Somehow I Survived

I'm back from camping. I had a really nice time; it was great to get away.

Only, I'm not feeling well. I don't know if I caught a bug or ate something off. Or... if I'm just worn out and a bit dehydrated. I may never know. My muscles ache and my tummy isn't doing so well.

But I had a really nice time. It was HOT-HOT-HOT the first couple days. I felt like I could never stop sweating. Strangely, I got used to it, though. I tried to stay in the shade as much as possible (I get sun sick). I felt a bit like a pariah at times, while everyone sat in the sun, and I stayed off under the table umbrella.

I didn't swim, either.

My anxiety/self-consciousness made me think that my kids probably thought I was a slug. At one point one of my sons made a comment about me sitting around all day, and I felt a bit bad about it. I don't know if he was joking or not (he said he was), but it made me self-conscious a bit, and kind of hurt my feelings.

I was doing the best I could.

I was cooking for everyone constantly, and hung out in the shade to do it. I didn't swim because it would have been too much work. I had my period, and... just - I find swimming too much work most of the time. There you go.

I don't know how I made it, but I did. I hate heat, I am miserable on my period and the two of those things should have sent me for the nearest hotel. I really am thankful that (somehow) I survived. And enjoyed myself. I wish I could be the kind of person who throws on a bikini/swimsuit, and is in and out of the pool all day, not worrying about drying off, getting dressed all the time. But it just isn't me. Life would be easier if it were, though.

I feel like I'm a very difficult person. Too many phobias, too many hangups.

__________

I weighed myself this morning, non-official, and was UP FOUR POUNDS. I don't think I ate that much at all this weekend, and totally stayed on track with my eating (except I had some drinks). I didn't hike, and wasn't too active, so maybe that's part of it. I don't know. But I don't think that's truly a gain - I'm hoping it is the extra water retention. Either way - I'm a bit nervous for my Wednesday weigh in.

Now, just to get rid of these leg cramps. Ugh. I take magnesium, which is supposed to help, but it doesn't seem to be. I don't know why I have them, but they're annoying.

New Clothes

After writing about clothes yesterday, I started thinking about my clothes. I haven't changed them since before. They were rather ill-fitting, and now they fit better. That was one of my goals - to feel better in my clothes.

It makes a difference. I do feel better.

I used to cry when I'd get dressed. I'd stare at my closet, look it up and down, knowing that everything was too tight here, or too short there (didn't hide my belly). The pants bulged. Nothing looked right. I was limited to what I'd wear because only certain clothes felt good, and fit right.

I was really miserable. It makes me sad to think about it, to remember it. It isn't a new feeling. There was a time for me when most off-the-rack clothing didn't fit and I had to order from online sources. I bought some polo shirts, an elastic waistband pair of pants. I was really big.

People look at me and probably think I'm still really big. 260-some pounds is no joke for a female. I'm still not lighter than my husband (another goal of mine).

I hope I can get there, but I also want to remind myself of where I am and where I've been. Though my black jeans (another goal - to fit in them) actually DO go on, I want to be able to wear them comfortably.

Last time I was at this weight I was so happy to be here that squeezing into those black jeans was enough for me. It isn't anymore. Right now I feel like I did when I was pushing 300. Everything still fits. I want to get to the point where it won't fit anymore. Where it would be ridiculous to wear it.

It is going to take me a while. I've been busting out of the clothes I had, now they are getting comfortable, and I need to press forward.

My head is where I live. It's hard to get out of it. Not long ago I was wondering if I'd break that 265. I did, but I still worry about keeping it coupled with blasting out the bottom on this thing and finding a new low.

________________________________

I'm trying to talk myself into getting to the gym. I've been walking, but I need to do some weights and toning. The last few days have been cold and rainy and I didn't get on a walk. So... today... I really need to, and I don't want to walk in this weather. That means taking myself to the gym.

Blech.

Gotta do it, though.

Hello, Old Friend

I was with one of my friends the other day, hanging out in couples. She's small and a bit heavy - but not as much as I. Every year they have Biggest Loser in their offices, and she starts chomping on celery sticks and works out on their treadmill.

Yesterday I was frustrated because I swear I could tell that she's lost weight.

Do you know what would happen to me if I started working out and eating celery sticks? You'd find me in a pool of concern at the foot of the treadmill, sucking my thumb. IT WOULDN'T WORK.

