Big. Fat. Failure

Lately, everyone seems to be noticing my weight loss. As of today, I'm down 48 pounds (see the 40 pound before/after's here). Friends, coworkers and gym buddies have praised and encouraged me. They've said that I'm amazing, a machine, that I've motivated them to start (or restart) their fitness plan or weight loss.  At least a dozen people have said that I'm an inspiration to them.

Me?

An inspiration?

Every time someone says that, some alarm bell goes off in my head and before I can stop myself, the words come pouring out of my mouth..."What? Me? No. Not me! I'm not an inspiration. I mean, I've lost some weight, but, no....I'm no inspiration."

And then, almost always, I remind them that I weighed 262.2 pounds at my heaviest.  I tell them I'm still 214 and a size 14/16. I admit I still need to lose 34 pounds to reach my ideal/goal weight of 180 or so. (*)

Which begs the question...WHY do I do that?

Because I don't feel like an inspiration. Deep down, I still feel like a big fat failure.

I've just admitted my weight at the top of this blog for the world to see and I've got a knot in my stomach as I type. It's humiliating to see it there, in black and white. 262.2?!?! I'm fighting the urge to go back and delete it from the blog out of embarrassment.

Being fat IS embarrassing.  Let's get real about it.  No one likes being fat. If someone tells you they enjoy being fat, they're lying. Being fat is easy, but it's not much fun. There's nothing fun about wearing black all the time, elastic waist bands and strategically cropping every photo to hide your belly, butt, arms or thighs.

For me, 262.2 not only represents failure, but sickness.  The autoimmune disease that led to my weight gain also caused itchy skin, severe hives, hair loss, brittle nails, joint pain, depression, severe exhaustion and much more.  For more than a year, I was very sick. Doctor after doctor dismissed me as fat and lazy and told me to "...eat less and exercise more." When I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's, I was eating just 1,000 calories a day and still gaining weight each month. After gaining 50 pounds in under a year, it was clear to me. I was a failure, plain and simple.

My feelings of failure are like baggage I carried with me everyday. Over time, the feeling of failure became like a perfectly worn backpack.

I grew used to carrying it around each day - just like the excess weight on my body.  I became familiar with it's heft, comfortable with the burden it imposed on me.  I grew to know every inch of that backpack, the spots of weakness in the material, the stains, rips, patches. I know how to hide it around others, make self-deprecating jokes about it, and shove every bad feeling I've ever had about my weight and health into it.  I was successful in every area of my life but a failure in one...my weight/health/fitness.  So, day in and day out, I carried that backpack with me, filled with all my feelings of failure, laziness, and frustration.

And I never set it down...that's the funny thing about being fat. You can never escape it, not even for a moment. You're fat morning, noon and night. You're fat in pajamas, jeans or a ball gown.

I was diagnosed more than a year ago and after A LOT of trial and error, I've finally found a thyroid medication and dosage that works for me. I haven't skipped a workout in almost 7 months. I workout 6 or 7 days (or 6-10 hours) each week including running, swimming, biking, HIIT training, weights. I eat balanced, healthy foods high in fiber, lean protein, vegetables, fruit and whole grains. I've lost 48 pounds and 35.5 inches from my body.  I'm working my tail off!  Why am I uncomfortable with praise? Why do I blanch when someone says I inspire them?

Because I'm still carrying that baggage around. I've shed some of the excess weight, absolutely. But the problem with being a Big Fat Failure is that during your transformation, no one ever comes along and tells you it's okay to set down your baggage.  I don't have Bob Harper or Jillian Michaels saying "Oh, you can put down that bag, Jules. You're not a failure anymore." I've kept it with me.  And it's time to set it down, let it go and move on.

This is where I'm supposed to type a nice happy ending.

I've been drafting this blog for more than 2 weeks and I've been struggling with the ending. Like any writer,  I want to tie up the loose ends of the story and be able to type "The End."  I want to tell you that I've figured it all out, that I'm aware that the feelings of failure are no longer true (and actually never were). I want to tell you that I'm fixed...and mentally as healthy as I am physically! Ta-da!  But dear readers, I can't do that.

I'm still carrying around those old feelings of failure and inadequacy. It still feels comfortable, that old backpack. It's familiar and a part of me. But for the first time in a long time, I ALSO feel fit, strong, healthy and proud. I frequently set that old pack down for a few minutes, or hours or days.  And in those moments, I feel blissfully light... literally and figuratively.

