Decaf Coffee, and Other Forms of Horror

I survived day 1 and day 2 on the Atkins diet. Whew! Amazing.

For me this is huge. Gigantic. Ginormous! I usually seem to always cheat (myself), and when it comes down to it, I'm pretty far from a meat-atarian. In fact, for many years I didn't eat red meat at all (technically a lacto-ovo vegetarian). That worked well until I wound up in the hospital with anemia. So, even the doctor said that my 'diet' was ridiculous. Needless to say, I was bummed, but I learned to eat a hamburger now and then and I ate chicken.

Many of you have heard that when on the Atkins diet "if it has a face on it, you can eat it." That pretty much sums it up. Truly. And, for yours truly here, a non meat lover, this is tough. Really tough.

While at Yuppie Mecca (Costco) yesterday I about nearly keeled over dead just smelling all the fatteningly delicious baked goods: they were baking those damnable muffins while I was there. Curse you, Costco Bakery!! I even went so far as to be muttering "I'm going to die" under my breath. It is amazing just how fantastic of hearing my child has--the three year old got all freaked out and said "Mommy, you going to die?" I had to assuage his fears that, in fact, mommy wouldn't literally keel over that second. Fun. So, I had to suffer in silence, all while pretending to be happy about purchasing cheese, bacon, and tilex.

I have found, through a little creativity, that I can indulge in veggies--to a small degree. On the 'free list' of foods, salad greens show up. This is a happy thing, as I can have 2c. of mixed field greens topped with shredded cheddar and some grilled chicken breast for lunch, while leaving me an 'allotment' of 1c. of salad greens with dinner. The no fruits part of the diet is proving to be more challenging than I thought.

Just like me to pine away for apples or bananas while on the diet, whereas when I could eat them ad nauseum I could care less about them. I call it the 'Disney World Syndrome': every day of my life I can drink as much free, clean, drinkable tap water as I can handle--consequently I don't want it. I want coffee, soda, whatever, just not water. While at Disney, where the bottled water is roughly $6 a pint, I want nothing more than to chug it by the gallon. Go figure.

On the positive (maybe?) side, I have not had a single, solitary, drop of coffee [caffeine] since Saturday. I am seriously jonesing (bordering on 'triple shotgun murder'), so this morning I went to Wally-World and bought (gulp) decaf coffee. UGH! GAG! RETCH! But, at least I get to smell coffee-scented air, and have that hot, bitter liquid touch my tongue. At least my olfactory bulb is happier.

So far, so good. Keep rootin' for me. It helps (and probably the sub-lingual B-12 tablets, too!).

The last great frontier-

So, a long time ago I wrote about my "new lifestyle". Yeah, ahem, it didn't stick. I have been futzing around all year, and over the course of the summer I managed to gain back basically all of my weight.

Grumble, grr, ugh.

But, what was I to expect? I didn't try, and I had days where I downright binged on junk food. Why, oh why, was I not born one of those people, you know, the kind who whine that try as they might, even after eating the entire pan of brownies, they just can't seem to lose weight. Poor little darlings, someone should just drown them in a sack, like an old crotchety farmer and his unwanted barn cats. Put them out of their misery. (not really, but I do feel like saying nasty things when I hear folks like that; I want to say stuff like "yeah, you really are fat. You should go on a diet. Your cellulite shows when you wear shorts." But I don't...at least not out loud).

Anyhow, I have jumped on nearly all of the diet fad roller coasters, and had some measure of success on each of them--I just fizzle out and get lazy. I decide that the chips/cookie/mocha/whatever really is that important to me right now, and so I deviate from the 'plan' and sooner or later I fail.

I have heard the definition of insanity is 'doing the same thing over and over yet expecting a different result.' Based on that little tidbit of wisdom (and the fact that B.J. is getting fat--I told him only one of us is allowed to be fat, and well, I've already filled that position) I decided I'd try something utterly radical for me: Atkins.