I have worked so hard for the weight that I've lost (75 pounds now). Not to say she hasn't, but it was a clear example to me of how different everyone is. And what a jealous pig I can be. I noticed this about an acquaintance I have. She lost 10 pounds and I could tell. I complimented her on it. But in my head, I'm thinking - girl, I've lost THIRTY?! - What is this, The Emperor's New Clothes? Ugh.

I'm really hoping that someone will notice I've lost weight. Seriously, how does a person lose 30 pounds and nobody notices? My husband said he thought he could tell I've lost weight. He "doesn't know how or why" but he thought he could tell. So putting my food on a scale for the last 8 months didn't clue you in?! Gosh.

My kids haven't said a thing. None of my friends, either. I think, in my head, it makes me feel like I haven't. I know, the games we play, right? Like, I know what the scale says, but it isn't showing in my body to the outside world. It's my dirty little secret.

Here are some changes I've noticed (my body must be settling in to itself a bit):

• Car seat - I have to push it up further. I used to put it back all the way. Not anymore.
• My tummy doesn't hang as much (Lori, this is encouraging!)
• My pants are looser, but it depends on the day - I must be bloaty, or carry a lot around my midsection. I really have been staying in the same clothes, regardless of weight, so the only way to measure is when they are ridiculously sloppy on me. I'm not there yet.
• I do feel like my clothes are fitting differently. Some are too big, and some look better.
• I can stretch farther. Less fat to move around.
• I can tell in the shower. My naked body feels smaller. 

I notice subtle things. Again, I'm getting back to where I was, re-losing weight I've lost before, so this isn't new territory.. yet. Right now it's like finding an old friend again. Although, now that I am actually dipping lower than I was, I should be discovering new things. It's exciting, and scary!

291 - Contemplating the Ups and Downs

I saw this and it hit home. Made sense.

PRIORFATGIRL:

One moment, I’m holding my head high, confident that healthiness is about how I feel. Healthiness is about balance, about life. Healthiness is about how I feel, not what I weigh.

And then, the next moment, I find myself struggling to embrace who I am in my own body. Struggling to love myself for who I am, not the weight I gained.

What is healthy living and living healthy?

When you’re up, you’re up and when you’re down, you’re down.

When you’re up, you feel like you have figured it out.

When you’re down, you feel like you’ll never get there.

When you’re up, you make eye contact and stand proud.

When you’re down, you compare and retreat.

What is an up without a down.

 Very true. Right now, today, this moment, I'm on an UP. I feel good, I'm motivated. I'm tired of how my clothes feel. I've had 3 good days of eating and tracking. My weigh-in says I've lost 2 pounds. Great. Good. Love it.

One thing I know though, is that no matter if I'm UP or DOWN, I'm thinking about food. My life revolves around it. Does that ever change? If you're an emotional eater, does life ever stop revolving around your (addiction to) food? Right now I have some simple go-to foods that I've eating on a rotating basis, basically just to keep my calories where I want them. Even though they aren't special or spectacular, I'm still finding I'm thinking about the food. Not obsessively, but probably more than I should. I'm forced to think because I'm tracking it, too.

As I read the above blog, though, I had a two-sided reaction.


My first reaction was ahead hanging knowledge of the roller coaster, the ups and downs and in betweens. How when you're UP you can't imagine being anything but, and when you're DOWN you so badly want the magic, the feeling of being UP. I don't know what it is that triggers those times when I'm motivated and all is going well, and what is missing when I'm not.

Find that, and I bet you've got the golden ticket for a LOT of fat people. How many people have you seen lose weight, perform complete transformations on their body, only to gain it back again. How can you go from 400 pounds to 190 and then back to 400+ pounds? I mean, it's slow. It happens, you have to notice, right?

Seems almost akin to fighting a cancer that just wants to be in your body. If your body just wants to get fat again, it will trick your every being into getting there. It will cut you at the soul, remove resistance, and push you back where you were. No matter the humiliation, no matter the tears, no matter how bad you want it - it WILL get you there (see WLS patients who have gone back to their HW and then some... what gives?).

My second reaction was the realization that I can have joy at 294 pounds. I truly can. Maybe I can't have the activities and the body in clothes that other people have, but I can have joy. I've found ways to be happy that come from other sources besides my physical being. That is truly important. Disconnecting the failure and success of my life and its joy source to the state of my body. Praise God for that. People with less mobility than myself are happy. Truly happy. People larger than myself are happy -- just as happy as the 105 pound marathon-running triathlete. Some even more so.

