I’ve done a lot of thinking lately & this has been weighing (hardy-har-har) on me for awhile now.  But for now, for me, it is time to lay McFatty Monday on a pretty little pillow & retire her to the backstage of this blog…& more importantly, my life.  McFatty Monday started as something to hold me accountable, to inspire me, to inspire others…& it has done it’s job beautifully for over 18 months.  Over 18 months, we’ve laughed & cried & cheered & ass-beated each other.  Emails pour in of gals that have finally started healthy eating, or picked up running, or fit into their pre-pregnancy pants.  All because of YOU.  Not me, but YOU & the community McFatty Monday has created.

It is with a mixture of heavy heart & relief that I stop writing McFatty Monday.

I’m getting to a bad, nasty place where I worry too much about the number in my jeans but then beat the ever-living-shit out of myself emotionally when I cannot produce a “win” on Monday morning.   I do not want that for myself.  I am better than that.

I have met with my doctor (twice now, including today) to discuss thyroid levels, a game plan, a referral to a nutritionist.  I am not throwing up my hands & looking forward to a life of Oreos & martinis, but preferring to let weight loss slip naturally into my life, rather than forcing it into the spotlight.  I would love nothing more than for a svelte me to be the elephant in the room that I do not speak of on a weekly basis.

(let me interrupt here now to thank EVERYONE who complimented me on my dress & Petunia Pickle Bottom review!  I so appreciate your sweet words & yes! I am liking how my jeans are looking these days!  Also, please remember that my boobs are spectacular because I wrote a c$4,000.00 check to a very talented surgeon.)

Thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me publicly.  xoxo

Fist bump to everyone who has reached their goals.  You are inpsirations.

Slap on the ass to everyone who is still working & struggling.  YOU’VE GOT THIS.

Go suck a toad to anyone who thinks I am fat & stupid for stopping McFatty Monday.  Including myself.

Here’s to a healthier me, a more fit me, an unshackled me.  & to the peaches in the fruit basket, waiting on the sidelines.

For so many years, I slipped self-consciously into a bikini, scowling at the little pudge at my belly button.  Not caring that the pudge would help sustain & protect life ten years from that moment, I spent hours pacing the beach while reminding myself to stand straight, suck in, & not look at the ground.

This year, I slipped into my one-piece & nodded with satisfaction.  Not as thin as I could be, but I’m feeling more fit.  I can tell I’ve dropped a few pounds & kept them off.  My retro-inspired suit is flattering, & my sunglasses are sassy.  I played & ran on the beach, dodged waves, took bike rides with my father, & walks with my husband.

This may have been the first year I did not gain weight on vacation.

This week was a GOOD week for pounding home that I’m doing something right by simply logging my calories & getting active.  It’s good for my clothes, the scale, but most importantly, my self esteem.  (Yes, it’s important to be physically healthy, but it is just as important to be emotionally healthy.)  I may have pulled something zipping up my MiracleBody jeans from BlogHer 2010, but the important thing is that they zipped, unlike two months ago.

On another note, a friend of mine & I were chatting a few weeks ago & she posed this question: “Two pounds away from my ‘thrilled to be’ weight and I still feel fat. I still feel like I want to lose more because this isn’t good enough. I said it would be, bu now that I’m here it’s not. So what gives? When will it ever be good enough? When will I look at myself in the mirror and look at the number on the scale and be satisfied? Is this just being a woman? Or is it basic human nature?”

I’ve wondered the same thing as I’ve flip-flopped on where to “end.”  Do I want to be rail thin?  Do I want to be wedding weight?  Do I just want to be comfortable?  What happens when I get there – will it be enough?

Does anyone else struggle with this?  Where do you stop, where do you accept your body, & when do you just say, “This is me & I love it.”

Minus the ampersand thing.

