Yesterday I talked with some coworkers about the fat part of my life. Other than the profanity peppered language and end of the day blogging I try to keep things somewhat professional and private at work, so after many years I finally came out of the fat "activism" closet. I explained the concept of Healthy At Every Size (HAES), that about 10 years ago I started subscribing to the notion that a fat you might be able to do pretty much anything any-skinny-one else can do. You know, things like snowboarding, or wearing nice clothes, or falling in love, or even having a baby.
I did, in fact, have a baby... a lovely one! He's 10 months old now, super cute and sometimes super devilish, too. We're over the fat hump for the foreseeable future (I think?) but there were some dicey moments where fat did play a part in something I wanted to do but wasn't able or as able to do. Based solely on my own experience, here are some things to keep in mind if you're fat and wanting to have a kid.
Firstly, if you're fat and want to have a baby, unless there is actual, medical, factual data stating that having a baby would put you and/or the baby at risk: go for it. You should have that experience in life if you want it and your body is up for it. There might be days when naysayers lurk around every corner, whether it be a well-meaning friend or a snarky relative with the letters "MD" behind his name (who doesn't know your personal medical history)(ahem!).
On a related note, be prepared to deal with the reply of "...really?" and it's accompanying befuddled facial expression when someone asks if you have gestational diabetes and you answer, "no." There is no link between being fat and having gestational diabetes. It affects women across the board and has to do with the way the placenta and hormones develop. If you are one of the ladies who ends up developing gestational diabetes, it probably sucks big time to curtail your cravings but pregnancy is (thankfully) a temporary condition and (really, thankfully) generally GD is as well.
Here is some good news! Motherhood Maternity has super cute plus size clothes and they don't break the bank. Sure, they're cheaply made but worry not... by the time you wear 'em out, you don't need them anymore. This was news to me but you do continue to wear maternity clothing for a good several months after the baby is born. Bonus points goes to MM because of their gigantic neckholes; if you choose to breastfeed, you can whip your shirt down to expose just one teet rather than pulling the shirt up to expose your entire midsection. (In the meantime, invest in some Fashion Tape.)
Here's more good news: generally us zaftig ladies gain less weight during pregnancy than our thinner counterparts. Personally I only gained 25 lbs which was almost exactly what I had lost leading up to my pregnancy. I didn't have to even wear maternity clothing until I was almost seven months along. Most people didn't even know I was pregnant. Judging by the shocked and extremely confused expression on the face of Jadice, the tiny Vietnamese woman who does my mani-pedis, when I told her I was just two months away from having a baby I wondered if she thought my baby was being born via surrogate and I was just getting fatter.
And one last piece of good news... losing the baby weight is, again, generally, easier for us plus sized gals than it is for others. That's anecdotal evidence from myself and just a couple other ample moms I've met. In fact, my situation may have been extreme for a variety of circumstances but I lost 25+ lbs within three weeks of giving birth. If you choose to breastfeed, the amount of calories you need to eat on a daily basis to sustain it is mind-boggling. I actually referred to eating that much as a "burden" in those first few weeks after the baby was born. (Eating IS a burden if you have to choose between it and sleep. Sleep wins when you have a newborn. Food is "whatever". Trust me on this one.)
Now for the not great news. I entered parenthood thinking I would be a co-sleeping, sling-wearing, breastfeeding fool of an Attachment Parent. Unfortunately, fat can (and did, in my case) interfere with all three of those things. It's not advised that you co-sleep in the same bed if you and/or your partner are considered overweight, and it's downright verboten if you and/or your partner are considered "obese". As I am the latter, co-sleeping didn't work for our family. We opted instead for a co-sleeper attachment to the bed... a little crib thing that fastens to the side of the bed so that you're sleeping separately but in close proximity. I did co-sleep with my baby for a few naps but it wasn't super restful since I was always paranoid that my fat was going to smother him or that I'd roll over onto him and kill him with my girth. Ugh.
