Halloween & Other Speedbumps

So, I had these grandiose visions of jumping right back into my old "Healthy foods are great!  I love eating vegetables!  Yucko to french fries and grease!  Bring on the fiber and protein!" habits.  After posting last week and being all gung-ho about it mentally, the real world reminded me that it is not as smooth of a transition as I am able to portray it to be.

I seem to have set myself up for the ultimate weight-loss challenge:  cold weather, which always equals an insatiable desire for comfort foods like chicken pot pie, apple cobbler, and hearty chili; Halloween, also known as "The holiday that gives child-less adults a valid reason for stocking their pantries full of candy" (and by candy, I mean chocolate, of course); followed by Thanksgiving (no explanation or clarification necessary); and Christmas.  Christmas... in all of its sugar-cookied, frosted, candied, hot chocolated, goodness.  There isn't a whole lot of wiggle room there for creative points-counting or turning perfectly amazing recipes into something more Weight-Watchers-friendly and still delicious.  And who I am trying to kid?  Sugar cookies made from Splenda are edible, yes.  Crave-worthy with a glass of ice, cold milk?  No.  No, they are not.  Plus, Splenda doesn't quite have that crystal-like consistency that makes decorating them half the fun.

But, don't get me wrong.  I'm not the kind of girl who will suffer through the holidays munching on celery sticks and carrots all reindeer-style while those around me are bringing the figgy pudding and roasting chestnuts on an open fire, simply to avoid gaining an ounce (or pound... or ton) or two.  But, last year, I had clearly established a trend of healthy eating long before the weather changed.  I'd set myself up well for the potential of putting on a few pounds.  This year, however, I not only need to lose the six pounds that I've re-gained (I need to name these six pounds... something ugly.), but start a trend of losing the pounds that I had already ear-marked for eviction before my relapse.

I'm talking a big game too.  To listen to me, you'd think I've been a professional trainer myself for years.  "Weight training, when paired with cardio exercise, will help you burn calories long after you've finished exercising and will make you stronger for future routines," I spouted off yesterday, like I was some kind of bodybuilding authoritarian.  Feel free to go back and read that quote in your snarkiest inner-monologue.  I deserve it. I need someone to stand next to me in these self-righteous moments and remind me that I'm the kid who failed the President's Challenge in third grade.  And by failed it, I mean it took me like three times as long as anyone else in the third grade to run the mile.  Clarification:  walk the mile.  No certificate for this chickadee.  Only looks of shock and disgust from your stereotypical, mid-1980's, elementary school PE teachers.  I'm sure the President was not amused either.  Anyway.  If I can't walk the walk (literally and figuratively), I shouldn't be talking the talk.

I'm scheduled to go to the gym tonight and meet my trainer for the first time in two weeks.  This will happen.  Beyond a shadow of a doubt.  And I intend to tell him to kick my butt up one side of that gym and down the other.  I've been slacking because I've been sick and trying desperately to rest and recover.  But, it seems that the only resting I've been doing is not attending my sessions at the gym.  Life has rolled on at its usual chaotic pace in all other aspects with me right there, sniffling and coughing the whole time, going gangbusters without missing a beat.  So, why, why can't I get back in the groove?  It takes two weeks to establish a habit, or so I've been told.  What can I do over the course of the next two weeks to motivate myself to get off my behind and go spend an hour in the gym instead of in front of the television?

I've got my Goal Dresses hanging in plain view in my bedroom to remind me of that reward come November 22, but I've lost that inner-determination and honest desire to go to the gym.  I used to look forward to it, crave it, want to go, even miss it on days that I didn't get there.  Now, it's like "Eh..."  Maybe if I'm able to get the train moving in the right direction again, I'll feel inspired by success and find that inner-gym-rat who, not so long ago, was disgusting people with my incessant Facebook check-ins at LA Fitness.

What have you done to get over the plateau, friends?  What methods have you used to trick yourself into motivation?

Out with the Old and Into the New... Almost

The actual pile of my clothes...
impressive, huh?

About six months ago, I decided that it was high time I stopped wearing clothes that no longer fit me.  Perusing my closet each day before work, I noticed that I was sorting through dozens of tops and pants that were no longer in daily consideration because they looked like I was wearing my big sister's clothes.  Why was I keeping them?  I never wanted to wear them again based on their sizes, so why were they taking up valuable closet  room?  I read an article about weight loss that said keeping old, too big clothing is a mental thing.  It's a safety net.  It's me not totally trusting  my ability to lose the weight and keep it off.  It's me allowing myself room to fail.  Ain't happening.  So, I decided it was high time that I got rid of the physical embodiment of the old Melanie.

It took about two hours to go through my entire closet.  I tried on every single item of clothing in it.  If it didn't fit me, it was gone.  I stood there, pulling pants and shirts off hangers, trying them on, checking out the mirror in front of me, and then hurling them into a pile on my bedroom floor.  And the pile got bigger and bigger and bigger.  If I had thought about how much I'd spent on all those shirts, skirts, pants, suits, sweaters, dresses, I'd probably have cried.  I tried diligently to sever the emotional ties to things I loved or items that were particularly nice and to remember that I could buy all new, beautiful, smaller things now.  Goodwill was about to hit the plus-sized mother lode.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago. I'd had a fight with my closet that morning and couldn't find a single thing to wear.  I literally stood in front of my still-pretty-well-stocked walk-in closet for several minutes, completely stumped by what to put on my body that day.  I'd try things on, look at myself, and reject them in disgust for some various reason that probably only I could see.  My sweet boyfriend was very patient with me and kindly suggested that we use that afternoon to do a little retail therapy/closet replenishment.  And who I am to argue with that?