I had no clue who Jen Lancaster was, but I figured she must be a pretty amazing chick & I never really paid attention to the compliment.  Then about two weeks ago, my pal Mrs. Lusher & I were chatting about books (nerd alert!) & trying to decide what smutty fiction she should read on her lake vacation.  Blah blah blah, more conversation about library wait lists, blah blah blah Jen Lancaster,  blah blah blah…wait.  What?  So that night, I went home & researched ol’ Jen.  I flipped around a few of her books & ended up purchasing “Such A Pretty Fat” for my Kindle app.

It took me about three paragraphs into the book to realize what people have been saying.  Yes, I write like Jen Lancaster or should I say, JEN LANCASTER STOLE MY VOICE & I’d totally hate her for it if I didn’t think we’d hit off smashingly.  Second, Jen Lancaster lives in my brain.  Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be me & try to lose weight?  Pick up this book.

Long story short (& I promise I won’t spoil it for you), Jen tries a few different techniques to drop some unwanted & unhealthy pounds.  Great, I get that.  But what slapped me upside the face was when she realized that most of the weight came from blatant immaturity.

They call that a TRUTH BOMB where I’m from.

At one point, Jen realizes that the people you see jogging on Sunday mornings?  They may not actually ENJOY running.  But they’re doing it to stay fit.  90% of people probably wouldn’t ENJOY choosing a salad over a burger, but they do it to be healthy.  & yeah, I kind of feel like whining when I have to choose between ordering a “skinny” version of my favorite iced coffee or getting the big Kahuna with the heavy whipped cream & caramel drizzle.  I think deep down, we all want to do WHAT WE WANT.  But Jen Lancaster really hit it home for me that sometimes, you just have to woman-up to your jean size & do stuff you don’t want to do.  But it’s also about loving yourself, which is why you do this, because you’re so narcisisstic that the rest of the world deserves an even better you.

I totally dig that last part.

 Which is why when I have a headache, I still go to Zumba.  It’s why my lunch date calendar has come to a slow drizzle & I am not longer the lunchtime social butterfly.  It’s why (with the exception of my anniversary weekend & champagne), I’ve pretty much stopped all alcohol consumption in the evenings even though sometimes I really, really want a glass or five of pinot.

All of that is why FINALLY, I am at the bottom end of these pesky five pounds that I keep taking off & putting back on ad nauseum.   I know I’m an adult, but this whole acting like an adult is still pretty new to me.

*disclosure: jen lancaster has no freakin’ clue that i exist although if she does, CALL ME.  & i get no perks from recommending this book other than life lessons.

When I went into the general doctor’s office, I took my food diary & notes with me.  ”Hmmm,” she said, flipping through.  ”You should be losing weight on this.”  I nodded my head.  Thirty minutes later, I sat with a tournaquit around my left arm as the phlebotomist drew blood.

My thyroid?  It’s totally normal.

Oh.

So she “prescribed” five days of activity for me & instructed me to lift weights & do intervals.  In six weeks, she’ll see me again to check my progress.  While my 30 Day Shred video has gone rogue, I popped in JM’s “No More Trouble Zones” & let her kick my butt for 20 minutes.  Then I got outside & did some walk/run intervals for 15 minutes.

Rinse & repeat three times last week.

So I didn’t get all five in, but I’m working my way up.  My Zumba class is moving to twice per week starting tomorrow (!!) so I’ll be shaking my thing on Tuesdays & Thursdays, then coming home to lift a few weights.  Which means that three more times during the week, I will be either pounding pavement or panting at Jillian to shut her dirty whore mouth.

(p.s. if you’re in the Triangle area of NC & want to Zumba with me for free this coming Saturday, email me!)

You know how I’ve been all EMBRACE THE BODY & CURVES! lately?  It’s helping with this because rather than a weird self-loathing, I simply pause to think about how I want to love my body by making it fit.  I want to love my body with good foods.  When I love my body & feel charged with good fuel & endorphins, I get out in a bathing suit with my kid during a hot summer day.