Sling-wearing was an interesting one. Baby hated the sling (we tried three different brands/styles) so we opted for a carrier instead, the only one that has enough belt length for a fat person to actually wear it: the Beco Gemini. Attachment folks always advocate for the Ergo carrier, which is legitimately more snuggly looking but doesn't allow for baby to front-face (a necessity with our little critter), and maybe will fit size 16 hips on a good day. There is the option of a belt extender, "at least they offer that," I say as I roll my eyes. Now, the truth of the matter is that although my Beco allows me to suit up for carrying baby, it doesn't quite sit right on me. I have a thin mommy friend who wears hers and it looks... different. It's a better fit for both her and the baby, it looks more stable and more comfortable. And lastly, the Beco allows me to wear the baby on my back too which is great in theory and doesn't actually work in reality. Baby's legs have to be splayed so far apart to fit around my midsection that it looks like his hips are going to break. It works better on Honey Bunny because he's narrower and baby's legs can wrap slightly around. Ugh.
Breastfeeding, oh breastfeeding. I thought it would be easy and natural, as most women do. It was, in fact, kind of a nightmare. I'll spare the details but my enormous jugs were too big for the baby to fit his mouth around and so I struggled with fun things like "bad latch" and the ensuing "low milk supply". In the end we settled on doing something not many women are insane enough to keep up for eight months which is breastfeeding first (using a nipple shield since we could never establish a good latch) then supplementing with formula to make up the difference (since my supply never went up due to bad latch). It was important to me to breastfeed so I did what I could for as long as possible, but the whole thing was a trying ordeal... an ordeal that very few of my thinner friends endured. Ugh.
Sidenote: breastfeeding in public when you're fat is a completely bizarre experience. Most people can't help but glance at someone who is breastfeeding because it's not the most common thing to see in our culture, but I do think the ante is upped when you're fat and have big boobs. Some people can't help but stare. You pretty much have to adopt the I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude when you do it, or, like in my case, run to the car or even go home to breastfeed because it's just too, too much to expose yourself in that way.
I also want to say that the general experience of giving birth as a fat person in a medical setting was not the most comfortable thing in the world. I don't know anyone who is super great with having hands up the hoo-haw checking cervical thinness and openness, and how far the baby has dropped into your pelvis, and blah blah blah, but personally I couldn't help but think, "oh, here we go... another medical professional gets to see my body in all its glory!" Many folks, including my zaftig doula, told me that I'd be in so much pain/focus/elation/whatever that I wouldn't care, and maybe that's true of most people. But I did care. I cared most of all when the anesthesiologist in the operating room loudly declared he wasn't going to help move a numbed out pre-cesarean me from the gurney to the operating table because he didn't want to break his back. (Scott Disick isn't the only Douche Lord out there.) My beautiful boy was born within 20 minutes of that so, yes, elation took over and I moved on from feeling like a beached whale pretty quickly.
That's it for now! Hopefully I'll get to posting a tad more often now that I'm on the other side of pregnancy.
05 November 2012
10 November 2011
UGH!
Shit like this makes my blood boil, and it's not just because I'm almost nine months pregnant.
5 Bizarre Weight Loss Tricks That Work
As I stated in the comments section, this is a heap of crap touting disordered eating. I hate Shine in general but somehow this seems like a new (even more manipulative) low for them.
5 Bizarre Weight Loss Tricks That Work
As I stated in the comments section, this is a heap of crap touting disordered eating. I hate Shine in general but somehow this seems like a new (even more manipulative) low for them.
27 May 2011
Irony II: Electric Boogaloo
Here's some irony: the day after I wrote the last posting I found out I was pregnant. Zing! It's been a little crazy up in here, in this head, since then.
Honey Bunny and I have been "trying" since January 2009 to have a kid. I think I have to somewhat credit losing weight and getting more fit for becoming pregnant. I did make a couple other life changes in the same basic span of time that I decided to lose weight and I'm sure those had something to do with it, too. I'm saying all this with much hesitation because I don't want to come off as a dieting apologist.
I've had the requisite food aversion and nausea like most women get and it's taught me a few things. Namely, that some of the food I was eating to lose weight doesn't really deserve the title of "food". That was a hard one to swallow (har har!) after so many devoted months of thinking what I was doing was right and sound. After the baby is hatched and I'm ready to again lose some weight, I'll have to remember that.
