Progress Update

Honestly, I don't think I look very different than when I started this process of attempting to become the incredible shrinking woman.  Apparently, other people think I do.  The compliments I'm getting from friends, family, and co-workers are so rewarding.  Even more so, perhaps, are the comments I get from randos at the gym (and staff, too!)...it's extremely validating to have your hard work noticed.

So, let's start from the very beginning.

This is me and hubs at Yellowstone in August, 2013.  Note: the lump above my boob is chapstick, I didn't have any pockets.  Also, it was seriously like 105 degrees that day.  It was sweaty and hot and miserable and BEAUTIFUL.  Give me a home where the buffalo roam, indeed.

Shortly after this photo was taken, hubs and my bestie (hi, Ali!) wanted to take a hike.  I decided to sit it out, blaming my photosensitizing meds (I had been having excruciating headaches earlier that summer and was on a buttload of neuro meds that made me prone to sunburns).

Truth: I just didn't want to slow them down or (embarrassing horror of horrors) have to turn back before them).

This is me in June, about 1 month into my workouts and nutritional overhaul.  I had lost 13 lbs when this picture was taken...slightly more than the weight of baby Taco.

I had started feeling REALLY good for the first time in a loooong time.













This is what I looked like today, after a day of work, an awesome workout, and a delicious Chipotle burrito:

Under the amazing guidance of Donovan (my trainer), Amanda (my nutritionist), and Jen (my mentor and rockstar workout buddy):

I have lost 40 lbs since 4/28/14.  

I'm down 53 pounds total from my heaviest weight ever (in 2013).  

I've increased my percentage of muscle by 0.3% (which, to be honest, doesn't sound like much, and I'm actually down a couple pounds of muscle overall, which pisses me off to no end.  However I'm so happy that I've been able to maintain enough to increase my percentage as I lose weight).  

I've lost 5 inches around my waist and 5.5 around my hips. 

Last week, I had to throw away ALL my underoos and buy an entirely new drawer full.  

My bras are too big (all but one sports bra, truth be told) and that needs to be my next investment.  

My favorite jeans slide down over my butt when I try to put them on.  

When I have time to sleep (ha), I am sleeping like a damn corpse (and I mean that in the best way possible).  

I am energized and happy and feeling awesome.  

Even though the visual progress is slow (at least to me), it's really awesome to see my numbers change...to see my hydration increase, my muscle maintain, and my fat plummet.  

One more thing I need to address...body positivity.  I have always been a big believer in beauty at every shape and size, dressing in whatever makes you feel happy and confident, and fat acceptance.  I've been asked if, now that I'm trying to lose weight, my beliefs have changed.

NO they most certainly have not.

My reasons for weight loss are as follows:

1) Health, first and foremost.  A lot of fat people are healthy, I was (am?) not.  I have sleep apnea and take beta blockers, and the day I can bash the shit out of my c-pap machine with a baseball bat like the copier in Office Space will be the best day of my life.  I'll have a party to celebrate; you're all invited.

2) Happiness.  I know a lot of fat people who are happy and beautiful.  In fact, two of my girl crushes (we're facebook friends...you both do amazing makeup...one of you I met through my sista and one of you I met through WAIT...but I will keep your identities secret like Clark Kent) are voluptuous ladies, and they are unbelievably sexy.  Like, ferociously sexy.  Their spouses are two lucky, lucky dudes.  Whoa...tangent.  Anyway: I did not genuinely feel either of those things on a regular basis.  It's important to know: my coping mechanisms were (and are) extremely flawed: food was my drug and I numbed myself with it.  I needed to learn to deal with my feelings and stress in a more positive way, without turning into an alcoholic or a heroin addict (not kidding, not mocking, it's a genuine concern of mine).  I struggle daily with actually addressing my stresses and problems instead of just burying them under a mountain of junk food.  This process is raw and painful and ugly and amazing and I have cried more in my life over the past 4 months than I have ever before in my life, because I let myself feel every emotion that comes into my brain.

So could I be fat and happy?  No, because of my issues with food and my inability to cope with things.  Can you be fat and happy?  Hell yeah, and if you are, more power to you.  If you're not, do something to make yourself more happy, less fat, or both.  But know this: losing weight is not a magic ticket to happiness. 

:)

Depression

TRIGGER WARNING: Depression, Anxiety, Mental Illness, Suicide

Some of you may be shocked to know that I have depression.  "Major Depressive Disorder with Severe Anxiety," to be exact.

I am REALLY good at putting on a happy face, but since 2006, I've been on Citalopram and Xanax...Citalopram I take every day to stave off depression and keep me more even-keeled, Xanax I take once in awhile for severe anxiety attacks.  Truthfully, I should have been medicated a LOOOOOONG time before 2006.

"But Angie!" you say, "Everyone gets anxious sometimes!"

That they do, dear readers.  My weird brain likes to take it one step beyond normal stress reactions.  

For example, on the morning of my first day at my current job, I was vomiting pretty profusely.  Why oh why didn't I call in sick?  

Because this happens to me.  All.  The.  Time.  I vomit on the reg.  It's actually pretty gross.  It's a miracle my teeth are so nice, to be honest.  

