I am just your average 24 year old female college grad trying to make sense of life. I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a writer, and a significantly overweight individual. How much? I won't say. Heck, I don't even know myself, I don't step on a scale for fear that the little metal box will scream "Good God, get off me, lardo!!", the second I set foot on it.
OK, I'm exaggerating. It's not THAT bad, I don't weigh a metric ton like Fat Bastard (though I often felt that way when I looked in the mirror), but I do have quite a bit of extra weight to lose. And I am starting this blog on a good day, because today is Day 1 of my new diet - no, wait, improper phrasing. Today is Day 1 of my new LIFESTYLE, Day 1 of the soon-to-emerge, shiny new ME.
I realize that my timing is horrible, what with it being 3 days before Thanksgiving and all. However, in another manner of speaking, my timing is impeccable. Because, you see, this new me comes in the wake of my EPIPHANY.
My epiphany, it turns out, was rather simple. A no-brainer, really. I had always viewed weightloss as a means to be HAPPY, not HEALTHY. I viewed it as a way to attract the opposite sex, to make other girls quiver with envy over how I can squeeze my boney ass into a size 2, to not cringe every time someone mentioned the word "scale", to not avoid pictures like an anorexic avoids cake. My epihpany came to me out of the blue. It reminded me of a game of Tetris - I was confused, baffled, rejected by the opposite sex, feeling fat and ugly and lonely, unable to understand how I could get to feeling better. My confidence was at an all time low. My life didn't make any sense - it was a war zone, a pile of those ugly z-shaped Tetris figures that just kept piling one on top of the other, further burying me in a tangled, jumbled web of misery when suddenly, EUREKA! I turned one of those Z-shaped mo-fos the right way and suddenly everything FIT, everything made perfect sense. 20/20 vision baby, I saw the light! I was DEPRESSED. Yes, depressed. Which was very hard for me to admit because I always prided myself on being a jovial, positive person. But the optimism only applied towards other people. I could write a novel on why someone else was great, on why another person's life was all hearts and flowers and puppies, and yet I was down on myself 24/7. In my own mind, I was never smart enough, pretty enough, hot enough, charismatic enough. A metaphorical little grey cloud hung over my head just like the literal ones in those Zoloft commericals.
And the key to all my problems? I had to learn to be happy with myself, just as I am. NOW. Not TOMORROW, not 20 POUNDS from now, not WHEN I find Mr. Right, but NOW.
So I proceeded to hurriedly make a list of all the things I like about myself. I have a pretty face, I'm friendly, I have a good sense of humor, I'm kind, I have a high IQ, I have nice hair, and I like my freckles and I do have a lot to offer, damnit! That was a start. Baby steps.
The next step? Renew my gym membership - Check. Start the new diet, er, lifestyle. Check...ish.
Day 1 is tough so far, I won't lie. Don't get me wrong, I'm used to diets. I've tried every diet under the sun. You name it. Atkins, South Beach, Nutrisystem, 14 day fasts that lasted exactly one day. Some worked, others didn't. But I gained the weight back every time. I've always been an emotional eater, and as a result, was a chunky kid and turned out to be a chunky adult. I inherited from my father's side poly-cystic ovarian syndrome, a slow thyroid, an Italian-family style addiction to food, and a high probability for getting diabetes. At the same time, I also inherited from my father an unhealthy attitude towards weight and happiness and learned to confuse the two. My father, the poster child for the old "pot and the kettle" adage, would remind me, after taking a swig of his beer and scratching the gut that went with it, how men aren't attracted to "fat girls". My father's version of "I'm proud of you" came in the form of, "When I was doing laundry, I noticed you're down a pants size. Good job - now go down 2 more, fatass". His comments depressed me. The more I became depressed, the more I ate. The more I ate, the more depressed I became. That stupid old vicious cycle.
So why, you might ask, is this diet attempt any different from the myriad of previous failed attempts? Simply, because this time I've learned to stand on my own two feet and be happy with the person I am now, no more stupid depression clawing at my insides (and when it does, I tell it, in a loud, firm voice, to bugger the Hell off). I'm fed up, and determined to become healthier. I don't want diabetes like my grandfather. No gangrene for me, no sir. This time, it's going to stick. I used to love that old phrase that went, "Inside me lives a skinny girl screaming to get out, but I can usually shut the bitch up with cookies". Well this time, I'm gonna feed the bitch egg beaters and let her scream all she wants. In fact, the louder the better. And no quick fix, can't-stick-to-em fad diets this time. It's good old calories in versus calories out, slightly higher on the protein, slightly lower on the carbs, and exercise, exercise, exercise. I had a graperuit, green tea, and a small (serving size) bowl of mini wheats this morning, and my grumbling stomach is currently proving to be the bane of my existence. My co-worker came by with marshmellow treats. I didn't tell him I was ready to gnaw off my own arm, but instead politely declined. I made it through to lunch, opted for a healthy pita sans (gasp) my favorite topping in the world wide world - CHEESE, oh beloved cheese, how I miss thee already. But it's will power baby, sheer will power.
Step 1, indeed.
I'm turning the quarter century mark soon (in 3.5 months, to be exact), and I want to hit my goal weight before I turn the qaurter century mark plus one. And it's not because I want to run off and marry Lee DeWyze. Or because I want to look skeletal upon my return trip to my hometown Chicago (Lord knows I'll never be a size 2 anyway, this body ain't built for that), or so I can stick it to the skinny chicks in my office by showing up to a function in the same dress and looking better in it than them, or even so I can look smokin hot when I get that novel published and go on that book tour around the world (a girl can dream, can't she?).... rather, it's because I want to be healthy, and I want to have the glowing confidence that comes from obtaining and maintaining a healthy body (and body image).
Today is Day 1, friends. And so far, it feels pretty damn good.
Until next time....
-J
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