I had hoped to write about my first week in detail, but I'm under a terrible deadline that won't let up until Thanksgiving. So... here's the bare minimum:
Starting weight: 254
Week 1: 250.4
Weight lost: 3.6 pounds
Monday, November 12, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Not Beaten Yet
Something happened over the past five months.
On top of the top weight I already was at since moving to Virginia seven years ago, I gained 30 pounds.
I can't bend down to tie my shoes.
I can't walk a block without sweat pouring down my face, even in 50-degree weather.
I can't ride the Metro without people looking at me with fear in their eyes that I may sit next to them.
I could blame it on job interviews and moving.
I could blame it on the stress of a new job.
I could blame it on the depression of not feeling liked by my new co-workers.
I could blame it on living in a new city and being surrounded by restaurants.
Of course, if I did the latter, I'd also have to remind myself that I also live in a city where hundreds of miles of running paths are at my disposal. Along with a free gym in my building. And ample opportunity to walk up all those escalators at Metro stops.
In January, it will be 10 years since I began the diet that led to my 150-pound weight loss. I have gained half that weight back. OK, half that weight plus 12 pounds. Commence the heavy sighs and "I knew it"s and words like "sad" and "disappointed" and "damn."
Every day, I say those same words to myself. Every day, I wonder if I will ever, ever get back to being that happier girl who could run (and wear real running clothes) and feel good about herself. Every day, I fear I will just keep gaining weight.
So I'm back here, back to stripping down and baring my emotions, emotions I would much rather stuff down and not face. I'm back to logging my food and exercise into a Weight Watchers site. I'm back to squeezing myself into what running clothes I have left and trying to walk, jog and maybe one day really run again.
I'm terrified. And, if you scroll through this blog, you'll see time and time again the words "beginning again" or "trying again" or "one more time." I realize I have failed much more than I have succeeded. But the only other option is giving up. And I'm reminded of a song my sister introduced me to when I was going through a rough time in high school. Some of the lyrics:
"no fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
I've changed my face, I've changed my name but no one wants you when you lose"
"don't give up
'cause you have friends
don't give up
you're not beaten yet
don't give up
I know you can make it good"
I'm not beaten yet. Like the Whack-a-Mole I often refer myself to as, I'm popping up again.
Beginning weight: 254
On top of the top weight I already was at since moving to Virginia seven years ago, I gained 30 pounds.
I can't bend down to tie my shoes.
I can't walk a block without sweat pouring down my face, even in 50-degree weather.
I can't ride the Metro without people looking at me with fear in their eyes that I may sit next to them.
I could blame it on job interviews and moving.
I could blame it on the stress of a new job.
I could blame it on the depression of not feeling liked by my new co-workers.
I could blame it on living in a new city and being surrounded by restaurants.
Of course, if I did the latter, I'd also have to remind myself that I also live in a city where hundreds of miles of running paths are at my disposal. Along with a free gym in my building. And ample opportunity to walk up all those escalators at Metro stops.
In January, it will be 10 years since I began the diet that led to my 150-pound weight loss. I have gained half that weight back. OK, half that weight plus 12 pounds. Commence the heavy sighs and "I knew it"s and words like "sad" and "disappointed" and "damn."
Every day, I say those same words to myself. Every day, I wonder if I will ever, ever get back to being that happier girl who could run (and wear real running clothes) and feel good about herself. Every day, I fear I will just keep gaining weight.
So I'm back here, back to stripping down and baring my emotions, emotions I would much rather stuff down and not face. I'm back to logging my food and exercise into a Weight Watchers site. I'm back to squeezing myself into what running clothes I have left and trying to walk, jog and maybe one day really run again.
I'm terrified. And, if you scroll through this blog, you'll see time and time again the words "beginning again" or "trying again" or "one more time." I realize I have failed much more than I have succeeded. But the only other option is giving up. And I'm reminded of a song my sister introduced me to when I was going through a rough time in high school. Some of the lyrics:
"no fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
I've changed my face, I've changed my name but no one wants you when you lose"
"don't give up
'cause you have friends
don't give up
you're not beaten yet
don't give up
I know you can make it good"
I'm not beaten yet. Like the Whack-a-Mole I often refer myself to as, I'm popping up again.
Beginning weight: 254
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