Food issues, I have them…

www.csc-ut.org I don’t talk much about my relationship with food. It’s personal, extremely private and it is riddled with so many dysfunctional aspects to it I could fill a few encyclopedia size books with how my life interacts with the food I consume.

I recently started reading Geneen Roth’s “Women Food and GOD” and while I can’t claim it’s been absolutely life saving, it has done some pretty amazing things in opening up my mind (and heart) examining how my relationship with food is an exact replica of the way I look at life.

I want to do a full review of this book but I’ve found that I’m only able to take in a couple of pages at a time. I will read something and then need a few days to digest a particular paragraph/idea. I originally got the book from the library and about 1/2 way through had to purchase it so that I could start to dog ear / mark / high light things that were true for me (read: the entire book). I’ve restarted to book so that I could go at a slower pace instead of worrying about being charged the daily late fee of $.10 from my local library because I’m pretty sure I never would have gotten the book back in time.

Bottom line: I have some serious issues.

I’ve known this since I could remember thinking “the way I eat isn’t normal”. I’ve known this since I started using Bulimia as a way of feeling in control of my food. I’ve known this for most of my life. The difference is that while I know I have some serious issues I am also willing to take these issues apart and rebuild them into something more functioning, more healthy and more life sustaining. My weight loss journey would only be successful for the short term if I was willing to spend a few hours in the gym each day and live by a calorie in = calorie out kind of mentality but I’m not in this for the short term.

I’m in this for a life time.

So why am I blathering on about all of this? You’re probably asking yourself “where’s the examination?” “when is she going to let us in on the secrets?” Truth is I’m beating around the bush. I sat down to blog about some of the reasons why I panic over my food and how that in turns plays out in how I panic about my life but I’m so full of angst at the moment that I’m not even sure I could begin to blog about it.

In fact I know I can’t.

But here is what I can tell you. I do panic over my food. I panic there won’t be enough. I panic that I will wake up some day and I won’t have access to any food. I panic that someone is going to eat my food and leave me with nothing. I panic that I won’t eat enough and when I go back for more it will be gone. I’ve been this way as long as I can remember. Truth be told; it’s the only way I remember thinking about food. Did it start because I had three older brothers that ate much more than me and learned at an early age to grab and eat what I could before they ate it all? Did it start because as a child I resorted to stealing money in order to buy food because I wasn’t sure if my mom would come home at night? Did it start because every relationship I had as a child was neither consistent nor healthy and it manifested in how I looked at my food (neither consistent and far from healthy)? Are there a million other factors to the panic?

Yes.

Panic over food = panic over life.

My life is in a constant state of panic. There won’t be enough work. There won’t be enough money. I have to check my banking account multiple times a day to make sure there is still money in there. I can never be good enough. I can never do enough. I can never make anyone happy enough. I can’t sit for long periods of time without feeling like I’m failing at something (relaxation does not come without a lot of conscious effort). I usually do more in the first hour I’m awake than most people do in an entire day but when I lay my head on the pillow at night, it’s never enough.

So that’s where I am with this book. Not too far into it and needing to start over to digest it a little more. Reading it a little slower and a little more open minded. I think once I’m done blogging a little more about it I’m going to do an official giveaway of the book.

I promise to let you in on the little secrets.

Just as soon as I let myself in on them.

Oh and I’ll tell you the story about cans of pie filling.

Yes I said pie filling.

Going back old school style…

Today I’m going to run 12 miles.

This time last year I was barely running 2 miles and I have the old posts to prove it.

Thank your body for all the hard work it does.

It loves you.

And so do I.

__________________________________________________________________________

(I wrote this March 16th 2010)

I think I found my first 5k.

But just writing the title is freaking me out.

I need to figure out why I’m so scared to register.

No let me rephrase that, I need to figure out why I’m so afraid to fail.

I’ve only looked at the web page for the run and already I’m ready to be in tears.

