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.

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.

Street Harassment. The uncoolest.

Ughhhhhhh, you guys.

Frickin street harassment.  Is it still street harassment if it happens in a park, on a trail?  Trail harassment?  Well, no matter, I'm going to call it street harassment anyway.

Let me tell you two little stories:

Early April 2014.  I'm feeling pretty good about myself because I've started walking to and from work.  The weather is glorious, I've got my favorite blue sweater on, and I'm on my way home to see my husband.  The day couldn't have been nicer.

Until I turn onto State Street.

"Go back to Burger King, fatty!" comes the shout from over a block away.

I try not to look at the person shouting, but I did before I could help myself.

"Yeah, you, you fat bitch!"

Oh, my tender little heart.  I am devastated.  My soul is shattered by these few, cruel words.  I continue walking home as hot, angry tears stream down my face under my polka-dotted sunglasses and immediately collapse into my husband's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.  I'm fat, I know it.  But do people REALLY need to take precious time from their day to spew hateful words at me?  Seems like a waste of energy, and yet it happened all. the. TIME.

Fast forward to yesterday.

It's a gorgeous, hot, sunny day, and I decided to take Taco for a walk in Telulah Park along the Newberry Trail.  Once we got to the park, it took us awhile to find the actual trail, but once we did it was peaceful and gorgeous.  We walked along the Fox River, barked at geese and ducks (just Taco), enjoyed the solitude, sat and dipped our feet in the river (just me), and then continued up the hill back to the park.  After meandering along the trail through the park, we came upon a park bench with three "gentlemen" (and that term is pretty generous, as you'll see).  

After letting the toddler that was with them pet Taco and introducing him to them as well, came the inevitable

"What's your name, baby?"

Response one: Please don't call me baby.  Response 2: Angela.  Because you will use my formal name, fools.

We kept walking about another mile and eventually turned around (I don't think the trail is a loop...but who knows because seriously, it's not marked well at all).

When we came upon their park bench, my new "friend" said "Did you come back for me?"

My sarcastic response was "Of course, I missed you so much these last fifteen minutes, total stranger."  I laughed and kept walking.

"Shake that ass, baby!" 

Oh.  HELL.  No.  I turned around while walking away (backward) and responded "No!" in my best scolding voice.  I turned back around and kept walking.

The three amigos and their baby then got up and started following me down the trail...or at least walking in the same direction.  They were mercifully slow because of the stroller and small child that was with them.

"You looking fine, girl!"

No response from me.

"Hey, you wanna be my girl?"

No response from me.

"I'd like to tap that ass."

No response from me.  At this point, my blood is boiling and I'm about ready to go ape on them, but I just want to get to my car and get home so I can complain about them to Jeff.

"Hey, Angela, are you into three-ways?"

At this point, I promptly lost my shit.  They were shouting in my direction as there was about 100 feet in between us on the trail.  I turned around and shouted back, "Yes, if you're into guys.  I'll invite my husband!"

"Aww hell no."  "Fuck that shit."  "You cocktease."  

Seriously?  Seriously?  SERIOUSLY?  Apparently being female and going for a walk with your fucking dog makes you a cocktease.  The more you know.

Here's the moral of the story.
Once upon a time, I thought that losing weight would make the street harassment stop.  I thought people shouted evil things at me because I was fat (well, still am kinda fat, but you know what I mean.  Fatter than current status), so when I lost weight, nobody would have cause to say mean things anymore.  Hooray!

SURPRISE!  People shout things and say rude things.  And it seems like it's because I have the audacity to take my vagina and breasts outdoors in public.  Unsupervised by a male and everything.  HOW DARE I!  I should be shamed into submission for merely being female and existing, let alone running amok on public hiking trails!  I should also figure out a way to leave my vagina and breasts at home...but that sounds scientific and is clearly a job for a man.