What are you doing to keep fit this summer?  Do you do straight cardio, or are you an interval person?

It was a good week of balance – exercise, trying out a new recipe (meh), & eating salads on the road.

I also slipped into a bathing suit for the first time since last August.  A little more snug, but still fit well & although I proclaimed that all cellulite must be photoshopped out, I think I handled it pretty well.  I don’t have a bikini body anymore, but I am really digging the modesty of a one-piece.

(Don’t tell my former 15-year-old self that I said that, okay?)

I looked at my girlfriends & we’re all different shapes & sizes.  We’re tall & short & pudgy & thin & we all hate the spare tires around hips.  We’re mothers, we’re expecting, we’re trying, we’re infertile, we’re not quite ready.  We’re tired hard workers, still hoping to cut loose over a road trip & silly jokes.  Lined up in beach chairs, we are the same yet we are meant to be different.  Sitting in the sunshine, I thought back on a picture I found on Pinterest that said, “You cannot look after something you don’t love.”

(Or something like that.)

Love my body enough to care what I put in it.  Love my body enough to get out & run when I am so tired.  Love my body enough to want better for it.

o

A new favorite recipe that I just drool & die over:  Gina’s Skinny Taste Baked Onion Rings.  75 calories for half an onion.  Super easy to make.

Branching out with veggies this week with Cauliflower Fritters.   I think Nate & Harry might eat them if I give them some ketchup

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Does anyone else struggle with a weight fluctuation of 7-10lbs on any given day?  I honestly have no idea what I weigh.  As of this morning, it says I am up almost 8 lbs from Friday despite walking & not going over 1500 calories any day this week.

I mean, of course I can.  It’s my blog.

I don’t hate my body.

I may want to lose 20 lbs or more, the post-baby FUPA may get in the way of comfortably buttoning some styles of pants, & I do wish my arms looked like they did when I was 16.  But I don’t HATE my body.

Growing up, I did hate my body but only because people misused the word “big” to describe my height.  ”Oh, you’re so big!” was okay when I was five, but not when I was thirteen.  Those weird PE classes when we learned to ballroom dance & the girls outnumbered the boys?  Yeah, I always had to be a “boy” because I was “big.”  Which is why I’m pretty amazing at leading a fox trot.  I hated my height because it meant I was shoved to the back of every picture, every line, every assembly.  When I was eight, I started getting boobs & wore my first bra.  I’ll never forget the first time the boys unsnapped it from over my shirt while the librarian read us a book.  I cried in the bathroom, hating myself that I was the only girl in our class to wear (& need) a bra.  When I was fourteen, my mother & I took my old cheerleading uniforms to the tailor in hopes of letting out any length to help me be more comfortable in the skirt – they managed to let out 1/4″ in a skirt.  It barely covered my rump.  I had hips, where other girls stayed straight.  I cried almost every night, wondering why I couldn’t be “small” or “cute.”  When I made the Varsity squad at sixteen, they special-ordered me uniforms because they’d never had anyone so “big” on the squad before.

Like that time my cheerleading coach referred to me as a “brute” in our varsity awards ceremony in front of every student athlete & my squad never let me live it down.

This, my friends, is how “big” & “brutish” I was as a teenager:

(please check & respect the whispy bangs, brought to you by the late 90′s)

(also?  I never moonlighted as a hooker. The flapper gig is me dressed up for “Gatsby Day.”)

For years, I refused to buy anything that had a heel higher than an inch.  I didn’t want to be “big.”

In college, I finally found confidence to love myself.  It had a lot to do with my sorority & the girls in there being beautiful & making me feel like I belonged.  It had more to do with a full scholarship that made me a big cat in the business school.  I bought my first pair of real high heels.  I dated a boy that took me dancing & told me I was beautiful, then I met a man that told me he loved every inch of curve on my body, as well as the curves in my heart.  (I married that man.) I wore an incredible dress down the aisle & to this day, I love how happy & healthy I look in our wedding pictures.  To be all Days of Thunder on you, my curves were downright dangerous that day.

