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.

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!

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.)

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!

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.

"You are f**king worthy!"

A sign from my friend's classroom. Kids need to hear this.
So do we.

So I am two weeks out of surgery. My days are pretty basic right now. I have a few regimens I have to keep. I take 10 vitamins a day at very specific times. I have to find a way to get at least 80 grams of protein in and 100 ounces of water. No sugar, and no carbs. That is more challenging than it seems since I can't chug water or eat anything quickly. I eat with a baby spoon and it takes me about 30 minutes to try and eat an egg. But good news! I can eat an egg!

One of my favorite basic things right now is walking with friends. I have had great walks with great friends almost every day. Our bodies want to move, it's part of recovery. Most of these walks turn to deep conversation quickly, which I LOVE. Because let's be real...that's what matters most.

My friend and I were talking about life and love and how we settle for second best so much in life. We talked about this idea that people use love as currency. I will only give you as much love as you will give me, I will spend love like money, and I will withhold love like money. Why do we do that?

I think that all of us, in different seasons, have settled because we don't think we deserve more. That someone, somehow along the way, has put something in our heads to make us believe we don't deserve everything. I know I have. For years and years and years.  So instead of working through pain, I would stuff it down with food. Instead of reaching out to others, I would reach into a drive-thru window.

It's amazing what happens when the thing I used to always turn to for comfort, is no longer an option. I used to live to eat. Truly. Now, I am struggling to eat to live. Protein shakes are keeping me alive. And I am finding so much more comfort from people in my life. More than I ever dreamed I would. And that would not have happened if I didn't let go of the comfort I was seeking in food.

Let's not waste anymore time. Let's stop keeping a record of wrongs and start trusting each other. Let's spend love without caring about how much we get back. At the end of my walk on Tuesday, and our conversation around this, my friend declared "You are f**king worthy!" She is so right. We all are.

We all are.

When the boat splits from the dock.

When I was in high school, I worked at a young life camp in New York called Lake Champion. I was there volunteering for 5 weeks, and it was the best summer of my life for all the reasons. One of those transformational experiences that every 17 year old needs and longs for.

I worked in the kitchen, and on a break one day I went on a little boat ride across the lake with one of my staff friends. We got back to the dock so I could go back to work. Right at that time, all of the kids were getting out of club (which is like a big assembly) and about 500 of them were walking along the waterfront. 

I got up to hop out of the boat. I put one foot on the dock, and kept one foot in the boat. And I hesitated. I hesitated just long enough to look down and watch in slow motion terror as the boat split from the dock. And my legs split from each other. And the windmill arms started, and I took a swim.

I took a swim wearing jeans and kitchen gear (complete with apron). Have you ever tried to gracefully emerge from lake water in jeans and an apron? Don't.

The best part as I shimmied myself up onto the dock was the silence from 500 high schoolers on the waterfront. But then, the impending applause and general laughter at the balancing act they just got to see. To this day, watching windmill arms when someone's falling is one of my favorite things. Because when have windmill arms ever saved you from falling?!

The morale of the story? Don't hesitate. When you need to jump, jump. Don't waffle between where you were and where you're going. I am finding it so scary to navigate this new life that is revealing itself to me, because I don't trust it yet. I still think I will be the one medical anomaly for whom duodenal switch surgery doesn't work for. Even though I have lost 39 pounds since I started the program (and that's down 20 pounds since July 11th surgery date), I still can't picture what's to come as the scale continues to go down. And I still can't believe it's going to work, because I have lost weight before and then watched it come back.

The boat left the dock for me on July 11th. The good news is that I was safely drugged up on the dock when the boat left. I didn't have a choice to stay in it. Now I get to explore this new land that the dock is connected to.

Life with the boys

Shiloh (left) and Georgie (right).

Let me tell you, being 42 and single is hard. Very hard. I fight selfishness every day. When you don't have anyone to take care of outside of yourself, you become extremely self-reflective and self-critical. When you don't have other lives to care for, you tend to turn inward and isolated.

I've never been one of those girls that have thought "being married will complete me." I have enough friends that fight for their marriages and work hard to make it work to believe that marriage is the answer to loneliness. But being self-aware doesn't make loneliness less of an issue.

God has a way of making things simple when I overcomplicate my life. So in the midst of such a difficult season, he found a way to bring me two of the greatest gifts I didn't know I needed.