We all know that having a vagina makes you weak, fragile, and submissive.  Therefore, it's not only acceptable to street harass vagina-havers, but it's your DUTY AS AN AMERICAN to make sure they feel as weak, fragile, and submissive as you feel they should be.

For the record, here is a list of things it's acceptable to say to a stranger as she walks her dog:
1) Your dog is cute (this will make us instant BFFs, just FYI)
2) Gorgeous day, isn't it?
3) Your shoe is untied (if it actually is)
4) Do you have the time?
5) Your dog is cute (I know I already said it, but it's important)
6) Help! (if you are in distress, obvi)
END OF LIST.

**P.S. This also applies to males and those whose genders you are not sure of.  It's pretty cis-female centric because I'm writing from personal experience.  But how about let's just not harass each other, k?

Goals

I like setting goals and crushing them.  In that past, setting goals was a frustrating, depressing process for me.  I was really good at the planning stages...and not so great at the actual execution.  I had known for a loooooong time that I wanted to/needed to lose weight and get healthier, but no idea how to do it.  Eat less calories than you take in (duh), but to be honest, there's a lot more to it than that, at least for me.

Counting calories is super triggering for me.  I can't do it without feeling restricted, anxious, and stressed.  It always always always leads to a binge and feeling badly (and sick).  So I don't do it.

Weight Watchers was fantastic in terms of measuring intake without calorie counting, but, for me, it didn't teach me how to eat healthy.  I could eat nothing but Snickers bars all day as long as I didn't go over my daily points.  I was losing a little weight, which was great, but still feeding myself with a lot of processed crap.

Everybody is different, and different things work for different people.  I know people who have lost tons of weight counting calories, on WW, on Atkins, or on another program, and it makes sense for them.  Fantastic!  Keep it up, yo!

What does this have to do with goals, you ask?

Until I had a plan that I could sustainably execute, my goals were just wishes.  I wanted them, but wasn't taking appropriate steps to meet them.

Over the past year, my goals have evolved as my health and fitness have.  My first goal was to get through my first workout without crying, dying, or vomiting.  It may seem like a ridiculous or easy goal, but it was my Everest.  I was so intimidated by the gym and my trainer at that time, and that first workout was terrifying.  But I did it.  Goal met.  After I got into the swing of things, my first weight loss goal was 20lbs.  After that, it was to be below 300lbs.  Then to lose 75.  Then 100.  I've also had NSV related goals...for example, comfortably sitting in an airplane seat without a seatbelt extender was a goal I crushed on my trip to AZ in March.  Even things like sitting in a restaurant booth comfortably or in a chair with arms without being in pain were goals that I had.

Now that I've met my 100lb goal (plus some, yay!), it's time to re-evaluate and make new goals.  I have to admit, I'm at a bit of a loss.  I want to gain some water weight, which probably sounds ridiculous to most of you.  But even though I drink water all day (and pee about a billion times a day as a result), I am chronically dehydrated (as are lots of people).  My body composition is improving slowly but surely, and my percentage of body water is slowly creeping up.  The more fat I lose, the more it goes up (thank GOD).  But it's only at 39%, and it should be at least 50%.  The problem with this goal is that I need it to be tangible and concrete, and I'm not sure how to quantify water weight gain in a way that is attainable on a monthly basis.  *le sigh*

I would also love to put on some muscle.  Again, my percentage of muscle keeps increasing as my fat percentage goes down, but pounds wise, I've actually lost some muscle this year.  The small amount I've lost, considering that I've lost 113lbs, is pretty fantastic.  But eventually, I'd like some sweet gains.  I want a big, amazing ass, what can I say (well, it's already pretty big and amazing, but I want it to be like Kim Kardashian-ey).

