No foolin’ re: the joy of losing

First, note that what I am writing about here is not as important as

• any professional work I’ve ever done
• my travels 
• the causes I support 
• getting my Master’s degree
• getting my Bachelor’s degree
• my motorcycle riding
• any dog or cat I’ve ever had
• any performance I ever dared in front of other people (I know, it’s been a while)
• my last blog

I am so much more proud of those activities than the subject of this blog. I also don’t want any young girl to read this and think that what I’m about to say is among a woman’s great accomplishment. It’s NOT.

So, with that said…

I’ve lost more than 40 pounds – about 19 kilos – in the last eight months. As a result, for the first time in 15 years, I am not obese.


This is the most weight I’ve ever lost – and the most weight I’ve ever needed to lose.

I know it’s April 1 but, really, I’m not kidding. I did this.

I don’t look that different though. I’ve posted a few photos to see if anyone would notice. No one did. When you go from obese to overweight, it really doesn’t show much. Just ONE person here in the town where I live has said anything without me saying something first. And just ONE person noticed online – I thought it was really obvious in a few photos but, well, I guess not.

Also, I am still 25 pounds overweight. That’s a further damper on any celebration.

Before we left on our motorcycle trip to Nevada in 2018, I was at my all-time high in terms of weight. I actually don’t know how much I weighed at my heaviest because I wouldn’t weigh myself until we were back from that trip, and I always lose two pounds or more on a trip. I paid for that huge amount of weight in so many ways on that vacation: I was miserable in the heat and in all the movement – walking, getting on or off the bike, trying to get in and out of the tent, I was miserable. And it was the last straw in a long, long list of things that had been building up for a long while:

• Looking into a horse-riding getaway as a possible short vacation and after reading a web site for a place I was considering, realizing I was too heavy to ride the horses. 
• Looking on the web at zip line options and realizing I was too heavy for zip lines.
• Nearly 40% of Americans are overweight. In 1976, just 15% of American adults were obese. When I go overseas I don’t see as many huge people as I do here in the USA – and, yet, Europeans eat cheese, bread, potatoes… something is behind me being so heavy and it’s not “just genetics.” I wanted out of this “club.”
• Hating the comments I get when I travel to other countries – yes, people say them right to my face: “Wow, you’re fat!” Over and over. If you travel abroad and you are overweight, be prepared for that. People that say such usually aren’t being mean – they just blurt out what they see when it’s something unusual. Like seeing red hair.   
• Knowing that if I don’t lose weight now, in my early 50s, I am never, ever going to do it – and that would mean being fat AND old. 
• Knowing I would feel better every day, sitting in a seat at the movies, sitting on the couch, sitting in car, standing in line, laying in bed, living life, in general, with less weight. I wanted to feel good again.
• Knowing that riding my motorcycle, especially off-road, would be so much easier with less weight.
• Knowing that traveling in general – on airplanes, in cars – would be so much more comfortable with less weight.
• Fear of diabetes. My paternal grandmother developed diabetes in her 60s or 70s, and I take after her in so many ways, body-wise. She didn’t need insulin shots, but I think as she got older, her changing sugar levels affected her mood and her brain. I’d like to put that off even longer. 
• Having some dear friends close to my same age die suddenly of natural causes in the last three years. They were all healthy, or seemed that way. I don’t want to die young from a preventable disease – I need to honor this gift of life by not being an unhealthy slog. 
• Looking at my closet full of beautiful clothes – and jeans – that I couldn’t wear. I love those clothes. I have so missed wearing them. It would NOT bring me joy to throw them out. I would cry a lot and feel like a failure. 
• I’d like to not be thinking about my weight when I see someone I haven’t seen since or before 2003 or so. I know that’s 16 years ago, but that was the last time I was at a healthy weight. I’m sure it’s the first thing someone sees when they see a photo of me after so long, or see me in-person after so long. I’d much rather to be thinking, “Are my gray roots showing?”
• Hearing the President’s doctor lie about Donald’s weight – and that lie being only about 25 pounds more than I weighed at my heaviest, and me knowing it was a lie because of how damn much I weighed.
• Thinking about my friends and colleagues who are facing challenges I could never handle myself, that push them to the breaking point because they have so little influence over them, and so few options to respond to them: caregiving for parents needing constant support, debilitating pain or health conditions, civil war and armed militias (yeah – I have a lot of international friends…), and on and on. I think of them and feel tremendous guilt for looking like a glutton – something I do have control over. I’m squandering a gift. 
• Thinking about all the things I cannot control in my life that have made me so depressed. And here is something I can control. Again, I’m squandering a gift.
• Wanting my husband to quit smoking. Maybe if I get back to the weight I was when we met, I can turn to him and say, “Okay, I did something really, really hard that took almost an entire year. Now, you.” 
• I might meet Benedict Cumberbatch or Harrison Ford someday. And when I do, dammit, I don’t want to be fat in the photo I demand Benny C-Batch or Harrison takes with me.  
• Desperately wanting to accomplish something. And since my career seems to be over, since anything I create seems to flop like a Brazilian football player, this seemed like a good project for possible success.