One day, I know I'll just forget to pick up that old bag and I'll leave it there on the floor, forgotten and unclaimed.  It won't belong to me anymore.  But for now, it's part of me.  I'm just going to keep stacking up achievements until my successes outweigh my failures.

This story doesn't have an end.

This is, ironically, The Beginning.

                                                                

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*My target weight was determined by a hydrostatic body composition test, the most accurate measure of body fat percentage and overall composition. After determining my lean mass of 147 lbs (muscle, bone, organs), my target weight was calculated to be between 177-181. My composition may change as I gain or lose muscle, so that target may change.

Life Crop

When writing a recent blog, I searched for "before" photos to demonstrate my weight loss. I've lost 50 pounds now (huzzah!) and I'd like to see my progress.

I spent almost an hour pouring through photo albums, flash drives and folders trying to find a full length photo of myself. I finally slammed the lid of my laptop, frustrated with the situation...and myself.

There are none, zip, zero! There is a period of years where I didn't take a single full length picture of myself. Not a single one.  I hid from the camera because I didn't like what I saw. And any photos that I did have, I'd crop strategically to cut out my arms, my butt, my rolls or my gut.

I recently read a blog post about this that my cousin found and shared.  You can check it out here.
http://myfriendteresablog.com/so-youre-feeling-too-fat-to-be-photographed/

I'm a part time photographer and just like this blogger and (I think) my cousin, I'm super happy behind the camera and not all that comfortable in front of it. If you turn the lens around, I start finding ways to hide myself. Is there a couch, small child, person or plant I can stand behind? Can I cross my arms over my stomach? I have to pull my shirt out away from my fat rolls, suck in my stomach, angle my face down to minimize double chins and then SNAP! you've got your photo of me.

It's exhausting and the irony is, after all of that...(spoiler alert) I will still HATE this photo when I see it.  Because I don't really like what I see in the mirror. It has nothing to do with the photo.  I can't find the right angle or suck it all in. I don't like that I'm fat. I sure as hell don't like photographic evidence of it.

That blog and my picture search helped me realize I was cutting myself out of my own life, one photo at a time. So, I'm going to focus on taking plenty of photos of myself this year...and every year after this. Because now I love how I feel and look. And that feels wonderful.

I'm shrinking Jules... and I feel like I'm really growing.

How about you...do you avoid the camera or love it?  Tell me about it in the comments!

40 Pounds of Basset Hounds...

As of the end of January, I hit 40 pounds lost!

I finally have momentum going and that is exciting. I'm slipping into jeans I havent worn in years and piling up my "fat clothes" to go to Goodwill.  But the MOST exciting part is that I can see the difference in pictures and my friends and coworkers are noticing, too.

I absolutely loooove a good before/after photo... so here are a few!

Unfortunately, I don't have many pictures of me at my heaviest (more on that in the next blog...).
But here is one from my sisters wedding in 2011.

And October 2012, after I lost 25 pounds....

And in January 2013 after losing 40 pounds....

[Note: I need to prepare for my weight loss photos better instead of taking them when I'm headed out the door for a run.  I'm wearing no makeup and have crazy hair...hence the headless horseman photos. ]

 But hopefully, dear reader, you get the point. 40 pounds... gone! 

I got to thinking...just how much is 40 pounds? What does it equate to? I did the research, blog readers!

That super morbidly obese fat cat from Sante, Fe New Mexico is 40 pounds!

An average sized 5 year old! I carried a 5 year old around for years. (Whoa.)

 4 - 10 pound bags of potatoes.  That's just math, people :)

Okay, this one is better.
An average sized basset hound...Imagine this little guy on my back, day in and day out. Pretty adorbs if he's in one of those baby snuggie things... but also, pretty exhausting!

TWO car tires.  That gives new meaning to the term "spare tire,"doesn't it? 

This crazy big fish also weighs 40 pounds!  Less cute than the basset hound.

Imagine that strapped to my middle! (Stinky.)

One of those huge 5 gallon jugs of water!  Have you ever lifted one of those? 

And finally, this 40 pound dumbell weighs 40 pounds! duh.