Also, I'm most certainly not done losing weight (at least, I hope not).  I'd still like to lose a solid 50 more pounds, possibly more.  But it's tricky, because I'm now at the point where people are starting to ask about my "goal weight."  And I have no idea what it is.  I hope I'll know it when I get there, but as of now, I have no idea what it is.  Because it depends more on how I feel and look than the number on the scale (never thought I'd say that).  I could surprise myself and stop before my 50lb loss.  Maybe I'll get to 210 and decide that's perfect.  Maybe I'll lose the 50 and decide I need to lose more.

I guess I'm just trying to throw this out there...make goals for yourself!  Make them achievable, measurable, and REALISTIC, so you can pleasantly surprise yourself when you crush them.

Go gain a pound of muscle.

Go sit in a restaurant booth.

Go get that Kim Kardashian ass.

Choices

I actually hate this stock photo.  But I'll get to that in a second...

Choice is a beautiful, terrifying thing.  I'm able to say that it's terrifying because it's something I, as a white, straight, cisgender, American, educated woman, am able to take for granted.  A LOT.  Not to get political on you, but holy shit, I have some serious privilege and associated guilt.  Given the state of the world, I guess I'd rather have the guilt than not have the privilege, and it's crap to have to think that way.

Moving on...

Some of the choices we have to make are easy.  Do I go to work today or stay in my sweatpants watching Netflix?  Well, unless you are ill or have agoraphobia, you will probably make the decision to go to work.  Unless you don't like gainful employment, of course (no judgement).

Some are more difficult.  Where will I go to college?  What do I want to be when I "grow up?"  Do I want children?  If so, how many?  Who will I vote for (this may be easy or difficult depending on who's running)?

Some choices should be easy, but can challenge us (me) sometimes (a lot).

Will I eat this candy or won't I?
Will I work out today, or will I stay in my sweatpants watching Netflix (I like Netflix, ok?)?
Will I have all of the garlic naan ever made when I go out to dinner with my BFF?
Will I have a glass of water, or will I have a third latte?

The struggle is real, y'all.

There is a reason I get annoyed (somewhat secretly, but I'm not THAT good at hiding it) when people say they "slipped up" on their healthy eating and exercise is because it's not a slip up.  It's not an accident.  Nobody hog-tied you and forced you to eat Doritos all day (I hope).  You didn't lose your footing and fall mouth first into a pan of brownies.  The gym didn't secretly pack up and move to a different part of town without telling you.

It's not a slip up.  It's not a mistake.  It's a choice.  You may not even realize it.

I recently read an article (and no, I won't cite it, because I can't even remember where/when exactly I saw it) that said "discipline is prioritizing what you want most of all over what you want right now."  Truer words have never been spoken.  It doesn't just apply to health and fitness, it applies to everything we do.

I couldn't find the original quote, but this is close enough.  You get the idea.  Also, don't tell me what to do, Silhouette Person.  You don't know my life!

I've written about priorities before.  I'll probably write about priorities again, because it's something I constantly have to remind myself of.  I have several priorities in my life that are constantly competing for the top position.  Work, school, my marriage, my friends, my family, Taco, home maintenance, my health.

For the first time in a long time, my health usually wins the top spot.  Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, for example, I wake up at 5am absolutely frickin exhausted.  The night before, school was my priority and I stayed up studying until midnight.  Today, as much as I would like for my personal health to be the priority and go back to bed to rest, work needs to win because I'm scheduled to be in at 6 and SURPRISE, adulthood is no fun sometimes!

Today, I probably should have worked out, but I prioritized my friends and social relationships and went out to lunch instead.

Do I feel badly about it?  Meh, tomorrow's a new day, the gym will still be there.  And it's a choice I made.  Consciously.  Deliberately.  They did not kidnap me and take me to Basil Cafe (although truthfully, I would LOVE that).  There's no excuse, there's just what happened.  The choice I made.  And it was worth it.

I also don't like to think of it as "good choices" and "bad choices."  Maybe "better choices" and "not as great" choices?  I don't know how to phrase it.  But I feel like calling it a bad choice shames us for what we do.  And I am not hopping on that train.  Are our less than spectacular choices what define us?  NO.  So why do we shame ourselves for them?