I wasn’t a size 2, but I didn’t feel “big” – I felt beautiful.  I had a breast reduction, which helped clothes fit properly.  I ran a mile straight in under 10 minutes for the first time in my life.  My body nourished two lives, one briefly & the other one sleeps peacefully across the hall as I type this.  It chases that boy around the backyard, lifts him into the swing, carries him on it’s back when he’s tired.  It rarely fails me or that devilishly handsome man in the bedroom.  It hugs tired clients, distraught with worry, & then comes home to wash away the days grime from both floors & child.

I love that body. MY body.

I remember each one of those stretch marks, from ballet class to childbirth.  That weird lumpy hip fat spare tire?  I think it’s a fair price to pay for motherhood.  At 28, I may not be ready to give in to gravity, but I am also not meant to look like a college co-ed.

So when I’m frustrated that my body gains & loses & gains again when I’m counting every bite in my mouth & sending my leftover birthday cake down to my brother, I have to take a deep breath in & remember that both me & my body are more than the number on the scale.  I remember that it’s more than chugging Slimfast, but rather nightly walks with my family & taking home half my meal.  I still yearn for a smaller waist, a smaller number on the scale, comfort with the lights on at night.  I hope to stave off the Type II diabetes that runs rampant in my family & instill healthy living in my family.

But at the end of the day, I am more than a number on the scale.  I am not an insecure thirteen-year-old girl.  This is the only body I have & by God, I’m going to love it.

So you may have noticed that I’ve been sort of missing-in-action as of late, but I promise I have a good excuse & also?  I’m wiped.  It’s been a week of OH MY GOD ZOMG BLAH BLAH HEAD EXPLOSION & I have just needed to take a deep breath, take a few naps, & paint my toenails a pretty peach color.

Hopefully you’ll understand that I’ve been spending the weekend cooking for the boys, doing laundry, blowing bubbles & watching my husband get stung by a bee on his…well, you can imagine where.  I have been going-going-going as of late with very little pause, & when it comes to the sanity or the blog, my sanity comes first.

It’s been expensive sanity to come by, so I would hate to lose it again at this point. hardy-har-har.

Head’s up:  I’m giving away TWO awesome tote-type things for the summer this week.  One is perfection for hauling all your crap, the other is perfection for hauling baby crap.

McFatty Monday update: I’m pulling my caloric intake back down to 1400 because I gained 4 lbs this week even though I stayed in my calorie range.  Awesome, right?

Happy Memorial Day!

I underestimate calories.  A LOT.

“A lot” as in both often & numerically.  Take last week – for weeks, I had been hearing about a cake batter milkshake from Zaxby’s.  It sounded intriguing & after putting in a few solid workouts, I figured that honestly, one milkshake/treat wouldn’t kill my diet.  I figured the milkshake probably ran around 500 calories & I could make up for it with a run – I wouldn’t burn all the calories off, but I also wouldn’t be crazy over my daily goal.

I enjoyed every sip of that milkshake.  I sat in the sunshine for my lunch break, leisurely sipping & making notes for a project.  Then I pulled out my phone & entered it into the My Fitness Pal app.

::eyes bug out of head:: OH MY GOD, is that 860 calories?!  1,325 calories for LUNCH?!  Holy shit.  & I just ate that.

I promtply swore it would be the last time I ever ate without plugging in the numbers first.  Then I decided it might be a good idea to plug in some other stuff just to see how way off I’ve been:

Typical Bojangle’s selection.   896 calories.  Cajun filet biscuit, fry, sweet tea.

Typical Chick Fil A selection.   630 calories.  Regular sandwich, medium fry, diet lemonade.

Typical Panera out with girlfriends.  830 calories.  You Pick Two with broccoli cheddar soup, baguette, & half a Sierra turkey sandwhich.