Also, did you know that physical exertion can cause nausea if you're prone to it? I'm not a barfer under normal circumstances so I didn't know. All the exercise habits I had established are out the window. I would sooner chew my own arm off than go to personal training right now. In fact, I made the decision to put PT on the shelf until all is said and done. It makes no sense to spend money on working out hard because, well, I can't work out hard at the present time. Bah.
Overall being pregnant has put a giant kink in my body image that I didn't quite expect. I was more focused on (obsessed with?) losing weight than I gave myself credit for, as it felt like ceasing equaled death. My doctor said I could continue to track my food intake and weight, and that she wanted me for sure to continue exercising, but that I shouldn't be trying to lose weight at this time. It took me all of a day to stop consistently tracking my food, and in a month's time I've fallen completely off the wagon. I still do track my weight every other day for peace of mind and Dr. reporting purposes. Like I said above, exercising has slowed to a crawl. All of it makes me feel like a big, fat failure. Logically I know that it's not a failure but instead an adjustment to a huge life change in progress. Some charitable folks have even said it's important self care to have stepped away from the focus of losing weight. Emotionally, however, I feel like I'm letting myself down.
Not helping the cause is pressure from a couple of sources in my life about needing to exercise or else. The last time I went to visit my doctor, who I love in all ways but this, she read me about needing to exercise in order to have a healthy pregnancy. On one hand, I buy it hook, line and sinker. I've heard over and over how staying active really does help your body cope with added weight and especially with the act of child birth. Who doesn't want that? On the other hand, I can't help but feel there was bias present in her lecture. Women of all shapes and sizes and cultures have healthy babies every day regardless of how much they exercised during their pregnancies. It's not the only factor in a healthy pregnancy, and I have to wonder if my doctor was stressing the importance of it because I'm fat. If it was my vitals or blood test results that added fuel to the fire, or was the fuel to begin with, I wish she would have shared that information.
I really thought I was going to be immune to all the body image stuff as it relates to pregnancy. I always hated hearing from otherwise thin women "how fat they are" when they're in actuality eight months pregnant. Now I somewhat get it. The changes that happen to your body feel extreme, especially when you've worked to make your body be a certain way. Practically every single day my husband tells me how proud he is to see my body changing because I'm carrying our baby and I have to take a really, really deep breath and try not to FREAK THE FUCK OUT. And, I can't even accept that that's where my head is at right now. I feel shame because I "should" be taking it all in stride, right? I "should" be enjoying this temporary rite-of-passage change, right?
One of the first things I jumped to for solace when I realized everything had to change (the food, the exercise, the body) was the idea of taking the baby weight off afterwards. I had visions of walking the baby around briskly in a stroller or pack every day, getting my exercise. I had visions of once again working out hard in personal training. I had visions of my body changing shape, being even 'better' than it was before I got pregnant. I've thankfully chilled out on this point over the past month, especially as I've told this fantasy to friends who are mothers and they just laugh. "There's really not a lot of time to do anything other than care for your baby in the first couple months, so you'll have to see if that's viable for you." Oh.
I'm happy to be carrying and having a child, but it's a complicated matter for the body (and mind) on a number of levels! If you care to follow me at my other blog, In the Company of Baby, I'll mostly be posting over there for the next nine or so months.
Honey Bunny and I have been "trying" since January 2009 to have a kid. I think I have to somewhat credit losing weight and getting more fit for becoming pregnant. I did make a couple other life changes in the same basic span of time that I decided to lose weight and I'm sure those had something to do with it, too. I'm saying all this with much hesitation because I don't want to come off as a dieting apologist.
I've had the requisite food aversion and nausea like most women get and it's taught me a few things. Namely, that some of the food I was eating to lose weight doesn't really deserve the title of "food". That was a hard one to swallow (har har!) after so many devoted months of thinking what I was doing was right and sound. After the baby is hatched and I'm ready to again lose some weight, I'll have to remember that.