Enter Shiloh and Georgie.

To avoid a 3,000 word essay on why dogs are awesome, here are the lessons they have taught me about life. Lessons that work with dogs and people alike:

• Guilt is an effective motivator, but love is the lasting motivator. Shaming a dog can be a quick fix, but loving a dog with patience is a lasting one. Sound familiar?
• Unconditional love is a real thing. Love can be so simple. We just complicate it instead of being open and accepting it.
• It is good to care for someone other than yourself. These dogs run my schedule now and I LOVE it. Being forced to put the needs of something else first at times is good for my soul.

I do think animals are God's gift to us. A reminder of simple joy, and simple love. I hope that one day I can be the person that my dog thinks I am. For now, though, I am just loving life with Shiloh and Georgie and the ways they make my life softer and more simple.

Also, how can you say no to those faces?

Shiloh is 4 years old and loves me completely.
Other people, not so much!

Georgie just turned two and he is the town mascot
for Wake Forest! He fulfills his duty with honor.

Georgie is a therapy dog at our local retirement home.
It's the best part of my week to watch him with the
memory care patients.

"What kind of surgery are you having?"

What a harmless question, right?

Until you ask it of someone like me who is a bit ashamed of resorting to weight loss surgery to get healthy.

The process through insurance has been over a year for me. There are requirements that insurance needs to approve the duodenal switch surgery. For those of you thinking of weight loss surgery, here is what I have had to go through:

1. Primary care doctor visits documenting weight concerns for over a year.
2. Initial orientation with a team of nutritionists.
3. Weigh ins.
4. A sleep study.
5. A psychiatric evaluation.
6. Weigh ins.
7. Protein seminars.
8. Bariatric surgery consults.
9. Weigh ins.
10. Endoscopy and colonoscopy.
11. Hospital consultation.
12. Blood work.
13. More blood work.
14. Did I mention weigh-ins?

Don't get me wrong. I am thankful for the process because of one thing: they are operating on my digestive system, not my brain. My brain has to be ready for the change. The process has given me lots of time to process and thoughtfully consider what I am about to do.

This is known as the "DS" or, duodenal switch. It is
now considered the most effective surgery to
lose the weight and keep it off.

But it doesn't mean the insecurity and fear of judgment goes away. When I lost 75 pounds a few years ago, it was with blood, sweat, and tears. Lots of tears. At my lowest weight, I ended up needing lower back surgery. About two years after that, I needed upper back surgery. I was working out over an hour a day, 6 days a week rather faithfully. But I just couldn't get a handle on the eating. I allowed myself too many "cheat meals" and we all know, those turn into "cheat days" and "cheat weekends." And when you can't work out due to injury...you sit around a lot. And eat.

Want to know what's worse than being overweight? Losing 75 pounds and gaining it all back.

While some say surgery is the easy way out (and yes, I have heard this from well-meaning people), I must say, now that I am living in it and on day three of my liquid diet prep...it most certainly is not easy. And if I hadn't of had the year long preparation, I don't think my brain would be ready.

We have five days to go. And I apologize in advance to all of you that will be around me between now and Wednesday. Because I am perpetually hangry. Forgive me?

The life of a prepper

Shout out to Bariatric Advantage and Celebrate vitamins.

I was going to entitle this "The life of a doomsday prepper" but what I have coming up isn't doomsday, it's more like a birthday. Except much more painful and filled with vitamins.

Speaking of vitamins, someone asked about the regimen, so here it is. 5 times a day I am taking a chewable vitamin of some sort, because that's what my new body can absorb. Because I am such a prepper, I have already organized them into easy doses to make sure I don't miss a beat. Vitamins are crucial in recovery since I won't be able to take in a lot of food nutrition.

And here's what the fridge looks like. Day one of the liquid diet prep is today. Duodenal switch surgery is July 11th. And a warning if you have to interact with me this week: I will be hangry pretty much all week. So I apologize in advance for what I might do or say.

For those of you looking for protein shake recommendations, I really can't say enough good things about Premier Protein. I have tried a LOT of options for protein in my life, and this is really the bariatric standard. 160 calories, 30 grams of protein, and 1 gram of sugar. You can find them at Walmart and Sams Club and they have a great variety of flavors. Peach and cookies and cream are my favorites.

