Well, it’s been a while–almost a whole year, to be exact–and yes, I’m still fat.
I don’t really have a good excuse for not posting–or losing the chub–over the past year. Yes, I’ve been busy with work, freelance work, wedding planning and buying a house (!), but I thrive on working myself into the ground. It’s just how I roll.
Truth be told, I can attribute part of it to some medical issues I’ve been dealing with, but that’s a lame excuse and I won’t bore you with details. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I’m heading full-swing into fat-busting once again so I don’t have to waddle down the aisle in September, and boy, do I have my work cut out for me. I reached an all-time high of 260 pounds, meaning I had literally doubled in size since high school. Ugh, I know.
Since January 5, I’ve lost almost 13 pounds, simply by eating healthy and exercising again. My goal is to lose 60 pounds by the time my wedding rolls around, which I think is more than reasonable in eight months. In related news, no more nacho pig-out fests for me in the foreseeable future.
I’m back, bitches. You ready for me?
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: wedding/bridesmaid dress shopping ain’t fun for a fatty. Given that I’m a bridesmaid in about 7492 weddings over the next year, I had to go dress shopping yet again last night.
I was actually feeling pretty confident, having lost about 15 pounds since the beginning of January. I couldn’t fit any of the sample dresses, of course, but hey, not everyone is a size 2, I reasoned. After perusing all of the dresses, I selected one that I think will cover the pooch well enough (I love you, empire waists) and won’t make me look like a total whale – it’s actually a very pretty dress in a beautiful deep navy.
Then I went to pay.
Because I had to order a plus-size dress (which, the salesgirl said, amounts to about size 14 in street clothes), I had an added charge tacked onto my dress. It was almost a third the cost of the dress!
I understand the reasoning behind it. Extra fabric = extra dollas. But that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing to be told that you have to pay a significantly higher price because you couldn’t stop porking out on Cheetos. Mortifying, is what it was.
I cried the whole way home.
It’s not the bridal salon’s fault. They have no control over what a dress designer charges. I could tell that they felt awful for me having to pay almost $50 more than the other bridesmaids. Fifty dollars isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but my chequebook has already taken a hit from all of the weddings I’ve been involved with (plus my own wedding expenditures).
My cheeks red as hell, I forked over the $50 and did what any fat girl would do to displace the embarrassment – I cracked a joke about it (while fighting back tears and praying my payment would go through).
Le sigh. I’m definitely not looking forward to wedding dress shopping now. Someone pass me a drink. Or ten.
As I sit here, munching on some celery sticks, I’m having one of those “When did this become my life?” moments.
I’m wondering how I got to this point, where I have to waddle into plus-size departments, where I have to find bridesmaid dresses that magically don’t make me look like a stuffed sausage, where I have somehow garnered an extra two chins.
It didn’t happen overnight, that’s for darn sure. My weight gain was a slooooow, drawn-out process — many years of giving zero fucks about eating healthily, many years of being lazy, many years of having “ugly friend syndrome” (I’ll touch on that in a later post).
To boot, there is the lovely mentality that every fat girl has had at some point: “Well, I’m already fat, so this second piece of birthday cake won’t matter!” I want to scream at my chubster self, “THIS IS WHY YOU ARE STILL FAT!”
…I’m having an angry day today. Those happen. And they will continue to happen as I continue down this seemingly never-ending road to a healthier life. I have a lot to be thankful for (family, friends, future hubby, the Backstreet Boys’ music), so I just need to keep on keepin’ on.
I forgot to weigh myself this morning (I told you, I’m going senile), so I’ll be sure to post an update in the next few days.
On a completely unrelated note, I’ve discovered that I love spaghetti squash. I can see why it’s touted as a favourite weight loss food — not only is it delicious, but it is also ridiculously low in calories. I found an oh-so-yummy spaghetti squash carbonara recipe on Slender Kitchen last week and have been dreaming about it ever since. (Oh, and it was man-approved too.)
We adapted the recipe a bit, but the original recipe can be found on the Slender Kitchen website.
Spaghetti Squash Carbonara
1/3 cup chopped pancetta
1/4 cup finely chopped onion
1 garlic clove, minced
1/2 cup skim milk
3 Tbsp grated Parmesan cheese
1 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley
1/8 tsp sea salt
1/8 tsp black pepper
1/4 cup warm water (you can also use chicken or veggie broth)
1 large egg
- Cook the spaghetti squash with your preferred method. (Google is your friend, yo.) Let it cool and then cut it in half and shred it.
- Bring a medium skillet to medium high heat and coat with cooking spray. Add the pancetta and cook for about three minutes or until just browned. Add the onion and garlic. Saute for another three to four minutes.
- In a small bowl, whisk together the milk, Parmesan cheese, parsley, salt and pepper.
- Add the spaghetti squash to the skillet. Pour the cheese and milk mixture over the squash and toss to coat everything.
- In a small bowl, gently whisk the egg and warm water. Gently add the egg to the skillet and stir constantly. Cook for four more minutes until the sauce thickens. Season with salt and pepper if needed.
- Split into two servings. Each serving is only 215 calories. HOLLA!
Starting weight: 255.2 lbs
Last week: 246.2 lbs
Current weight: 242.4 lbs
Weight lost this week: 3.8 lbs (again)
Total weight lost: 12.8 lbs
I took a vacation day on Monday, so my whole week has been thrown off and I thought today was Wednesday. Apparently, I’m going senile at the ripe old age of 27.
I’m excited to see the number on the scale consistently dropping. I know that it will slow down eventually, that the first few weeks are always the easiest–but it’s encouraging nonetheless. Although I weigh myself, I try to stay in tune with my body in other ways to mark my progress.