Also, did you know that physical exertion can cause nausea if you're prone to it? I'm not a barfer under normal circumstances so I didn't know. All the exercise habits I had established are out the window. I would sooner chew my own arm off than go to personal training right now. In fact, I made the decision to put PT on the shelf until all is said and done. It makes no sense to spend money on working out hard because, well, I can't work out hard at the present time. Bah.
Overall being pregnant has put a giant kink in my body image that I didn't quite expect. I was more focused on (obsessed with?) losing weight than I gave myself credit for, as it felt like ceasing equaled death. My doctor said I could continue to track my food intake and weight, and that she wanted me for sure to continue exercising, but that I shouldn't be trying to lose weight at this time. It took me all of a day to stop consistently tracking my food, and in a month's time I've fallen completely off the wagon. I still do track my weight every other day for peace of mind and Dr. reporting purposes. Like I said above, exercising has slowed to a crawl. All of it makes me feel like a big, fat failure. Logically I know that it's not a failure but instead an adjustment to a huge life change in progress. Some charitable folks have even said it's important self care to have stepped away from the focus of losing weight. Emotionally, however, I feel like I'm letting myself down.
Not helping the cause is pressure from a couple of sources in my life about needing to exercise or else. The last time I went to visit my doctor, who I love in all ways but this, she read me about needing to exercise in order to have a healthy pregnancy. On one hand, I buy it hook, line and sinker. I've heard over and over how staying active really does help your body cope with added weight and especially with the act of child birth. Who doesn't want that? On the other hand, I can't help but feel there was bias present in her lecture. Women of all shapes and sizes and cultures have healthy babies every day regardless of how much they exercised during their pregnancies. It's not the only factor in a healthy pregnancy, and I have to wonder if my doctor was stressing the importance of it because I'm fat. If it was my vitals or blood test results that added fuel to the fire, or was the fuel to begin with, I wish she would have shared that information.
I really thought I was going to be immune to all the body image stuff as it relates to pregnancy. I always hated hearing from otherwise thin women "how fat they are" when they're in actuality eight months pregnant. Now I somewhat get it. The changes that happen to your body feel extreme, especially when you've worked to make your body be a certain way. Practically every single day my husband tells me how proud he is to see my body changing because I'm carrying our baby and I have to take a really, really deep breath and try not to FREAK THE FUCK OUT. And, I can't even accept that that's where my head is at right now. I feel shame because I "should" be taking it all in stride, right? I "should" be enjoying this temporary rite-of-passage change, right?
One of the first things I jumped to for solace when I realized everything had to change (the food, the exercise, the body) was the idea of taking the baby weight off afterwards. I had visions of walking the baby around briskly in a stroller or pack every day, getting my exercise. I had visions of once again working out hard in personal training. I had visions of my body changing shape, being even 'better' than it was before I got pregnant. I've thankfully chilled out on this point over the past month, especially as I've told this fantasy to friends who are mothers and they just laugh. "There's really not a lot of time to do anything other than care for your baby in the first couple months, so you'll have to see if that's viable for you." Oh.
I'm happy to be carrying and having a child, but it's a complicated matter for the body (and mind) on a number of levels! If you care to follow me at my other blog, In the Company of Baby, I'll mostly be posting over there for the next nine or so months.
11 April 2011
Irony?
Upon finishing the last of many, many pieces of birthday cake I've enjoyed over the past week, I realized something. I love, enjoy and appreciate food even more now that I'm moderating my intake of it. Then I thought, "Huh, that's ironic," but now I'm wondering if it is. I mean, it IS ironic given how very much we demonize food and worship dieting in our culture. (Dieting often seems like the most direct route to hating food.) On the other hand, to say it's normal is to play into the notion that dieting gives you total clarity about food and eating. (The truth is that sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn't.)
Ah, food and fat politics... it's the metaphorical worm eating it's tail, no pun or irony intended.
