dianaschnuth

It’s nights like this that prove to me exactly why I’ve been in a plateau for the past three months. This evening, I chose to indulge in an evening of TV, which is extremely rare for me. Unfortunately, my evening of television turned into an evening of I Can’t Stop Eating.

The same thing happens on Friday nights: I sit down to enjoy myself, in whatever solitary pursuit I find myself on a Friday night, and I end up falling face first into a bowl of noodly goodness. Followed by a diet fudge bar, followed by another snack, followed by a frozen meal, followed by me no longer tracking my Points.

On weekends, I assume that I’m OK if Aaron’s OK; he tracks more religiously than I do, especially on weekends. Sometimes I forget that he has many more Points than I do, since he’s male, and has a more active job. Even though he takes his last meal of the day after I’m already in bed, I should still probably say no to that last fudge bar of the day, or be more careful of what I order at Starbucks.

I also can’t remember the last time I exerted myself to the point of sweating. The gym membership we were going to buy ended up bring too long of a commitment, and I never got around to activating my free 30-day membership at Bally’s. Really, though — if I’m not going to exercise at home, what makes me think I’m going to make a special trip to Bally’s in the snow and cold, even if it is less than ten minutes away?

Point being, I need to get back in the game and start giving a shit again. I was so excited when I was consistently losing. Ever since the holidays, I’ve stalled; and the more momentum I lose, the less motivated I am to ramp things up again.

It’s easy to see what needs to be done. The challenge is in actually doing it.

I don’t know his name, but he pushes a trash can around downtown, picking up litter. He’s employed by the Downtown Toledo Improvement District, identifiable by his bright blue-and-yellow attire. He’s very polite and friendly, as are most of the Clean & Safe Team members, and always nods and says hello when he sees me.

Last week, we crossed paths during my lunch walk, and we stopped to talk for a moment. He told me I was looking good (in a sincere, non-creepy sort of way) and that he almost hadn’t recognized me. When, in the course of our conversation, I told him I’d lost 20 pounds, he asked me what I was doing. So I told him: Weight Watchers. I don’t expect that he’ll *really* look into it like he said he would, but maybe I helped to plant the seed for him, like so many people did for me.

I’m 1.2 pounds away from my 10% goal — that is, having lost 10% of my initial body weight when I joined WW. Things have been moving slowly in the weight-loss arena lately, but mainly still moving in the right direction. I’ve been so close to my 10% for so long, it seems.

And I’ll be damned if I let Thanksgiving pull me farther away from it.

Even so — and I don’t plan to admit this to my Leader on Tuesday — I don’t plan to track Points tomorrow. I’m going to eat breakfast before we head out to Cleveland, and encourage Aaron to do the same. I’m going to try to get up early enough to do a little exercise in the morning (my normal pushup training, plus some calisthenics — we’ll see how that pans out). I’m going to bring a bottle of water with me in the car for the two-hour trip. I’m only going to eat things that really appeal to me (passing on the mashed potatoes, but definitely going for the sweet potatoes and the stuffing). And I’m going to stop BEFORE I’m full. But I’m not planning to actually write anything down, either during the meal or after I get home.

The offset for this unthinkable day of debauchery is the assumption that I will have used up all 35 of my weekly Flex Points in that one day, thus precipitating a more strict weekend than I usually have. I plan to bring my journal with me wherever we go out to eat for the rest of the weekend, and stick to my daily allowance. (I usually use up the majority of my Flex Points on the weekends.)

I’m hoping that the carrot-on-a-stick in the form of my 10% Goal will help me not pig out like a fiend tomorrow, and help me stay the course this weekend. This is the lowest weight I’ve been since… shit. Since drum corps, in early college, over ten years ago. I’m feeling good, better than I have in years (if not quite as good as I used to after three straight months of intense drum corps action). In my early thirties, feeling almost as physically fit as I did in my early twenties — I’m not going to screw this up. No fucking way.

One day like this could easily set me back a week or two on my weight loss. And I’m not going to let it. I’m too close to my goal.

Well, my FIRST goal, anyway…

Self-acceptance has been a challenge for me since puberty, I’ve realized.

Before then, I didn’t really believe little Tyrone when he called me fat and punched me in the stomach when I was five or six years old. I didn’t see a problem with being a size 14/16 at age eleven. It wasn’t until sixth grade, when I changed schools and started growing boobs and zits and had some of my first really unpleasant academic and social experiences, that I started to get down on myself.

For me, the concept of loving myself for who I am right now is just foreign. I’m always trying to fix myself. Lose weight. Stop procrastinating. Get organized. Treat myself better. Have better hygiene. For me, self-acceptance is merely the lack of self-deprecation, or just not thinking about my opinion of myself at all.

This week, Sheryl e-mailed me with a one-liner:

Have you heard about this “fat acceptance” movement? What do you think about it?

I hadn’t heard about it, so I hit Wikipedia, where I read the condensed version. It’s exactly what it sounds like: “a grassroots effort to change societal attitudes towards individuals who are fat.” So, I formulated an opinion:

Are fat people discriminated against? Do people make unfair assumptions about them? Definitely. Is being overfat unhealthy? I’m not a doctor, but I’m going to say yes.

I’m going to lump this into overall tolerance. I can’t be sure it requires a “movement,” but being socially tolerant of people in general is a good idea. Medically, though, I can’t see being OK with a loved one being obese. I wish [my BFF] would lose some [more] weight, for her own sake (and the same with all my other obese friends), but I don’t love her any less for there being more of her to love.

Sheryl then introduced me to Kate Harding’s Shapely Prose blog, where Kate and two other bloggers write about the importance of Health At Every Size. Sheryl also told me, “I’m not saying ‘DIANA. Stop losing weight and love yourself!’ I’m saying, love yourself at every step. 😀 It’s kinda liberating.”

Until she said that, I completely hadn’t realized she meant ME. I need to accept MYSELF.

But it’s so hard.
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A few years ago, back when Napoleon Dynamite was all the rage, I bought myself a Vote for Pedro t-shirt on Amazon. Alas, when I got it, I discovered that it was just a touch too tight. …OK, maybe more than “a touch.”

I held onto that shirt for a year before I decided that it would make a good before-and-after weight photo. So, I put on my best-fitting pair of jeans (read: least tight in the waist), put on my too-tight shirt, and took some pictures. As expected, once I saw the pics full-size on my computer, I swore I would show them to no one until I had an appropriate After picture.

And here we are, twenty pounds later. I’m wearing a different pair of jeans, mainly because these fit better than (read: are not as loose as) the other ones (which I do still own), but the difference is still obvious:

Differences that stand out for me:

• The smaller waist. No more jellyroll / spare tire. Or, at least, not as noticeable of one.
• The neck. I have bones and tendons and shadows!
• The pants fit. Properly.
• I like my short hair. Having some hair to frame my face suits me.
• The upper arm is smaller. Hard to see unless you’re looking for it. Like I am.
• Even my fingers are thinner! Lookit that!
• The boobs. They have shrunk. Part of me is sad to see them go.

So, I wonder what the picture for 170 lbs and 24 BMI will look like? We’ll find out next year…