I am and have always been a carb addict. Bread, cookies, cakes, chips, white starchy stuff, you name it, I'll crave and cram it. It is quite sick, actually. I can even trace the exact period in my life when I became severely addicted to carbs, or more specifically any kind of bread: I was just barely 8 years old, and it was shortly after my family's home had burned down (with my father and myself inside of it--it was 70% destroyed), and I found that if I stuffed my gullet with enough bread, I got this high. I suddenly would feel happy. And, let's face it, at the time I was homeless, momless (she had gone to take care of my ailing grandma, and was not home when all this went down), and pretty devastated and, upon reflection, in a deep depression: the bread made me happy. As an adult, I've realized it wasn't really the bread that did the trick, but the serotonin that was released as a result of eating that made me happy, so I guess that technically makes me a neurotransmitter junkie--I digress.

Anyhow, it was pretty much all downhill from there. I began my diet roller coaster of ups and downs, always seeking to be 'thin'.

Ironically, as an adult, I now realize that at the time I thought I was 'fat', at 5' 8" and 121lbs. I was anything but.

Sigh.

How warped we all see ourselves; perhaps, I had a touch of body dysmorphic disorder. At any rate, I talked myself into being fat, whether or not as a kid I really was. Don't fool yourself, I had some pudge in the middle, but nothing compared to today's belly shirt wearing juveniles who have a 'hangover' or 'muffin-top'.

So, in my roundabout-stream-of-consciousness type of writing, here's the point: I've decided to commit myself to 2 whole weeks of Atkins--virtually no carbs, and definitely not a slice of bread in sight.

B.J. has (reluctantly?) signed on with me. He told me he'd give it 2 weeks (all that I asked), and boy did he whine and complain today! You'd have thought he'd been sentenced to a desert island with nothing more than salt and lime to keep him company. I'll admit, I got a little edgy when I was at Life Source buying vitamins and I smelled the fresh apples--they were like a little slice of heaven on earth, I seriously had a tough time not buying a few to snack on.

For our first day, we did pretty good. Scrambled eggs with cheese for breakfast with DECAF (yag!) coffee (Atkins forbids the use of caffeine the first 2 weeks, to establish whether or not we are addicted (in my case, a big fat DUH!)). Lunch was a whopper, sans bun, with a side salad and diet coke. And dinner was fantastic. I made a recipe off of the Atkins site "Cheese N Chili Chops with Cauliflower Salad." It was absolutely delicious. Very easy, quick, and I had all the ingredients I needed, with the exception of cream cheese. Whether or not you are dieting, I would highly recommend this recipe. It is just scrumptious--a little bit of bite, and the pork is so tender, you could cut it with a butter knife.

So ends day 1. Wish me luck for patience, perseverance, and a sense of humor. I need it.

Always busy, always excuses...

It has been a while since I have sat down to post. I'm just too busy. I've been organizing the house (and cleaning--a lot), working on other projects, and exceedingly busy at work (let's just say I finished a fun 'dog and pony show' for a very intimidating suit from the state. Yech!).

Here's a brief (or as brief as I'm capable of) synopsis of the last 3 weeks:

Mission New Lifestyle:

Week 1: Struggled like crazy to keep my caloric intake within approximately 1,500 calories per day. I was constantly starving (though, it never looked like it), and wanted to eat everything in sight. Especially around my bad time of day (3-5pm).

Weight lost: 5.5lbs. Yay!

Week 2: Still struggling to keep my calories to about 1,500. Discovered I have to have a sweet treat in the evenings. If I don't have this treat I think I will die. Skinny Cow makes good treats that are reasonable calorically speaking and yummy enough to 'do.' Healthy Choice fudge bars also fill the bill, and, they're sold in super-mega-bulk packaging at Costco. Oh, how I love Costco.

Weight lost: 0. Zilch. Nada. I felt pretty bummed, but I figured, " Hey! It could have been worse, you could have gained. " Isn't it the second week on 'Biggest Loser' that they always have small numbers? Hmm...