— Even just now I had to get up from the computer and walk around my office just because I was getting all angst. —

I need to relax.

Here are the reasons I picked this particular 5k:

June 12 is just a little under 3 months away. I will finish the c25k by the end of this month. I will be at the 30 minute mark and thus giving myself 2 1/2 months to improve improve improve.
It’s very close to my home. Once I reach the 30 minute mark I can use the 5k path as a bench mark to see how I’m progressing. This will also give me plenty of time to get used to the course so that I will know full in advance what to expect.
It’s in one of my all time favorite places in Tacoma. A big park…hello!
There is a planned Diaper Dash (20 yards for little ones 3 and under)…okay who couldn’t resist seeing little baby legs dashing around in diapers?
2 months from now will give me a lot of time to really focus on building stamina and continue to lose weight. If I continue on this track I should be down at least another 15 pounds before the race…pretty damn close to 220. By registering now this will give me 3 months of something to look forward too, and keep my determination up (thanks SRG).
It’s a big race so the likelihood that there will be other noob runners is pretty high.
There is also a 12k race so all the big boys/girls will be over there and not over here where I am (crossing fingers).

I need to do something that scares me today and this is definitely something that frightens the bejeebees out of me.

I am afraid of failing. By not signing up I ensure myself that I can never face that fear. I want to do it. I want to give myself the opportunity to experience whatever is supposed to happen. I want to work towards something and know I don’t have to be the best out of everyone.

Long story short – my mother did a very bad thing as a parental figure. Now before I continue let me also state that I’m sure she did the best she could with the tools that were provided to her (not many that’s for sure). She died many years ago so I can’t go back and ask why she said the things she said. I just have to trust that she thought she was making good choices/decisions when raising me and my 3 older brothers. As a child she would berate me to never become like my brothers. In her eyes they all failed her…

The truth is she failed us.

And in that failure she convinced me that if I wasn’t the best at absolutely everything, I was destined to become what she couldn’t handle: Another horrible child.

I never did what I wanted as a child. I wanted to play sports, I wanted to sing in choir, I wanted to join the swim team, I wanted to join theater. So many things I wanted to do but never ventured out because I was afraid to fail.

I have carried around that fear with me like a backpack full of rocks. Every time I want to try something, I mentally put a boulder in that backpack making it too heavy to carry.

Today, I’m going to take out a boulder…

I DID IT!

I have officially entered my first 5k!

I need a nap now.

(in case you’re wondering – it took me 3 hours to write this post)

Results not typical…

I had a conversation with a good friend of mine yesterday. She’s been on her own weight loss journey for some time now with some pretty good success. She wanted to lose weight for her wedding day and when that day came she slipped into her beautiful wedding gown and said her vows at the weight she desired. Then the weight started to slowly creep back up. You know how it is when you first get married. You want to spend every single minute together. Work can’t go on the back burner but a healthy lifestyle can. Your spouse tries to cook the healthy foods but some days you just want to sit on the couch together and eat things where the first ingredient listed is sugar (and maybe the only ingredient listed). It’s easy when there is a major milestone in front of you (like a wedding) but so difficult when losing weight is just because you don’t want to be fat anymore.

She mentioned that it was difficult at times to watch me on my journey because I was making leaps and bounds with my weight loss. Ten pounds a month for close to a year is what I was losing. She was there when I started walking stairs and switching out my diet cokes for water. She was there when I decided to take up running and slowly but surely built up my distance. She was there when I would pass up the donuts/cakes/chocolate/potlucks/pizza at work for food items with less sodium, less calories, less carbs and in some situations less taste than what everyone else was eating.

She said it was a little intimidating.

We all want to wake up one day, look in the mirror, see the fat on our body and know without a shadow of a doubt it will be all come off within a year. It was what I wanted when I decided enough was enough. But I wasn’t just looking in the mirror and seeing an obese, middle aged woman needing to shed 100+ pounds. I was also looking at someone who was clinically depressed. I was so unhappy with the way my life was going that I spent multiple hours a day trying to forget that I existed by playing World of Warcraft. I was trying to live out what I thought was the ideal life in a game.