The day I hit 40 pounds lost, my trainer had me do 40 squats holding this 40 pound dumbell.
I dont think I'll ever forget how heavy that weight was... or how TIRED my legs were as I did squat after squat! I started complaining that I couldn't do it... I was too tired.

My trainer said something that I'll never forget.

"You don't stop when you're tired. You stop when you're done."

40 pounds lost.  40 to go.

I'm tired, but I'm not stopping.  I'll stop when I'm done...

Fat Girl vs. Yoga Goddess

Today... I did yoga!

I'm 3 months into triathlon training. In the last 3 weeks, I've added in HIIT training, twice daily workouts and ab work.  NOTE:  "Ab work," (for the time being) consists of approximately 30 repetitions of an ab exercise, a 30-second break to bitch about how much it hurts, feel a bit nauseous and then probably get a charlie horse in my abs.  Repeat.

Going from couch potato to super active means that everyday something hurts. EVERY day.  My ass is sore from the cycling. My shoulders ache from push-ups. And my thighs.  My thighs are in an almost constant state of soreness.  They suffer a near constant assault including 11 incline on the treadmill, intervals, squats, cycling, HIIT classes, etc.

So, with a very sore body, today, I walked into yoga class.

Like most yoga classes, there was row after row of tall, thin goddess-like women, all wearing perfect Lululemon yoga outfits. They have lean taut bodies and perfect pony tails. No one sweats. No one grunts. No one falls out of tree pose. For some reason, they're almost ALWAYS brunette. They make yoga look easy, effortless. I call these women Yoga Goddesses.  (see below)

I am NOT a yoga goddess. About 8 years ago, I did ashtanga yoga 4x a week. I was lean, strong, and felt great, but I was STILL NOT a Yoga Goddess. I would still sweat and grunt and fall over. I'm missing the Yoga Goddess gene. But I don't care.

Today, I rolled out my mat right next to those goddesses and smiled big. Some of them studied me silently, assessing my arms, round butt, thick thighs and belly. They wondered if I was in the right place. They wonder if I can do it. I smile and breathe and class begins.

As we go through the postures, I stretch my sore muscles and breathe deep. Before long, sweat rolls down my face and I take pride in every drip. It's hard work but I'm doing it. My thighs are the biggest in the room, but they are strong and they have always moved my body however I demand. As I twist into various postures, I feel my stomach fat roll over my pants but I don't reach to adjust my shirt.


In downward dog, I marvel at how high my hips are in the air, not at how wide my hips are. In this position, (despite my sports bra) my boobs fall down towards my chin and threaten to suffocate me, but I don't relent.

I breathe and stretch and a calm comes over me.   Among all these Yoga Goddess....I am the lone fat girl doing yoga.  It occurs to me that maybe somewhere, there is a fat girl sitting on a couch, too scared to take the first step. And maybe to her, I am the goddess.

I smile, stretch a little further and catch a glimpse of a perfect blonde pony tail in the mirror. It takes me a few moments to realize that it's mine.

Pride

The best part of training for a tri is that everyday, I do something that makes me feel proud of myself.  Starting as a beginner on all three sports means that there are almost limitless opportunities to improve.

I've been swimming for 2 months. I've gone from barely being able to swim 400 M to swimming my first mile (1600M) last weekend.  When I first started swimming, I'd stop every 25M and spend a minute gasping for air.  Now, I swim 50 or 100M, take a quick 10-15 second breather, and continue.
It's amazing to see the progress I've made so far, and I've got 8 months until my race. I'm sure it'll be incredible to look back at theses posts once I'm "race day ready" and able to swim 800M continuously, bike 19 miles and run 3.2 miles.


I've made a TON of progress this week in all three sports. 

Last weekend, after swimming my first mile, I also went on a 5 mile bike ride. It started pouring rain, so the second half of my ride was very soggy, but I didn't stop!  I charged up two hills with burning thigh muscles and soggy sneakers.  For a lot of people, a 5 mile bike ride is no big deal.  But just two weeks ago, I was terrified of riding a bike and hadnt ridden in 8 years.  A 5 mile ride was a major accomplishment! I looked like a drowned rat, but I was grinning from ear to ear by the time I was done. I was proud of myself!

I also went for a 4.2 mile walk on the Beltline (finally paved)- the longest walk I've done so far. 

I'm progressing and getting stronger day by day. In the end, that's all that matters. I'm starting to feel like an athlete. And that feels amazing.