I keep hearing that your taste buds completely change after surgery, but I am hoping I can still tolerate the shakes afterwards. They have been a lifeline for me, truly.

Cheers to day one!

"God just wanted to slow you down!"

If I hear that one more time, I might kick someone with my good leg.

My faith has been shaken.

There. I said it.

It is still shaky. And I will tell you why.

Two steroid epidurals, icing, resting, and months of prayer from friends and family later...I am still the same. I can barely walk. My left leg constantly feels like it is on fire from pain shooting down my leg, and all week every week I grin and bear it. Every time I have to walk somewhere to pick something up from another office, or to go talk to someone, or to go to the bathroom, I have to give myself a pep talk. "You can do this. You can do this."

I can't do this.

Friends have been praying for healing. I wake up and I pray for healing. I have begged God. I have pleaded. I have written to him every morning. I have been faithful and obedient. I know he loves me. I know this is not the life he wants for me, especially when being active has been a lifeline for me and the catalyst for my weight loss.

But nothing has changed.

A week or so ago, days after my second epidural, I was doing better, so I biked. Nothing major. Nothing crazy. But only a few days after that, the pain returned to where I can't walk ten steps anymore without debilitating pain.

I can't stand up at church. I can't lay down comfortable at night. I can't go shopping with friends. It absolutely and completely sucks.

I've had to get creative with my down time. Time that
was once reserved for work outs is now reserved for
jigsaw puzzles and online sermon series.

I'm past the point of "God is teaching me patience." I am past the point of "God will heal you!" I am past the point of "God just wanted to slow me down to show me stuff!"

I think we all try to reason away pain because we simply don't understand it. Same thing with death. Ever notice how people have strange reactions to death? Some are inconsolable, some act like they knew the person way better than anyone else, some want to explain it, some want to move past it right away, some NEVER move past it the rest of their lives. We don't understand death because we were never created to experience death. 

The plan was for Adam and Eve to live forever. But sin screwed that up for everyone.

Now I don't think my back pain is some biblical warning against sin. But I do think it's just a crap situation for me and I wish more people would just sit in it with me rather than try to explain it, solve it, or reason it away by saying "God is teaching you something glorious!" It's also showing me how much I have reasoned away other people's pain instead of been beside them like they needed.

The awesome revelation here? People need YOU. Sometimes, they aren't looking for your answers. They are looking for YOU.

Once again, God is bringing beauty out of brokenness. But he didn't cause this brokenness. But I will be honest and say, I need some healing. Fast.

God hasn't healed me yet. Or allowed any significant help medically. And I'm pissed about that. But even in my shaky faith, I will pray. Because I know God can do all things. I just wish he would choose to heal my back. Monday, I have another appointment with my back specialist guy to see what's next, either another injection or options for surgery.

And so we keep praying.

-Liz

White flag.

This woman has wisdom. AND a
motorcycle license.
Perfect combination.

Another early morning where instead of doing what I would choose to do if I was able (work out), I have to do what was chosen for me. Ice my back. Make coffee. Take medication. Sit with God. This is the 2 hour window that I need to prep for my day so I can actually be a walking, functioning member of society.

Tomorrow I have round two of my spine injections. I am putting a lot of hope in tomorrow. What God is asking me this morning: "Why can't you put THAT much hope in Me, today?" I still don't trust God fully. That is disappointing.

The temptation here is to hurry up the healing. But isn't that our way? "As soon as this is over, everything will be great." "If only I was past this, I could get back on track." "If I just didn't have to deal with this, I would be more thankful."

I am learning how to wave the white flag here. I have to surrender. I can fight this all I want, and cry every day about it (which happens each morning, like clock work), or I can surrender. I preach surrender to other people every day. But now it's time for me to man up and do it myself.

I am a fixer. I want to fix things and immediately move on. I equate this problem with that stupid show "Extreme Home Makeover." (sorry if you like it, but it is really emotional propoganda.) They set out to do great things. They rebuild a home in a week. I always wanted them to go back to that house a year later to see how it's fallen apart because of the carelessness of rushing through a renovation.

I want to be renovated by God from the foundation up. And I can only imagine how much time that takes. Because I am tough. And God knows that. He also knows how long this will take so that the change will actually stick.

So it's white flag time. For me. And maybe for something in your life too?

-Liz

Who do you run to?

I've been watching my reaction to life changes lately. This is a sobering yet very necessary process.

