Life lessons from one of the babies

When you're an only child but a part of a really (and I mean, really) large extended family, your cousins become the siblings you never had.

I love my cousins the way most people love their siblings--seriously. My family is incredibly close. Growing up, I'd spend every afternoon with my cousins. Weekend outings, parties, all of it was a huge part of my world growing up...they're my friends, my confidants...my family. My brothers and sisters.

Which is why Thanksgiving was such a highlight for me...life has gotten crazy for all of us as we've gotten older; some of my cousins are off in college right now; others are working their ways through their first jobs, their first big relationships...it's fun to watch and experience with them and catching up with them over turkey and rice and beans (What can I say, we're Cuban!) was the best part of my day.

Of course, my cousins all commented on my weight loss. I got lots of big hugs, congratulations and encouragement. They had questions about how I was doing it, what I wanted, and what my workouts were...and inevitably, I sat and spoke with one of my cousins in particular because she's a fitness buff and she wanted to help. (We actually got a big laugh out of my mom's reaction when I started doing pilates...which went like this: Mom: "You're doing pilates? But that's real exercise. Your cousin D does pilates. Aren't you too fat to do pilates? You know, if D does pilates, that's a good thing. She has a gorgeous body. Why didn't you take up pilates sooner?")

To understand why that was funny to me and my cousin D (who I consider one of the family babies...since she's a whopping six years younger than I am) you have to understand who D is...she's the family starlet. Seriously. The girl is gorgeous. Skin as clear as you can imagine. Long, dark shiny hair. A smile that is perfect and white and has never required braces. And oh yes--the figure. D has the kind of body I would murder someone for. She has curves in all the right places and without an iota of extra fat anywhere...in all seriousness, she is absolutely gorgeous and our family knows--she's the beauty.

But here's the thing--while, sure, there's a little bit of genetic magic in there (How did I skip those genes?), there's a lot of hard work there too. While everyone sat around us stuffing themselves with multiple servings of turkey, ham, stuffing and mashed potatoes loaded with cheese, cream cheese and sour cream (umm....), D sat there, nibbling on a plate full of vegetable sides.

She became a vegetarian a year ago. She works out every day and just listening to her regimen made me exhausted. But it left me inspired. And it reminded me--it does take hard work to reach the goals we have for ourselves.

When it came time for dessert, D indulged--she had one (small) piece of pie. While everyone else ate multiple (large) pieces of pie. She and I sat giggling over the ridiculous quantities of food and how our family just doesn't get it. Somehow, we always have way, way, way too much food to consume. It's the family joke. There's never been a shortage of food at any get together. Ever.

Sitting there and talking to her for most of the day helped me stay on track. How could I be discussing my new healthy lifestyle while I ate a cupcake? Was I supposed to talk about my new workouts between bite after bite of flan and pumpkin pie? I think not.

Having D to talk to, to commiserate with, to laugh with was huge. And it paid its dividends two days later when I went to my WW--and I stayed the same. Was I happy I stayed the same? Not really. But I knew I'd worked to do that--after a week of eating out, after being sick and too tired to work out, after surviving Thanksgiving--staying exactly the same was a minor miracle.

Life has started calming down somewhat for me. I've worked out a few more times. My eating is back on track in the best way possible. I'm actually eager to get back to my meeting this Saturday and see if the number has finally started budging down.

And I know part of what kept me on track during that rough week was my conversation with my baby cousin D...who knew those younger siblings could be so wise?

Desperation...and a scare

I'm still in one piece. Barely, but still in one piece. I had to go out of town last week and ate out every meal...ugh. I tried to do my best, picking grilled chicken entrees, and I even got a gym workout in while I was there.

Then I got hit hard by a cold (that still hasn't gotten better) and just tried to lay low--do my work and get back home in one piece.

Since getting back though, I've been trying to regain a little bit of control over my schedule. Work is still insane, but last night, while I was in the gym I realized how much I needed to make time for my workouts. While on the treadmill, they only thing I was thinking about was my workout--how good (and yet torturous!) it felt; how the sweat was dripping down my neck, how good that cold water tasted. I wasn't thinking about deadlines or editors or games or bosses or Christmas shopping or Thanksgiving with the in-laws. I just thought about me and my body. Have to admit...it was a nice change of pace.