I was dying.

I wasn’t dying in the physical sense. I was getting up everyday and going to work. I was paying my bills on time. I was functioning as a wife. I was spending time with family and for all intents and purposes I think the world thought I was happy.

On the outside.

But inside of me was diseased.

http://dattaabhishek.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/cliff.jpg

I tried to explain what life was like for me back in December of 2009. It was as if I was standing on a cliff. The very tips of my toes on the edge. That was where I was. One strong wind away from going over the edge. Would I have physically died? Maybe not but I was already emotionally, mentally and spiritually dead. I had no purpose. I had no potential. I was just a body of emptiness walking this planet.

For whatever reason (one that I may never understand) I was pulled from that cliff. A small feeling of “Tara, you’re worth the fight” was ignited and I fought my way back to living life. In the beginning I had no idea that a short year from that first stair I climbed, that first diet coke I would decline to drink, that first piece of pizza I would pass up in order to eat a bulgar wheat salad I would be writing blog posts about being a runner, a substantial weight loss success story and thinking about ways of saving the lives of those that I touch.

In the beginning I was surrounded by darkness.

It wasn’t a physical life or death situation. I would have continued to live physically. It was uncomfortable. I couldn’t climb a set of stairs, I had to shop in the plus size department. I had to lift parts of my body in order to wash underneath them. But it was doable. It was a life or death situation to my mental health, my emotional health and now I’m finding it was also a life or death situation to my spiritual well being.

I was living on the outside.

But dead on the inside.

So yes my results are not typical. I was (and am) on a different journey than most. I really am out to save the lives of those that I touch. I never want someone to feel they are not worthy of living a life they deserve. I never want someone to look me in the eyes and tell me they can’t. I never want someone to say it’s not worth it. I never want someone to feel dead on the inside when there is so much life on the outside to experience.

I am surrounded by light.

I want to share that light more than you will ever know.

My results were not typical.

But they are possible.

And because of them,

I am alive

Why I do what I do…

It’s Sunday Morning.

It’s way early.

In fact, most of you are still sleeping.

I’m up.

Thinking about you.

It used to be I would get up at the crack ass in the morning to sit on the couch for a few minutes before putting on some XXL sweatpants, an XXL t-shirt, and don my XXL hoodie to head out the door before the rest of my little city woke up. I would sit on my couch and listen to the inner battle begin. The battle of whether or not I was going to get out there and break a sweat. Whether I was going to get out there and move my feet in some resemblance of running. Whether I was going to get out there and take control of my life, finding the potential I deserved, proving to myself once again that I love the body, spirit and soul of the person looking back at the mirror…

It was all about me.

I had barely started blogging. Living my life on Twitter would come a while later. I’d met a few people on Calorie King. I was still alone on this journey. Scared. Bitter. Angry. Hateful. Embarrassed. I didn’t want to get up before other people were on the streets and walk/run in the dark but I didn’t want to take the chance that someone would see me. Laugh at me. Think about me, the way I was already thinking about myself:

Obese.

Lazy.

No Good.

Not Worthy.

A Failure.

Those conversations are long gone. There is no question whether I will get up in the morning and break a sweat. There is no battle (except whether to run in the rain or not). I am in control. I know I deserve to live life to my fullest potential, to love the person that is me. When I walk out that door, I don’t do it just for me anymore…

I do it for you too.

When I first started this journey, I looked to those that came before me. The success stories. The people that lost large amounts of weight. The people that ran the long distances and crossed the finish lines. The people that had the muscles and were standing in one pant leg of an old pair of jeans they used to wear. I would shed tears of “I’ll never do what they did”, “I’ll never run a 5k” “They make it look so easy” “I’ll never lose 100+ pounds”. I wanted what they had and I went after it, something fierce. I would send them notes, thanking them for the inspiration. Thanking them for paving the way. Thanking them for showing me that it is possible. They told me it wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it. They told me that even when I got to where I was going, the journey would never end. They encouraged. I believed.

