The Push Back Problem . . .

Drastic lifestyle changes call for drastic “WHAT ARE YOU NUTS?!” reactions from people in your life.

Venturing out of your comfort zone threatens other people’s comfort zones in a number of ways:

  • OMG! She’s going to be skinnier then MEEEE!
  • You can’t stop drinking. Who will be MY drinking partner?
  • Vegetarian? You aren’t serious. I’ll give you a week.

It’s always about THEM. How you losing weight will make them look. How you cutting out bad behaviors will leave them with nothing to do. How your goals won’t be met because they can never accomplish theirs.

So they push back.

Sometimes people get angry. What, you’re better than pizza and burgers now? You don’t want to go to the after party? What the hell is going on?! Others may play a guilt trip while sabotaging your efforts. C’mon, we ALWAYS go to happy hour on Fridays. You’re just going to leave me hanging like that? One drink won’t hurt . . .

As you are making changes, others feel left out of your life. It makes those around you, who have shared in wing nights, flip cup tournaments, and too many Oktoberfests to remember, feel as if you are saying what they do stinks too. It leaves them having to look in the mirror. If she feels like the bar scene is killing her, is it killing me too? We personalize everything these days.

Your dress is so pretty! (She didn’t say that to me. I guess my dress is ugly!)

You look good. (He never tells me that, I must look bad!)

I’ve got other plans, next time! (Just say you hate me already!)

GET A GRIP PEOPLE!

It’s like you must have the consummate “It’s not you, it’s me” conversation. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not EVERYONE. Just those that aren’t happy with themselves in the first place.

Change is hard. It’s hard on everyone.

I just hope to inspire people with mine.

 

Rationalization Nation

Hey that person’s fat too . . . and so is that one!

I’m not nearly THAT big!

I’ve got a ways to go . . .

Screw salad. “I’ll have a cheese burger and fries, please. After the nachos come out, of course.”

That’s kinda how it goes in my mind when I am out at a restaurant and the mental tug of war between my gluttonous self and my know better self have at it. And it gets NASTY. When two out of every three people in the place are overweight, some super fat, gluttony wins out when I am not careful. The rationalizing that happens when I crack open the menu quickly turns to guilt and hand wringing once the last drip of sauce is wiped from the corner of my mouth.

It’s so easy.

No wonder Americans have problems losing weight. Just look around any store, eating establishment or gas station and reasons that we “aren’t that bad” are in your face. It’s like watching the television show COPS. You just feel better about your life because you aren’t trying to stick weed up your butt or run from the police in handcuffs.

Rationalization happens in other ways. In many other ways.

  • Ah well, I already had one slice of pizza. Another isn’t going to hurt. That much.
  • My nephew’s third birthday party is Saturday, I’ll loosen up my diet for the weekend and restart Monday.
  • That pumpkin spice latte only comes around once a year, I have to take advantage.
  • I had such a stressful day at work, I deserve to gorge as much as I want.
  • This cake is about to get stale. There are starving kids in China. It’d be inhumane to let it go to waste.
  • I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, so depositing my daily allotment of calories into my pie hole at dinner is okay. Dang it.

But for me, it’s usually the COPS strategy.

However you like your rationalization, it’s usually just one of the stops in a vicious cycle. Once you’ve made the conscious decision to eat badly, to not work out, or to just not be good to your own body, shame, guilt and even anger can overwhelm your emotions. How do people stuck on fat cope? They eat. And so it goes on.

But it’s okay. At least I’m not as fat as her.

Wrapper Cheese . . .

Stop.

(And no, it’s not hammer time.)

You do not need to lick, pick or bite off those traces of cheesy bits from the wrapper.

I’m sure you didn’t NEED whatever was in the wrapper to begin with, however I am uber certain you don’t need to pick off the once melted, now hardened, processed fromage stuck to the paper.

Or the paper that inevitably comes off with the wrapper cheese. You know, the stuff you eat anyway, cause hey – it’s just paper.

It’s okay if you throw away the wrapper, cheese and all.

Promise.

Men Just Do. Women Overthink.

Wait. Then again, maybe we don’t.

Or we just think we do as an excuse to not do. And call it cramps.

Ugh. See what I mean?

Losing weight is simple in theory. It’s about making the choice to take action for the betterment of your body. Not for the detriment of it. It’s getting off of work like my hubs does and saying, “okay I’m going for my run!” Versus sitting in front of the computer logging more work hours instead of miles all the while resenting the fact it’s just so easy for him to “go for a run”.

