Get out of your own head.

We were all just happy to have made it!

There are a lot of things that naturally thin people don't think about. And I am sure that several of those things are things that happened to me this past week.

For example, I was being interviewed at a meeting for my town commissioner work, and I showed up before the interview was to start. It was in a large auditorium. When I got there, I saw two high-top chairs for the interview. No big deal, right?

You see, high-top chairs are not a friend to those of us that struggle with weight. They are often flimsy, and relatively small, making us wonder if they will hold us for one, and if our backsides will actually fit on the seat. In the past, I have found these chairs so uncomfortable that I would avoid restaurants that had them as the only seating option. So to have that as my "perch" during a 60-minute interview gave me anxiety.

Another example is this: I went to a local ice cream shop with friends that used to be a very old fast food restaurant. The only seating is fixed booths. The last time I was there (about 10 months ago), I had to pull a stool over from the other side of the restaurant because I couldn't fit in the booth. I laughed it off at the time because I was with a group of people and you know, that's what you do. You laugh at yourself before someone else has the chance to laugh at you (classic elementary school survival technique).

And the third example that happened to me last night: I went to a haunted forest called Panic Point with a group of friends. I had never been there before but I heard that you walk through a lot of dark, tight spaces. How tight are these spaces? Will I be able to get through them? These haunted houses were designed for the average person. But not people like me. What do I do if I get stuck? How tight are we talking here?

I have pondered all three of these events this week and came to one conclusion: my brain has not yet caught up to my body.

Not only that, but I am reminded of perspective and the danger of getting into my own head too much. In my own head, I am still 320 pounds and can't sit on a high-top chair or fit in a restaurant booth or walk through your average haunted house. But when I have recounted those fears to a close friend, the reality is so much different. My friend reminds me I am 80 pounds lighter and running 12 miles a week and can fit on all the chairs, restaurant booths, and haunted houses that I want to.

So, I sat comfortably in that high-top chair. I fit confidently in that booth. And I walked like a scared puppy through those tight haunted houses. (Yes I fit! Yes it was still scary!)

While I am waiting for my brain to catch up to my body, I have learned to get out of my own head. Alone, I hear voices that just don't tell the truth. But with friends, I am reminded of who I really am. And that perspective is what will save us from ourselves.

It doesn't matter what you are battling. I just happen to be battling an obvious weight struggle. Other battles are more private and don't show on the surface like mine does. Each one of us has our thing. But I am telling you: don't battle alone. Lock arms with the ones that love you and fight.

Step one: get out of your own head.

75 pounds down!

Proud of my mileage. More proud of my sweatage.

So I went to a surgical follow-up last week with my doctor to make sure everything looked good. She asked about my eating and if I was able to start working out.

"Well, I am running a half-marathon in March and I've started training for that, so..."

To which she replied "Of COURSE you are!"

Even my doctor knows I don't do anything half-assed I guess.

As of this week, I am 75 pounds down from my pre-surgery weight when I started the process in April. It hasn't been easy physically or mentally, but day by day, I see progress that is pretty mind-blowing. I just got home from finishing a 3 mile run. This week, our official half-marathon training started. (shout out to everyone that is doing this race in March! You are all amazing humans.) I just looked at my training log and realized I ran 13 miles this week, which is the distance of a half-marathon.

Would the Liz of last year ever believe this was in my future? That's a big hell no. In fact, I had given up on my future in so many ways. Admitting I needed help in the form of weight loss surgery has made me realize how important it is to let people in. To let people in to my struggles, my embarrassments, my pain, my reality, my fears, all of it. Going to therapy and having surgical intervention and relying on my friends to take care of me hasn't been natural for me, but it's been necessary.

A blog can't describe what the past three months have taught me. When I made the decision to get healthy, my world opened up in every way. God has shown me love through people like I never thought possible. And If I had remained hidden behind my weight and my complacency, I would never have received the joy I am receiving now from so many wonderful people around me (and if you're reading this...you're most likely one of those wonderful people).

So if you need any word of encouragement today it would be this: don't settle. Know what you're worth and believe you deserve it all. You were created by God and God doesn't make mistakes.

(my other word of wisdom: Kesha is a GREAT running soundtrack. Just saying.)

Am I going to fit?

How many times does this ride go
upside down?

When you've been overweight as long as you can remember like I have, you never really forget that the world isn't really made for you.

As of today, I am down 67 pounds. I am fitting into the smallest stuff I own, and have pretty much gotten rid of all my old clothes. I even ordered some pants from The Gap and they fit. When I hold them in my hands, I think they are someone else's pants. When I put them on, I think there is no way they will fit. But they do. And I still can't believe it.

But the big win for the week for me was conquering that roller coaster fear. The last time I did this was in 2012. Pretty soon after that, I injured my back, and that started the surgeries that derailed me and contributed to me gaining about 70 pounds back over the course of a few years.

So here we are, in 2018, and my best friend Julie (who loves roller coasters) invited me to go to Howl-A-Scream with a group to Busch Gardens. I remember saying yes a few months ago thinking "oh it's a few months away, sure I'll go! Last time I rode a roller coaster in 2012 I got nauseous all day, but I'm sure I''ll be fine!"