Then I became one of “Them”

“I have to tell you first and foremost that I kicked ass working out today…so after my adrenaline high I sat down at the computer to log my calories and my workout and then I popped over to your page for some wisdom and inspiration ( I do that often but I am not a creeper okay, lol) Anyway, I found your last blog entry about your male role models and after reading it with tears streaming down my face I felt compelled to let you know what a role model YOU are. After everything you have gone through in your childhood and in your life you are truely an inspiration to everyone around you. I love your openess, honesty, and you willingness to share your LCJ with anyone who cares to listen. Keep it up Tara, God gave you the ability to touch other people and help them through things in a way that most people are unable to – through your own life expieriences. Have a wonderful day and I am so glad you came into my life to help me during my journey :)”

“Just wanted to tell you your latest blog knocked my socks off! Holy moly, girl! You can write!! Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with us. You are changing lives left and right… I’m blessed to be in your path.”

“The first time I read this post, I cried because it resonated with me so strongly. Now I go back and read it about once a week, because it gives me hope and reminds me that I too can be stronger than a disease. Thank you for sharing this extremely powerful message. Also, congratulations with your success so far! You are an incredible woman, and I love watching the ways you are changing your life!“

“Just came back and read this after reading one of your latest posts. It’s simply amazing to see how far you’ve come Tara. You’re a huge inspiration to me every single day. I’ve been struggling lately, both with staying on track with food, and with staying active. I need to remind myself what I’m doing this all for, and give myself a swift kick in the ass. Reading these last couple posts of yours has gone a long way in getting me pointed back in the right direction.”

“Even though I haven’t known you since the start of your journey, I got to following you about half way through. Seeing your progress and changes has given me hope, determination, and inspiration. The tears that fill my eyes right now, and slowly run down my cheeks are tears that tell me you are amazing. You are a woman that provides me with the power, each and every day, to get up and make it a day knowing that I can do anything I set my mind to.”

Why do I do what I do?

It used to be to tell myself it was possible.

Now it’s to prove to you it’s possible.

I love and care about you more deeply than you could possibly imagine. Maybe we’ve never met and I only know you in 140 characters or less, but I think about you all the time. I think about your struggles and the early morning conversations you’re having with yourself. I think about all the tears you cry out of frustration and self hatred and I cry too. I know how you feel about yourself and it breaks my heart to think that someone out there thinks about themselves the way I used to think about myself. Some days I’m so overwhelmed with the idea that some one won’t stand up and take control that it stops me in my tracks and I send up a prayer that they can feel me thinking about them and just take a step forward in the direction they deserve.

In the direction that you DESERVE.

You see, I’ve swam that big body of water. You know the one where you were standing looking out from the confines of land. Wondering how in world you’re ever going to get to the other side. Afraid to even put your foot in the water for fear of drowning. Afraid of getting out there into the unknown and then not being able to find your way back. What if you get half way and then give up? You can only drown if you’re out there in that big scary mass of water and can’t swim anymore. I stood there too. I never thought I’d get to the other side. I thought for sure I would give up and just let the water take me down and I would die. Then I looked beyond the water and saw people standing on the other side. Waving their hands. Letting me know they were there. That they had plunged themselves into a world of fear and doubt and swam.

Swam to save their lives.

To save mine.

I’m on the other side now. Looking at you. Waving my arms to get your attention. Don’t be afraid. Don’t doubt yourself. Don’t turn away from what is on the other side. Trust that your heart, soul and body want this more than anything you’ve wanted before and it will be worth every thing you put into it. Put your feet in the water, stand there for a moment and then take the plunge.

I saved my life.

Now I’m here to save yours.

