ONE-DER-LAND!

The stalls are real! It might have taken me three weeks
to lose that last pound to hit the 100's but we did it!

This has been a week. A challenging week. A week in which I lost the joy in what I am accomplishing with my weight loss and my health.

Has that ever happened to you? You are cruising along and staying on track and feeling great but something else hits you from the side that you weren't expecting. For me, that was several things this week. Whether it's work, family, finances, whatever causes the stress - something seemingly small can derail us.

And I was derailed this week. But I can't turn to food like I used to my whole life. However, I did have to fight the desire to crawl into a hole. I fought the urge to stop responding to texts and phone calls, close the blinds, call in sick, and pull the covers over my head. Instead, I am learning how to fight through pain instead of hide from it. I am learning how to let people in instead of locking them out. I am learning to let myself be taken care of as much as I have taken care of others.

God gave me a gift this week. He allowed me to hit that Onederland mark. I didn't do anything spectacular this week. I am eating like I am supposed to, trying to get 100 grams of protein a day, and working out 5 days a week. The half marathon I am training for is in 3 weeks. I am running. A lot. But the weight loss stalls are real, and when I asked my nutritionist if I was done losing weight she quickly, emphatically said "NO! You will lose for the next 8-10 months."

When was the last time I saw a "1" at the beginning of my weight? When was the last time I weighed one hundred something pounds? Was it middle school? If so, I don't remember because my brain blocked the traumatizing days of getting physicals as a 12 year old. And every year after that. The social anxiety and embarrassment of having to go to a doctor once a year and pretend that I wasn't overweight crushed me. The end of the summer was always nerve racking because I knew that any day, my mom would take me for my yearly physical.

We have to let go of one thing to hold on to another. I have to let go of my past to hold on to my future. One summer in high school, I was getting out of a boat to step on to the dock and I hesitated. I hesitated too long with one foot in the boat and one foot on the dock. The boat split from the dock and I fell into the water, flailing with windmill arms the whole way down. I should have let go of the boat and trusted the dock. With both feet. All in.

We are all moving forward. Onederland is not the end. But today, I am resting in this accomplishment and reflecting on how I got here. I am overwhelmed and grateful. I am hopeful and happy. I am proud and humbled. And I am letting go of the boat and trusting the dock.

With both feet.

All in.

This elusive place called Onederland

If you have read my blogs before, I think I know what you're thinking. She did it! She made it to Onederland! What an accomplishment?

Nope.

It's been three weeks and my weight has just...stalled. My doctor said eat more carbs. My nutritionist said eat more often. My nurse said eat more protein. My body is changing but the scale just...isn't.

I share this for one big reason: this weight loss thing is a battle for my heart and my soul. And I don't want to only share the victories. The real truth is that I am wildly frustrated. And I am wondering when I will get to see a "1" at the beginning of my weight on the scale. I thought I would have crushed that milestone by now. A three week stall when I am training for a half marathon and running 15-18 miles a week?

Come on.

The thing that I hate about social media is we don't really post what's truly going on. We post the best stuff. The stuff we are proud of. The moments that we want to remember. Because why would we post about the struggles? The stuff we are ashamed of? The moments we want to forget?

Amidst this frustration of a perceived "lack of progress" I am reminded daily of how far I have come. And God gives me three words every day when I want to quit.

Stay. The. Course.

Stay the course. Remain and be present in the process. Embrace the discomfort. Do the work. Share all of it. All of it. Because our collective story will never just be the "facebook moments." Our story is the highs and lows and all points in between. 

We will make it to Onederland. When it's time. And until then, we will stay the course. Today I ran 9 miles, because that's what is on my training plan. Tomorrow will reveal itself to me. 

When it's time.

This magical place called "Onederland"

When I first started my bariatric surgery journey, I was 318 pounds. But that was not my heaviest.

Have you ever noticed the maximum weight on almost every doctor's scale? In case you didn't know, it's 350 pounds. And I remember a time, in my 20s, when I tipped that scale. I remember it because it was one of the most humiliating experiences I've ever had. But that didn't wake me up when it should have. Instead, it made me crawl back into the overeating hole I was used to. Food for comfort, making me more uncomfortable than ever.

March 2018 was my first appointment towards bariatric surgery. That was my initial 318 pound weigh-in. I had lost and gained and lost and gained many times before. But admitting I needed help was my biggest struggle. After two back surgeries in the past 5 years, my lowest adult weight of 239 crept right back to 318. What I had worked so hard to lose seemed to come back so easily. Isn't that always the way?

The bariatric surgery community always talked about something called "Onederland." It's when you finally see a "1" as the first number on the scale. I can't explain how intangible and out of reach that felt to me at 318 pounds. When was the last time I saw a 1 as the first number on the scale? I have racked my brain and truly can't remember.

As a kid, one of the most terrifying sentences I heard every year from my mom was this one:

"It's time for your yearly physical."

