In Which I Curse The Holidays

It is what every dieter hates to see. Turkey, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie. Ham, macaroni and cheese, corn, pecan pie. Chocolate in the stocking. Birthday cake on my birthday, which falls between the two holidays.Tons of alcohol and appetizers at my best friend's house to ring in the new year.

I have gained twelve pounds in the past 6 weeks. And my ass has grown from the size of Rhode Island to the size of Texas. My double chin is coming back and my spare tire has gone from a bicycle tire to that of a monster truck.

Enough self-hatred and beating myself up. Time to do something about it.

The good thing is that right after the holidays, New Year’s comes. I usually make several resolutions, which haven’t always been achieved in the past, but this year, actually got done. I finished my book. I lost a crap ton of weight. Forty-five pounds, to be exact. That’s a lot of weight. The size of a small child, at the least. I started being more active. I got into nursing school and have done well so far.

Even with the weight gain, I’m really only 15 pounds from my ultimate goal. It was suggested to me to try out Insanity, a DVD workout, which I’ve heard can leave people vomiting and wishing to die.

Sounds perfect.

In Which I Start My Journey to Happiness

I heard a saying on the radio today as I was driving to the store.

The three grand essentials of happiness are something to do, someone to love and something to hope for.

I think this is a pretty powerful quote. Think of the ways that it could be taken.

I could do a day:
I will be happy if I clean the bathroom, if I spend time with my best friend, and if I can hope on getting a handle on the pancreas and gallbladder lecture.

I could do a year:
I will be happy when I finish nursing school at this time next year, I will be happy being with my husband for another year, I will be happy if my hope that I can publish my book comes to fruition.

Right now I'm doing baby steps. One day at a time. Maybe I need to start an anonymous group. Though really, if you're reading this blog, you probably know me and I've already broken my anonymity. Shit.

Step 1 on the road to happiness: Attempt to schedule my life a little better so I can get the most out of my day. Perhaps if I have a calendar telling me what I need to do and when (especially when I can waste time fooling around on facebook and when I can take a crap) I will be happier.

In Which I Learn Another Valuable Lesson

When I first started losing weight, I thought that getting down to 170 pounds would solve all my problems. That I'd finally start thinking that I was beautiful, that I'd be able to wear a bikini, that I'd start being able to control myself when it comes to food.

Now two years and eighty pounds later, I realize that being skinny doesn't exactly mean that you will be happy. While it's great to be falling out of a pair of size 10 pants, I'm not necessarily any happier with myself than I was when I was in a size 20. For some reason, that self-confidence is still nonexistent and I still see the fat girl in the mirror.

I still can't wear a bikini because my stomach is all stretched out from having 2 kids and weighing 80 pounds more than I should. I can't control myself when it comes to food. especially if it's Italian food or sushi.

Now that I'm at my goal weight, I will continue to work out and attempt to make the right food choices (and stay away from Olive Garden), but I'll also start working on trying to get over my self-esteem issues. I want to see the beautiful girl that my husband tells me I am.

In Which I (Stupidly) Listen To My Best Friend

I've been in a funk recently. Between school, work, the kids, the husband, and all the studying, I'm just worn out. I've been having some problems coping with things and today when I told my best friend Dejan that I was feeling icky, he had the brilliant idea that we should go running.

Now, while I did reach my original goal of 170 lb that I had set 2 years ago when I was 250 lbs (I'm actually 166 lbs as of today), I still need to tone the flab. And I haven't worked out in a couple of weeks because of being so busy...and let's face it...I'm lazy.

However, Dejan is not. He goes to the gym almost daily (he has a schedule set up) and is way more buff than I am. He drinks his little protein shakes and eats his tuna and lentil for dinner (it smells like vomit and looks even worse) and is all into working on his fitness.

In my lapse of insanity, I agree to go with him and actually get kind of stoked about the idea of running outside. I run on a treadmill, people. In a climate controlled gym. With filtered air.

What in the hell was I thinking??