It’s why I do what I do.

Population: One

http://www.flickr.com/photos/francescapayne

I’ve spent the majority of my life as a population of one. I had neighborhood friends and even a best friend or two growing up but as young as I can remember I preferred to be alone. At home I’d spend hours in my room doing nothing. At school I’d put books up around my desk creating a barrier between me and my classmates. During recess I’d throw a tennis ball against the wall while all the other kids played tag or green monster on the monkey bars. Even when I was being a “kid” outside, it was usually alone. Being alone was a mechanism I created to keep me safe. Becoming a population of one meant no one could leave me. It meant I was in control of what happened to my surroundings. It meant the only person I could trust to love me, to take care of me, to be there no matter what was me.

It can get pretty lonely being a population of one.

But it’s safe.

As an adult, I clung to this safety. I loved people but I never fully trusted them. I spent time with people but I never fully engaged with them. I may not have physically put books up, like I did in elementary school, between me and my adult relationships but they were up emotionally. Always at arms length. Always on the other side of the proverbial playground while I threw the tennis ball back and forth against the brick wall.

It was safe.

But it was lonely…

As I’ve traveled this journey for the past year, I’ve slowly (so very very slowly) learned that my population of one is no longer necessary. I don’t need to put up the barriers and keep people at bay. I don’t need to be alone thinking this is the only way to keep myself safe. No one is leaving me. No one is trying to take my control away. No one is out to hurt me emotionally and/or physically.

As I look forward, I do so with an open heart. I’ve learned to trust. I’ve learned to love. Fully engaged in my surroundings and those around me. No one wants to hurt me. No one wants to leave me. I no longer need to rely solely on myself to love and care for me. The mechanisms I needed as a child to survive are no longer needed…

I am safe.

I am no longer lonely.

Thank you

The men in my life…

I was raised by a single mother.

Let me preface this post by saying I truly believe my mother raised me to the best of her ability. However, her ability was severely lacking. She was not given the proper tools to raise her children and suffered from what I believe is massive genetic depression. She was an alcoholic. She was abusive to all four of her children (though each of our sufferings played out in different avenues). She lived a lonely life and at the young age of 52 she died even lonelier.

My father left 3 months after I was born.

As with most children, I blamed myself. I know in hindsight there is no way a 3 month old infant could cause a grown man to flee from his wife and her 3 sons but you try telling that to an emotionally dysfunctional child who never once laid eyes on the man who helped create her. I became the spokeschild for the “I don’t need a father” statement. I would plant my feet and proclaim “My mother is both parents and I prefer it that way” but secretly I longed for a father. All my neighbors had them. I just had a mom who was pretty non-existent in my upbringing and back in the 70’s you stuck out like a sore thumb.

That left my three brothers to be the male role models I needed.

That didn’t happen.

They had their own demons.

One hated me for being born.

One took my innocence.

Then there was my brother Kevin.

He was my angel growing up. He loved me like a big brother should love his little sister. I remember he would brush the tangles out of my hair after bath time but in all honesty that is only one of very few memories I have of him. Except the day he left when I was 8 years old. He just turned 18 and in order to escape my mother and her abuse he joined the military. I remember standing in the living room listening to another violent fight take place between the two of them (in our household it was a nightly event between my brothers and her). Then he was gone. I don’t remember if he said goodbye to me. I don’t remember if he told me where he was going. He just disappeared from my life. Much like I blamed myself for my father leaving when I was 3 months old, I was convinced Kevin’s leaving was my fault. Of course as an adult I know now this is not the case but you can’t convince an 8-year-old who just wanted her brother to brush the tangles out of her hair otherwise. I would bet a million dollars the day he left is the day I started to panic about food…

This post isn’t supposed to be about what I missed out on as a child.

But to talk about the male role models in my life today.

Because I have them.

And I love them dearly.