Doesn’t he know there’s stuff to do still. Important stuff?

But what’s more important than nurturing your health? I ask myself.

Then I think and think and think . . . Once I stop thinking the answer is clear.

Nothing.

Impossible . . .

When you have a big chunk . . .

CHUNK. BABY BABY RUTH (Sloth voice from the Goonies – involuntary word association, sorry)

. . . of weight to lose, it looks, feels and sounds IMPOSSIBLE.

Especially when you’ve been there, done that and have the XXL t-shirt to prove it.

But, when you break down the word IMPOSSIBLE it suddenly reads I’M POSSIBLE.

Funny, huh?

I am probably not the first person to discover this word play juxtaposition. But it’s a new way to look at it for me. And it’s all about perspective.

From IMPOSSIBLE to I’M POSSIBLE . . .

Why not?

A Little Ditty on HATE…

Hmm. Is it a coincidence that the word HATE is just ATE with an H in front?

How could I Have ATE that?

I sometimes HATE myself after I ATE something that I knew I shouldn’t have stuffed in my face…

Did you ever have that feeling? That feeling of insta-guilt?

And then the obligatory WHY? Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I making the conscious choice to cram crap down my food hole?

Just the simple fact that I associate HATE with food means I have an unhealthy relationship with what I need to live.  It’s like saying I hate the fact that I took a breath of that dang oxygen. What the heck was I thinking?!

So the question must be asked. Why do I self-loathe? Even better, why do I eat what I eat knowing shame will set in the moment I crumple up the wrapper?

Is it because I am ashamed I’ve let myself go? So screw it. Lots of people are fat. Look! I’m not nearly as fat as that person . . .

No.

It’s because I want to be perfect . . .

Joking Aside . . .

Well, kinda.

Humor is a coping mechanism for me. You could even call it a shield, used to deflect the self-disgust. Used to distract other people from my growing waistline. Used to convince myself they like me even though it’s obvious I don’t like myself very much right now.

Joking around fills this role for a lot of fat people. And yes, I call it like it is. Fat is fat. That’s part of the problem, everything is sugar coated. Literally and figuratively. But no joke can hide a triple chin. I’m not there yet, but easily could be after a few more rationalized, beer filled, wing nights.

So as I write with self-depricating humor and realization, it helps to work out my own feelings of dislike towards myself. To work out an honest realistic image of the consequences of my unhealthy behaviors and to SEE it in black and white.

To get my thoughts out of my head and have others read them. Respond to them. Relate to them.

And at some point, to be able to look back at how hopeless I was and simply laugh . . .

Boobie Boobie Doo . . .

The good ol’ Dickey Doo . . .

You know what I’m talking about. When a guy’s beer belly is so large you can’t see his well, you know.

The female version is the Boobie Doo. And I got one.

I was sitting down and realized my stomach stuck out just as far, maybe even farther than my boobs. When there’s no discernible separation between the tummy and the teets, there’s a problem. I’m supposed to be shapely, but not in a sphere sorta way!

This happens when I retain lots of water on top of my fat. Which happens when I eat out too much in a week. Which happens when my doctor tells me that except for my weight, I’m in picture perfect health. Which helps me to rationalize the putting off of weight loss as I am shoving nachos down my throat.

Eh, I can do it anytime, I say! But my Boobie Doo says otherwise.

And Boobie Doos don’t lie . . .

Keep Doing What You Are Doing . . .

Really, Doc?

There I was. Every big ol’ ounce of me sat in the doctor’s office to go over blood work, that I probably wouldn’t have gotten done if it weren’t for my refill-needed thyroid medication. Yes I have a built in fat excuse. It’s my thyroid!

Anyway, the office minions forced me to get the platinum phlebotomy package. You haven’t gotten a full work up in a long time they said. You’ll be here anyway they said. Look, we just happen to have a 7am appointment, perfect for fasting blood work they said.

As I awaited the results, I recounted the countless nights eating out, beer filled baseball outings and midnight face stuffings. I anticipated sky high cholesterol, a depressed liver and out of control sugar levels.

And then . . .

“Your blood work results are frameable. I don’t know what you are doing, but keep doing it.”

It’s a miracle! I’m as healthy as an ox, even though I might be as big as one. It’s time to celebrate!

So me and the hubs went out for dinner and a beer.

Doctor’s orders.