Saturday arrived, and we approached the first ride called Apollo's Chariot. No upside down or backwards, no problem. Except one problem. Will I fit into the roller coaster seat? If you're naturally thin, you've never thought about this. But when you struggle with weight your whole life like me, you wonder about the airplane seat. And the restaurant booth. And the roller coaster seat. I even remember as a middle schooler, waiting in line for a ride at Hershey Park and getting to the front only to find I couldn't fit into it, and having to slink off to the exit. As a middle school girl. Humiliating.

I guess it's become enough of an issue that, thankfully, theme parks now have a "tester" seat at the front of some of their

rides. These tester seats are for "larger park guests" that don't want to be humiliated after waiting in line and then not fitting.

So Julie and I got up to the ride, saw the tester seat, and I turned to her in a panic and said "What if I get to the front of the line and I can't fit in the seat?" And THIS is why we need good friends. She looked at me almost shocked and said "You will never have to worry about that again."

So I sat in the seat. And I fit. And I realized my brain has yet to catch up to my body. I still see myself as I was at 320 pounds, not fitting in, and being scared of new adventures where I can't control my environment. And the roller coaster? Terrifying.

We moved on to the next ride called Da Vinci's Cradle and it had a seatbelt in the seat. Which fit around my waist, and I was shocked. And then there was a bar that was supposed to latch down over you. I grabbed the bar and it wouldn't latch. I turned to my friend Julie, again, and had a panicked look on my face like "I'm too big for this ride" and right when I thought that, realized that the staff hadn't yet locked it down on the whole ride. It had nothing to do with me. Again, my brain couldn't believe I could fit, and I had that panicked look on my face that I had been used to my whole life: "I am too big to fit."

Shout out to Da Vinci's Cradle. The
motion sickness was too real.

The fun plot twist of the day is that motion sickness doesn't get better as you age, it gets a LOT worse. So I spent half the day on dramamine trying to recover from Da Vinci's Cradle (which goes backwards waaaaaay too much) and another coaster called Verbolten that takes you into complete darkness and scrambled my stomach beyond repair. But, once the dramamine kicked in, I ended the day again on Apollo's Chariot because I needed to end on a high note, not a pukey one.

The moral of my Busch Gardens story? Trust your friends. I see that theme in my life a lot lately. I am the queen of getting into my own head too much. Trust your friends. When you overthink something and are inconsolable, trust your friends. Find that one or two people that you trust, and let them in fully. Don't be afraid to get hurt. You will get hurt. Because people hurt each other. But the best friends are the ones that stay with us through the pain. And talk it out. And ask forgiveness. And accept your forgiveness.

Trust your friends. They know where you fit. And where you belong.

I can't thank this patient group enough (l to r: Melanie,
Julie, Aaron, motion sickness girl, and Amy)

Standing still is moving backwards.

Picture on the left is from last week, fitting into the
"skinniest" jacket I have. Picture on the right is from
March. Sometimes it's hard to see progress when
you're in the midst of it!

I am about two months out from surgery, and I am feeling pretty great. When I found out my surgery date, I was in a facebook group with other duodenal switch patients, and we started a smaller facebook group message for those of us having surgery the same week. There are about 12 of us on the group message.

It has been great to be a part of that group...we have messaged each other about different phases of the process, the pre-op diet and the post-op diet, different foods to try and to avoid, and all the emotional stuff in between.

About two weeks ago, a lady in the group said she was really struggling and going back to old habits. She said she found herself in McDonald's eating a Big Mac and large fries. Even as she got the physical pain that comes with this surgery when you overeat or eat stuff you shouldn't, she powered through and finished her meal, because, that's part of the food addiction we all have. And when she got home, she was sick. VERY sick. for almost 24 hours.

When I read this I thought... "you did WHAT? WHERE?" I can barely keep down 500 calories of protein shakes right now. And my second thought was..."careful, Liz. Be careful."

It is so easy for me to judge. It is easy to say "I would NEVER do that." The last time I lost 80 pounds, I swore up and down it would never come back. And one bad food decision led to another, led to a back surgery, led to lack of exercise, led to overeating and on and on and on.

The truth is, if I stand still, I will move backwards. If nothing changes, nothing changes. So I am paying attention to every day. I am making choices for my health and for my life. I have had moments where I have eaten too much, but I have to listen to my body. And days where I just don't want to go work out, but I know my body needs to move.

None of us are promised tomorrow. And for me, tomorrow overwhelms me. So I am doing what I can today and living today the best way that I can. This is the part of the journey that has nothing to do with weight loss, but everything to do with believing I deserve better. We all do!

You just have to go through it.

Last night I went through my closet to start getting rid of clothes that no longer fit. I tried on almost everything I had before putting it aside for Goodwill. I thought about events I wore certain clothes to. I thought about how long I had certain outfits, the friends I was with when I wore them, and how I have kept things for so long because they were too small and I now hoped I could fit into them. And here I was, missing that window, and now passing those clothes on to someone else.