To call what I'm doing "dieting" is a gross overstatement, thankfully. This week I elected to chow the fuck down for my birthday, and I have some added poundage to show for it. It didn't upset me to see the number on the scale go up and up and up a little bit each day because eating a boatload of super yummy Indian food on my birthday and then a big plateful of Mexican cheesiness and naughty ballpark food over the weekend, not to mention plus or minus seven pieces of various birthday cakeage in seven days time, gave me profound joy. I can also trust that the number will go back down once I reinstate moderation and put in a little effort. No need to panic or start hating myself because I indulged and was able to see a direct consequence to my weight because of it. (FYI, there have been plenty of times over the past five months when I have panicked about the number on the scale. The benefit of experience and perspective is, as always, most beneficial.)
Speaking of numbers on a scale, when I returned from vacation at my parents house (as mentioned in the previous post) I was finally able to weigh in and found myself almost 23 lbs down from my starting point last November. Shiver me timbers, it freaked me out and blew my mind. I actually ended up having an anxiety attack partially because of it. Too much change at once doesn't work well for me, and I will always worry that the change isn't sustainable if it happens quickly.
On a related note, up until that point I didn't have too much awareness of how differently my clothes were fitting. It wasn't a day later that I put a favorite shirt on, looked in the mirror and thought, "WHAT is the deal with this shirt?" It was like the universe turned upside down and I had no idea what I was even looking at. As I have so many times in the past I wanted to blame it on the laundry process, that surely something somewhere got fucked up and my shirt was washed in the wrong temperature or was put in the dryer when it's meant to be line dried, so on and so forth. But, no. It's just too big on my body now to be flattering in any way. This pisses me off on a number of levels, the least of which is the amount of dough I dropped on that particular shirt, thinking it would be a solid investment and would reside in my closet for many years looking spiffy and cute. Moreso it irks me because I have to work (play) hard to even find things that I think look spiffy and cute on me, and, well, another one bites the dust.
And another one gone,
And another one gone,
Another one bites the dust!
I never in a million years thought I'd be complaining about my clothes being too loose or having to go shopping for stuff in a smaller size. The thing is, I don't want to be blowing money on interim sizes if I keep losing weight so I'm holding out until it's no longer fathomable for me to wear what I currently have in my closet. Also, the vain part of me wants to really and truly experience what it's like to walk into a clothing store and get the smaller size. Right now I'm kinda-sorta-mostly into a size smaller and it's irksome to try to fit things correctly. I have a feeling, however, that I'll always walk into a store and struggle to fit into clothes correctly, whether they be too big or too small. Given that part of the reason I want to lose weight is have greater access to cute clothing, that is irony on a stick.
Ah, food and fat politics... it's the metaphorical worm eating it's tail, no pun or irony intended.
To call what I'm doing "dieting" is a gross overstatement, thankfully. This week I elected to chow the fuck down for my birthday, and I have some added poundage to show for it. It didn't upset me to see the number on the scale go up and up and up a little bit each day because eating a boatload of super yummy Indian food on my birthday and then a big plateful of Mexican cheesiness and naughty ballpark food over the weekend, not to mention plus or minus seven pieces of various birthday cakeage in seven days time, gave me profound joy. I can also trust that the number will go back down once I reinstate moderation and put in a little effort. No need to panic or start hating myself because I indulged and was able to see a direct consequence to my weight because of it. (FYI, there have been plenty of times over the past five months when I have panicked about the number on the scale. The benefit of experience and perspective is, as always, most beneficial.)
Speaking of numbers on a scale, when I returned from vacation at my parents house (as mentioned in the previous post) I was finally able to weigh in and found myself almost 23 lbs down from my starting point last November. Shiver me timbers, it freaked me out and blew my mind. I actually ended up having an anxiety attack partially because of it. Too much change at once doesn't work well for me, and I will always worry that the change isn't sustainable if it happens quickly.