Back to school meant getting a physical. Getting a physical meant getting weighed. Getting weighed meant humiliation and shame for me as a middle school girl. As a kid, doctors don't really know how to address your weight. Parents don't know either. My mom and dad did the best they could do, but unless I wanted to change, there was no changing. And so it went for me for years. College was no better, and as an adult, I found other ways to compensate socially. I was always outgoing, always funny, always the life of the party.

"Onederland" is not just about a number on a scale. It's a victory that I have never thought was meant for me. It's a dream. It's a myth. It's a magical place with leprechauns riding unicorns and jumping over rainbows. But it was never made for me.

Through my surgery preparation between March and July, I went to a lot of support groups and therapy appointments and listened. A lot. And I realized that sometimes, we believe a lie for so long that we start to live up to it. I never thought I would get to Onederland, because I believed the lie that I didn't deserve it.

So here I am, at 204 pounds. Onederland is coming. And when it does, it will be the biggest victory yet. The victory I thought I couldn't grab, the goal I thought I would never reach, the life I thought I could never live. I don't know when it will happen, but that doesn't really matter, because I know it is coming.

What is your Onederland? Whatever it is, you deserve it. We all do.

Take me out to the ball game

Tiny seats. Tiny sweatshirt. Massive dimples.

For most of my adult life, a simple social question created complex social anxiety in my heart:

"Want to go to the game this weekend?"

That question would bring up a slew of follow up questions in my mind: Where is the game? Is it at PNC Arena? What are the seats like? How big are they? Am I going to fit? Are there arms on the chairs? How will I fit past people on the aisles? Will anyone be sitting next to me? Because if so, they are probably going to be squished sitting next to me.

If you've never been overweight, you might think this sounds neurotic and dramatic. I assure you, it is  the series of questions that always went through my head when anyone asked me to a game. Or a concert. Or a restaurant. Or a trip. Or a movie. When you get to be a certain size, your world also gets to be a certain size. I got bigger and my world got smaller.

Last week I was shopping in Kohl's with a friend and her kids. I mentioned needing a new hoodie and  instead of going to the "big and tall" men's section, we went to the women's Nike hoodies. I found a grey XL sweatshirt and held it up when my friend promptly told me "that is WAY too big for you." She handed me a large purple sweatshirt instead and told me to try it on. I panicked for a second, thinking "there is no way this is going to fit, and I am going to be in the middle of Kohl's wearing an impossibly tight sweatshirt looking like a dummy."

But the women's large sweatshirt fit. When 6 months ago I would wear a men's 2xl. I got in line to buy the sweatshirt and I was just staring at the tag. When was the last time I wore a large? When was the last time I wore a women's Nike large? I was fighting back my tears in the checkout line. It was such a victory for me to finally buy something that wasn't the largest something in the store. Even my friend's kind son leaned up against me, looked at me and said "This a lot to take in, huh?" Smart kid.

So I went to the ball game. In my Nike women's large sweatshirt. And I sat in those tiny seats at PNC Arena. And I sat in that moment with thankfulness for every single one of the 108 pounds I have lost so far. What a victory it is for me to fit in anywhere I want now. Any game. Any concert. Any movie. Any airplane. Any Nike sweatshirt.

And as usual, without my friends there, I would have bought that too big grey sweatshirt. And I wouldn't have gone to PNC Arena for fear of not fitting in. And I would not have realized the weight of the moment. (see what I did there?)

Let your friends be your mirror.

Branded!

As a 5' 10" 300+ pound woman, shopping always terrified me.

Shopping malls made me anxious. If a friend wanted to go shopping in a clothing store, I would hang out by the accessories. And not even the rings or the bracelets. The necklaces. Maybe the scarves. Or the socks. I pretended to care about shopping for...socks.

And as my friends would try on clothes and could choose any color of any item off of any rack, I just tried to avoid the awkward interaction with a sales person on the floor.

"Are you finding everything ok?"

"No, not really. In fact, nothing you have here fits me. Not even close. And I have to wait here while my naturally thin friends have to decide what to buy because they have all the choices in the world."

(actually, the only answer I could ever muster up was "Yup! Thanks!" I always wondered if they were questioning why I was even in their store in the first place, because the up and down looks I got sort of tipped me off...)

Since I started the push towards weight loss surgery in March, I started at 318 pounds. I ripped out a page from the LL Bean catalog and put it on my fridge. It was a page with regular women's clothing. Sizes S-XL. I had never been able to fit into anything smaller than the largest plus size LL Bean had -  a 3XL. That picture was my motivation that everyday choices might one day get me into everyday sizes.

On Black Friday, a few friends and I were among the crazies to go shopping at an outlet mall. I walked into J. Crew to just get some perspective of where I was with everyday sizes. It took courage for me to take an XXL shirt off of the rack and try it on in a dressing room. It took courage for me to pick out another XL shirt just to see how close I could be to fitting into an everyday size. I have shopped at Old Navy online for everything. That had been my only choice. And my mind had been trained to look for the biggest sizes everywhere i go. The bigger my clothes were, the more I could...hide. Baggy clothes made me feel small. But, baggy clothes also made me feel...small. In all the ways I didn't want.