The biggest life pattern I've seen is how I run to food in the midst of...whatever. Whatever emotion it is, you name it, I run to food. It's usually different foods for different moods, but it's still always food. A cheap imitation of what I am really looking for.

See, I think we complicate our lives and reason away our need for God. We run to other things simply out of pride. Because if I run to God instead, I am admitting that I am not the center of my universe and that I just might need help because I am out of control. Gasp.

I am kicking around this idea of writing down all of the painful food moments I have had in my life. All the ways I have used food as a comfort, an escape, a companion, a horrible friend. This list is long and embarrassing. Every day some other moment pops up that reminds me of how I have used food in the past to try and fill that God shaped hole in me. But don't fool yourself, you have that hole too. And I bet there is something that you try to fill it with. Maybe for you it's not food. Maybe it's a guy. Or a job. Or a sport. Or a religion. None of these things replace the relationship with Jesus that we were made for.

So why do we keep doing it?

Last week I was lucky enough to attend the Willow Creek Leadership Summit in Chicago. I still have a brain hangover from it. It also showed me some ugly things about myself and my reactions to pain. When people hurt me (and I feel so deeply that this happens more than you think), I don't run to God. I run to food. Because food never changes. I know exactly what those Cool Ranch Doritos will taste like, and I need to numb the pain of being hurt, even for a few moments with Dorito crumbs on my fingers.

I wish we would all stop being so tough. I wish we would all climb over these walls we've built. But I know that the reality is that I can't make that change for the whole world, although I will devote my life to trying. I will also commit to running towards the only permanent, loving, eternal person in my life. The person that knows me better than anyone and that will never change, never hurt me, and never leave me.

No one else has claim to that place but Jesus himself.

And to be honest, I could really use some running partners.

-Liz

Sweet little lies

When I started this blog specific to my weight loss journey, it was meant for the sole purpose of holding me accountable to keep at it. I knew that, if I made it known to everyone that I was doing this, that it would be much harder for me to quit.

What it's turned into, is a place for me to be reminded that I am not alone. A lot of us feel the same way, whether or not we've ever admitted it. Today I am struggling with something that I know is universal. It doesn't matter if you're battling weight loss, or if it's something else. Whatever it is, this concept, for me, is all the same:

What happens when you start believing lies?

Over the past few weeks, here are a few lies that I have believed. See, believing in these lies temporarily, even for a moment, creates a setback for me, because it only takes a second for me to fall off the wagon and do something stupid.

Have you ever believed one (or all) of these lies?

1. You can't do it. You'll probably never get to where you want to be, and you've gone pretty far, so give yourself a break.
2. Nobody really knows how you feel.
3. You've talked about this enough with people, they are sick of hearing about it.
4. You deserve this. You need a break. You'll start tomorrow.
5. It's not that big of a deal.
6. _______ doesn't struggle with this, so why should you?

On and on and on, right? I heard a woman in church say something awesome that immediately made me tear up because, she was reading my mind:
"As soon as God asks you to do something, Satan will work overtime to stop you from doing it."

Let me be clear. I believe there is light in this world, and if I believe that, then I have to believe that there is dark in this world. If I believe there is a God, I have to believe there is an enemy. And the enemy doesn't want you to succeed. If you succeed, you will be powerful. You will be closer to God and then darkness loses.

We know that Jesus Christ conquered death. So He has already conquered these lies for us. Yet, we still believe them.

Why do we believe them?

I am learning that it is easier to believe the lies. It is easier to settle. It is easier to do whatever we want. It is easier to believe that we are not worth it, that we were not made for more. It is easier to believe that we, at best, are...

Average.

It is hard for me to say no to cupcakes. It is hard for me to go to meetings where there is a bowl of M&Ms on our table and not eat them (this happened last week, and yes, I ate them). It is hard for me to watch tv at home and not want to snack for hours. It is hard for me to get up in the morning and put on my running shoes and work out. It is hard for me to say no to certain social situations where everyone else can eat whatever they want and not have it directly affect their heart and soul like it does for me.

But it is better.

You and I are not average. We are called to a greater purpose. But there is something that is in the way. Something that prevents us from fully becoming the person the God has made us to be. And when we start to face that thing, that's when we believe the lies and the battle gets serious. It gets serious, because it is truly a BATTLE for your heart and soul. When we lessen the seriousness of the struggle, we lessen our own value and self-worth and before you know it, here we are. Living a paltry version of the abundant life we were created for.