Week 3: Getting easier to keep my calories in the 1,500 range. Also getting easier to plan. I find I am obsessing a little less about food. Weighing every morning is very motivating. I have also started trying to do a long walk a few times a week. Saturday, B. and I walked 5+ miles. It kicked my butt, and I hobbled around like an old lady because my hips ached. Ugh. But, hey, I got moving. Funny, how after a fairly sedentary 15 or so years, your body protests when you actually decide to move. I have discovered if I drink a lot of water and make sure that I have a small (+/- 100 calories) snack every morning around 10 am I do much better. I still feel like one of Dan Akroyd's cone head characters from the movie THE CONE HEADS "...must consume mass quantities." But, it is getting better.

Weight lost: 2.5 lbs.

Overall, I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. I'm beginning to create some new habits (good ones, for a change), and my new lifestyle is feeling less restrictive. I'm getting the fat addiction out of my system, and even as I type, I am anticipating taking an hour long walk in the sunshine (while we have it!). I find that it is becoming rewarding to move and see some small results. Already, with only 8 pounds lost, I feel my clothing fitting a bit more loosely, and I'm looking forward to when I will be able to donate it to a charitable organization--because I'm never going back.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. I am going to do it this time, but a little extra help never hurt.

The Donut's Best Friend (no more)

Today, was a good day--of sorts.

To start out with, B.J. and I have been having some misunderstandings as to what creates a good marriage, a sound relationship, and what mutual respect looks, sounds, and behaves like. We were having one of our (rare) spats. I was trying to communicate with him (explicitly--since we all know expecting him to know implicitly is a pipe dream--really, for all men) what it is, exactly, that I need as a female to feel loved and appreciated. I really am not asking (in my opinion) for much: I need to hear 'I love you' more than just at bedtime before we both fall into unconsciousness, I need him to make some decisions on his own, as a man, without me telling him what to do (imagine that!), and I need him to be a partner in raising our children--as in every weekend day if I'm otherwise engaged between 9:30-10:00 am they need a snack and instead of telling them everything they can't do, please, please, please, take my one piece of parenting advice (to save us all some sanity): re-di-rect!!! I really don't think that is too awful much to ask for. Truly. I'm not asking for a Ferrari, or diamonds (though, I likely wouldn't object to them too much), or a bouquet of roses every night after I clean the house (hmm...again, wouldn't protest if it were to happen). I just want simple respect.

Anyhow, our 'discussion' of the aforementioned issues spilled into this morning. Yuck. I was so annoyed and agitated I just couldn't think. I couldn't say anything nice (and shutting up was excruciatingly painful) so I decided to listen to that little 'nudge' that the Spirit gives me every so often: It told me to leave the house and go for a walk. A walk? You mean exercise? Fresh air? Movement? GASP! Well, I did. I wound up lacing up my sneakers and stuffing my head into a winter cap to go for a walk. As I went about my preparations I went to grab my iPod for entertainment: dead. So, I thought I'd call my neighbor who I often talk with about personal issues and who, like myself, is trying to get into shape: still asleep. So, I stomped out my front door expecting to wilt of boredom on my walk. My walk was anything but boring.

For about the first 1/2 mile of my walk (uphill!!!) I grumbled and griped and complained in my head about what was vexing me. My mood was not improving. Then something happened: I remembered that I could take this time of quiet and solitude to talk with my Creator. And talk I did. I talked to the Boss for nearly a whole hour.

It was wonderful. I poured out my heart and my soul, begging forgiveness for my shortcoming and weaknesses as a mother, wife, friend, and human being. I let out my fears and anxieties. I prayed for B.J. and for myself. It was such a conversation, I nearly didn't want it to end.

By the time I returned to my front doorstep, my mood was improved, I felt a lot better (mostly from my time with my Maker, but also from a vigorous mostly-going-uphill walk in the South Hills), and I was ready to face the day.