There are people that would look at my fat, happy newlywed friends and think, if only they were healthier and thinner. But if they shut off their own inner stigma, they might notice they ARE HAPPY, and having the TIME OF THEIR LIFE.

In no way am I disputing that having a smaller body can't or won't increase my joy base. I'm sure it would. But I'm also encouraged by people who find joy no matter their circumstance. Love the body you are in, accepting it.

My personal comfort in my body isn't where I'd like it to be right now. I'm at about 60% capacity. I think, with some weight loss, I could be at 80%, and that would bring me 20% more joy.

Eating My Vegetables

Hello.

I'm doing well. Maintaining within a few pound range. Not really lost anything for January, but not gained anything significant, either.

Well, except some more notches in the tool belt of positive thinking.

I have struggled. I have not journaled my food. But I maintained. Simple focus on the positive kept me from slingshotting into abandoned weight gain last month. Interesting. But, I do feel I need to kick it up a notch this month. Add a new twist, bring in a new element. Choices:

• Journal food and exercise
• Return to counting calories
• Exercise at least 3 times a week
• Counting calories and staying within a specific range

None of these I particularly favor, to be honest. They are all a means of keeping myself honest. They are all time-consuming. But as I look at them, I do see that they are necessary for me to gain accountability. Journaling my food is helpful, as is journaling exercise. In a way I feel as if just simply doing that, without setting a goal for either is not much of a help. But, I have to look at things in a different light. In a long-term light. In a way of changing and refocusing. 

So, my goal for the month, on top of viewing the positives, will be to journal everything I eat and journal what I do for exercise. No goals in mind, but simple reflection. That step is a gentle nudge into the next level of counting calories (and probably staying within a range) - we'll see. 

I am pleased that I've been able to stop the scale. I felt good when I woke up and sweated things out this morning. I'd like to get to a place where I were moving more. I'll get there.

Oh - and I've been clearing my head a bit more. Meditating, I guess you would say. But clearing my head, allowing myself to just be and not think. Too often I'm constantly churning, thinking, planning, assessing, ruminating over something-- anything, at all times. My brain needs rest, desperately. I need to allow for that.

Today I beefed up my menu with veggies. I'm not saying I could do that every day, but for two meals I added 1 cup of mixed (frozen) vegetables to my meal. For instance, for dinner I had Lean Cuisine Chicken Masala. I mixed in 1 cup of veggies in there. I think it "cost" me 80 calories or so. But, it also filled me up. It didn't change the flavor, or leave me feeling deprived - it did the opposite. It filled me up and I was less hungry today. Realistically I could do this more often, but not always. 

Mind And Spirit First

So, how's that JOY thing going for me?

FANTASTIC!!!

You can't hear my sarcasm, so it doesn't matter.

But, here's the thing: I'm trying. I'm working. I'm shifting my thoughts. I have a hump that need to get through. To power through. A funeral. I don't do very well with that stuff.

And then some other things.

My eating has been OK. But my mindfulness on the disastrous state of crankiness is at an all-time high, which makes me think I'm onto something.

I sincerely believe if I can tackle some of my joy-sapping behaviors, the food part will follow.

It's not quick, easy, or painless.

So, my JOY for today?

Cooking dinner for my family. (Food-related, I know this.) Chicken, rice, macaroni and cheese, and kale. Bacon. All of that. But getting some hearty food on the table for my family amidst the chaos. And watching my kids eat happily. Not to the point of being stuffed, fat and unhappy, but healthfully. That means SO much. They can lead by example and I can follow.

I had more than I should have (especially in the wine department). But I'm allowing myself to wallow in some greif. To get it out.

I'm still thankful for a nice view out a hospital window.
The smell of clean laundry.
A new appliance being delivered soon.
Healthy, happy kids.
Beautiful weather.
A doggy that loves me unconditionally. Who is soft and special.
A boss who is willing to let me off early so I can wallow in my sadness.
A renewed sense of being comfortable with who I am.

I'm on my way. Slowly.

Mind and spirit first, body second.

Decisions, Decisions

I'm around and kicking. Every time I feel like updating, I change my mind.

Not a whole lot going on.

Except that I'm doing pretty crappy. Emotionally.

