Well son of a bee sting

Update: I have discovered something that's harder for me to do as a thinnish person than a chunkier person.

RUNNING.

For reals, though.  Could I run at 363lbs?  Hell naw.  But last summer when I was about 250, I could slog out some intervals and be fine.  I hated it, but it was do-able.

Now, however...yeesh.  Remember my last post about extra skin?  Soooooo...it makes running painfully difficult.  Because things bounce around that wouldn't if they didn't have extra skin room to bounce in.  It hurts.  And compression gear can only take me so far (unless I legit wear it from neck to wrists and down to mid calf).

Shit.

The good news: I can pretty much bail on running.  Ever.
The bad news:  I pretty much can't run.  Ever.

#sadpanda??

Skin

I've seen tons of people on various Facebook groups I lurk on, as well as Instagram feeds, blogs, etc, say one of the reasons they're scared to lose weight is because of extra skin.

Well, kids, I'm living it.  So let's talk.

As of today, I'm down 161.6 lbs from my heaviest weight.  I weighed 201.4 lbs this morning.  I'm getting to the point where I like the way my body looks in clothes.  My shoulders are looking really nice.  My ass is bangin.  I wear leggings as pants because I want to catch glimpses of my own booty in mirrors and windows.  It's that good.

But.

BUT.

Nakey...yowza.  My body pretty much looks like a melted ice cream cone.  My belly and boobs have deflated like a week-old circus balloon animal.  Even my thighs and upper arms have some extra skin.  Nobody tells you when you start losing weight...things don't shrink, they deflate.  If I bend over and flex my abs, it looks like I have an extra set of jugs from how much belly skin is there.  I'm not even joking...my husband and I laughed about it for like an hour the other day.  This isn't a slam on myself, it's a straight up fact, and I like to lighten it with humor in an effort to be less ashamed of it.  Extra skin is a fact of weight loss life.  But it's not pretty.

Buffalo Bill would love me right now.  Is that joke not funny?

Am I prepared to show you a photo of my extra skin?  No.
Will I ever be prepared to show you a photo of my extra skin?  Probably no.
If you ask me nicely in person, will I show you?  No, in fact I'll probably cut you.

If you really want to see extra skin that bad, just do a google search.  I guarantee one of the thousands of images looks similar to me.

But anyway...

Imagine that you (literally) work your ass off for weeks, months, years, to get healthy and feel beautiful or get stronger or get off meds or whatever your personal motivations are to lose weight.  And your body can do some amazing stuff that it couldn't do before.  It looks better in clothes than ever before.  It's stronger than it's ever been before.  But that extra skin is still lurking there and reminding you of your former self, the damage you did to your body, and how worthless and unattractive you used to feel.  Nothing will make you feel less sexy and pretty and successful in your efforts than people commenting on it.

I've been asked, repeatedly, by well-meaning friends, if I will ever have skin removal surgery.  At this point, I don't really have enough to necessitate a surgical procedure.  Plus, the extremely few people who see me nakey either don't care and love me anyways and can laugh about it with me (the huzzband) and/or can go fuck themselves if they don't like what they see (random locker room people, I guess?).  Also...I don't have $20,000 extra dollars to spend on an elective surgery, soooooo...I'll reconsider if it ever causes me health problems.

I'm trying to use my saggy belly and newly unfortunate breasts and elephant skin wrinkly legs as motivation and a reminder of how far I've come.  I'm trying to see it as evidence of my accomplishments.  I'm trying to see it as beautiful, but this is one of the biggest mental hurdles I've had to face/cross/jump over/whatever during this process.  It's a challenge and it may never happen.

But.

BUT.

I did a 5k in May.  Yes, I walked like 85% of it.  But two years ago, there is no friggin way I could have even walked a mile without wanting to die, let alone a 5k.

I hiked an average of 25-40 miles a week with friends this summer.  Could or would I ever have done this before?  I would have wanted to, but there's no way I could have.