With my amended attitude (though still somewhat annoyed--see 'what I need to be loved' regarding Snack) we left for church. We decided to try out a new feature of church: CORE. It was designed with married couples with small children in mind, to meet their spiritual and emotional needs at the point of time in life they are. It is a group of about 40 or so people. Often, I have issues going into established groups like this. I feel all sweaty and nervous and turn into a wallflower (I know, hard to believe, but true). I feel intimidated and I get a case of 7th grade ego: where I think they're all judging me, talking about me in a negative way, and generally finding me not member material. It is silly, but its true.

To my great pleasure they were very welcoming, friendly, and they approached us. They made us to feel a part of the group immediately. I would reckon that about 5 separate couples came up to us and introduced themselves, welcomed us, and inquired about who we are and our children. It was amazing. Truly. In my experience with churches in this town, we have not had a very warm or even friendly reception when we've visited or tried anything out. This was just what I think we needed. One of the topics that they address is marriage building. Visiting this group couldn't have come at a better time. It was also an answer to a small but honest prayer uttered this morning on my walk. Thank you, Lord, for small miracles, and for nudges in the right direction.

I have many lines from movies that are among my favorites; one of my favorite lines comes from the Sandra Bullock film HOPE FLOATS, it is one character addressing another about a formerly chunky high school classmate (who had gotten thin in the interim years):

...Oh, you know Dot: the donut's 'best friend.'

Normally, at gatherings like the one at church today that describes me: The donut's best friend. I always find a way to meander over to the donut and coffee table and find a sugary carb-cake to keep me company (or my mouth full, and unable to talk) when I'm nervous. Today, I went with B.J. over to the donut table where he loaded up a dessert plate full of cookies, brownie, and donut, whereas I, even after being offered said new and improved lifestyle offending consumables, politely declined. Yup. Another small answer to prayer: staying with my decision and not cheating or short-changing myself. I was not the donut's best friend. Amen!

As I've said before, thank God for small victories: I've added another to my list.

B.J. and I will be OK. We're fighters; we don't give up. And, despite all that has gone on this weekend, I'm OK, too.

Feeling lazy, feeling blue

I have really been lacking the desire to post lately. So, obviously, I haven't posted much. Duh. I know.

Good news: With my renewed efforts toward a healthier lifestyle I have almost made my first 10% weight loss goal. In my first week (which included quite a few flub-ups, and an unplanned trip to Izzy's to celebrate a birthday--yikes!) I managed to lose...drum roll please...a whopping 5.5 lbs.

Whoo-hoo!

I'm .5 lbs away from my first 10% goal: 6lbs.

I have a lot of weight to lose. If I look at the WHOLE-Bigger-than-life picture I'd just give up and sit down with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and mope while watching some sort of ultimately brain numbing chick-flick. So, to keep me from 'relapse' (as in succumbing to the FTW attitude, and fatalistic thinking that gets me stuck on the fast-track to increased fat cells and binging on whatever high-fructose, sodium laden, deep-fried concoction sure to make my serotonin levels even with those of a meth addict...) I'm looking at my first goal as losing a 'total' of 60 pounds.

Much more doable than the other number that I really am striving for.

5.5 lbs. isn't a whole lot. It wouldn't keep me above the yellow line on "BIGGEST LOSER" but it is a firm start. I'm also managing to maintain the attitude of 'get back on the horse' when I 'fall off' rather than subscribing to fallacious all-or-nothing thinking.

Chalk one up to me.

Now, on to the darker side of life.

Mentally, I'm struggling with Seasonal Affective Disorder. I've not received an official diagnosis of S.A.D., however, I suffer many of its symptoms. The peak of my 'blahs' coincides with the winter solstice--the shortest day of the year. I feel like a plant deprived of sunshine: I've withered (emotionally) into this lifeless, shapeless (figurative and literal--unless you count round for my shape. Ha!), blob who is lacking motivation most days to do anything. I want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. I don't want to do anything with anyone. I am just hoping to hit the 'fast forward' button a la Adam Sandler's movie CLICK. I go through this ever year. I have since I was a child...just my mother and I always chalked it up to missing Florida and the winter sunshine and flowers. Sigh. I can hardly wait for May sunshine and more daylight.