Life has been difficult. I've been dealing with some things that, in my little bubble of life, people don't seem to have to deal with. Maybe it is my slant on life. Maybe I'm a little depressed and have a skewed interpretation of digesting my circumstances. On one hand I feel like hunkering down with a bottle of booze and the saltiest fried food the world can imagine up for me, and doing myself in with a big, ol' pity party, table of one. On the other hand I feel incredibly blessed, and am thankful for the lessons and learning I am learning about life. Hopeful to chip away at my cynical exterior to reveal a better, more loving me.

I tend to flip-flop quite often.

Today I choose booze. I also chose to pop a Xanax. Not at the same time. But I'm obviously choosing to damper my emotions with something. Too bad it isn't a treadmill. Or a bike ride. Good thing it isn't a pizza. Happy medium of sorts.

I find that my lows are rather low. My highs are rather middle-of-the-road, and my potential to seriously need an anti-depressant are... viable.

But.

Yeah.

Here's the thing. I tried one (Celexa), and quit it after 2 days. By day 2 I was having flashbacks of why I actually quit the drug years ago in the first place. See, back then I went on it for a year or so, just to get out of a slump. Nausea, jaw tension and lack of desire for bedroom activities were an issue. Oh - and sweating like a pig. But, emotionally I was in a better place. If you call flatlining a better place. OK, OK. "Flatlining" is a little strong. But, I just remember not feeling... me. Feeling a bit hindered emotionally.

Either way, I got off. Moved on, and did OK.

And then a couple weeks ago I felt myself slipping and tried it again. After two days of headaches, nausea and fear I stopped. Even though I've been slipping for a couple years now.

Talked with my psychiatrist (I say "my" but I've only seen him once and then followed up with a phone conversation a couple weeks later) and he said I should give the Zoloft a try (since I already had a bottle on hand, prescribed from my primary care doc months ago). I took that for 2 days and stopped it, too. It was better than the Celexa, really. I didn't have the same side effects right off the bat. But I did have a nagging concern that I was building up in my body something I might not like, and if I didn't - I'd have to wean myself off of it. And I've heard that weaning off Zoloft is akin to stopping heroin cold turkey. Nice.

You really don't need to know all this, but guess what? Here it is.

And with a trip to a winery planned for the weekend, I really didn't want to be in anti-depressant land. Silly? Maybe.

Again, here I go with the flip-flop, wishy washy. I want to do this on my own. I want to do it without the meds. They scare me a bit. But they could improve my quality of life.

Decisions, decisions.

On the weight front... I've maintained. Fluxing between 266 and 267. Go me. Good deal. I'd really like to lose, though.

Self-Care

The cooler air has been a relief.

Forget the blues in winter, I get them in summer. The oppressive heat, humidity and blaring sun do not do good things for momma. I'd much rather be wrapped in a sweatshirt, simmering soup on the stove, baking, cleaning without sweating and sucking fresh air.

Yes, the drop in temperature is welcomed here.

---

My Wii broke. I've been using it to weigh myself, which makes it breaking kind of a sour deal. I don't know what is wrong with it besides the fact that it will not turn on. Pretty basic. I've had the kids look at it (they know more than me about these things) and they weren't able to fix it. I weighed myself on my shipping scale (the back up), and I look to be about the same. Maybe a bit of a loss, I don't know and can't quite remember.

Wii takes off 2 pounds for clothing. I think my shipping scale weighs in 3 pounds heavier. If I weighed 270 on the shipping scale, then I'm about 265? If I remember right. Which I'm not sure that I do. Still, it is a lesson in not being completely married to the scale, or the system, but to rely more on the the process as indication of progress.

Which I am, and am watching what I eat. Shifting here and there, trying to spice things up with new recipes. I've been pretty good about it, making new meals the past few days, shopping ahead (better for finances, too). I think I may have glugged down a half bottle of wine one evening, though. Not the best for calories. But I stayed within my range, crazy as it is.

I've been going for walks. I've been trying to be more active. Consciously.

My wellness is not whole. It isn't just the eating (although it is part of how I comfort myself). The eating is a symptom. The chaos is a symptom. I have many parts of my life that need better balance -nutrition, exercise, finances, household, spirit, self- and I need to maintain focus and better balance. Self-care.

As I tighten up on one area of my life (my eating), I see other parts start to fall in line. But, then, I also see the potential for other areas to become less manageable if I become too focused or immersed in my physical (eating, exercise) well-being.