Oh, & my favorite burger at Red Robin?  Over 1,000 calories.  Let’s not even go there.

Or I could bring lunch from home & have a better, more filling meal for…

436 calories.  Turkey & cheese on whole wheat with an apple.

Kind of a wake-up call, right?  Have you ever plugged in calories & been shocked at the caloric content?  Or maybe the amount of fat or sodium?

If you’d like to do a little “exercise” this week, here’s my challenge – pick out your favorite meal, homemade or restaurant & find out the caloric amount. Are you surprised?  Did you over or underestimate the yumminess?

___________________________

My update:   I’m up a pound this week.  humph.

Also?  Cleaning house burns a ton of calories.  I think I burned over 500 doing 3 hours of hard-core scrubbing.  I take this as motivation to keep clean floors.

___________________________

& Tuesday…

By Wednesday, I had gained 2 lbs.  I shook my fists at the universe.  I may have said a few choice words or even teared up a wee bit on the scale.  I was doing everything right.  I upped my calories, worked out, stayed within the calorie range.  I got up at 5:30am to sweat with Jillian Michaels.  On Thursday, I shunned grilled cheese & onion rings in favor of turkey breast on whole wheat.  I didn’t have a drop of wine, chugging water like a camel.  & the scale was CLIMBING?!

But.

I kept going at it.  I re-read McFatty posts for inspiration, relied heavily on seeing the successes of my friends on My Fitness Pal, & just basically tried to remember that all my favorite clothes were a wee bit too tight.  It got me through & on Friday, the scale showed a 4 lb loss from my high weight.  Score one for Team Water & Whole Wheat!  Moral of the story?  When you KNOW you’re doing it right, just keep going.

What do you do when you want to give up?  What keeps you going?

Then I re-read it & realized how annoying it was.

Because I’m really frustrated & I’m tired of vomiting unicorn-worthy inspiration about it.

Pardon my language.

I’m frustrated with limitations & mostly frustrated that those “limitations” are just excuses that I’m justifying.  Frustrated that there’s a gym on campus that I cannot use (don’t ask).  Frustrated that I live 15 minutes from a gym which means 30 minutes on the road just to get there when I’m already crunched for time.  Frustrated that I have to sacrifice something important in order to exercise – & I do mean, sacrifice.  I can hang out with Harrison after work OR I can work out.  I can hang out with my husband OR work out.  I can do something creative that I love OR work out.  I can make dinner OR work out.

I’m frustrated with myself that I don’t want to make that sacrifice.  Frustrated that I want my cake & I want to eat it, too.  QUITE LITERALLY, I WANT TO EAT THAT DAMN CAKE.

I’m frustrated that while this past week was an improvement on cooking, I’m still struggling to plan well enough to cut the sodium.  I’m frustrated that not having all these ducks lined up perfectly in a row makes me feel like a failure, which just all leads back to me being the world’s worst perfectionist.  Frustrated that when I do line up ducks, usually a bomb drops that makes those ducks run for the hills.  Like how I was going to do egg & toast instead of cereal to get more protein, but then traffic had us running 10 minutes late, The Momma’s geriatric dog shat all over the floor TWICE during breakfast, & Harrison was refusing to eat his fruit.  So a fast bowl of cereal it was.

I wish I didn’t have to worry about my weight.  I wish I didn’t lay awake at night, worrying that I will struggle with it my entire life, that I’ll become diabetic, & wondering what made me this way.  Worrying that I’ll turn my brain off to it & one day wake up & only a tent fits.  Sometimes wondering if I should just give up & accept being plump – there are happy fat people all over the world, right?   Berating myself for being lazy.  Then feeling ridiculous because I don’t honestly think that I should call myself “lazy” when I’m working outside the home & running a home.  & hey, guess what?  Those thoughts frustrate me, too.

& really, how is it possible to overeat by 500 calories & gain 4 lbs?