On the Autism spectrum: We've definitely been having our fair share (dare I say, more than fair share....as in the Lion's Share) of 'Autistic moments.'

Peanut has been irritable, defiant, tantruming, and tormenting her brother (and me) without end. I know it isn't her fault, and her psychiatrist concurs, the hoopla and lack of structure over the holidays put her over the edge. Heck, it puts typical kids (and most adults) over the edge. So, how could I expect anything different from someone with cognitive and sensory processing difficulties? Still, it doesn't make it any easier to deal with her. Even though I have a 'special needs child' it doesn't give me super-human strength, the ability to see through walls, or any more patience than having a typical child gives to any other parent. My patience still wears thin, and the decibel level of my voice soars ever heavenward. In truth, I've been ready to murder her. (only in thought---the same way we all say 'I'm going to kill you if you eat the last cookie, candy, chip, etc." ). One of the mentor moms at a MOPs meeting I once went to said something to the effect of:

"You're completely normal if you have the feeling that you'd like to
huck your child out the window. Every one of us feels like we would love to
just toss them out to escape the tantrums and difficult times. You're
normal. You're only abnormal if you never get frustrated with your child
or you actually do toss you kid out the window. Don't do that.
(all while smiling)."

This simple statement has saved me much guilt and shame. I'm normal. Lord, I'm so utterly normal, I'm the poster-child for normal. Ugh.

Chublet has been two. He acts two. He IS two. I don't really need to say much more. I remind myself, often, 'this too shall pass.'

Some introspection:

Going back to the lifestyle change, I have realized I am completely and totally obsessed with food. I figure I think about food approximately the same number of times a day as a red-blooded teenage-boy thinks about sex. Really. I think I am obsessing. Maybe that's one of the reasons why my weight has soared so high. I wonder what Freud would say (I'm glad he's dead...Dr.Phil is bad, I can only imagine how wonderful Freud would be...).

Things I'm looking forward to:

The return of normalcy to our daily schedule, and with it the return of a more sane and less psychotic little girl.

Continuing to renew my commitment (daily, hourly, minute-by-minute if need be) to my new healthier lifestyle.

Chublet eventually aging three-years-old (and my survival through his 'terrible two's').

Spring is coming. It is a long way out, but eventually the crocus will pop their periwinkle and opalescent heads though the snow and frost and herald the coming of new life and the return of sunshine.

Small Victories

Thank goodness for small victories. Without them, it makes most tasks that require substantial effort nearly insurmountable.

I have decided on a lifestyle change, or rather (more appropriately) I have decided to renew my dedication to changing my lifestyle so that I can be more healthy. Also, to be perfectly honest, I'm sick to death of shopping in the 'porker section' of the store. There's really nothing terribly attractive in the clothing ( beyond about a size 12) choices I may select from, and, I'm tired of being ripped off.

Yup. If you're a porker, you gotta pay more if you want any sort of selection beyond gold lame, butterfly appliqued sweatshirts, and (shudder) elastic waist poly-synthetic pants. Yuck. It is a complete gyp; if you're big, and I am, you pay more. I can't make use of those uber cool sales racks at the T.J. Maxx store or at Ross Dress for Less because, well, they don't go beyond a size 12 (maybe a 14). I want to be able to satisfy my cravings for good deals and walk away from the clearance rack with an entire ensemble costing less than $20. In the porker section? Ain't gonna happen.