Right now my immediate concern has to do with work. Last year my hours were cut. I was not happy about it, but learned to live with it, and eventually ended up enjoying it. My hourly cut gave me the opportunity to look beyond my day job--which is just a job, not a career-- to see what other options were available to me. Finishing my degree? Putting time into other areas of my life (self, household, volunteer, my "freelance" work)? Go back to doing some crafting?

Now, my job is wanting me back for the hours it took away. I'm not entirely sure if that is what I want right now. I have a couple of other opportunities that are open to me that, I think, might bring greater fulfillment than the measly dollars I would make stacking on more hours. I have an offer for some freelance work, and I still could finish up my degree. Both would be good, for different reasons. I will pray on it, chew on it and hope I can find some answers and some peace about it.

All of this falls under the "self-care" umbrella. Me, taking care of myself. Making a decision largely based on myself, and less based on everyone else. Not something I generally do. I've dodged out of a million commitments and opportunities simply because I put everyone else in front of me. But in the process of that, I've lost the delicate balance of regarding the family needs as well as my own in my decision-making -- and in that have lost some of myself. Compromised to the point of being nearly suffocated, depressed and lost. For me to be a better mother/wife/sister/human being, I have to regard myself, my boundaries and what is healthy for me, so I can be a better person to other people. As cliche as it sounds, it is true.

Manure Hits Fan

My emotions are tied to my eating. I know and recognize this. Part of my (gag-cliche-gag) journey in all this is facing things head on, sacrificing my pride, and relearning.

I've done good. 70 pounds down, not shabby. But the last couple weeks I've been sliding. The scale hasn't much reflected it, but the way I've been eating has, and the scale is sure to follow. OK. That's a lie. The scale isn't going down. That's how it is reflecting. I'm no longer losing. I'm maintaining, and soon I will be gaining.

I could wax poetic for a bunch of paragraphs, but I'll just claim the truth of it and work with that.

So here it is: my depressed and anxiety-prone adult child is living with us again. For four years we went through, (dragging us with) a nightmare with her as she entered her teen years, barreling through them with drugs, alcohol, risky behavior and excitement, with disregard for everyone around her. I haven't healed from all of that yet, and now we find her back with us. I still have kids in the house who are not grown, which sets off a whole different dynamic.

I'm scarred, and not yet healed from the trauma that we went through. Having her here again has re-opened wounds. The only good thing about having her home is that we know where she is at night, and we know she's not out on the streets doing who knows what. Been there, not easy, but you learn to live with it. I'm not saying it's right or good or even going to "work" letting her stay here in the long run. I'm just saying it is what is now.

Through all those years I never went to counseling. I survived, I got through. I learned and grew as a mother and a human being. I suffered. A lot. More than I care to think of right now. I believe I have a some PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) from all of those years of trauma, lies, fear.

Just as I started to find some peace and healing, acceptance... it comes crashing down again. I've been taking Xanax, occasionally. I went to a counselor for the first time two weeks ago. I'm anxious and irritable, depressed. Feeling the stress in nearly every corner of my world.

I feel horrible, complaining like this, which is why I haven't said anything about it. But today, as I looked at my nearly expended calories, felt stuffed to the gills, poured a Guinness (drank half, then poured it out), climbed in my car for a chocolate run (with a kid in tow to run into the store for me -- I look a hot mess), came back and ate 200 calories of Hershey's (half of that in the car, and half on the couch, still within my calorie range) - and then within a half-hour decided to completely blow it, made an egg bagel, slathered with butter and a dash of grape jelly (I never eat this crap, so I know I'm on a binge), eat it furiously and sit down to type this? I know I have to face it, claim it, name it, pray about it, give it up to God -- whatever I can do to not be consumed by it.

This is where the tough part comes in, honey. And it is tough. Because the most wicked saboteur is not friends, family, commercials, celebrity or anything else. It's SELF. And I was wondering when it would kick in. I was wondering when my willpower and drive would fail. And it is now. When the manure hits the fan.

If I can't keep on the path, despite my unhappiness, then I have problems. I need to face this problem, whatever it is at the root, dig it up and get rid of it.

I don't know how yet. But I'm standing in the hole with a shovel, ready to cut into the root, or pull the dirt over my head.

Oh How I Wanted A Nutella On Toast

Today has been a frustrating day. I was frustrated at the daily stress of managing a household, working, and simply struggling to get through the day. I'll spare all of the particulars, but bottom line was, at the end of the day, all I wanted was a Nutella on toast.