Haven't we been believing lies about ourselves for too long? What would happen if we started believing the truth?

You were made for more than this.

-Liz

...the agony of defeat.

Over the 4th of July week, I went to Mexico to an all-inclusive resort. For some people, moderation relates to the unlimited alcohol you can get there. For me, moderation related to the unlimited food that I got there.

I haven't truly recovered since.

Getting back on track is so hard. SO hard. It's hard for me to come to terms with the scale. It hasn't dipped down to where it used to be. I am tired, I don't want to do the 60 minutes of cardio that I need to do. I don't want to eat well. I want to do...whatever I want.

Pride.

Since the rollercoaster ride was over, I tasted victory that made me feel like I was done with all this. I have gotten too comfortable in this new size so I am not going after losing weight like I need to. I have lost the sense of urgency, forgotten that this is the fight of my life, and ignored it.

Mistake.

Yesterday I pulled myself upstairs to work out. I got on the elliptical and decided to listen to sermons instead of music. I thought of Elevation Church in Charlotte because my friend Cameron goes there. I ended up listening to two random sermons by Steven Furtick.

The first one was about facing your fears (you can find it here). In the middle of it, the pastor said, and I quote (from memory, so it's truly paraphrased):

"Maybe you eat because you're happy, or you're sad. You're celebrating, or your mourning, you're lonely, or you're in community. Overeating is never about a lack of discipline, it's about the presence of fear. Fear is preventing you from living out the life that God has intended for you."

Why was this 30-something, thin pastor guy talking about overeating? Needless to say, I was on the elliptical CRYING. Sweating and crying. I figured it was ok since tears look like my sweat drops anyway. Whatever.

Then the 2nd sermon (you can find it here, try to ignore the cool guy soul patch vibe)...was based on only one verse: 1st Samuel 16:1 which says:

The Lord said to Samuel, “How long will you mourn for Saul, since I have rejected him as king over Israel? 

So the gist of his sermon is this: How long will you continue to mourn for what God has rejected?

How long will I continue to mourn for what God has rejected? For some of us, it's a bad relationship. For some of us, it's an addiction to anything - a person, a thing, a place, a time of life, a job, you name it.

For me, it's my reliance on food. And Furtick CALLS THAT ONE OUT specifically in his sermon! God spoke to me directly through my stupid iPhone podcast on the stupid elliptical. How long will I continue to mourn for Bojangles, for Ben and Jerry, for Krispy Kreme, for feeling painfully full and using food as my comfort? God has clearly rejected this in my life, I have just chosen to ignore Him.

So I went home and I erased my white board with my "# of pounds to next goal" written on it. I need to reset. I need to start over. I need to live today in victory, and that means letting go of the weight I gained back. I am trying to.

Maybe this is Phase 2. Or maybe it's Phase 32. I don't know. I just know that I have to roll with the punches and not give up. I have to move on, realize the seriousness of the battle, and let go of the past.

How long will YOU continue to mourn over something that God has rejected?

-Liz

I'm riding a rollercoaster. And not the metaphorical kind.

Tomorrow, world, is a freaking crazy day. Tomorrow is a day that I never thought I would see. Tomorrow is a dream, a nightmare, a challenge, and a victory.

Tomorrow...I am riding rollercoasters.

Our Y director team is taking a trip to Carowinds for the day, and I have been preparing for it for kind of my whole life. No big deal.

The last time I rode a rollercoaster of any kind was at Hershey Park. I was probably...15 or 16. I remember vividly being in one of those swing things and sitting in them, or should I say, stuffing myself in them. The writing was on the wall. I imagined those chains breaking and launching me in the atmosphere and never being able to get out of that tiny seat again. Needless to say, that was the last ride for me.

So here we go, 20 years later. I would be lying if I said I didn't have any anxiety about this, because I do. Will I fit? Will I get to the front of the long line and be turned away by a smug Carowinds employee? Will the people around me wonder if I'm going to fit, and will they hope that I won't sit anywhere near them?

When I was starting the weight loss stuff, "riding a rollercoaster" was at the top of my list as my far-away, reaching goal. Because as hard as it might be to believe, I never thought I would see the inside of an amusement park again. Tomorrow, that day has arrived.

Big things are happening. No pun intended.

-Liz