You can choose to spend your time excusing your "slip ups" or "cheating" or "mistakes" on your fitness journey.  But I can almost guarantee, you will begin to feel badly about them.

What I've chosen to do is to own my choices, without apologies or excuses.  For me, this is the best (only) way to forward movement, progress, and growth.  It gives me the freedom to do what I want with the pride I feel whenever I make a choice that improves my life.

Let's talk about how awesome we are

I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty damn awesome.

I'm feeling so dang good lately, if I wasn't me, I'd want to BE me.  I feel like I'm covered in a thin layer of glitter and unicorn farts (which, btw, smell like carrot cake I think) and I want to stand on top of a tall building with a megaphone shouting compliments to everyone so they feel as good as I feel.


That sort of thing is probably frowned upon.  Also, I don't own a megaphone and the tallest building in my city (where I work, incidentally) is a whopping 10 stories.  And there is no roof access unless you work for maintenance and wear a harness.

I was thinking...what is it that's making me feel so awesome?  Good choices!  Taking care of myself (physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually).  Doing things that make me happy!

What awesome decisions have you made for yourself today?  This week?  This month?  I hope you can think of at least 10 nice things you've done for yourself this month and/or 10 amazing, wonderful things about your fabulous, bad-ass self.  Actually, I hope you can think of a lot more than that...but if you can't think of at least 10, you let me know, because we need to talk.  Every time you treat yourself with respect and love, it's a tiny victory.  Every time I make the choice to treat myself well, I picture this little turtle cheering me on:

Hooray!  Good choices!  Eeeeeeeee!

Thanks, little turtle!

Anyway, the awesomeness has little to do with weight loss at this point (though don't get me wrong, I still love that "side effect" of my nutrition and exercise plan and hope it continues for awhile).  It's about doing things that make me happy, and how those things have changed over the past year to include a lot of healthy, active things. 

I sometimes worry that people will misinterpret my newfound self-respect and happiness with arrogance and fat-shaming.  Please, please, please, don't misinterpret it, because being arrogant and shaming people are two of the last things I would ever want to do.  I've learned over the past several months that interpretation can cause serious problems and that the way a message is received is often more important than the way it's intended. 

But also...I AM AWESOME AND I WANT TO SHOUT IT FROM THE TOP OF THE JOHNSON BANK BUILDING.

And more importantly...YOU are awesome and it's high time you knew it.  If you already knew, kudos to you for realizing your amazingness.  If you didn't know, well...welcome to the amazeballs club.  It's pretty exclusive and I'm 100% sure you deserve to be a member.  The only membership requirements are to take care of yourself (whatever that means to you!) and recognize your fabulousness.  Your club t-shirt is in the mail.

Trust the Process

I have a confession to make.





I weigh myself every day.

Sometimes multiple times a day.

I know, it's horrible.  My trainer AND my nutritionist both tell me, in the nicest way possible, that I'm a freakin' idiot for doing this.  And yet I can't stop.

I have to do it.  I don't punish myself on "bad" days or reward myself on "good" days, I just have to know what the scale says!

I feel weird when I don't weigh myself.  It's obsessive and I know it's bad, but I do it.  Confession over.


Let's talk about why this may be the crappiest idea ever.

Last month, I went to my nutritionist's office for my body comp appt, like I always do.  She weighs and measures me, sticks the EKG patches to my hand and foot and then we chat about how things went and she answers my 10,000 inevitable questions.

Last month, I weighed in at 255, which for me is pretty damn good.  Friggin amazeballs good, actually.

The next day, and for about 2 weeks afterward, I consistently weighed in at 255.  Sometimes my body likes to hold on to weight for as long as humanly possible and then drop several pounds overnight, so I wasn't too concerned or annoyed at this point.

Then, things took what I thought was a horrible turn.  My weight started to creep upwards.  A few days later, it was 257.  Then 260.  261.  262.  Another week and a half later and I was holding steady at 266.