After running here, running there, disappointments and frustrations, I got the kids in bed and sat down to eat my pre-packaged, less-than-300-calorie meal. I counted up my leftover calories, and figure I have more than enough for a nice piece of wheat bread, toasted warm and slathered with the creamy, nutty, chocolately sweet goodness that is Nutella.

The more I wanted it, the more I became frustrated with myself. I wanted, needed and DESERVED to treat myself, didn't I? I could almost taste it.

I opened the fridge and thought a beer sounded dandy, too.

I admitted to myself that I was not hungry and I was totally in the midst of an emotionally-charged eating crisis. And I felt like punching myself in the face, disgusted.

I brushed my teeth.

I connected with God.

And I avoided a Nutella on Toast today.

Step In The Right Direction

I did OK last night.

Wha-Whaaat?! Raise the roof, raise the roof.

I stayed within my caloric limit last night. I'm not sure how. Convinced that the calculations are wrong... I'm not saying I ate the best foods, or that the 3 Guinness beers aren't going to congregate amongst my mid-section and hang out a little longer than another calorie-comparable food. But that's OK. I went for a long, long walk, which should counteract the nibbles I had with my last beer, and should have increased my metabolism for a while.

I actually thought more about what I put in my mouth, and that's a step in the right direction.

I don't know how some times in my life it seems to fit so good to be more thoughtful on my eating and fitness, and then other times I just flat out don't care.

I don't know, but, by the grace of God, I am grateful for the reprieve of being a slave to food. It is exhausting.

My Worst Enemy

I now am on Twitter. Who isn't? We'll see if I use it.

_____

Also, I'm feeling the least motivated I have in a long time. I'm also feeling very, largely fat. And sluggish. I'm not sure what to attribute that to. Could be my period. Could just be the resolution that I am going to spiral into a 500 pound mass of skin and fat that never leaves the house unless aided by a scooter.

What happened? What is happening to me? I'm sure people look at me and see a loss of self-control, probably something dirty. I see people looking at my flabby flop of a belly, too, more than I used to now that it is hanging down like dirty laundry. I hate it. I don't like my body. I can't stand it, sometimes, feeling trapped - claustrophobic - in my pounds of fat.

But, coupled with that, I'm also feeling resigned and scared. I think I'm scared to lose weight, lose what I've become and who I am. Talk about being a bipolar mess -

Oh.

Hmm. OK.

Lightbulb moment. Yeah sure, I'm a bipolar mess, but I think I know where my balls went. They cozied up to a dastardly beast called STRESS.

I can pretty much peg my descend into having a belly that droops like baby in a sling, and a weight-gain of 20 pounds - it happened this past year. The most STRESSFUL time I've had in my entire life. Like being attacked from all sides, to the point where I think I'm lucky I only abuse alcohol instead of consider it my life-blood.

Yeah, stress. I should be incapacitated by booze or my own girth, at this point, but since I gained 20 pounds and am pressing buttons on my wardrobe, I trip it up in my mind that I have failed and that I'm one cracker away from a scooter and a nurse cleaning between my folds.

Wow. What a wussy I am, sometimes. Seriously. Instead of focusing on what I've held together, I let the light shine on how I've fallen apart.

As cliche as it is, I'm my own worst enemy. My mind and the tricks I let it play.

Ephesians 6:12

12For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

I need to armor-up more, and not be defeated so easily.

Starting Over

Ooopsie-poopsie.
I deleted everything.

Well, not really. I removed my old posts and tucked them away. Because I need to start over without looking back so much. A quick glance over the shoulder is fine, but I need to move forward, now.

I want you to know that I'm losing weight. And a lot of it. I fear saggy skin, but that's a silly fear, since I sag already. The funbags, the tummy... Better to be saggy and 199 pounds than saggy and 299.

My plan? Sheer determination, smaller portions and more movement. I'm ready.

All-time high: 338.
Current starting weight: 299
Goal weight: 198 (Under 200 is my first MAJOR goal -- after that, we can negotiate)

I'm 35 right now. I don't want to be 300 pounds at 40 years old. I wanted to be under 200 by now, since technically I started this journal back in 2006. I didn't make it. Life's stress got in the way. And really, I got in the way. So I'm starting over and giving myself another 2 years to lose 101 pounds.

If I lost about 1.6 pounds per week I could make goal by the time I'm 37. That would be nice.

I don't have much more in me to post about right now. I've got the main diggs in order. Watch out world.