shoes on for me and then he'd carry Finn outside and secure him in the stroller.  Then we kissed Uriah good-bye, knowing he would be long gone by the time we returned from our walk, and we took off down the road.

Old ladies passed me every single morning on our walk.  I shuffled for the first mile, and by the time we hit the "turn-around spot," I could set a bit brisker pace.  And by that, I mean I could walk like a normal person, not shuffling, exactly, but by no means could my walk be considered anything more than a casual stroll to an on-looker.  We walked as the day heated up.  We walked before the mosquitoes got bad.  We walked every morning and sometimes in the evening if we were lucky enough for Uriah to be home before the sun went down.  Our two-mile daily walk - which had me huffing and puffing and sweating through my shirts - turned into three then four miles.  When Uriah brought home a bike trailer for Finn, we mapped a 5 mile bike ride on the trail and slowly increased it to 10 mile bike rides by the end of the summer.  I started to breathe easier.  My clothes fit a little looser.  My face stopped feeling so puffy.  I wore shorts for the first time since 1993.  I lost 20 pounds over the summer just by walking and modifying my carb-intake.  I felt like I had more energy in that one summer than I had at any point in the past 5 years.

The fall and winter found us walking less and less outside.  I started a part-time job and I tried to keep up with working out on a treadmill after work, but walking on a treadmill is a lonely business.  I much prefer to talk with Finn about leaves and birds and squirrels as we traverse the trails.  I like the smell of the trees and fresh-cut grass.  I like the way the wind cools me down.  I like hearing Finn's constant chatter and his fingers pointing out every truck and motorcycle and puppy that passes us.  I like it when Abby comes along; it gives me a chance to grill her on the intricacies of 7th grade life - it gives us a chance to be together and to show her that being active isn't just limited to basketball and volleyball during the school season.  I like it when Uriah comes along - he pushes the stroller and gives me a chance to swing my arms a little bit (arm fat is a funny, giggly thing.  I need to lift more weights.).

I hit a plateau this winter, though, and needed to change some things.  More to the point, I needed some accountability.  A low-carb diet works fantastic for me; my body seems to hang onto any carbs that I eat for dear life, so when I cut them out, or cut back on them drastically, I tend to loose weight.  However, it wasn't a practical lifestyle choice for the rest of my family.  I like to share a grilled cheese sandwich with my son and I really like mashed potatoes.  What I didn't like was feeling guilty when I did have something that was high-carb (crackers with my cheese snack, potato chips on our picnic).  I also needed to learn how to eat correctly - maybe healthfully is a better word - and what portion control really meant.  Since I couldn't do it on my own, and admittedly, I am my own worst enemy when it comes to weight loss, just before Christmas I joined Weight Watchers.

This is not an endorsement of Weight Watchers, although if you ask me, I will tell you why I think it's great and why it works so well for me.  Instead, I will simply say that I am learning how to eat all of the things that I love - carbs included - in moderation.  I am learning how to make small changes that won't cause my family to revolt on me - fat free this and light that - a little at a time.  I am learning that food doesn't taste different when I make those changes.  I am learning what a portion really looks like.  I am learning how to be active, eat correctly to fuel my body and, most importantly, I'm learning to be comfortable with the more healthy person that I'm becoming.

And after 4 months of following the plan, I can check an additional 20 pounds off of my weight loss goal.

Is every day a healthy picnic in the park?  Hell, no!  It takes time and patience - time, I have; patience, I lack.  but being healthy happens one day at a time.  Some days I really just want a hamburger and french fries.  Those are the days that I have a support system in place and I rely on it heavily.  Uriah will ask me if  I really want to blow all of my daily points on one meal.  Obviously, I don't and obviously I know that it'll just blow the rest of the day because it's not realistic to eat just one meal.  Instead, we come up with alternatives.  Yes, a few french fries are okay - if they're baked oven fries.  Instead of a hamburger, we'll do a turkey burger or a chicken burger.  Uriah helps me plan meals that are going to stay within my eating guidelines and I am very, very lucky to have him in my corner.

I am not even close to the end of my goal - I have a lot of pounds to go, but the momentum is there and I am well on my way.  I had to train myself that the weight was going to come off slowly this time, to give my body time to adjust and become comfortable with less of things.  This time, weight loss is a marathon, not a sprint.  My goal is to be healthy: for myself, first and for my family, second.  I want to bypass my family's history of diabetes and high cholesterol and high blood pressure.  This is all about me, my friends - but in a good way, this time!  I want to know that I can keep the weight off - or, if we choose to have another baby sometime in the future, that I can keep my weight in check and not allow it to get out of control (side eye to the milkshakes that I loved before!) and get back to a healthy weight in a healthy amount of time afterwards.  I want to continue to stay active.  I want to run around my backyard with my son and not have to sit down because I'm out of breath.  Most importantly, however, I want to set a good, healthy, and active example for my children.

And, selfishly, I want to wear a bathing suit in public without feeling self-conscious or embarrassed.  I told Uriah the other night that by this time next year I will be ready to take a vacation to Mexico.  And I will buy my swimming suit from Victoria's Secret.

It's all about having attainable goals, right?!

This post has gotten really long, thank you for reading this far!  It has taken me a lot of days to write and reflect, and honestly, to get up the courage to share it.  Weight and weight loss are such personal things and most of it is tied into more than just an inability to put the spoon down.  The thoughts and feelings that we each have regarding our own bodies can be the starting point for some really great discussions if we can first get past our own reluctance.  If we each make small choices, I believe that we can help each other be stronger and healthier.  If you've done something great for yourself, or for your family, to become healthier, sharing is always good!

That being said, join me on Monday, won't you?  I'd like to show you in pictures what a difference 40 pounds can make.