It was a beautiful day here in G-ville, temps were in the 60s, sun shining, and there was a pretty boy running in front of me with his dog that I love almost as much as my own children. I was fine...for the first 2 minutes. Then we headed up a hill.

Running outside in the hellacious Greenville allergy-inducing air killed me. I made it for about the first mile before I made my running partners slow it down, then I let Dejan talk me back into running again. He allowed me to stop so he could talk to one of the umpteen million people here in town that he knows and I tried to calm my pounding heart and soothe my aching lungs while attempting to stay in the conversation.

Then the bastard made me run again. AND he made me do stairs, insisting that the stairs would help tone my ass, which in all honesty, could use a bit of toning. And by a bit, I mean a lot. All of me needs toning.

Anywho, so we finally made it back to his house, after 3 freaking miles of running through the park, downtown, and through the historic district...and I died.


I think I look like one of those chalk drawings left behind after a hit and run.

In Which I Feel Better From Looking At Pictures

This is Fat Beckie, from March of 2008. Yuck.

This is skinny Beckie from October 2010.

WOW.

In Which I Get New Pants

These past couple of weeks have been insane with nursing school (last week was aka Hell Week), but I've maintained weight (for the most part, save for Halloween weekend, might have binged a little with my best friend being in town from Indiana), even though I haven't lost any.

I'm okay with this.

More than that, I was told by a friend (read: several friends) that my pants were getting too baggy, especially in the butt area. Now I really don't have much ass to spare and I really haven't wanted to lose it there, but whatev. Taking their words to heart, I did a thing that most women enjoy but I do not.

I went shopping.

I hate the mall. I hate shopping, unless it's for someone else or if I'm buying groceries because we all know how much I like to eat. I hate the sounds of the mall, hate the people who come up to me, wanting me to try their hand lotions or buy a cover for my craptastic cell phone. I hate dressing rooms, I hate thumbing through the plus sizes, I hate salespeople.

So with great trepidation, I walked into a store in which I will not name. I immediately walked to the plus size, then remembered that I'm not plus sized anymore before moseying over to the women's section (I swear, I only stopped at the kid's section for a little bit. My daughter needed a new shirt). So I automatically grabbed my normal size and headed to the dressing room.

They fell off.

Cheered a wee bit, I went for the next size down.

They fell off too.

Getting really excited, I tried the next size down.

They were baggy.

At this point, I was ecstatic. Dropping off the pants and tossing the shirt I'd found for the lovely one somewhere, I headed to one of those stores that has the music pounding so loud that you can't hear anything and the bags with the half-naked men on them...the one I haven't visited since having children.

When I walked in, I was half-afraid one of the teenagers working there was going to ask me what I thought I was doing there, but they just greeted me with a wave and went back to texting on their phone that's way better than mine. <--can you tell that I'm really trying to get my husband to buy me a new phone?

After grabbing a size that I haven't seen since I was eighteen, I headed to the dressing room and pulled them up, praying that I would be able to actually button them without having to suck it in too much.

OH MY GOD, they fit. I'm in a pant size that is HALF of what I was wearing 3 years ago when I started losing weight.

Happiness ensues.

In Which I Benefit From Being Sick

I have not been a good girl with my diet. Jake's birthday party was this past week and I had some of my nursing friends over for a get together. We barbecued, I made mac and cheese and potato salad...there was cake, baked beans, chips, ice cream...yeah.

And remember, Alli does not like it when Beckie takes in too many fats.

This weekend, I discovered that Beckie does not like it when Beckie takes in too many fats.

I'm not going to details, but I will say that I spent most of my Saturday sick in the bathroom.

However, I was finally able to step away from the throne and curl up in my bed to ironically read up on the digestive system and attempt not to die. I was rudely woken up this morning when my husband came home from work (he works nights) and kicked me out of bed. So I stumble into the bathroom and step on the scale like I do every morning (I'm beginning to believe that it's a compulsion) and wait to see what it tells me.

172.8 pounds.