I pride myself on my ability to not only look cute (most of the time) and make good fashion choices, but to do so in the most inexpensive way possible.  Call it frugal, call it cheap, I call it being smart, call it whatever you want.  But, I'm a girl who loves a bargain.  So, when we were in Kohl's immediately following my battle royale with my closet, and I spotted two super cute dresses for an amazing price, I couldn't resist.

I had a coupon and both dresses together ended up costing $30, when each was originally marked for $40.  They're exactly the same except the color and will look amazingly good with my pair of knee-high, light brown boots.  And maybe some leggings.  Or even a scarf.  And colorful earrings.  And bangle bracelets. I digress.  When I spotted them, I grabbed the size that I thought I could wear, eye-balled the very crowded fitting room and decided that I wanted nothing to do with it.  We were in a bit of a rush, meeting a friend and her husband for lunch, so I scooted up to the cashier, checked out, and we headed to the car.  Later that afternoon, I was giddy to try them on and show them off.

Cute, right?

Much to my dismay and slight surprise based on the size, they didn't fit.  I mean, they fit on my body.  I could button them.  If I inhaled and held my breath the entire time I was wearing them.  And sucked in every body part possible.  And didn't move my arms so that the buttons didn't pop open.  So, you know, they get on my body.  I was bummed, but saw an opportunity.

I decided that these two dresses would become Goal Dresses.  I'm probably 5-10 pounds away from looking freaking awesome in both of them.  So, I'm setting a public goal here and now.  A good weight loss goal is based on about two pounds a week.  If I start now, I should be able to fit comfortably into both of them by Thanksgiving.  So, hear ye, hear ye.  I will wear one of these dresses with my cute boots (and maybe some leggings, and definitely some trendy jewelry) on Thanksgiving Day.  And post the picture on this blog.

Goal #1:  Wear one of my Goal Dresses on Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, November 22.
Total Weight Loss Necessary to Meet Goal:  10 pounds
Days to Complete:  28
Weight Loss Per Day: 0.3 pounds

Total doable.  Watch me.

Overdue Weigh-In

So, I had lunch with a relatively new friend yesterday (let me clarify... we've been friends on Facebook for years because I know her parents, and she was a beloved follower of my other blog, "Lost in Singledom" before we ever met in person), and she commented on how much she loved "Breaking Up With the Couch."  I had to think about it for a second.  What is she talking about?  OH yeah... my other blog!

I apologize to the two of you who are probably even still the slightest bit interested in anything I have to say on this blog and if you happen to stumble across this in a random Google search one day and remember having read a few posts years ago, please know that I have pretty valid excuses for my absence.

First and foremost, my life is very different than it was the last time I posted on this blog.  All in good ways, thankfully, well, mostly.  I'll get to that.  Since my last weight-loss-inspired post, I have gotten a new job (with a much longer, much more awful commute) and started a new relationship with an amazing guy.  The combination of a longer commute, shorter at-home time for meal preparation and gym festivities, eating out on dates, and generally laying around and enjoying life have contributed to an addition of a few "happy pounds."  (I'm not sure how I feel about the term "happy pounds," to be honest.  I know they are acquired because you are happy, but I'm not happy to have them around.  I'm quite the opposite, actually.)  To stay true to the ethos of this blog, I will be honest and say that I have gained back six of the almost forty pounds I lost previously.

I know, I know.  Six pounds?!, you say.  That's no big deal.  That's not even a clothing size.  But, it is a big deal.  The train is moving in the wrong direction.  I worked very hard to lose those six pounds, sweating endlessly on stairclimbers, running on treadmills until my knees ached, lifting weights until my muscles shook.  They have no right to be back, especially this soon after having been evicted.

I'm in no way blaming anyone other than myself.  I could have gotten my behind out of bed on any of the dozens of Saturdays since you last heard from me and dragged it to the gym.  I could have ordered steamed vegetables instead of loaded baked potatoes or french fries at any of the countless restaurants at which I've spent time and money over the course of the last nine months.  I could have tracked my points in Weight Watchers instead of just paying for the monthly service and hoping that some kind of online osmosis process would log them from my brain (which apparently is not a reliable calculator for such things) to the plan manager.  But, I didn't.  Contrary to popular belief, I am not infallible.  And I am overweight.

So, Monday was the line in the sand.  After celebrating my niece's fifth birthday this weekend with about twenty of our closest relatives and friends and a ten-layer "Yo Gabba Gabba"-themed birthday cake covered in delicious fondant, I decided that it was high time I got my nose back to the grindstone.  I miss the feeling of losing weight.  I miss looking at myself in the mirror and doing a double-take, almost not recognizing the body standing in front of me.  I miss my clothes getting bigger with each passing week and the constant decision of whether or not I could just buy a belt and make these pants go a few more weeks until I'm a size smaller.  I dread the thought of not fitting into the new sizes hanging in my closet now and refuse, absolutely, unequivocally, vehemently refuse to purchase anything bigger at any point.  For the rest of my life.

And besides the clothing and fashion aspect of losing and then maintaining weight, I'm no spring chicken anymore.  I recently got sick and there was a lot of use of terms like "...at your age..." and "...you should start to consider..." at the doctor's office.  How the hell did that happen so fast?!  But, my amnesia of the first portion of my adult life is no excuse.  I need to take better care of myself now so I can be around and healthy and active as long as possible.

So, expect to see regular, real-world updates as I work to maintain the success that I had before and strive to turn the train around back towards Weight-Loss-ville.  I'll rely on you for motivation, encouragement, and challenges.  Keep me in check, friends.  Don't let me go longer than a week without updating you, regardless of whether or not the news is good.  Hold me accountable.