I discovered a love for yoga.  I never would have even tried a class before, because I was too embarrassed about my body and lack of flexibility.  I hate to sound cliche, but this has put me in tune with my body and what it wants and needs better than anything else I've ever done.  It's taught me to breathe through pain (mental and physical) and that I can tough out uncomfortable things, and the end result is worth the discomfort and work.  It has taught me to take up the space I need and to be present in my body and mind.  Holy crap, am I grateful for yoga.

I PRed an assload of lifts this year.  Are my numbers impressive?  Hahahaha no.  Does it matter?  No, because I lifted heavier shit than I ever have before.  And I can lift way more now than I could when I was heavier (which is counter intuitive to me, but whatevs).

I can shop for clothes in almost any store I want to.  It's hard to get used to this.  I'm used to purchasing whatever garments I can find in my size regardless of whether I liked them or whether they were comfortable or flattering, because my options have been so limited in the past.

Ok, so my body looks weird naked.  Yes, I still feel a lot of body shame and frankly, I feel way sexier with my clothes on than off.  But would I go back to being 363 lbs, not able to do most of the things I want to do, not able to fit in an airplane seat without a seatbelt extender and a prayer, only able to order ugly old ladyish clothes online, get short of breath walking up a flight of stairs, not be able to give my dog the exercise he needs, not be able to hike and see beautiful places, not be able to feel comfortable doing yoga, have to take blood pressure medications, not be brave enough to tell street harassers to fuck off, and be sad?

Would I have spent my entire life being thin, and thus not had to worry about extra skin at all?  Perhaps.  But I know how strong I am because I've had to work for every pound off my body and on the bar.  Every extra rep, every extra second in an uncomfortable yoga asana, every extra jogged step...I know that every single choice I make every single day has the power to bring me closer to or further from my goals.  I feel like others who may have had easier lives physically or been appreciated aesthetically or been considered conventionally attractive for their entire lives don't necessarily appreciate what they have and how easy they have it in some ways.

So what's the moral of the story?

THE EXTRA SKIN IS WORTH IT.

2016

While it seems like this year might legit be the end of the world (in case we descend into dystopian madness soon, it's been really nice knowing all of you), for me, this year has been amazing so far and shows no signs of stopping.

The things:

I'm in my first clinical practicum rotation at MDCMC/NSMC in Sturge.  I feel like a moron allllll the time, but that means I'm constantly learning.  It is taxing, exhausting, overwhelming...and it should be!  My goal involves a lot of responsibility.

I'm still employed.  I'm lucky enough to have a job that, while I may or may not agree with administrative decisions, they let me study in between calls.  That alone is worth it.

My husband and I have had an interesting, amazing year together as we continue to learn and grow as individuals and as a couple.  It hasn't all been great, but it HAS all been educational and brought increased self-awareness.

Taco is still the cutest, even though his breath smells like an old hobo's infected toenail.

I have made some amazing, life-changing friends this year.  People who have affected me in ways I never thought possible.

I've reconnected with old friends and somehow, against the odds of scheduling craziness and distance, managed to maintain my closest friendships with my tribe of weirdos.

Probably the best thing to come out of 2016 is that I barely recognize the Angie from 2015 and previous years.  While I do look considerably different physically, more importantly, my mental state has completely changed.  And I didn't even realize it until my Auntie Sharon pointed it out to me at my cousin's wedding this summer.  My lovely, sweet Auntie pulled me aside and commented on my confidence.  She said since seeing me 4 months prior, I looked, acted, and carried myself like a completely different person.  She made me cry a little bit. :)  And I realized...she was right.

Mumzers, Auntie Sharon, moi.  Duesler ladies are HAWT.

I felt so good about myself for the first time in a long time.  Despite being proud of my accomplishments (academic, physical, mental, etc.), I still could not shake the feeling that something was lacking.  Something was missing in me that other people had.