After binging on bbq food since thursday, I had gone back up to 176.2 yesterday morning. That means that I lost 3.5 pounds in one day, thanks to my irritable bowels.

Not exactly the way that I wanted to lose it, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

In Which My Wii Fit Tells Me I'm Epic

I bought the Wii Fit awhile back...and I mean awhile. I always mean to use it, but...yeah. So since I know I've lost weight, I figured I'd go wipe the dust off the balance board and see what it told me.

Since last October, I've lost 43 pounds. This makes me happy. It also told me that I've squeaked out of the "overweight" category and am teetering on the edge of a normal BMI.



I think the game wept with happiness when it changed me from the fat Mii to the normal looking one. I did a little too.

In Which I Have Flatulence

As a nursing student, I come across some really nasty stuff. Coffee ground emesis (that's indicative of an upper GI bleed, thank you), that unique smell of someone with C. Diff, gangrenous toes (vomit), diarrhea after someone drinks CT contrast (which I had to clean up after and almost died) and weeping wounds.

I try my hardest to not gag and embarrass the patient, though I always go back and laugh about it with my fellow nursing students. Sometimes I think humor is the only way to get through nursing school.

But I digress.

After a consultation with my physician, it was suggested to me that I try Alli to get those last "20 or so pounds off", to quote the MD. Since it's FDA approved and worked for my uncle, I figured I would try it, what with being on my whole "I'm going to lose the rest of this weight or die trying" kick.

So after I drop the kiddos off at school, I head to Hell-Mart, get myself the Alli starter kit, some Slim-Fast, a pedometer, a new scale and some Crest Whitening Strips, because if I'm gonna be skinny, I want to have a beautiful white smile as well, right?

I get home, shimmy off my clothes, step on the scale and...I've only gained one pound from the last time I weighed in, so I was 178.6 this morning.

Commence happy dance.

Feeling uplifted, I drink my Slim-Fast and eat half a banana, take my Calcium supplement and the Alli pill and head to the gym. Now, being a good girl and doing what my MD said, I set the timer on the treadmill for 60 minutes, figuring that I'll do the weights for the other 30. No biggie, right?

Wrong.

So I'm happily jogging along at a fine speed of 6 mph at a 2% incline, and all of a sudden, I feel my stomach lurch. You know the feeling, don't tell me you don't. And I've got 20 minutes left on my timer for the treadmill and I'm all like, I can do this, no problem.

Then they start coming. Farts, toots, foofies, flatulence, passing gas, whatever the hell you call them. First they're the little ones that you can pass off as a squeak of your chair if you're in class, or the sound of your shoe on the floor. Then the big guns started. It was reminiscent of my grandfather after a ham and bean dinner during the holidays.

Good news is, it stopped eventually and no one was harmed in the noxious fumes.

In Which The Wagon Runs Over Me

Beckie's diet=EPIC FAIL

I don't even want to talk about it.

What I do want to talk about is that this is only a minor setback, I think. I'm going to Hell-Mart to go buy a new scale (I returned the other one, it broke...guess how THAT made me feel), buy some more Slim-Fast, fill the Halloween candy dish with apples that we picked yesterday at the orchard instead of the yummy goodness that is Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (mmmmmmm) and start hitting the gym...hard.

While browsing around at Goodwill (don't judge, you know you do it too), I found 4 new pairs of workout shorts/capris (no more wardrobe malfunctions! YAY!), some tops, and the "Thighs of Steel" dvd. And a yoga one too.

Plus, I went to the doctor and he told me some bullshit about how exercising releases endorphins and so I'll both feel better physically and mentally and yadda, yadda, yadda, and then actually prescribed to me that I work out for an hour and a half five times a week, then to at least walk for a 1/2 hour those other two days.

Seriously dude???

We'll see how long this lasts. But depending on what the newest evil scale tells me tomorrow morning, I only have about 15-20 pounds left to reach my goal of 160.

If I don't reach it, it'll be time to talk to the plastic surgeon. I hear they do payment plans.