On a related note, up until that point I didn't have too much awareness of how differently my clothes were fitting. It wasn't a day later that I put a favorite shirt on, looked in the mirror and thought, "WHAT is the deal with this shirt?" It was like the universe turned upside down and I had no idea what I was even looking at. As I have so many times in the past I wanted to blame it on the laundry process, that surely something somewhere got fucked up and my shirt was washed in the wrong temperature or was put in the dryer when it's meant to be line dried, so on and so forth. But, no. It's just too big on my body now to be flattering in any way. This pisses me off on a number of levels, the least of which is the amount of dough I dropped on that particular shirt, thinking it would be a solid investment and would reside in my closet for many years looking spiffy and cute. Moreso it irks me because I have to work (play) hard to even find things that I think look spiffy and cute on me, and, well, another one bites the dust.
And another one gone,
And another one gone,
Another one bites the dust!
I never in a million years thought I'd be complaining about my clothes being too loose or having to go shopping for stuff in a smaller size. The thing is, I don't want to be blowing money on interim sizes if I keep losing weight so I'm holding out until it's no longer fathomable for me to wear what I currently have in my closet. Also, the vain part of me wants to really and truly experience what it's like to walk into a clothing store and get the smaller size. Right now I'm kinda-sorta-mostly into a size smaller and it's irksome to try to fit things correctly. I have a feeling, however, that I'll always walk into a store and struggle to fit into clothes correctly, whether they be too big or too small. Given that part of the reason I want to lose weight is have greater access to cute clothing, that is irony on a stick.
22 March 2011
Crabalicious
There's no denying I'm having a full-on crabby attack this evening. It's been an accumulation over the last few days from being out of my element, feeling misunderstood and trying to regulate my eating and exercise in an environment where it's difficult to keep my head above water. Visiting family and being "home" in Southern California for an extended period of time... it's not for the faint of heart.
I remember the moment I knew I was fat, or more precisely, that fat was a Problem. I was all of 10 years old and the biggest fad of them all was Jordache jeans. The popular chicks at school had 'em and there were endless ads in my sisters' Sixteen magazines for 'em. Thus, I WANTED 'EM. NOW. I thought the biggest hurdle would be talking my parents into spending the money on them, my parents being, respectively, a SAHM and a music teacher with a penchant for being hella cheap no matter what the annual household income ever was or is. But, nope. The true problem was that they didn't make Jordache jeans in my size. That was a really shitty day at the mall in 1982, let me tell you. There was no turning back. (And here we sit today... me writing and you reading about big, fat issues.)
You know those times when you learn about something that apparently everyone else has been talking about rabidly, and then all of a sudden that thing is everywhere you turn? Just happened to me a couple days ago at Starbucks in Kettleman City off I-5... Cake Pops. (Who the fuck knew about cake pops and mini desserts? Not me!) That day and the ensuing ones in 1982, I learned that you need and want to be thin - for myriad reasons other than just impressing your peers with Jordache ownership - and everywhere you turn that message is up in your grill.
Aside from the proliferation of french manicures, orange spray tans, Uggs, strip malls and pinner burritos, this is my main problem with Southern California. The second my ass hits the 210 from the 5, every other billboard you see touts the Lap Band or some other crazy weight loss surgery. Not that people in Nor Cal are necessarily any more gracious about fat folk but at least there I don't get packs of frat boys overtly mocking my appearance and size. The worst part of it for me is the irony of it all. People drive everywhere here, you can't fling a tennis ball without hitting a fast food restaurant and damned if I've seen anyone exercising in the several parks I've been to over the past few days. Bah!
On Sunday morning I was reading the Press Enterprise over my breakfast and came across this article. It's remarkably restrained and objective for such a conservative newspaper and one residing in So Cal, so I'll give it props for that. Otherwise, I'd like to slap everyone interviewed within.
1) Oh, you won a lame "Biggest Loser" knock-off contest by losing 68 pounds in 16 weeks, which averages out to approximately 1.5 lbs lost per day, and then accidentally gained all the weight back after the contest? Wow, that is SO shocking. Thanks for giving the general public more fodder for the fat stereotype fire, dude!
2) As for the Beaver Medical Clinic, they can go fuck themselves and their stupid, manipulative contest to engage desperate people wanting quick weight loss and free money. When businesses and "free money" are involved, don't fool yourself... it always comes down to gaining more customers.