I may have not had a father growing up but I have one now. While I wouldn’t call him dad in public (because for pete’s sake I’m 41 years old) I do believe that Godfather was put in my life to be more than my trainer when we first met last summer. I am truly blessed to have him in my life. He started out as my trainer but it has blossomed into something more complex that I just couldn’t explain even if I tried. He is my mentor and makes me want to be a better person (isn’t that what all good dads do for their kids). I still see him in the gym as a coach and he still pushes the athlete in me past what I think I can accomplish but he teaches me outside of the gym as well. He speaks to my heart and looks me in the eyes even when the things I need to hear are hard to accept. When we go to church I like to sit in between him and his wife and imagine they are my parents. The parents I deserved to have. They love me and I believe them.

While my brother’s sort of tanked in the brotherly love department, I have Michael. I haven’t really mentioned him too much on my blog but he’s pretty much shown me that you can have men in your life and they don’t want anything from you except your friendship. We met last year after my husband gave me a spa certificate for Christmas. My husband thought he would be the best match of all the massage therapists at Jewell Day Spa (shameless plug). But I was 270 pounds and embarrassed to even go and have anyone touch me let alone some guy. I sat on that certificate for a few weeks. I lost a tiny bit of weight and all the walking I was doing made me sore.

After my first appointment I made a second.

It was before my second appointment I started running. By the time that appointment came around I was running three minutes!!!! My muscles hated me but they were a little less hateful when I left my second appointment and had a third in my hand. A month later I was half way through couch to 5k and I would mention this to Michael.

Turns out he was a runner.

Every month would go by and each time I was getting thinner and running longer distances. Every month we would talk about running until eventually we started running together (he has been pivotal in my journey to be a better runner). It didn’t take long for us to realize how much in common we had in our upbringing and slowly but surely a friendship grew. One that has become extremely important to me. He reminds me a lot of Kevin and how secure I felt as a young girl. It didn’t really hit me how much I care about him until just last week when I went to have dinner with him, his wife and a house full of strangers. To know me is to know I don’t do well with people I’ve never met. I’m learning to get out of my comfort zone (sitting at home day in and day out). He invited and for the first time I really felt like I wanted to be there. It was awesome. I felt comfortable and a part of the festivities instead of like a lump of nothingness in the corner. However that wasn’t what made me love the crap out of him.

It was his Donald Duck voice.

I remember as a little girl my brother Kevin would do these voices that he would only do for me. They were like our little game. Donald duck was one of them. He would only do it when we were alone. If there was someone in the room he spoke normally but as soon as it was just him and I these voices would come alive and I would laugh uncontrollably while running around the house asking “did you hear that?” I remember asking him to do the voices for other people and he would just look at me like I was out of my mind and say something like “What voices?” or “What are you talking about?” It’s one of the few happy memories I have of my childhood.

While over at Michael’s house taking in what it looked like when family and friends came together for nothing more but to be in each other’s company I watched him interact with all the kids in the house. It was awesome. I was standing next to him, while he held the smallest of the itty bitty. A beautiful baby boy who was slobbering the hell out of his hands (both his and Michael’s). Out of nowhere I hear his Donald Duck voice and I am immediately transported back to a happier time in my life. In that moment I knew that those kids in that house would always have a man that cared for them.

I am lucky to call Michael my friend.

Finally there is my husband.

All my life I wanted to know what it meant to have unconditional love. I wanted to know what it felt like to look into the eyes and heart of someone and truly believe they loved me for me. I’ve spent my entire life running from relationship to relationship giving everything trying to replace the love lost of a father and brothers (and mother) and never ever have I found comfort in the way I find it with my husband, Mitch. He loved me at 270 and he loves me today. He never saw me as fat. He just saw me. He loved me when I was severely depressed and he loves me today when some days I just can’t seem to keep it together. He loves me when I push him away and he loves me when I can’t seem to get close enough. He really is my knight in shining armor. He doesn’t judge, nor demand.

He just loves.