And I was PISSED.

I was (am) still working out as much as I have been for the past year, 5-6x weekly for an hour.  I had (have) been eating the same healthy, whole foods as I always have been.

Why in the holy hell had I gained 11 pounds in less than a month?  I could understand it if I had avoided the gym all month and taken to eating a steady diet of cupcakes and Cheetos.  In fact, I briefly considered eating cupcakes and Cheetos, because why not?  If I'm going to gain weight anyway, I might as well go down in flames...

About 4 days before my nutritionist appointment, my weight started to trend downwards.  It finally "landed" at 256, one pound above where I'd started the month (although my bathroom is an electromagnetic black hole...every scale that enters it becomes 2-5 lb heavy within 6 weeks, no lie).

I asked my nutritionist about my body's love of holding on to weight and then dumping several pounds instantaneously instead of gradually letting it go.  Apparently, normal.  I also asked her about my rapid weight gain this month and told her how pissed I was.  After telling me (again) to stop weighing myself every damn day, she told me this can be normal, too.  *le sigh*  I don't WANT to gain weight when I'm working my ass off!  Even if it's muscle and water (two things that I actually need to gain).

I hopped on the scale.

253.

Ok, not fantastic, but a loss.  I'll take it.

Then she did my body composition analysis.

And this, my friends, is why you should not weigh yourself every day.


Even though I "only" lost 2 lb on the scale, I lost 12 lb of fat.

I also gained muscle and several pounds of water.  I know a lot of people hear "water weight gain" and think of edema or bloating, but I'm chronically dehydrated despite drinking 3-5 Nalgenes of water a day, so for me, numerous pounds of water weight gain was excellent news.

The moral of the story?

I hate hokey crap.  "Trust the process."  "Find your zen." "Keep calm and carry on." "#blessed" "If you build it, they will come." 

Ugh.  Just give me the info and/or tell me what to do without the crispy new age coating, please.

But in this case, true.  Trust the process, indeed.  "The process" has been serving me well for over a year now, one perceived setback shouldn't derail me.

Especially because it turned out to be AWESOME and not a setback at all.

Your meal replacement product is absolute crap.

Let me start by saying this is strictly my opinion of products.  NOT the people who sell them.  Also...it's an opinion.  I'm not an expert (obvi).

Now that I have your attention...

Hi there.

People ask me all the time what steps I've taken to lose all this weight and get heathier this year.

When I tell them, "clean eating and LOTS of exercise," the vast majority of them stand there, waiting for me to continue speaking.  When I don't, they invariably ask...

"No supplements?"

"No meal replacements?"

No.  None of that stuff.

Actual, factual food, and real, hard work.  Boom.  End of story.

When they then ask why I don't use Shakeology/Isagenix/Advocare/Herbalife, my response is invariably say this:
1) I'm doing fantastic without it.
2) most of them suck and aren't really that healthy
3) I'm not a fan of MLM in general
4) I don't want to pay for something that I feel has no value

I have a science background.   Buzzwords don't get me excited.  Facts do.

If this is the healthiest meal of your day, I'd hate to see what kind of crap you're eating the rest of the day.

You know what else builds champions?  Hard work.

No comment.

Their logo is green, so it has to be healthy...right?

Now, I know I just raised a lot of hackles.  Like half the people I know from the gym are slaves to Isagenix.  An online fitness group I participate in is on the Shakeology train.  I have co-workers who sell and use Herbalife, and relatives that sell and use Advocare.  Universally, people who use this type of product are fanatically devoted to it.  And that's cool...whatever floats your boat!

I just don't feel any of it is necessary, or healthy.

Here is why.