So, yeah, I want to be healthier. Ironically, on paper (minus the figure that represents the total number of metric tons that compose my svelte figure) I'm actually pretty healthy already--a drag, because it makes it harder to stay moivated. Its not like I'm suffering from high cholesterol (I'm pretty proud of the fact aht my total cholesterol is about 138--thought I'm working on lowering it more) or I'm diabetic. I think if I had some serious health issue (not that I want one, I don't) I think it would, possibly, be easier to stay focused and on-task. Also, I want to feel better (lighter), and I want to be around for my kids into old-age without being one of those crippled-up, old fat-ladies who scoot around in a 'hover-round' or some such contraption. But-the shallow end of it is I want to look better, too. So, I'm back to watching what I'm eating.

NO. It isn't a diet.

NO it isn't a resolution. If it were a resolution, it wouldn't be successful; who, after all, actually accomplishes 'New Year's Resolutions' anyhow? They're made to be broken.

So, on to my small victory:

I'm sticking to counting calories. 1,500 calories, daily, to be precise. I'm not worrying about any other aspect of the counting game other than the calories. I don't eat processed foods at home (too expensive), so by virtue of the fact I'm sticking to the 1,500 cal/day I'll be eating foods automatically low in fat, cholesterol, sodium, and sugar. Don't we just love us some good salty and sugary foods? I digress.

I need to go grocery shopping (rates about #2 or #3 on my top ten least favorite activities list), as usual. So I have exactly no food in my refrigerator that would be lunch-ish fodder. Unless you count mustard and every other condiment known to western civilization--I don't. So that left us with a dilemma: what to do for lunch.

I know! Go to the evil grease-empire: McDonald's (not to be confused with THE Evil Empire: Starbucks). But, what can I possibly eat there? Everything is deep fried and smothered in chocolate--wait, that's from Shrek 2--at any rate 'healthy choices' and 'McDonald's' aren't typically found in the same utterance.

Let's just say I did some online homework before we left the house. I looked at the available nutritional information for several fast-food restaurants: Quizno's, Subway, Taco Bell, Wendy's, McDonald's, Burger King, Jack in the Box, and Applebee's. Let's just say if you were to look up what you might typically order off of the 'super value/combo menu' you'll be ill to see how many calories you (and I) consume(d). Of the burger joint variety, to my surprise, McDonald's was the healthiest of the options I researched.

Huh?

Strange but true. Applebee's has the healthiest and most appetizing choices for low calorie dining, but, alas, they're considerably more worrisome to the ol' pocketbook. So off to MCD we went.

I succeeded in enjoying (truly!) my lunch, while not utterly 'blowing it' calorically speaking. I ate a Grilled Chicken, bacon, ranch Salad with low-calorie vinaigrette. Surprisingly, it was really good, very filling, and (angels sing, now) it came in at a modest 260 calories. Add in a Diet Dr. Pepper, and I was good-to-go.

Small victories add up. And, this victory made me do the happy dance. Hmm...I wonder how many calories that burned off....

Fat Chick on a Mission

Whew!

Life has finally started (started, I said, not is) to find a rhythm, and I'm beginning to be able to navigate the ebb and flow of being a working mother again.

Work: doing good.

Finally mastering some aspects of my day, and beginning to build some confidence with our new S.F.A. curriculum. (gasping for breath here, like I ran 1/2 a block or something...). My boss and team leader keep popping into my work space while I'm inspiring and moulding young minds during said new curriculum delivery, and they are smiling and nodding their heads "yes." They're doing this--a lot. (They seem to think what they're seeing is exceptional or something--little do they know...). They want to video tape me doing my deed, and I resolutely refuse to have any sort of image recording device, of any kind, near me.

Uh, uh. No way, Jose.


The 'powers that be' (as I warmly refer to them) want to tape me to show what I do to others. Like I'm some sort of role model.

Eew. I don't think so. Don't put me on a pedestal; I'm afraid of heights.

For starters, the day they would tape me would be the day that Chicken Little's prophecy comes true, and it all comes crashing down. In my room. Loudly. Furthermore, it will also be the day that I model the most inappropriate, developmentally 'wrong' methodology (Murphy, is, after all a distant cousin of mine...or should be if he isn't). And, to put the icing on the cake: NOBODY is gonna wanna see my fat patootie on camera--very LEAST of all, ME!