Pro Tip: Do not, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, EVER do a google image search for "gross."  This is NOT the first image that appears.  *shudders*

I also get palpitations so severe it feels like my poor heart is going to explode right out of my chest.  My hands get so cold and stiff I can barely use them.

This happens every single time I have an exam, or do something new.  My first workout?  Bet your ass I had Xanax in my bloodstream.  Flying overseas?  XANAX, BABY.  Statistics test?  BENZOS FOR EVERYONE!

It's a common misconception that antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds make you happy.  They don't.  They just make you feel less like dying.  A little less like bursting into tears constantly.  They take the dirty grey veil off everything so you can almost, ALMOST view it normally.

You may also be thinking, "I get sad sometimes...does that mean I have depression?"  

No.  A thousand times, no.

It's completely normal to feel sad sometimes.

What's not normal is to feel absolutely nothing.  To just not care.  To have amazing parents, wonderful friends, a supportive and loving husband, a sister who you look up to, a steady job, a roof over your head...and just not care about any of it.  And then to feel crushing guilt because you don't care.  The guilt is one of the few feelings you DO have.

The only other feeling you do have is to occasionally think that all of the people mentioned above would be so much better off if they didn't have to deal with how fucked up you are.  Only most of them have no idea how fucked up you are because you retreat into your sad place whenever you start feeling like this.  If there is some place you absolutely have to be, you slap on a happy face and fake it until you can go home, put on the same dirty sweatshirt you've been wearing for a week, and cry.  Some people lose tremendous amounts of weight, because they don't care enough to eat.  Some people (myself included) gain tremendous amounts of weight, because they don't care what they put in their bodies.

The best way I can think of to describe depression to you is it feels like swimming through pudding.  Your brain moves as slowly as your limbs.  Every step you take, every word that comes out of your mouth is a challenge.  Just being alive is EXHAUSTING.  You may or may not become suicidal...but even if you don't, you probably fantasize about your own death a LOT.  Not necessarily because you want to die, because that would require doing something.  Just because being alive means nothing to you except perpetual exhaustion.

I've never attempted suicide.  But I can't even count the number of times I've prayed for something else to kill me.

That's the difference between sadness and depression.

In the wake of Robin Williams' death, I've seen a lot of terrible things said about depression and suicide. 

Suicide is not the "coward's solution."  

Yes, it pisses me off that people take their own lives.  But what pisses me off about it so much is the knowledge that many suicide attempts are desperate pleas for help.  It just makes the "successes" (and I hate to even call it that, but you know what I mean) that much more tragic.  

It also makes me so angry that there is such a stigma on mental illness.  

I have a mental illness.  I'm still awesome.  

Yes, some mental health issues are far more stigmatized than others (schizophrenia comes to mind).  I know some people with schizophrenia who absolutely terrify me.  I also know some people with schizophrenia who are fiercely intelligent, loving, social, caring, amazing beings.  Just like I know people without mental illnesses who absolutely terrify me and others who amaze me in positive ways.   Mental illness should not define anyone any more than their blood pressure reading, hair color, address, favorite meal, or fingernail length.  It's absolutely ridiculous to boil a life down to that one component of their being.

You may also be wondering: what in the holy hell does this have to do with my weight loss journey??

EVERYTHING.

Would you take care of yourself if you didn't care about anything?  Would you work to be healthy if you truly believed your loved ones would be better off without you?

Nope.  And neither did I.

Robin's suicide also absolutely terrified me, as all suicide deaths do.  I do not share his diagnosis of bipolar depression (totally unipolar here) or his history of substance abuse, but I completely identify with his zany persona, his loud and brash nature, his foul-mouthed rants, and finally, his hidden depression that nobody saw. 

If you think you're depressed or are thinking about harming yourself, please, please, PLEASE reach out.  The National Suicide Prevention Hotline is staffed around the clock.  1-800- 273-8255.  

So many people love you.  So many people need you.  They love you and need you more than you love and need yourself right now, but some day, the clouds will part.  They always do, eventually.

Rest peacefully, sweet soul.

Slugsville

I've been feeling super sluggish lately.  Weirdly heavy and slow.  Not sure what the deal is, because I've been sleeping pretty well.  My diet hasn't changed since May.  I'm kind of annoyed.
It came to a boiling point for me when I couldn't finish an entire 300 workout earlier this week.  Not because I didn't have the stamina, but because I had 30 minutes with my trainer and I just couldn't get the whole thing done in that time frame.

Pictured above: Me, apparently

I was fucking PISSED.  Not at him, at myself.  I should be able to get a frickin planned workout done in a half hour.  But for some reason, I have been feeling extra slooooow lately and my energy level has been for crap.
I went through my routine, my diet, my daily schedule, and realized the only change is that I have worked out every day since June 24th.  Most of those days have been at Anytime, a few have been with friends at other gyms, and a few have been "wogs" around my neighborhood with my dog (wog = walk/jog, aka my version of running).  Huzzah, good for me!  Except I think maybe my body needs a rest day.
I'm sure there are a lot of you that are like, "but Angie, I've worked out every day since 1994 and I feel fantastic!"  I'm happy for you, and actually quite jealous.

So.  Tomorrow, no matter how weird I feel skipping the gym, I'm not going.  My first rest day in 6 weeks.  Keep your fingers crossed that this is what I need to re-boot and start feeling amazeballs again!