3) And yes, let us not forget the "rising cost of obesity". How about all the supposedly well meaning health professionals and researchers, lobbyists and insurance companies (and hey, Michelle Obama even) target patients for the rising cost of treating their cancer and see how far they get before they offend the shit out of pretty much everyone. Obesity is an umbrella term encompassing the potential for a set of diseases. Not everyone who's fat - oh, excuse me, OBESE - has high blood pressure and high cholestorol and is one cheese burger away from dying of a heart attack. Thin people sometimes have just as many genetic, habitual and/or environmental risk factors, and they don't have the pleasure of being called "obese" because their BMI is under 25.
The rising cost thing is what wrankles me the most when I hear about the epidemic and problem of obesity. No lie, fat people DO need to exercise more or start exercising to begin with, and/or they do need to make better choices about types of food and portion size. Most of all, fat folk need to be aware of their own risk factors, whatever they may be and try to offset those factors if they can and want to. After that, I'm not sure that us fat people bear any more responsibility than anyone else to make sure we're not burdening the collective kitty, or our employers or insurance companies with our health care costs. It always comes down to money in a capitalist system. I'm not a person... I'm a goddamn potential waste of dollars to those in power and those who hold the purse strings. That's what really is cared about in this scenario and to quote one of my fine coworkers: it pisses the shit out of me.
When it comes down to it, we all are humans. We're faulty and foolish. We court death and we cheat death every single day. We love some and we hate others. Sometimes we condone unnatural behaviors while condemning natural ones. We're breathing, walking ironies most of the time as much as we don't want to be. It's just how life is, I suppose.
As for myself, I'm really struggling with my weight loss attempt at present. I was lamenting to Honey Bunny the other day that, "I'm stuck at only 15 lbs lost." He replied, "Don't you mean to say that you're proud of yourself for having lost 15 lbs, which is quite an accomplishment?" Nothing like a little perspective; I love that man.
I'm in So Cal for a week with my family, with the associated many, many foodly temptations therein, and without a scale in which to check myself daily. I'm good with 15 lbs as long as I maintain it because, at the risk of sounding like a fat hating clone, there is nothing worse in weight loss than having to lose the same 5 lbs over and over and over again. For me it's more like the same 3-4 lbs but still. It's freakin' irritating and frustrating as sin to have come this far and to feel like I'm barely maintaining not only my weight but the headspace that got me here to begin with.
Let me just get this last thing off my chest, like so many other things. Earlier this evening I rooted around in both bathrooms and all four bedrooms of this house I grew up in for a scale, like a junkie looking for a hit of heroin. Somehow, some way, I need to be checked - and I'm not talking about the act of checking my weight on a scale. Trusting that I'm going to do that for myself (ie. the only person that can rightfully, genuinely and effectively check me) in due time, at the right time, scares the crap out of me. It will happen and I will get there, though. Patience.
I remember the moment I knew I was fat, or more precisely, that fat was a Problem. I was all of 10 years old and the biggest fad of them all was Jordache jeans. The popular chicks at school had 'em and there were endless ads in my sisters' Sixteen magazines for 'em. Thus, I WANTED 'EM. NOW. I thought the biggest hurdle would be talking my parents into spending the money on them, my parents being, respectively, a SAHM and a music teacher with a penchant for being hella cheap no matter what the annual household income ever was or is. But, nope. The true problem was that they didn't make Jordache jeans in my size. That was a really shitty day at the mall in 1982, let me tell you. There was no turning back. (And here we sit today... me writing and you reading about big, fat issues.)
You know those times when you learn about something that apparently everyone else has been talking about rabidly, and then all of a sudden that thing is everywhere you turn? Just happened to me a couple days ago at Starbucks in Kettleman City off I-5... Cake Pops. (Who the fuck knew about cake pops and mini desserts? Not me!) That day and the ensuing ones in 1982, I learned that you need and want to be thin - for myriad reasons other than just impressing your peers with Jordache ownership - and everywhere you turn that message is up in your grill.