This year turned that around.   Why?  I have no stinkin idea.  When?  I honestly can't recall.  The transition was subtle and fast.  It's like I woke up one morning and a tiny imperceptible shift occurred.  I went to bed using my humor as armor and woke up legitimately thinking I was funny.  I went to bed hiding my body and woke up wanting to show off my hard work.  I went to bed being the funny but fat and unattractive girl and woke up being the girl my husband's friends (and my friends) want to get with (well...some of them).  I went to bed unsure of my abilities and talents and woke up a rockstar.

I wish I could share the event, thought process, or magical happening that changed my perceptions, but I haven't the slightest idea what it was.  I wish I could tell you that everyone else sees me the same way I see myself, but I'm sure that's not true.  I wish I could bottle this feeling and market it, not only because I'd make an assload of money, but because everyone deserves to feel this way.

2016 might suck for the world at large, but for me, it's been amazing.

Liberation and Body Shame

So.  I thought I was done blogging.  Turns out, I have more to say.  Surprise!

For years, I've felt like a prisioner in my own body.  I had a suit of armor, so to speak, of my own making.

Through hard work, my prison has slowly been stripped away, layer by layer (I've still got a considerable amount of "armor" on my person.  But comparatively, it's quite a change and I feel super vulnerable about it at times).  But.  BUT.  And this is a big but (no pun intended, hey-oh!), I still feel a deep and profound shame about my body.

Quick special shout-out to my husband here, for helping me work through this.  I know it's something I've got to work on and do for myself, but it helps to have somebody who appreciates your body, notices small changes, and basically worships you like a goddess.  Thanks, boo.

My besties, who have all seen me in various stages of undress, know that I'm particularly self-conscious about my belly.  I may call it a food baby, baby Buddha, keg, etc to joke around, but the truth is, I hate it.  A lot.

The good news is, I have other body parts that I dig.  My ass is fantastic.  My face is pretty cute.  I've got decent legs.  I like my shoulders.  I just can't seem to get past my body shame, and most of it centers around my midsection.  It's pale and has stretch marks.  I have never, ever, EVER voluntarily showed it off in public.  EVER.

Today, Jeffer, Taco, and I went out to Brillion to explore.  We hiked at the nature center for a bit, but the mosquitoes got so bad we had to abandon ship pretty quickly.  Jeff had a few things to take care of, so Taco and I went for a jog on the Friendship Trail.  It was hotter than hell.  I was sweating my ass off and my t-shirt was uncomfortably stuck to me in a billion places.  As I was jogging, I thought, "man, I wish I could take my shirt off."

Then, I thought, "why the hell can't I take my damn shirt off?"

I immediately dismissed the idea.  I will barely wear a bathing suit, let alone run around without a shirt on.  Tank tops feel revealing to me.  I've worn shorts twice this summer, and felt uncomfortable the whole time.  My brain kept telling me, "nobody wants to see that shit, Ang.  Keep it on!"

Then, I stopped myself.  Thoughts started spiraling through my brain...

What the fuck, Ang.  What the fuck.  You are alone.  

Your dog doesn't give a flying fuck what your belly looks like.  

And furthermore...do you really care what any potential strangers you MIGHT run into think of your body?  

Are the thoughts of hypothetical strangers more important than your own personal comfort right now?

Embarrassingly enough, yes.  Absolutely, 100%, yes.  I did care what potential, non-existant, hypothetical strangers/other hikers would think of my body.  Realizing this made me feel even more ashamed of myself.  How can I project this persona of confidence and still have these self-loathing thoughts?  Why do I feel like I'm not good enough?  Why do I still hate my body so much?

I started thinking about all the amazing things my body is capable of.  My legs have walked in over 40 states, 12 countries, up hills and mountains, and across graduation stages.  My hands have caught babies as they've entered the world and held the hands of dying patients as they've exited the world.  My arms have held my friends' babies and hugged the ones I love.  My mouth, while sassy and with a penchant for getting me into trouble, kisses the ones I love and shares my thoughts with the world.  My body has done some pretty amazing stuff.  What right do I have to hate such an amazing thing???