So, that brings me to my mission: To stop being a 'Fat Chick'.

I am going to reshape my body.

Notice how I didn't say 'I want to' or 'I'm going to try to...' I AM going to get into shape. (Yes, yes, I do know round is a shape. But, let's face it, I've "been there, done that" for entirely too long).

Notice that I also didn't say (in a whiny voice), "I'm going to go on a diet." The word 'diet' is, to be cliche, just another four-letter word. I don't like to use profanity on my blog, so I won't.

I'm starting small. I'm being conscious of what, and more importantly when and how much I eat daily. And I'm making a fantastic effort toward a 30 minute walk (or other sustained activity) every day. So far: I'm doing a brilliant job of it.

I need to take better care of me. If I don't do it, nobody else will. I want to be in better health for many reasons, but the most prominent right now is so that I can finally quit feeling so much shame about how I look when I: see myself in the mirror, see myself in a current photograph, or, (God forbid) on video. I want to look at myself (in any format) and think to myself "I'm not a 'perfect size 6' but I'm good enough for me".

I think that is a reasonable request. One I intend to fulfill. One little step at a time (pun intended) and one day, and probably one minute (depending on the day) at a time.

I've been fat long enough.

It is time to try out the world in a new form, and shed the 'cocoon'.

Dante's Lost Circle of Hell

Just 4 more days until we have a weekend away! There, as always, is a lot to do, but I'm excited. Peanut is excited (she can hardly wait to go on Opa's big boat), and if Chub-chub had any concept of time, I'm sure he'd be on pins and needles, too.

Since it is such a short time until we leave, I'm already gearing up for our family weekend in Seattle. As a part of the planning I am already envisioning what I'm going to pack. It sounds a bit shallow (well, o.k, a lot shallow) but that's where I'm at. This is a good thing, in a round about way. As a part of my planning for the weekend (we're staying at the Marriott--ooh, the swimming pool) I have discovered I need a swimsuit.



Yes. A swimsuit. *screaming and sounds of agony*



I have discovered in my pre-trip planning that the swimsuit that I currently own is fairly on the ginormously too big side. This makes me happy. It actually is a demonstrable way seeing that I have in fact shed 60 unsightly pounds in the past 21 months. When you have a lot of weight to lose, as I still do, it is sometimes really hard to see the changes. Even 60 pounds worth of change can be somewhat tough to see.



Take, for example, my fattest FAT PANTS. I saved my fattest FAT PANTS to remind me of why I cannot sit on the couch and watch paint peel while getting take-away for dinner. I tried them on just yesterday for a morale boost: it was good. I could physically see where my waistline was at (even at my heaviest, my FAT PANTS were tight in the waist, hips, and thighs) and I can see that my new-er waist line sits a comfortable 4.5 inches inside the circumference of the old. My hips and thighs can swim inside the old FAT PANTS. This makes me very happy; it makes me very happy, indeed.



I digress. As usual.



Anyhow, I was mentally envisioning myself playing in the sunshine and splashing in the swimming pool with my chickadees, but not in the old swimsuit. Couldn't possibly wear it, lest I offer a free burlesque show to the poor unsuspecting sunbathers poolside. So, that meant one thing and one thing only: swimsuit shopping *blood curdling howls of terror*



Now, if you've a svelte figure that you've always had or kept hold of by religiously punishing your body at the gym, you won't be able to relate to what is to follow. You go on ahead and just cruise on over to another blog. Go on, save your self some time and trouble. Ok. Now, the rest of the 68% of you (us) out there that have *gulp* blossomed past a size 14, here's the scary part.