Exhibit A:  http://www.ancestral-nutrition.com/an-unbiased-review-of-herbalife/

Exhibit B: http://www.ancestral-nutrition.com/unbiased-review-shakeology/

Exhibit C: http://www.ancestral-nutrition.com/an-unbiased-review-of-isagenix/

Exhibit D: http://www.ancestral-nutrition.com/an-unbiased-review-of-advocare/

Please read the one(s) that pertain to you.  I'll wait here.

Ok, now that you've read the one(s) that pertain to you and are armed with a billion reasons why X-brand shake and bar and vitamins are the best thing ever, let me lay this on you...

I am aware that Dani's research is imperfect.  However, it's the first research I've seen that wasn't funded and published by the company selling the product.

I've seen dozens upon dozens of articles touting the awesomeness of these products.  I've seen Facebook links to information about their "nutritional quality."  100% of these articles and links have been directly from the company itself.

That's not research, guys.

That's propaganda.

And after every article about the "nutritional quality" are testimonials.  Sometimes the testimonials are from happy customers.  SOMETIMES THEY ARE FROM PEOPLE WHO'VE MADE A LOT OF MONEY PEDDLING THIS STUFF.  Red flag, yo.  The people I know that sell and use these products are good people...but it's easy to see how some shady characters could take serious advantage of people.  This is why I don't like MLM.

I've also had a lot of conversations with friends saying, "Well, X-brand may not be perfect, but it's better than Y-brand."

Being the best out of a category of not great things is still not good.

I think the number one reason why these products piss me off is this...

Many of them are officially called "meal replacement" items, but are heavily marketed as weight loss items.  "Slimcakes?"  "Isalean?"  "Advocare: We build champions?"  Come on.  Tell me that's not pushing overweight people to drop ten tons of money on snacks and shakes filled with chemicals, sugars, and GMOs, with a few "organic superfoods" thrown in to make the package wording sound appealing.

Every health professional I've talked to (not fitness professionals, heath professionals...nurses, doctors, chiropractors, and nutritionists) has told me they would never recommend this stuff to their clients or patients.  They do admit they've had patients who've lost weight using these products, but the vast majority have gained it back, plus some, once they stop the system.

And don't even get me started on cleanses.  Unless you have renal disease or liver failure, or for some reason, your body doesn't sweat, poop, or pee, I'm pretty sure Mother Nature designed your body to effectively "cleanse" itself without any outside help or starving.


I'm going to go ahead and read some of your minds right now...
Uh, Angie, WTF makes you such an expert?
You've only been "living this lifestyle" for like a year, what do you know?
Have you ever even TRIED these products?

Not an expert, just sharing my opinion and some unbiased, non-sponsored research.
In "living this lifestyle" along with my years of school in biochemistry, anatomy, physiology, and pathophysiology, I know a few things about the human body and how it works...and about how my human body has responded to exercise and real food.
I've tried three of the four companies and was not impressed by any of them.


I have a long way to go on my journey, but I've already come pretty far without the help of additives.  I think people sometimes want an easy solution, and that's not realistic.

If you choose to drink/eat this stuff, more power to you!  I've just been asked repeatedly why I don't, and growing increasingly frustrated with all the propaganda that comes my way from well-meaning friends.  Just like the clothes you wear, totally your choice.  Just 100% not for me. :)

Finally...

Just because it's vegan doesn't mean it's healthy.  Oreos are vegan.

Just because its organic doesn't mean it's healthy.  There are organic cigarettes.

EAT REAL FOOD.

Vacation! Subtitle: I am AWESOME.

I just got back from a frickin amazeballs family vacation.  Myself, the hubs, and my mom and pops flew out to Phoenix last week and then met my sibs in Flagstaff.

We stayed in a sweet rental house (thanks, Ma and Pa) and hiked all over God's green earth.


We saw First People's homes built into the sides of cliffs.



We hiked the Grand Canyon.

We hiked for MILES around Sedona.

We went to a weird little town called Jerome, built into the side of a mountain.

We explored Phoenix and Flagstaff.

We sat in a hot tub for hours.

We got up and drove two hours to see an amazing sunrise.