I dreaded going through my closet. I'm not exactly sure why. I wanted to keep the door shut and not go through it. But when I woke up this

morning, I realized why I was so afraid to go through it: 

What if I gain all the weight back and need those clothes again?

I have been through this before. About 5 years ago, I lost 80 pounds. Then, due to a long struggle with a back injury, I had two back surgeries within two years and gained almost all the weight back. At my smallest, I gave all my clothes away, and swore I would never gain the weight back. Then I did.

That's part of the reason I sought surgical help to lose the weight and keep it off. I couldn't do it alone. And as the weight is coming off, there is still that fear that one day, it will come back on again. The fear is not logical, but that small voice is always there.

It is easier to go around things than go through them. It is easier for me to keep my closet door shut and not face the past, or fear the future. But easier is not better. I just have to go through it. When faced with pain, we have that fight or flight reaction which can be visceral and subconscious. But, I am practicing the art of being present, to let others into this struggle with me. I am choosing to fight. To go through it and not around it.

So, I am taking these clothes to Goodwill. And I am staring at an empty closet. But as a wise friend told me, this is not a phase. This is a beginning. I am finding so much value in living in this moment, and not worrying about tomorrow. We just have to go through it. Not around it.

A fork in the road.

Sometimes a seemingly unimportant decision can change everything.

So I finally broke my stall with the scale. I am moving in the right direction again, and eating has become a little easier. I am able to tolerate cheese and dairy, and it is nice to chew again! Those protein shakes were starting to get a little boring.

I am down about 55 pounds, and I can really see it. And when I don't see it, other people see it in me. Like I said in my last blog, I am learning to trust my friends. So when I still feel like that hopeless fat girl that can't lose weight, I trust the process. And I trust my friends.

This whole thing has brought up so many raw emotions for me. In the past, when I felt emotional, I would stuff it down with my favorite foods. And then I would feel the discomfort and the guilt. And I would get emotional. And stuff it down with my favorite foods. That's the cycle.

But now, I couldn't do that even if I wanted to. My body would reject it. So instead, I am going outside and walking. Or working out, or lifting weights, or just (shocker!) letting PEOPLE into my emotions, and not just food.

A friend has challenged me to run a half marathon. When she asked me I certainly thought "Me? You must be texting the wrong person." But yesterday, we went running. It was the first time for me to be running outside in years. But she stayed with me, and we made it happen. It's amazing what happens when you don't go through life alone.

Half way down the trail, God showed me unconditional love in the form of the friendliest fawn and her two babies. Yes, I pet the deer on her head. Yes, she was licking my arm. No, that's not photoshopped.

How do I know it was God? Because God is in the details. And God is unconventional. And God knows that I don't pay attention. So He came near. And He made yesterday matter. This seemingly unimportant decision to go running with my friend brought me to a fork in the road. And I chose not to do life alone anymore. I am choosing to do life with others. And God came near.

It is much easier to think you can do it alone. Take it from me, I am independent to a fault. You can't. And honestly, easier is not better. This. This is better. This is an adventure. And what fun is experiencing adventure alone?

The half marathon is in March. I signed up today, terrified but faithful. Because my friend is with me. That's how I know I'm going to be ok. We all are!

Trust your friends.

So I had my follow-up one month nutritionist class yesterday. My program is great because surgery is not the end. I have follow-ups for about a year that include everything from blood work to nutrition counseling to therapy. And thank God for that because I have been inside my own head quite a bit in the last month.

At the end of class, you meet individually with the nutritionist. The conversation went a little something like this:

Nutritionist: "So, how are you doing?"
Me: "Pretty good. I can still only tolerate three shakes a day and I'm not doing much solid food."
Nutritionist: "What do you think the problem is?"
Me: "I don't know, it took me about an hour to eat a greek yogurt the other day, My body just wasn't interested."
Nutritionist: "Yeah, that's part of the deal. You just need to be patient with yourself."
Me: "Story of my life. I still feel like I am the medical anomaly that this surgery won't work for because I've been stalled out with the scale."
Nutritionist: "You are at the the three week stall. It happens to everyone. Your body has gone through trauma and it's trying to recover. How's your support system at home?"
Me: "Well, I live alone but my friends have been amazing. People have been taking me for walks, working out with me, and really encouraging me."
Nutritionist: "And are they seeing progress in you?"
Me: "Yes, my friends keep telling me my face changes weekly. It's hard for the fat girl in me to believe it's working!"
Nutritionist: "You should trust your friends."

Mic drop.

You know this whole thing is not just about weight loss. It never was. When you choose to live a healthy life and choose to take your life back, all kinds of amazing things begin to happen. For me, when I decided to be vulnerable, let down my walls, and let people in, my life completely changed. We all walk through life in self-preservation mode. The problem with that, is that walls keep bad things out sure, but they also keep the best things out too.

I don't know about you, but I want to live a life that is open and available to the good and the bad. I would rather love and be hurt than never experience love to begin with. And that is all about trust. My nutritionist in all her professional glory is right. I should trust my friends. I should trust my friends with the most vulnerable parts of me. Because I am learning, that's the best stuff of all.