“The more you weigh, the harder you are to kidnap. Stay safe, eat cake.” ~Pinterest
I started this low carb thing last Saturday and it hasn’t been easy. Let me go back a minute.
I have always been overweight; one of my childhood friends actually used to call me Fats…and it didn’t bother me because, honestly, I wasn’t really fat. I look at pictures from elementary school and I don’t see a fat girl, I was definitely taller than my friends, but I wasn’t fat. I didn’t start getting fat until junior high. Listen, I could probably blame my parents or whatever, but at this point, I am 48 so honestly, its time to take control. That’s what this is about, being in control of my life. I can’t let the past keep me from my future.
So I made it through my first week…although I am still in the midst of day seven so I guess I cant celebrate just yet. I woke up day one just feeling like it was time. The week before, I had to go see a cardiologist because I was having heart palpitations…now my logical mind knows that there can be one million reasons for this, but my fat girl mind told me it was because I am fat. So this beautiful Brazilian cardiologist tells me that it can be any number of things including hormones (because, oh yeah, Im old and menopausal, too), but thankfully, after some testing, my heart actually looks pretty good. Momentary relief. She told me two things: one, lose weight and two, she is pretty sure I have sleep apnea. Woah, wait, what? Now for sure that is a fat thing. Cut to yesterday (day 6), I got a call from the sleep study doctor. I have sleep apnea. C’mon. Shit. Apparently, I am having 6 incidents per hour and my oxygen is plummeting to 78% so they want me to sleep with a portable CPAP machine for a month and then test again. Yep, fat girl problems. When I think of a CPAP machine, I think about Darth Vader…
Honestly? I was sure I did NOT have sleep apnea. I have never really seen myself the way I look, I guess I’ve been delusional…I know that’s weird to say, but again, logically I know I am fat, I see the numbers on the scale, I know what they mean, but I always thought I carried it well. Of course, I can’t ride certain rides, I have trouble in airplanes, I avoid certain chairs because I know they won’t hold me and I avoid lots of situations but I still never really saw myself the way the world sees me. I am obese. And that is really, really hard to say.
I have dieted before and been successful, but it is hard (of course it is) and I am one of those people who gains weight looking at food and losing an ounce of weight is like climbing Mt.Everest. When I lose weight, I feel soooo much better, so why can’t I maintain that? The answer is, I have no clue. I feel myself slipping but I continue with the same patterns…I continue to justify, make excuses and just overall make bad decisions. I have gained seventy pounds since last year – between 2016 and 17, I had lost 85 pounds and felt unbelievable even though I still needed to lose 100 more pounds and yet, I let that go. Before I started the low carb thing 7ish days ago, I was 15 pounds away from my highest weight, the weight I promised I would NEVER be again. I guess I sorta kept that promise but only barely.
I have a closet full of clothes that don’t fit…and I mean full. The shelf around the closet has stacks of clothes seven deep that don’t fit…some of them I have never worn, still have tags on them. I have a Rubbermaid filled with bras and panties that have never fit. When I go into stores, I buy stuff thinking at some point, it will fit or I buy something thinking it will fit and it doesn’t so it sits in my closet in the land of misfit clothes. The good news is that I don’t really follow trends so for the most part, if I can ever wear any of it again, it will probably not be out of date (probably not).
So here I am. And its day seven of twenty-one. Dr.Brazil (the Cardiologist) recommended that I read this book, Eat Fat, Get Fit by Mark Hyman, MD. Essentially it recommends low carb, high fat and goes into GREAT detail the science behind it. I get it. I really do. Carbs are my kryptonite. They are my drug of choice for sure. The book was too sciency for me so I skimmed over the parts that made my eyes roll back in my head and stuck to the good parts. What to eat, what not to eat and some of the why it makes sense. The main points I took from it (other than the food part) is that it’s a lifestyle, not a diet and that the first twenty-one days are critical. Like I said, I am on day seven of twenty-one. I am trying to look at short term goals in terms of days instead of pounds which means I am one third of the way. What happens after the first twenty-one days? Here-in lies the rub. If it’s not a diet, but a lifestyle, then essentially nothing happens, it’s your new life. Basically, the reason they do the twenty-one day thing is to help you break it into parts and for folks like me who need to lose a lot of weight and have a major overhaul to the way I live and eat, its necessary.
For me, the end of twenty-one days is going to land on Good Friday. My family and I are going to travel to Myrtle Beach to have Easter with my cousin and her family. I am Italian; there will be so much food, you would think we were cooking for a football team. My plan is to do everything I can to maintain over the weekend and then start another twenty-one days that Monday. In my mind, I am already thinking, oooh Reese’s Easter Eggs…
As of this morning, I have lost 6 pounds. SIX FUCKING POUNDS. I wanted to see more. But I guess if you do the math, if I lost 6 pounds a week for a year, I would be down 152 pounds, which is awesome, but truth be told, still wouldn’t get me to goal. And then I start thinking about the skin, the extra skin that everyone talks about and it gets really overwhelming. And that is why we do this twenty-one days at a time.
This morning I had two fried eggs, half an avocado, half a beefsteak tomato and all of it sprinkled with goat cheese. Would have been great on toast.
I am getting on a plane in 24 days. There is so much shame for me in getting on a plane. I try to book as early as possible so that I can be assured of getting a window or aisle seat. There is no way I can sit in the middle. Then, I try to get on the plane as soon as possible so that I can get adjusted and if I need a belt extender, I can do that without too much attention. I won’t move from my seat once in it. I try to make myself as small as possible and fold my arms inward crossing them between my legs. It is horribly uncomfortable and by the time the flight is over, I am all cramped from trying to maintain that position. I watch every person that comes on the plane and try to will certain folks to sit next to me. Older ladies, young kids, really skinny people, never the white business man. They are usually dicks on a plane. I do everything I can to not encroach in their area. I don’t read, I don’t move, I don’t get the free beverage or snack, I try not to move and if I didn’t have to breathe, I wouldn’t. It is a mortifying experience. Twenty four days away. I am doing my best to keep my OCD in check and trying not to count out how many days and how many pounds I can possibly lose. At my size, 6 pounds makes no difference.
I bet you are wondering how much I really weigh, you know what, I don’t want to tell you. Maybe later. But not now.
I wish everything was as easy as getting fat.