We saw tons of elk so close to us we could have touched them (if it weren't for fleas and early mating-season aggression, that is).

I got to see my college roomie and fetus friend and her husband, and meet their sweet daughter Aida.

I ate fajitas pretty much every day.

I had amazing tequila (sorry not sorry, Amanda and Donovan).




But let's talk about the best parts.

It started with me sitting in an airplane seat comfortably.  My ass fit and everything.  It was a spring break miracle.
And then.  AND THEN!  I buckled my airplane seatbelt.  Without.  A.  Seatbelt.  Extender.  For the first time since before I met my husband.
Then, I put the tray table down and it didn't smack my boobs or my food baby on the way down.
And then I hiked for miles and miles up and down and around a mountain in Sedona and kept up with my family.
And then I hiked straight down into a gorge and back out.
And then I hiked around the Grand Canyon rim.

And then I hiked into the Grand Canyon (not all the way to the bottom, I don't have a death wish) to see a fossil wall and back out.
And then I comfortably sat in yet another airplane seat, buckled yet another airplane seatbelt without an extender, and used another tray table without my boobs or food baby getting in the way.

While tramping all over AZ, I thought a lot about the last vacation I took, when my husband, my bestie and I drove to Montana to meet my siblings.  It was gorgeous and amazing, and I missed out on parts of it because I had no stamina, no energy, and was unbelievably out of shape.  Instead of dwelling on that and feeling sad, I was (am) overjoyed that's no longer the case.  I can do the things I want to (most of them, anyway) and don't have to miss out on anything I want to do because of my fitness, or lack thereof.

Amazing how much can change in just under a year, huh?

Setbacks and Sickness

So...winter can suck it.  Big time.  I've been deaf in my right ear because of a eustacean tube dysfunction for over a month.  It's not awful, but it's annoying, unpleasant, and uncomfortable.  Multiple courses of steroids haven't fixed it, so I'll be half deaf until they figure out the mystery of my right ear.  It's a pain in my ass, but I'm dealing.

However, the past two weeks have been awful.  I got a sinus infection about two weeks ago, which migrated down to my chest and settled into a lovely case of bronchitis.  I've been on Augmentin (finally finished it today, woohoo!) and another steroid burst (four days left, woohoo!) and I still feel like poo.

Even though my voice is back and I'm back at work after missing a few days (thank GOD, I was getting so stinkin' bored), it's hard not to be able to do the things I want to do.

I've only been able to work out twice in the past two weeks, and I had to half-ass it both times.  I tried to run last week and coughed so hard I peed my pants.  I PEED MY MOTHERFUCKING PANTS.  I thought stress incontinence was a hell saved for women who've given birth and/or the elderly.  I was wrong.  Bronchitis is a bitch.


Anyway, I took 5 days off and went back to the gym for a light workout last weekend.  Again, I coughed until I almost fell over.  Awesome.
Today, I went back to workout again, and once again, took it super easy.  I biked, I did abs, I biked some more.  It was awful, because it hardly felt like I did anything.  But I didn't cough nearly as much as last time.  Score!

Since I got sick, I've felt sluggish and lazy and gross and icky in general.  But it's impossible for me to lay on the couch all day and cough.  As soon as I was considered non-contagious, I wanted to hit the gym again.  So I started researching online about exercising with bronchitis.  I'm a nurse, I already knew the answer, and I've given this advice before, but I didn't want to believe it.

In case you were curious, here's what I found.

DON'T DO IT.

Above the neck illness (mild headache, stuffy nose) = go ahead and work out if you feel up to it.

Below the neck illness (lung congestion, cough, vomiting) = stay the hell home and recuperate.

I know, I know, I KNOW...Angie, why you no listen to your own advice??