And I realize, my goal of hitting 15 pounds down by Paris is not going to happen...I've hit a wall--a gain a few weeks ago, a loss two weeks ago, and no idea what to expect this week...but it's okay. Last night while watching the Biggest Loser, Mr. CCC and I saw a stat that had us both a little dumbfounded--the average American gains seven pounds between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

So, if I stay at the same weight, I've accomplished something. If I lose any weight, I'll have accomplished something. I'm just setting out to do that right now--lose whatever I can between now and the start of 2008.

And because I haven't had enough proof of why this battle is so important, I got yet another life lesson in desperation and weight loss today.

My stepdad's sister had to be rushed to the hospital this morning...why for you ask? Complications from gastric bypass surgery.

In all reality, I'm not one of those people who is completely opposed to gastric bypass. Sure, I think it's better to try and lose the weight in a healthy way that helps you adjust your habits and doesn't require surgery, but I know that for some people--gastric bypass is the only way out.

Only problem is--my stepdad's sister is NOT one of those people. She was overweight--by about 40 pounds when she had the surgery (it was post-baby weight). Her initial doctor told her she wasn't a good candidate for gastric bypass at all, but unwilling to accept that from her doctor, she began searching for another doctor willing to take her on. To make things easier, she even sewed weights into her clothing so that upon stepping on the scale, the number would be higher.

How a doctor with common sense didn't catch on to that is beyond me (and let's be honest--there are probably more than a few doctors willing to perform this surgery for the money) and she had the surgery a year ago. She's had several complications since.

The most serious came today--when she started bleeding. Upon further research, the ER doctors learned that not only had she had an unnecessary bypass, she had overeaten, rupturing the stitches in her stomach, causing the damage and the bleeding. She had to have emergency surgery to save her life. Her family is a wreck. Her children are scared. Her brother is angry.

I got angry too when I heard the whole sordid story...something my mom didn't understand. She said to me, "How can you be upset? You're trying to lose weight. You've been desperate." I had to explain to her that the reason I was so angry was because stepdad's sister put her life in jeopardy with the surgery. Then she put her life in jeopardy again by overeating when she knew she wasn't able to.

She risked her life for what? To lose an extra 40 pounds? Hey, with some lifestyle adjustments, that comes off. And you don't jeopardize your life. Why anyone would do that--particularly a mother with two small children--boggles my mind. It was selfish vanity....but as one of my friends pointed out to me--vanity is one of the seven deadly sins.

The good news is that it looks like my stepdad's sister is going to make it through this mess. The emergency surgery saved her. She's in recovery right now and everyone is yes, still holding their breath, but a whole lot more hopeful than they were early in the day.

And the whole experience made me grateful--grateful that I haven't reached that point in my life, that I would put vanity above my health; it made me grateful that there are healthy options out there...it made me grateful to know I'm making changes in my life that won't hurt me or the people who care about me.

I can only hope my stepdad's sister learns something similar from this scary experience.

Hiding in shame...and in panic

I know what you're thinking.

I had a gain on the scale and a meltdown ensued.

That's not true. What is true is that I've had 3 weeks with 2 days off; I've worked nights more than I've worked days. I haven't had time to set foot in a gym (Literally--it's a little hard when you're working 9 a.m. to about oh, midnight)...heck, I haven't had time to set foot in a grocery store. Combine all that and you get a meltdown.

This time of year is brutal for me at work; It's been so bad the other day my boss called me into her office and asked if I was okay--because one of my coworkers confessed to her she was ready to crawl in a hole and cry. I've gone through this before and I'm used to it, so I told my boss I wasn't ready to throw it all to hades--but I was close. And at least for now, I'm starting to see a *little* bit of light at the end of the tunnel.

With all of this going on, I'll be honest. It's been hard to make myself a priority. Gym time? Laughable. Even my WW meeting last week had to be abandoned when I was called in for a last-minute assignment. And this weekend, I'll be packing my bag for an business trip. To make matters worse, I didn't even feel like I was in control of anything--including my eating.