Fuck it, I thought, stripped my shirt off, and finished my jog (wog, actually.  Taco got tired before I did, surprisingly).

Had I seen another human, I probably would have put my shirt back on immediately.  I did put it back on before I got back to the highway portion of the trail.  I felt weird the whole time.  The point is, today was a tiny step towards self-love and liberation for me, and it took a lot for me to be able to do it.  Even more to share this hella unflattering but empowering picture that I'm about to link.  Yeesh.

Werkin dem angles.

Gratitude

Since it's been almost 6 months since I've documented anything, I think it's safe to say I've fallen off the blogging wagon.  And I'm ok with this.

I started this blog when my gym wife Jen told me to find a way to document my Paying it Forward experience and all the changes that were no doubt going to occur in my life.

My 32nd year was an emotional and physical maelstrom, in the best way possible.  I lost almost 100lbs.  I made some new friends.  I worked my ass off, figuratively and literally.  I cried all over my poor trainer on at least a weekly basis.  I cried all over my husband on at least a weekly basis.  I cried all over my nutritionist pretty regularly, as well.  I came to terms with my habits, my decisions, my mental state, my physical state, and my life in general.  I worked really hard to improve my physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental health.

In my 33rd year, the physical changes came a lot more slowly but the mental, emotional, and spiritual "journey" continued.  I lost about 30 more lbs.  I had surgery.  I gained 20 lbs back.  I re-lost the 20 post-op mashed potato and popsicle pounds.  I made more new friends (awesome ones, in fact).  I started practicing mindfulness, and found a lot of peace in yoga practice (which I used to hate with the fire of 1000 suns) and meditation (which I always used to feel like I was doing "wrong").  Because of this (I think), I cried a lot less.  I finished my BSN and started grad school, which may prove to be my worst idea yet (but will be worth it when I'm finished, I'm sure).

As I'm rapidly approaching 34, I feel like this is a perfect time to reflect on where I've been and the changes that have occurred.  I'm insanely proud of the physical changes that have occurred, but even more proud of the mental changes.  I feel clear, focused, and determined.  I feel confident and strong (most of the time).  I feel at peace with myself and my relationships.

Most importantly, I feel a deep gratitude.  I have even learned to become thankful for the not-so-awesome things that have happened in my life, because they shaped me into the rockstar you know and love today (I'm also thankful that I'm so humble).  I am so, so thankful for my husband, family, and friends.  I'm grateful for my education and career.  I'm grateful that people trust me every day to guide them towards making the best decisions they can for their health.

I'm grateful for the boys (not men) and girls (not women) I've known (and not known) who mocked my body ruthlessly and publicly.  I'm grateful for my exes who cheated on me.  I'm grateful for those assholes on Fair St who made me cry in 2014 and inspired me to apply for Jen's Paying it Forward contest/gift.

Does that sound ridiculous?  It feels a little ridiculous.  How can I be thankful for boyfriends who screw around on me, people who body-shame me, strangers who make me cry?  They taught me how to be resilient, how to persevere, how to keep my head held high, and how not to give a fuck about the opinions of people who, quite frankly, just don't matter.  Those lessons were hard to learn and those skills were hard-earned.  In the wise words of Jinkx Monsoon, "water off a duck's back."

They also, in a roundabout way, contributed to the amazing process of change and transformation that I've gone through and will not doubt continue to go through as I get older.

I'm grateful to Amanda, Kim, and everyone at Nutritional Healing for being amazing sources of knowledge and inspiration.  I'm so grateful for Anytime Fitness A-West, Neenah, Kaukauna, and A-East for being my homes away from home (seriously, I sometimes feel like I should just rent out a tanning room and move all my stuff in) and excellent cheerleaders (and super fun friends).