Pictured above: me

But as many of you know, my biggest fear is complacency.  I've had this mindset that taking a break is not an option...even for illness.  Also, I worry that after missing so many workouts, I've backslid horribly and my progress is going down the crapper with each day spent away from working out.  I worry that when I'm finally able to start hitting it hard again, it'll be like starting all over again - fucking miserable and impossible and the worst thing EVER.  Sad panda face.

PIctured above: me

Well, I've had to change my mindset.  Obviously, because pushing myself too hard through the tail end of this illness could also drag it out for weeks or months - and that's the last thing I want.

I've gotten some sweet and much needed texts, facebook messages, and emails from friends and health professionals that have all told me pretty much the same thing...for the love of God and all that is holy, take it easy on yourself!

I was feeling really badly about not working out and cancelling a bunch of training appointments, but after talking with my trainer today, he also reminded me to listen to myself and ease my way back into it.  And - it's fine, shit happens, tomorrow's a new day and the gym will be waiting when I'm ready.



The moral of the story?

Sometimes your body needs a break.
I am not invincible.
I need to listen to the wisdom of others and take it easy (but I will not be skipping the gym any more...just doing easy workouts for awhile to keep myself moving).
Shit happens, tomorrow is a new day, and the gym will be waiting when I'm ready.

I just wish my lungs would catch up with the rest of me!

Barbara Walters

Recently, my nutritionist asked me to film a testimonial to use in their office and/or on commercials.  I was flattered, honored, and, quite frankly, surprised to be asked.

But I'd be lying if I said I had no reservations.

My first thought was, "Uh, are you sure you want a client that has a solid 100lb left to lose to represent your business?"

But then I thought, "Hell, yes, you want me to do it.  Because I'm frickin awesome."

Because if a sedentary lady who was 200lb overweight, works full time, goes to graduate school full time, and volunteers for BBBS every week can make time to make health and fitness a priority, anybody can.

So, I said yes.

I went to the interview today.

It.  Was.  So.  Nervewracking.

Last time I did something similar, it was for live TV.  My palms were sweaty and cold and I was a little nauseated.

I thought...well, this time it's just me and my interviewer and a cameraman.  The interviewer's name was Bill Murray.  So excellent.

Sadly, 'twas not this Bill Murray.  But he was pretty cool nonetheless.

They're going to keep rolling until they get good footage and just use that, so it won't be so bad.

Or so I thought.

Until I cried.

Yes, that's right, I cried.  While being interviewed.  For a frickin commercial.  They were taping the entire time.  I probably had snot bubbles and everything.  Are you surprised?  I cry all the damn time!  Soooooooooo awkward.

But in my defense, it's not my fault.

He totally "Barbara Walters-ed" me.

If her tactics make Oprah cry, what hope did I have of keeping my tears in check?

After talking about the weight I've lost, doing the obligatory "posing" that comes along with it (awkward but hilarious), talking about why I believe in Nutritional Healing, and how amazeballs I feel, he asked how I felt before.

So, I started rattling of info about my sleep apnea, my hypertension and palpitations, and my crappy energy level, he stopped me and said "that's great, but we also need to hear about how you FELT before."

So I thought about it for a second.  And promptly lost my shit.

I started talking about how I didn't feel like a good nurse, a good wife, a good friend, or even a good mom to Taco.  About how I missed out on things and held myself back from doing things because I had no stamina and no energy.  About how my self-worth and pride were about a zero on a 1-10 scale.  While talking about these things, I cried big fat crocodile tears.  I actually wore makeup, and my tears left glamorous tracks riiiiiight through it.

I SAID ALL OF THIS STUFF.  OUT LOUD.  WHILE BEING FILMED.  FOR A TELEVISION COMMERCIAL.

I'm all about honesty and transparency, but DAMMIT ANYWAY, WHY COULDN'T I JUST HOLD MY SHIT TOGETHER??

Le sigh.


And that's what happens when the most awkward, emotional woman in northeast Wisconsin films a video testimonial.

Oh well.  I'll be interested to see the final product of today's ridiculousness. :)