I wouldn't say I've gone overboard with my eating--I haven't. But I do know that I haven't been in control of it. I've skipped meals because literally, taking the time to go get or heat food has been impossible. I've snarfed down dinners at 11:30 p.m. because I had to eat *something* and I was starving.

I've been abusing my body and while I can get away with that for a little while, it started catching up with me in the past few days. Even my face looks tired--dark circles under my eyes that inudstrial-strength concealer can't hide; two giant cystic pimples that I know are stress-induced and just a general dullness that has left me feeling on top of exhausted, ugly. (Not a good combination for me since I'm self-conscious to start out with.)

The good news? Like I said--I'm starting to regain a little more control. Yesterday, even though I wasn't finished with my work, I got up early and left for my Pilates class; when a coworker asked where I was going and why I was leaving early I said, "I'll finish my project tomorrow."

After Pilates, I stopped at the grocery store and picked up a few healthy items to make dinner for a few days; this morning, I had a chance to sleep in and tomorrow morning, I'll face the scale. No matter what it says, I'll pick myself up and move forward.

I realize I've probably jeopardized my goal of losing 15 pounds before New Year's...and that bothers me, but I will keep on plugging...who knows? Maybe the damage isn't as bad as I think (Or I'm just eternally optimistic)

Now back to your regularly scheduled weight loss pattern...

Well, at least I had an idea it might be coming.

The fact that I lost weight for three weeks in a row was intoxicating stuff. Heady stuff. Stuff that had me optimistic and happy. But when I woke up this morning and could barely get my rings on, I knew my streak would come to an end.

Sure enough, got to my meeting, stepped on the scale and there it was. A nice, little, lovely 1-pound gain. Ugh.

Thankfully, the weigher didn't say anything, just noted my weight and sent me on my merry way. No offense to all the folks doing the weigh-ins across America, but a lot of us aren't chatty when that happens. I hate the "What happened?" question or the "You'll lose it next week" comment. In that split second, I'm upset. I don't want to talk about it. I want to take my papers, listen to my leader and start a new week.

Which is what I did. But part of me can't help but wonder what happened and why. The only difference from this week to last was that we eat out twice, instead of once. Okay, that's not bad. I didn't go over my points, but for the first time in this journey, I had to tap into eating activity points. I usually don't like to do that. And I won't again. Even though APs are designed to be eaten, for most of this journey, I haven't eaten them. The one week I did, I gained. I'm not going down that road again.

But that said, part of me seriously wonders if I've hurt my body with all the countless, unsuccessful efforts to lose weight. I've read in countless health magazines how bad yo-yo dieting is for the body. And I'm ashamed to say it, but I've been one of those yo-yo dieters.

I've been dieting as long as I can remember; I started my first serious weight loss effort when I was 14. Lost weight, gained it back. My next serious effort came in my early 20's, when I saw myself in a picture and didn't recognize who I was. Midway through that journey, Mr. CCC proposed and I had a new-found reason to stay on plan.

But about a month before the wedding, the stress of my job, of buying a home, of putting the final touches on the wedding plans got to me. I didn't have the motivation to count points, weigh my foods and go to meetings. So I stopped WW and didn't pick it up again until about a year after the wedding--when I'd gained about 25-30 pounds.

There were fruitless efforts there too. My mind wasn't right and I'd quit after a few weeks. Then I'd try again. Eventually, I ended up at Jenny Craig at my highest weight ever. But that too petered out after a few months and that brought me where I am now.

For the first time in my life, my head is in the right place. Save a few weeks here and there, I do have my mojo going. Yesterday, I didn't want to go to the gym. I was miserable, but I made myself go. When we ate out, I stayed within my points and passed up all the evil goodies my husband and parents were having.

I've traded my Starbucks for healthy, low-fat smoothies at Jamba Juice. I've traded my fast-food meals for healthier options. I want to do this, I want to put forth the effort, but my body seems to be resistant.

Has it finally gotten fed up? Have I finally blown my metabolism to smithereens? Is that why no matter what I do, my little "pattern" has shown up--two losses and a gain, two losses and a gain, now three losses and a again.