Swimsuit shopping is enough to give any healthy, in-shape, self-possessed woman a case of body dysmorphic disorder. Swimsuit shopping for the overly endowed, voluptuous sort is something akin to having bamboo rods shoved violently under your fingernails and asking "please, sir, may I have some more?" This type of shopping is a grueling task master who likes to crack the whip of self-loathing, under glaring overhead lighting. No one looks good in overhead lighting; if you've got a little cottage cheese to go along with your squishy dough rolls, it is even less flattering.



I trekked to many stores, spanning two cities.

Fred Meyer: Nope.

Wal-Mart: Nope (they design suits for midgets*. I swear, the suits I tried on there either left me glad that my bikini line is neat and well groomed or wishing my boobs hadn't gone as far south as they had.)

JC Penney: not only did they not have any air-conditioning on, there was a waiting line at multiple dressing rooms and when I finally got into one of the sweaty little stalls there was someone else's mess waiting for me. Now, that was just disgusting.



So, I thought I'd try out Nordstrom. I love 'Nordies.' Granted, the Nordstrom we have here is what I call "Ghetto-Nordies":it is only two floors, and the women's, Brass Plum, children's, and children's shoes occupy one of the floors--so a very small and limited selection, but I still enjoy it (too bad the prices are a bit STEEP). Good 'ol Nordstrom, should have something, right?

Wrong. They had exactly 4 swimsuits above a size 14, all of which were so old-lady even old ladies would have gagged.



My favorite stand-by: Target (tar_Shay, ya know how to say it). Nada. Again, the suits had midget syndrome. Hey, I'm tall (5' 8") but, not freakishly tall like, for example, the women folk on my husband's side (his little sis' stands at a diminutive 6' 1"). So I should be able to fit into a suit. American women aren't that short.



I eventually wound up at Macy's. I'll forever think of it as Meier & Frank--calling it Macy's just feels wrong somehow even though the buy-out has been several months ago now.

Once at Macy's I slogged down to the ground floor and wrestled my way through the remodel going on to find the swimsuits. For moi: exactly 1 rack. Uno. ONE! And on that ONE rack there were about 5 different styles of suit. I found 3 different suits that weren't too 'old-lady' or too 'ugly' or too 'midget-ish' and drug myself into the dressing room. I tried each and every one on at least two times. I figured this was the end of the road. Short of a 45 minute drive to a bigger city, my swimsuit shopping options were exhausted.



It is funny, how when you try on swimsuits, you suck in your gut, square your shoulders, twist and turn in vain to look smaller. Uh-uh. No matter what you do, in that 6'x6' portal to hell, nothing makes a dang bit of difference. Yet, we still try. Why is that? If I suck 'it' in, its gotta go somewhere; so, likely, if I suck in my gut, the 'suck in' probably bulges out somewhere less flattering, like my butt. Or my thighs. Oh, my thighs...we're just not even going to go there...



After my dressing room calisthenics I finally decided on a two-piece 'tankini'. It is a simple brown with white piping/edging and a criss-cross back (gotta have the extra support to keep the girls in line--no black eyes for me after my Bo Derek '10' impersonation on the shore). My self-esteem was about 99.7% in the toilet when I walked out at last. However, I think it tanked entirely when I went to the check-out counter.



$106.00. *retching*



As if I needed insult on top of my injury.



Could someone please tell me why on earth a swimsuit would cost that much money? Please? I don't even know what brand it is to warrant such a price tag. (likely no-name brand) But, in the end, after a few hours of self-torture and the realization that the Swedish Bikini Team will not require my presence this season, I finally sucked-up the cost and now have a swimsuit.



I may not look like Claudia Schiffer, but at least I'll be able to play with my kids at the pool (bonus: without indecent exposure!) and have a good time.



As I walked away from the department store, mentally shaking my head over the price I paid, I came to a very real conclusion: I could use this experience as an excuse to go home, boo-hoo into a pint of Häagen-Dazs or stoke the fires of motivation to continue to get into better shape and look better, for myself.



I chose the latter. Sometimes the glass is half-empty; today the glass was half-full.







*if you happen to be a midget, no offense is meant.