Back in the Saddle Again

Well, that's it--I've fired up the MyFitnessPal again and started keeping track-even if I go over.  That's what worked for me just last year--not just keeping track on the days I was "good," but keeping track no matter what, with brutal honesty.  Today I'm over by 187 calories, and that's going to be okay.  So long as I kept track. 

That really was the trick--I lost 180 + lbs just doing that--keeping track.  But then I stopped losing, even though I was keeping track, even though I was still exercising.  It wasn't the first plateau I'd hit, but it was the one that brought me down.  To my credit, it took almost five months of not losing anything for me to start slipping.  I kept telling myself that the loss didn't matter, it's about being healthy.  And while that SHOULD be true, fact is, it's both, because I still FEEL really good, but I've gained back fifty pounds.  I can still walk four hours at Mt. Vernon or hike up a steep hillside at Ft. Washington and not have my back scream and cry at me.  But it's going to.  If I keep this up, I'm going to wind up housebound again, just like I was. 

The back pain, while absolutely exacerbated by weight, was a problem even when I was thin.  In fact, at 130 lbs, it nearly trapped me in the Grand Canyon after a day hike most of the way in.  It's the result of a series of back injuries when I was a kid, culminating in a spectacular car accident in 1993 that blasted out disks and shredded muscle and tendons.  So the back is a disaster no matter what, but it's a more debilitating disaster the heavier I am.  Before I started losing weight, I was seriously considering a wheel chair.  Making it from the apartment door to the car (about 100 yards) was devastating to me.  I was breathless, and the pain in my back, hip, and into the right leg was so bad I wasn't really even walking--I was just soldiering through and throwing that leg forward. 

And then I wasn't.  Then I was spending five or six hours on my feet, walking through DC, checking out museums, strolling from monument to monument, or hiking around all day in Rock Creek Park.  Suddenly I was able to be the mom to my son I had always wanted to be.

And now I'm blowing that all to hell.  I feel like the poor guy from "Flowers for Algernon." 

No way.  That cannot happen.  But it is.  The other night, my feet blew up like balloons.  Not as bad as they used to, but there it was.  Yeah, I'd had a lot of sodium.  That needs to stop, too.

So today, I keep track.  Today, I am mindful of what I'm putting in my mouth.  Even if it doesn't stop me from doing it, I am mindful.  I will keep track. 

And tomorrow?  I will do the same

I need to be a loser again . . .

At my heaviest, I weighed over 400 lbs.  I don't know how much over, because I stopped weighing.  Judging by the rate of loss when I first started taking it off, I'd say I was around 425.  I felt like hell.  All the time.  My back, which was mangled in a car accident back in 1993 (back when I was a skinny girl), was a constant source of pain and worry.  I had sleep apnea.  My blood sugar was starting to be a real problem.

Over the course of a year-and-a-half, I lost 180 lbs.  I felt great!  I was still fat, but I felt amazing!  I could walk for hours (though the plantar fasciitis would give me grief the next day)!  I used a program called My Fitness Pal to log calories and exercise, and I was religious about it.  Very dedicated!  My blood pressure was amazing, my resting pulse 60, my A1c down to 5.4. 

And then I just stopped.  I don't know what's happened.  I have spent the past seven months just eating.  Is it because of the surgery, the stress, the fearing it was cancer?  The relief of it just threw me into a celebratory pig-out that I don't know how to climb out of?  I don't know.  I do know that, for months, I kept being "good" but kept not losing--I plateaued and, no matter what I did (add calories, subtract calories, increase exercise, decrease exercise, etc.), I just couldn't lose.  Three plus months of 1250 calories a day, and no loss.  I kept telling myself that it didn't matter, that being healthy was the reward, regardless of the number on the scale, but that's not true--the number on the scale mattered, because when you're holding yourself down to that few calories a day, that number is your only tangible reward. 

It's not just me--yeah, I've gained almost 50 lbs, but my husband's gained a good 30 lbs, too, and he's never been "big."  We're just eating everything we want.  Ice cream with Chambord and black raspberries, gourmet cheeses, jalapeno poppers, and peanut butter!  Constant peanut butter!  See, I used to have one Clif Builders Bar (chocolate mint) a day--I would actually break it in half and have half for breakfast and half for lunch.  Then it became two bars a day, one for breakfast, one for lunch.  Then it was two for breakfast, and two for lunch.  Understand, these bars have 270 calories a pop.  In an effort to break that one, I switched to yogurts.  I started with light yogurts, one for breakfast, one for lunch.  But then I developed a taste for the Greek yogurts--Chobani Cherry, to be precise.  That's almost twice the calories of the light.  And then I wanted two.  And then?  Granola on top.  And suddenly my low-cal bar replacement was worse than the bars.  So I cut that out, too, and it was replaced by an overwhelming urge for peanut butter.  I would just slather it on bread and eat four pieces.  Yes, it's low cal, low carb bread, but still.  And I'm left wondering--is the urge for peanut butter (which I went YEARS without eating) a way for my body to make up for the protein I'm not getting from bars and yogurt anymore?

I don't know.  But I'm sinking myself, and it's devastating.

I did come across a blog today, a very nice lady who's lost a good bit of weight and talks of going back to daily logging/journaling to keep track of her weight if she should begin to gain again.  I know she's right--I have to start daily logging again, even if I'm screwing up.  Because then it's there, in black and white, and I can't deny or pretend.  And from there, maybe I can get this turned around.

But I'm scared. Terrified. I don't want to be contemplating wheelchairs again. I don't want to be unwilling to go to movies because my ass is too big for the theater chairs. I can't do that again. Please!

About 25 lbs shy of my heaviest, on the upswing

Obligatory duck-face, about 170 lbs down

About 180 down