So there I was in the J. Crew changing room and I had a moment. That XXL shirt was too big. That XL shirt fit me perfectly. And their chinos. And their sweaters. And I was no longer the largest size they carried. I fit in. And I proudly replaced that XXL button down knowing I would never need it again.

That LL Bean catalog clipping is gone from my fridge, replaced by new milestones to hit. And I have since had to downsize my pants from the Gap. Every time I wear my LL Bean shirt or my J Crew chinos or my Gap pants I can't believe they fit. When I take them out of the dryer to do laundry I still think "these aren't my pants, these are tiny."

I am waiting for my brain to catch up to my body. But every day is progress. And every day is a day I accept as it is. And who knows? Maybe you'll see me shopping at stores in the mall soon. And maybe I'll roll into one of the "fancy" stores I used to go to and get up and down looks while perusing their sock collection and ask the salesgirl: "You work on commission, right? Big mistake! Big! Huge!"

I think Julia Roberts would be proud.

Side effects

Picture on the left? Thanksgiving last year. Picture on the
right? Me at the car dealership a few weeks ago. With
less "size on me..."

So, I am about 4 1/2 months out from surgery (July 11th). The weather is changing here in North Carolina. And I have lost my outer layer of warmth, about 99 pounds of it actually.

I am freezing. All the time. Side effect.

Today, for instance, was a sunny day, high of about 50 degrees. So naturally I wore wool socks and two jackets. I am forever wearing wool socks and two jackets. I also had to steal a space heater from a co-worker. Thanks, AB!

A few weeks ago, I got a new car. It reminded me of the last time I shopped for a new car three years ago. I remember going to the dealership and the Ford salesman asked what I was looking for. I told him an SUV, anything from an Explorer to an Escape.

The poor guy looked at me and said "hmmm...not sure you would want an Escape. You have some size to you."

I say "poor guy" because I bet the look on my face was enough to make him want to crawl into a hole. I "have some size" to me? Are you allowed to say that? The sad thing is...he was right. I just hated that he was right. So I got an Explorer, and walked away feeling the opposite you feel when you get a new car: embarrassed and ashamed.

But that was then. And this is now. I could get any car I want this time. In fact, my rental car was a tiny Toyota Corolla for a few weeks and you know what? I fit in it just fine. I don't have that "size" to me anymore. Side effect.

But today, today was a great side effect I wasn't anticipating. I probably work out in the mornings 5 times a week. It's the same crowd at the Y at that time, and I know most of the faces but we are there to get a job done and leave so there isn't a whole lot of socializing. This morning, a woman I have seen often but never have talked to took her headphones out to talk to me. I found out her name is Kimberly. Here's how the conversation went:

Kimberly: "You look amazing! What are you doing?"
Me: "Well, I had weight loss surgery in July, but I have to stay active and work the plan to stay healthy."
Kimberly "I am doing the low carb thing, it's so hard."
Me: "You are in here every time I'm here so you are doing something right!"
(insert small talk about squats and sugar and the bench press)
Kimberly: "I have to tell you, you are my inspiration to show up in the mornings. Watching your transformation motivates me to keep trying."
(insert me sweating and also crying a little bit too.)

What?! I didn't go into this thinking it would affect other people like it has. Every day is a chance for me to encourage someone else that tells me how happy and healthy I look. And it's not just about weight loss. It's about taking chances. Asking for help. Knowing your worth. Fighting for yourself. Some of the conversations I have gotten to have have been unexpectedly deep and meaningful and I love it.

Like Kimberly. Who just needs that extra push from a familiar face at the Y. Change is possible, you just need someone in your life to remind you. Side effect.

4 months, 5 miles, and 87 pounds

I just discovered running tights! Wow, this is a
great time to be alive I swear it.

I'm coming up on 4 months since my July 11th surgery date. I'm also coming up on week 6 of training for a little half marathon in March. Running certainly has changed the way I think and multiplied the ways I am thankful for daily life.

When I was 320 pounds in March, I certainly limited my life in so many ways. Being overweight and turning to food for comfort has been a physical barrier my whole life and has kept me from loving fully and being fully loved. Like any other addiction or replacement, food kept me isolated. As I gained weight and became bigger, my world became smaller. I took less chances, made less plans, and experienced less of life.

Don't get me wrong, if you know me, you know I have always been full of life. I have always been social and cared for people around me. But there was always a sense I could never fully be myself with that barrier separating me from the world. After all, how are we supposed to accept love fully when we don't fully love ourselves?

So here I am today at 231 pounds. 87 pounds down since March. And here I am this morning after running 5 miles. Running is a lifelong habit for some, but it has always been an unattainable goal to me, something I admired in others but never thought I could accomplish. I am following a specific training plan to prepare for the half in March, and this week I have run 15 miles. Every mile has been a reminder of where I have come from.

It is nice to be running towards something now, rather than running away from something. It is nice to be showing up rather than hiding. It is nice to be seeing the world in a bigger way rather than watching my world get smaller and smaller.

Today is November 4th. And I am thankful. For all the ways I am finding who I truly am. The person that was hiding behind the weight and can now be fully seen. Here's to the next 40 pounds!