Did the lack of loving and caring male role models in my life set the stage for the struggles that would bring me to being 270 pounds and severely depressed at the age of 40? I would say yes. Would it be the only reason that I got to where I was? No. But just as much as the lack of having positive male role models got me to a point of almost no return, the presence of such loving and wonderful men in my life now have brought me to where I am today.

Whole.

Loved.

Important.

Before I end this post I want to talk about my brother Kevin a little bit more. He left when I was 8. It would take 30 years for us to put behind what happened to us as kids and move forward toward being brother and sister again. I didn’t understand his demons. He didn’t understand mine. I now realize he had to leave in order to survive. I missed him so much and it took the dying of my oldest brother John for me to realize that I can’t carry the anger/hurt/sadness of that little 8 year old girl one second longer. I love him today as I loved him as a small child…

His Donald Duck voice is beautiful.

He still denies he can do it.

For that I love him.

My First Guest Blogger…

I’ve been blogging now for over a year. It’s pretty awesome to be able to put down emotions and feelings on a constant basis and know that it’s helping to save your own life. It’s another to know it’s also helping to save the life of those around you. I’ve had the fortunate and humbling opportunity to Guest Post for some amazing people (Mizfit, SeattleRunnerGirl, BradGansberg, HalfofJess, StellarPath) and yet I’ve never thought about having someone guest post for me…

Because I never thought I was worthy enough.

I mean I guess I felt that my words were important for other people and I’ve always felt a twinge of “but you know it’s me you’re asking to guest post for you right?” but to have someone put THEIR words on my blog…well that means my blog means something to enough people that I can start asking other people to come here and lay their words of wisdom on all of us.

This is my first Guest Blogger Post!

Brad Gansberg and I haven’t known each other very long. We’ve never met face to face. We’ve only spoken in a limit of 140 characters. You can’t say too much in 140 characters but Brad has started a movement on Twitter that can only be described as awe-inspiring. He is the mastermind behind #7daychip / #30daychip. What began as a small group of people supporting each other as we battle whatever demons happen to be on our shoulders day in and day out, has become nothing short of phenomenal. Everyday the numbers grow as we band together and move forward to taking control of our lives…

One day at a time.

He’s a quiet man. But don’t be fooled. He is powerful in his words, his actions and above all his ability to bring people together, because he knows it is in the people of #7daychip that we all succeed.

Thanks Brad!

Interested in learning more about the #7daychip movement?

Start Here

Because like the question poses…

What have YOU got to lose?

What are your labels?

~~Smoker~~ Non-Smoker

~~Meth Head~~ Recovered

~~Lost~~ Found

~~Confused~~ Living in Clarity

~~Morbidly Obese~~ Fit

~~Toxic~~ Clean

~~Inferior~~ Equal

~~Scared~~ Facing my fears

~~Depressed~~ Lifted

~~Sad~~ Joyful

~~Afraid to let go~~ Learning to forgive

~~Abused~~ Survivor

~~Should Have~~ Going in head first

~~Introvert~~ Learning to find comfort in others

~~One~~ An army of many

~~Frenzied~~ Calm

~~Self Hatred~~ Self Loving

~~Cold~~ Warm

~~Anxious~~ Peaceful

~~Inattentive~~ Mindful

~~Sluggish~~ Energetic

~~Trivial~~ Vital

~~Worthless~~ Valuable

~~Negative~~ Positive

~~Weak~~ Strong

~~Dead~~ Alive

what are your labels?

Nothing more powerful than a picture…

I can’t believe I got here…

100+ pounds overweight.

No one wants to look in the mirror and know that in order to be what is considered a medically healthy weight, you have to lose a triple digit amount of fat That’s three numbers!!! That’s intimidating. That’s depressing. You might as well color me a failure before I even get started with the idea of having to lose not 25 pounds, not 50 pounds not even 75 mother fucking pounds.

