Time Flies

Wow! I didn’t realize I’d been gone for almost three months.
In the back of my mind, I thought I’d only been away for two, not that’s really any better.
Life gets away from us all. It’s already August and less than a month away from school starting. So far, I’ve gotten almost none of my crafts goal list completed, pretty much haven’t accomplished much on my health goals, and I’ve yet to figure out a good routine for my daily life.
Yet, time continues to move forward. We’ve arrived into the third quarter of the year and I’m still struggling.
Losing weight sucks.

Despite my comments about goals not met, we had a fun start to the summer. We went to Disneyworld with our children and nephews. They are truly extraordinary young men and I could not have asked for better family time.
Plus, thanks to the Disney Dining Plan, I managed to gain weight during our trip. Each sit down meal gives you an appetizer, meal and dessert–basically enough calories for an entire day in one meal. Have at least two of those a day and I felt grossly full more times than I can count. Add the two snacks a day and you’re almost feeling disgusted with the idea of eating. Yet, it’s still cheaper than if you purchased food off the plan.

About to meet Alice, Mary Poppins, The Mad Hatter, Tigger and Pooh Bear

Coming home from that, the last thing I had any intention of doing was stepping on a scale. My fat pants were snug. No way to the scale. Despite walking miles and miles each day, that food simply tasted too good not to eat. Then I convinced myself that vacation time was for calorie splurges and I’d lose the weight when I got back.
Then we started six weeks of someone in my house being sick. Each Sunday would start off great, only to have someone spike a fever by dinnertime. After two weeks, I felt nuts and felt myself start to eat to abandon, which led me farther away from my goals.

After all that, I’ll finally say it. I have to confess something. I haven’t posted in so long because I rebounded.
The embarassment of having to write about how I’d gone right back to where I’d started overwhelmed me. I felt as though I’d let everyone down, so I crawled inside of shell of denial and ignored any sign of confrontation.
Remarkably, I didn’t gain much weight, maybe 5 pounds from my rebound weight, but that did put me in the range of 225. It’s quite sobering to think I weigh as much as a professional football player.
What pushed me back to write again, to face my embarassment and crack the shell of denial?
Two men.
First, my father, who’s struggled with his weight for as long as I can remember. About two weeks ago, he and my mom were over, visiting our children, when he looked at me and said, “I’m worried about you. About your weight.”
I could have easily said “Oh yeah, well worry about your own before talking to me about mine,” but I knew his was geniune concern. He said it kindly and told me he worried about my health. Right now, he’s having multiple health concerns, some of which are from him being a former smoker and others are exacerbated by his weight. As a parent, he wanted me to avoid problems later. Thankfully, I never smoked, so I didn’t have that to kick. I can thank asthma for me never wanting to smoke.
Second, my husband. On Sunday morning about two weeks ago, he asked me how I decided what ring I wear on my left ring finger. He’d noticed I’d changed them around. Because of my weight gain over the past several years, I haven’t been able to wear my wedding ring with any consistency. During my pregnancy with Katelyn, he bought me a (fat) ring so I could at least look married and as a token of his love and devotion to a woman who temporarily looked like she’d swallowed an inflated beach ball. (I called it a fat ring, he didn’t.) After a moment, he asked if the (fat) ring fitted and I said no. At that point, he asked me what he can do to help me because he “was worried about me.” Of course, I’d love to go to the Gema & Co website and pick myself a gorgeous ring that would fit perfectly, but the reality is that it probably wouldn’t fit me after a few weeks, so there is no point even asking him for that. Instead, I have to go without one.
I have to give him props to even approaching the subject. Consider the position he’s in. He’s with a woman who’s obviously overweight and appears to be climbing up the scale. He watches, hoping she’ll make the changes on her own. She doesn’t. What does he do? Sit quietly in fear of asking about her weight at all or say something and risk a potential meltdown and/or adult tantrum?
He takes the risk and I do melt down. Cry for about an hour. Tell him how helpless I feel against the journey, how frustrated I am with myself that I can’t get it together, and how I’ve let him down.
As if it’s something straight out of a chick flick, he looks at me and says “The only person you’re letting down, is yourself. I want you around for another fifty years. I don’t want to be old by myself. I want you there.”
Sniff, sniff.
I felt a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Was it his kind words or simply being able to decompress through a good cry? Easily, it could have been both, but I know since that day, the frantic feeling of wanting to eat subsided.
My husband and I talked most fo the morning and I told him what things I struggled against. “I can hold it together until about 2 in the afternoon, then I just want to eat everything in the house.” We calculated how many calories I usually consumed by two and found I would restrict myself too much, then get to the mid-afternoon and go nuts, literally pacing in the kitchen to find something to eat.
His suggestion? “Drink a cup of coffee around then to help, then have a cup of yogurt or small snack.” So far, it’s worked. In two weeks, I’ve worked off eight pounds and I reset my goals’ deadline.