I hate to say this adventure is done, because it feels like it's just beginning.  I know I still have a long way to go before I'm where I want to be.  I don't believe in "before and after," I think I'll experience a slow but persistent evolution that will perpetuate forever, hopefully in a positive direction.  However, I have a feeling that the public documentation of it is finished.  It feels like a time for introspection and self-reflection.

With that said, thank you for cheering me on, thank you for the inspiring words, thank you for keeping me motivated.  Thank you for being my shoulders to cry on and my cheerleaders to high-five when things have been awesome.

How my FitBit turned me into an obsessive basketcase

Behold, the Fitbit in all it's glory.

Fitbits are amazing.  These little gizmos can monitor just about everything that happens in your day.  Miles walked, steps taken, calories burned, heart rate, food intake, hydration, sleep...just about the only thing they don't monitor is your poo (though I'm sure that's coming in a future model).  

So why am I getting rid of mine?

TL;DR version

 I am an anxious weirdo with obsessive tendencies.  I also have a history of some disordered health, eating, and fitness behavior.  

The whole story

I got the Fitbit as a Valentine's Day gift last year.  Technically, I bought it for myself...Jeff got himself some sweet ass noise-cancelling headphones and I said "Happy Valentine's Day, those are from me, and I'm getting a Fitbit."  I ordered myself a Charge HR, because I wanted the most accurate calorie monitor (you can see where this is going already, I'm sure).  Also, I was on an absolutely HUGE dose of beta blockers last year, and I wanted to make sure my HR wasn't getting too low (turns out, my resting HR was in the 40's for most of 2015.  Being able to show evidence of this to my doctor, coupled with my super low BP (100/60) got my beta blocker dose cut in half.  So thanks for that, Fitbit)!

It came in the mail and I was super excited.  I charged it up, slapped it on, and set up the app on my computer.  I used the pre-set goals from Fitbit itself (10,000 steps, 5 miles, 10 floors, and 2,500 calories) for a few months before starting to tweak them.

Guess which one I tweaked.

I'll give you one subtle hint.

I thought, "I could burn 3,000 calories in a day."  So I increased that goal.  On days that I met the goal, I was so happy.  On days that I didn't meet the goal, I felt like a failure.  

A friggin arbitrarily selected goal on a goddamn electronic fitness tracker made me feel like a failure.  Why?  Because I don't not meet goals, dammit.  That's just not how I operate.

On days that I knew I wouldn't be as active, I ate less (like, way less than my nutritionally recommended plan that I pay actual money for science-y people to develop for me) to make sure my calorie burn was still significantly over my intake.  This subsequently led to eating like shit when I'd come home starving at the end of the day (now, when I say "like shit," I mean "like shit for me."  It was still miles better than I ate before I started treating my body respectfully).  

On days that I ate more, I felt obligated to go work out, even if it was supposed to be a rest day.  Even if I was exhausted.  EVEN IF I HAD FUCKING BRONCHITIS.  BRONCHITIS, Y'ALL.  Remember when I coughed so hard I peed myself at the gym last spring?  I blame Fitbit.

When I work out, I like to set goals for myself, even with cardio.  I started by saying "I'll do 300KCal of cardio."  Then it was 400.  Then it was 500.  If I got tired or ran out of time and had to stop before my goal was met, I was upset with myself.  EVEN THOUGH I HAD WORKED OUT AND DONE SOMETHING HEALTHY FOR MY BODY.  

I know for a lot of people, that much calorie burn is nothing.  But you know who (besides me, clearly) tracks their KCal so meticulously and workouts less than their goal "don't count?"  You know who else gets upset with themselves when they mess up their calorie burn by eating more than they want to while still eating less than they should?

Compulsive exercisers and people with eating disorders, that's who.

And another thing.

I didn't want to lift as much or as often.

Why?

I can't flippin believe it, but because my lifting workouts didn't burn as many calories as cardio.  Even though they're friggin EXHAUSTING.  Even though I know increasing your muscle mass is what leads to a higher resting calorie burn rate.  Even though one of my goals is to get stronger.  