In order for me to go from MORBIDLY OBESE (my BMI was 41.1) to Normal (24.9) I had to get down to a weight of 163…You do the math. No wait, let me do it for you.

107 pounds.

I have friends that weigh less than that.

I know that many people will argue not to look at BMI as a measuring tool for what you should or shouldn’t weigh but let’s get honest here; It’s what most of us use when we first start out on this journey. I googled “what’s a healthy weight for me” and after a few clicks on my keyboard, I was ready to quit before I even began.

You felt the same way didn’t you?

I just wanted to close my eyes and pretend that I only needed to lose 30 pounds. I’m not trying to down play anyone’s weight loss journey, but having to lose over 100 pounds just to be “healthy “puts us in a league of our own.

You know what I’m talking about.

So here I was, stuck with this number…this TRIPLE DIGIT NUMBER. I cried. I cried a lot during the first few days after I decided enough was enough. I had to take a long hard look at myself and decide whether or not this was going to be the time that I stood up and drew that line for the LAST TIME. Oh I’d done it before…lost the weight. Twenty pounds one time, gained thirty-five. Lost thirty pounds (which was the required amount before I would be approved for gastric bypass) but then when I decided that gastric bypass was not for me, I quickly gained the thirty back plus an additional twenty. Then over the next few years I would slowly gain more and more weight until I weighed 270 pounds.

I needed to be a triple digit weight loss loser.

FUCK!

I took that triple digit and changed the way I thought about what needed to be done to be successful and to make sure that this time it would be life-sustaining. I didn’t change everything I was doing. I changed one thing at a time. Instead of going cold turkey (mmmmm turkey!) with my soda intake, I replaced one can of pop with one glass of crystal light and then consumed the rest of what I normally would. Then it was two glasses of crystal lights, then three…it took a few weeks but soon enough I was down to only drinking crystal light. Then I replaced one glass of crystal light with one glass of water and proceeded the process over until I was just drinking water. It’s been over a year since I’ve had a carbonated drink and I don’t miss it one bit.

Instead of going cold turkey (mmmmmm) on my food choices I picked one thing to work on at a time First it was staying within a certain calorie range. I ate crappy foods but I was learning to stay within a range. Once I got comfortable with logging my food, I changed what I was eating. Not everything. Brown rice instead of white rice, more veggies instead of starch, a lighter salad dressing instead of gobs of ranch.

I changed my snacking habits one at time. Chips and donuts made way for microwave popcorn and sugar-free popsicles which in turn made way for fresh fruit which in turn made way for very little need for snacking.

I didn’t balls to walls with my exercise. I got on the wii for 5 minutes…then 10…then 20. Then I took my ass outside and walked. I took more stairs than elevators. I parked farther and farther away from where I worked. When I joined a gym, I swam a few lengths of the pool and then slept for hours out of exhaustion. The first time I ran it was 1/2 a block. Then it was for 30 seconds…60 seconds…three minutes…five. I went to the gym once a week, then twice a week, then three times a week and when I was ready, I got a trainer.

If my weight loss journey had been about that triple digit, it never would have began. Took look in the mirror wearing the 270 pound body that I carried for so long and know that it would need to shed over 100 pounds was too scary to even think about. I took that triple digit and broke it into one single digit:

5 pounds.

I didn’t need to lose 100+ pounds. I just needed to lose 5. When I got down to 265, I just needed to lose 5 pounds. When I got down to 260, I just needed to lose 5. My entire weight loss journey has been done in 5 pound increments. There wasn’t ONE goal to achieve to feel good about my weight loss. There were 22 goals to look forward too.

Are you looking at the daunting triple digits and thinking it’s never going to happen?

Stop.

Pick one thing and work on that. Make goals that are achievable. Stop setting yourself for failure. Set yourself up for success and sustainability. Each goal acheived building onto the next. Each one helping you believe in yourself. Know that even the smallest steps brings you closer to the finish line then never taking a step in the first place.

Believe me.

I know.