Aside from the proliferation of french manicures, orange spray tans, Uggs, strip malls and pinner burritos, this is my main problem with Southern California. The second my ass hits the 210 from the 5, every other billboard you see touts the Lap Band or some other crazy weight loss surgery. Not that people in Nor Cal are necessarily any more gracious about fat folk but at least there I don't get packs of frat boys overtly mocking my appearance and size. The worst part of it for me is the irony of it all. People drive everywhere here, you can't fling a tennis ball without hitting a fast food restaurant and damned if I've seen anyone exercising in the several parks I've been to over the past few days. Bah!
On Sunday morning I was reading the Press Enterprise over my breakfast and came across this article. It's remarkably restrained and objective for such a conservative newspaper and one residing in So Cal, so I'll give it props for that. Otherwise, I'd like to slap everyone interviewed within.
1) Oh, you won a lame "Biggest Loser" knock-off contest by losing 68 pounds in 16 weeks, which averages out to approximately 1.5 lbs lost per day, and then accidentally gained all the weight back after the contest? Wow, that is SO shocking. Thanks for giving the general public more fodder for the fat stereotype fire, dude!
2) As for the Beaver Medical Clinic, they can go fuck themselves and their stupid, manipulative contest to engage desperate people wanting quick weight loss and free money. When businesses and "free money" are involved, don't fool yourself... it always comes down to gaining more customers.
3) And yes, let us not forget the "rising cost of obesity". How about all the supposedly well meaning health professionals and researchers, lobbyists and insurance companies (and hey, Michelle Obama even) target patients for the rising cost of treating their cancer and see how far they get before they offend the shit out of pretty much everyone. Obesity is an umbrella term encompassing the potential for a set of diseases. Not everyone who's fat - oh, excuse me, OBESE - has high blood pressure and high cholestorol and is one cheese burger away from dying of a heart attack. Thin people sometimes have just as many genetic, habitual and/or environmental risk factors, and they don't have the pleasure of being called "obese" because their BMI is under 25.
The rising cost thing is what wrankles me the most when I hear about the epidemic and problem of obesity. No lie, fat people DO need to exercise more or start exercising to begin with, and/or they do need to make better choices about types of food and portion size. Most of all, fat folk need to be aware of their own risk factors, whatever they may be and try to offset those factors if they can and want to. After that, I'm not sure that us fat people bear any more responsibility than anyone else to make sure we're not burdening the collective kitty, or our employers or insurance companies with our health care costs. It always comes down to money in a capitalist system. I'm not a person... I'm a goddamn potential waste of dollars to those in power and those who hold the purse strings. That's what really is cared about in this scenario and to quote one of my fine coworkers: it pisses the shit out of me.
When it comes down to it, we all are humans. We're faulty and foolish. We court death and we cheat death every single day. We love some and we hate others. Sometimes we condone unnatural behaviors while condemning natural ones. We're breathing, walking ironies most of the time as much as we don't want to be. It's just how life is, I suppose.
As for myself, I'm really struggling with my weight loss attempt at present. I was lamenting to Honey Bunny the other day that, "I'm stuck at only 15 lbs lost." He replied, "Don't you mean to say that you're proud of yourself for having lost 15 lbs, which is quite an accomplishment?" Nothing like a little perspective; I love that man.
I'm in So Cal for a week with my family, with the associated many, many foodly temptations therein, and without a scale in which to check myself daily. I'm good with 15 lbs as long as I maintain it because, at the risk of sounding like a fat hating clone, there is nothing worse in weight loss than having to lose the same 5 lbs over and over and over again. For me it's more like the same 3-4 lbs but still. It's freakin' irritating and frustrating as sin to have come this far and to feel like I'm barely maintaining not only my weight but the headspace that got me here to begin with.
Let me just get this last thing off my chest, like so many other things. Earlier this evening I rooted around in both bathrooms and all four bedrooms of this house I grew up in for a scale, like a junkie looking for a hit of heroin. Somehow, some way, I need to be checked - and I'm not talking about the act of checking my weight on a scale. Trusting that I'm going to do that for myself (ie. the only person that can rightfully, genuinely and effectively check me) in due time, at the right time, scares the crap out of me. It will happen and I will get there, though. Patience.
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