So, for those that want to know how I did it, here ya go:

I decided I would start trying to lose weight in conjunction with getting Invisilines in August, which are a TON of Stefan’s money that I know would be so much better invested in my tiny retirement account. But my teeth were making me as sad as my weight – one of the first things my Mom said when she saw me in 2017 was, “Oh, your teeth have turned so much…”  My teeth looked and felt as horrible as my body. My dentist suspects I’m grinding my teeth at night and that it’s because of how uncomfortable the turning of my bottom teeth have made me. I wore my Invisilines that turned my teeth back for about 22 hours a day, for about six months. That meant absolutely no snacking in between meals and no leisurely-drinking wine or beer over a few hours most evenings. I’m not much of a snacker anyway, so that wasn’t a significant life change – but I sure like having my wine in the evenings… now, I’m using the maintenance Invisilines and can wear them just 20 hours a day. Still no snacking, but wine is back on the menu for a few evenings…

Knowing that Europeans eat cheese, cream, potatoes, bread and pasta and, yet, aren’t chronically obese, I made a point of NOT giving up those things. I love those things. They make me happy. And, indeed, when I eat raw veggies, my stomach sounds like Treebeard. Instead, I’ve stuck to 1200-1400 calorie count a day. I’ve been Ms Portion Control – I do eat spaghetti, but I don’t each much of it. Instead of thinking, “I’ll never be able to eat potatoes again”, I plan a fantastic supper absolutely celebrating potatoes, and lovingly prepare them – and eat half a serving if I had more than a salad or Glucerna for lunch. Breakfast is just coffee, and I’ll switch back to cereal eventually – just not now. I still ate two, Christmas cookies or a piece of chocolate every night in December and every month since then, and if that kept me from losing weight more quickly FUCK IT because cookies are DELICIOUS. And I have a cheat day once a week where I get to eat up to 1800 calories. Those cheat days are great days… no, seriously, they are fantastic. I am so happy after them. Food makes me feel whole. I don’t mean gorging myself – I’m not a binge eater. I mean just having a simple, delicious meal. But I can’t eat like other people – like my Mom, who can eat everything I do and stay oh-so- fit and trim. Or like most of my friends, who can eat two or three meals a day. I can’t do that without gaining weight. So I’m accepting the reality that I cannot eat three meals a day, that I cannot eat until I’m full – I have to pick an amount, put it on my plate, and that’s IT.

I didn’t gain weight over the holidays. I consider that a major victory.

Also, I hate working out. I love walking and hiking, but actual working out – zumba, spinning classes, weights, whatever – I hate it. No exercise makes me feel even a quarter as good like a warm bowl of mac and cheese for lunch on an empty stomach does. Exercise makes me feel fat and frustrated and ugly.

After the first 30 pounds were gone, I still didn’t look much different and I was still obese, but I felt more comfortable bending over to put on my motorcycle boots and riding my motorcycle. I lead an all-day workshop and stood for the entire seven hours, except for lunch – I never could have done that without losing those 30 pounds. There are some clothes I could wear that I hadn’t able to wear in two or three years. Finally, losing weight gave me a tangible benefit. But just one person remarked that she thought I had lost weight without me mentioning anything first – no one else noticed. And 30 pounds wasn’t even halfway to my ultimate goal. That all made it even more difficult to stay motivated. I backslid by three pounds at one point, and cried a LOT, and felt like giving up. Every pound lost is a week of work – although some weeks I get lucky and lose 1.5 pounds. Some weeks, I’ve lost nothing. I’m two months off where I thought I would be.

Even losing 10 more pounds – more than 40 pounds (18 kg) altogether – people still don’t notice. And that’s… frustrating.

The biggest benefit of losing 40+ pounds and not being obese anymore is still how I feel – I do feel a lot better. I feel better sitting. I feel better rolling over in bed at night. It’s going to be great to go camping and not feel like I have weights strapped to my body when I try to get up.

I also LOVE how many clothes I can wear now. I’ve missed so many of my skirts and pants and dresses. I’m so happy to have them “back.”

If I lose 15 more pounds, I’ll be the weight I was when Stefan met me in Ireland. But I need to lose 25 more pounds just to not be overweight by ONE pound – and even then, I won’t be at what’s considered my ideal weight, which would be ANOTHER 15 pounds. But, no, I’m not even going to try to lose another 40 pounds. Or 25. Because that would require both surgery and a professional trainer and someone preparing absolutely every meal. Even if I had all the money for that, I’d prefer to spend it on a facelift and a trip to Kenya.

I’ll be happy with losing just another 15 pounds. I’ll still be overweight, but back to the weight of my 30s. I’ll take it.

I hope I can stick with this calorie count for the rest of my life. Well, until I’m 70 or so. Then, screw it. As of 70, no more calorie counting. No more coloring my hair. I may even take up smoking. Until then… yeah, I think I can do this. I certainly should do this.

Not that anyone reads my blogs… but if you do, and you are overweight, even obese, please, please don’t see any of this as my judgment on how I view you, or would view you if I knew you. I would be sad if anyone read this as body shaming. I know how many things – family demands, work demands, stress, illness, age and emotions – can affect efforts to be active and healthy and to get enough sleep at night. And I am only too aware of how DNA affects one’s ability to lose weight or maintain a healthy weight: I believe you when you say that (like I said, my mother can eat all that I do and never gain a pound. It’s infuriating – but it’s the results of my genetic lottery, and I accept it). I will say that, no matter who you are, no matter what your weight, you should make a point to walk every day for at least a mile – for your mental health as much as physical. And go for a walk in a green space at least twice a month – more often, if you can. And when you do those things, do not give a rat’s ass how you look or what people might be thinking about how you look – just walk. Body acceptance is important, absolutely – but if you are obese, consider making changes. If I can do this, you can do.

I know I’m going to struggle with my weight for the rest of my life – and if I backslide too much, I’ll probably delete this blog out of shame. But for now, I’m celebrating. But not with cake… well, not a LOT of cake…

Take care of yourselves, folks.