No longer feeling like a stuffed sausage in my largest pants? Check. Buddha belly a tiny bit smaller? Check. Not huffing and puffing as I walk up the stairs to my apartment? Double check.
I’ll be posting some oh-so-yummy recipes later this week, and, if you feel so inclined, follow me on My Fitness Pal (username is andread123).
Until next time, folks.
Starting weight (again): 255.2 lbs
Last week: 250.0 lbs
Current weight: 246.2 lbs
Weight lost this week: 3.8 lbs
Though I’ve touched on this in previous posts, I haven’t really tackled something that plagues so many people trying to lose weight: emotional eating.
When I’m sad/mad/(insert emotion here), I head straight for the fridge. I think much of my emotional eating stems from my childhood habits. If I fell and skinned my knee, I’d eat a popsicle. If I was sad that my crush didn’t like me (jerk), I’d eat a piece of cake to mend my prepubescent broken heart. Those habits have sadly carried into my adult life and resulted in a highly attractive triple chin.
(Also working against me growing up was the fact that I’m Ukrainian, which means that a) I was always surrounded by amazing food like perogies, cabbage rolls and sausage (drool) and b) I was always well-fed. Our family motto is “If it moves, feed it.” Yep.)
I’ve been fairly open about my struggles with depression and an anxiety disorder. Unlike some people who lose weight when they’re going through a bout of depression, I tend to swing the opposite way — thanks, emotional eating. It’s a habit that I haven’t quite broken yet, but I’m workin’ on it.
I tend to inhale my food (seriously, ask my fiancé) and, as a long-time member of Fatties ‘R Us, I know that inhaling one’s food leads to overeating. On that note, I’ve realized, through my many weight-loss attempts, that finger foods and tapas-style meals are good for my waistline. They force me to slow down and focus on the food’s flavour and texture, allowing me to feel full faster. (Basically, in totally scientific terms, it makes the receptors in my brain scream out, “BITCH, STOP EATING!”)
The other day, my dinner consisted of Greek yogurt, multi-grain crackers, grape tomatoes and sliced bell pepper. You better believe I enjoyed that shiz, not only because it tasted yummy, but also because it took me twice as long to eat it as, say, a burger. I lingered over my food and — guess what — actually felt full before I finished eating. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t inhale everything on the plate and then lick the plate clean. WIN.
I’ll be posting some recipes for y’all soon. Oh, and if any of you want to see what I eat on a regular basis, follow me on My Fitness Pal (screen name: andread123).
Guys, I feel like a (literally) big-ass failure.
At this time last year, I was so full of hope, determination, sunshine and rainbows. I was well on my way to losing the extra pounds that I’ve been carrying for far too long. And then, WHAM, I had some medical issues that prevented me from exercising. Instead of eating healthily to keep losing weight, I stupidly let loose. Like, eat-an-entire-plate-of-nachos-in-one-sitting loose. For months…and months.
Last night, I stepped on the scale for the first time in a long time and actually gasped when I saw the number, after straining to see past my Buddha belly. Two hundred and fifty-five pounds — my all-time high, by a long shot. Cue the Kim Kardashian-inspired ugly cry.
The worst part is, I have no one to blame but myself. I just got lazy and unmotivated, and now I’m back at square one (and then some).
This blog was a great way for me to stay accountable, and I’m going to weigh in once a week to mark my progress. My ultimate goal? To lose 100 pounds by the time my wedding rolls around in September 2015.
Let’s see if I can do it this time.
I always like trying new kinds of exercise, so, thanks to a sweet Groupon deal, my friend and I recently enrolled in a pole fitness class.
Yes, that’s right, I am learning the art of the ‘ripper.
I’ve done pole-dancing classes before (for bachelorette parties and the like), but this class is different in that it focuses not only on the actual dancing part of the equation, but also on fitness. Holy, jeebus, it is a good work-out. Even my (super-fit) friend complained that her arms and shoulders were sore after class.
I have years and years of dance training under my belt and it usually takes me all of 10 seconds to pick up choreography, so I figured this class would be a breeze, Apparently, though, my dancing skills do not extend to pole dancing. (In other words, I suck.)
One of the reasons? Definitely my chub. One of the moves involves kicking your leg up and wrapping it around the top of the pole so you’re hanging upside down. Uh, sure, I could do that — if I weighed 100 pounds. All of the thin girls in the class could easily do it. Us chubsters? Not so much. I had to swing my leg around my ginormous belly when kicking it up and then lift 230 pounds of body weight using just my arms. It ain’t easy! I felt a huge sense of achievement when I touched the pole with my toe, let alone wrapped my foot around it.
Fact: It is hard to pole dance (mad props to those women). Add an extra 100 pounds to the equation and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.
“They taste like slop.”
“Only people who can’t cook make them.”
People hate casseroles. I get it. I, on the other hand, really like them. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a bad casserole in my life. When I was growing up, my mom’s casserole dishes were always hearty and full of yummy (and usually fatty) goodness.
Last night, I had about 170000 tomatoes sitting around, collecting fruit flies. So I worked the magic of the Google and found a super easy tomato-onion casserole recipe, courtesy of Martha Stewart. And hey, Martha wouldn’t lie. (Recipe can be found here.)
Basically, you slice four tomatoes and two onions (I used three) and layer them in a baking dish while the oven pre-heats to 450. Drizzle some olive oil on top, add a dash of sea salt and pep, pop it in the oven for about 40 minutes, and voila — instant (clean!) casserole.
Our apartment REEKED like onions all night. But it’s a price I’m willing to pay, because that casserole was effing awesome. So screw you, casserole haters. You don’t know what you’re missing.