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to throw my Fitbit into the nearest river.  But also, I didn't want to litter.  I hear those tickets are expensive (*wink*).  

This tool that I had wanted and that I thought had been so helpful to me, was no longer a tool.  It was a shackle.  It was a weight.  It was leading me down a path toward increasingly disordered behavior.  And I knew it had to go.

Pictured above: my Fitbit Charge HR.  Looks comfy.

It was peeling apart a little near the display, and still under warranty, so I contacted Fitbit for a replacement.  I also asked them if I could raffle it off or donate it, and they said that was fine (ethics, yo)!  The new one is due to arrive this week, and I just need to figure out how to get it the hell outta my house and turn it into a blessing for someone else.

I worked out this morning without the Fitbit.  At first, I felt a little naked.  My first thought was, "why am I doing this if there's no record of it?"  Then I realized, my shrinking food baby and growing bro biceps are the record.  My pants that are now too big.  My blood pressure meds that have been decreased.  My c-pap that will hopefully be going away next year.  When I thought about that, I didn't give a flying turd how many calories I burned.  Or how long I worked out.  Or how many steps I had taken.  The only thing I counted was reps.  It was magical.

Again: I think Fitbits are fantastic.  They can be an amazing tool for monitoring and improving habits.  The Charge HR and Surge can monitor heart rate, which is a huge improvement for those with some health problems that want to be active.  They are just not positive tools for me.

Also, if calorie counting works for you, DO IT!  It plays too much into my anxious and obsessive side and leads to ugliness.

The great stimulant experiment

DISCLAIMER: I'm not a moron.  I know pre-workout is for strength training.  With that said, read on...

Oh my holy God, y'all.  Pre-workout.  It should probably be illegal, because it was awesome.  And terrible.

So, I had some samples of pre-workout and other assorted things (delicious protein for days that I forget to pack my breakfast for work, mostly) from the Vitamin Shoppe (thanks, Strongman/ma'am competition!) and I thought, I wonder if this is all it's cracked up to be.  So I thought I'd give it a whirl.

It was orange-flavored.  And it tasted like glorious Tang.  Just like Grandma Irma used to make.

The stuff winners are made of, apparently.

I drank it on the way to the gym, and on my first few minutes on the elliptical.  Yes, it was cardio day.  I tried it anyway.

At first, I was like, "meh."  I felt pretty much the same.  On cardio day, I tend to get bored, and typically spend 5-10 minutes on one machine before switching to another, and another, and another.  

The patron saint of cardio day.

After about 20 minutes, I realized I was still on the elliptical, and wasn't bored yet.  Score one for pre-workout.

I checked my fitbit, and my heart rate was slightly higher than it normally is.  Now, it was still on the low-ish end for a cardio session (my beta blockers lower my heart rate, because SCIENCE!), and I'm not sure if it was higher because of the caffiene in the pre-workout or because my beta blockers were just decreased.  I'm going to say it was both.

The husband finished his training session, I hopped off the elliptical.  Checked the fitbit, and I'd burned about 90 more calories than normal in 35 minutes.  Score one for pre-workout.

Then, we went to the grocery store.

I could NOT shut up.  Words kept spilling out of my mouth and it felt like I had to say them or my brain would explode from being too full of thoughts and information.  I talk a lot to begin with, and according to Jeff, this "side effect" was EXTREMELY noticeable.

Conclusion:  pre-workout may or may not be straight up methamphetamines.  Having never used methamphetamines, I can't say for sure, but based on my knowledge of them (a few pharmacology classes and the movie "Requiem for a Dream"), I can only assume this is the case.  I do not suggest trying methamphetamines to test this hypothesis, by the way.

Pictured above: pre-workout supplement

Jeff has also asked me not to use the pre-workout any more, because of the incessant talking and, quote, "you were just weird."  I agree with this request...partially to honor Jeff's wishes, and partially because I WAS frickin weird on it.

Experiment over!