It's seriously sobering and maybe I have done my body wrong. Heaven knows I've certainly had plenty of nasty words for my body. Maybe my body now has a nasty message for me. I really don't know. But I am scared...scared that 15+ years of gaining and losing weight have taken their toll. Because on paper, everything should be going well.

For the first time in my life, I'm exercising consistently. I love sitting down on Saturday or Sunday afternoons, flipping through my cookbooks to look for healthy recipes for the week. I'm eating more veggies. I'm drinking more water.

You think my body would be happy that for once, I'm treating it well. But it just seems so determined to hang on to every ounce of fat it can.

I've said before I've felt this was going to be a long, hard fight. Nothing made that more evident than my weigh-in today. By all accounts, looking at the facts, I shouldn't have gained. But I did.

And that's what has me thinking...is my body finally fed up with me? And if it is, do I have any hope of changing it?

Well, that's nice to know!

Two nights ago, I left work and dragged myself to the grocery store. It's funny. Before I was trying to eat healthy and make better choices, I loved doing groceries. Now, it's more of a weekly chore...it has to be done because we have to eat.

(Let's be honest--I know eating well is hugely important, but our grocery bill was also much cheaper before. And it requires a lot more time when you're reading nutritional labels instead of just tossing stuff in the cart. Hence why now groceries feels like a chore and not a fun outing.)

After about an hour of walking up and down the aisle, I headed to pay and noticed the woman standing in front of me in line--how could I not?

She was decked out in her workout gear. But it was the gear itself that made me smile...a leotard, leg warmers, a headband. It was very Flashdance and I had to take a look around to make sure I hadn't accidentally stepped back into 1982.

Of course it was still 2007 and it was her outfit that was dated, but hey--while it was dated, it was workout gear. Good for her for taking care of herself. She was a little older and as I started loading my groceries onto the belt behind her groceries, I noticed all the healthy things she was buying.

I kept thinking to myself, "Hey, this could be me in 30 years...in good shape, with a cart full of healthy groceries." Because really--despite the neon pink legwarmers, it was clear this woman looked good.

Then she turned around and smiled and there was a moment of recognition on both ends--it was my WW leader!

I took a quick look at my cart, wondering what in there I didn't want her to see and then it hit me...I was proud of everything in the cart. Yogurt, low-fat milk, lean proteins, veggies. Even the few junk food snacks were of the 100-calorie variety. There wasn't a fatty item or a bottle of soda to be found anywhere.

Woo hoo!

We exchanged pleasantries, but as she walked away it popped into my mind. I know that losing weight and getting myself in better shape is a journey with no end point. And this little encounter proved it.

My WW leader obviously still has to work to maintain her weight. And she does. She exercises, she eats healthy foods. She's still working on it. And I'll be working on it all my life too.

I admit--the entire experience left me feeling encouraged. It was clear that my WW leader practices what she preaches. When she stands up there every Saturday morning and shares her story, she's not exaggerating. When she tells us she still exercises, she means it. When she says she indulges responsibly and makes healthier choices, she isn't kidding.

It's nice to know she really has fought the same battle and that even today, she continues fighting. It's a lot more than lip service for some!

Quick! Look out your window!

Did you see a pig fly? Are your feet a little chilly?

Because something is seriously up with the universe...get this...for the first time since I started this journey, I lost weight for the third consecutive week.

Not kidding! At my weigh-in this past weekend, I actually lost 1.4 pounds, bringing my total to 32.4 pounds. Three straight weeks of weight loss? Surely, the universe must be turned upside down on its axis. Hades has frozen over. Seriously people--this is a rare moment!

Am I being overdramatic? Sure. But really, I have to be honest--not even when I STARTED this journey did I lose weight 3 weeks in a row. In fact, my second week on WW, I actually GAINED weight. So after two weeks of good losses, when I arrived at my meeting this weekend, I was fully prepared to see the scale go up.

I've accepted this process is going to be a lot slower than I'd hoped. And I've already discovered my body's little pattern when it comes to weight loss--I'll lose for two weeks, then gain the next. Then it's back to losing for two more weeks before the next gain. For the most part, this is what my journey has been like. At first it drove me bananas, but after sharing my frustration with my WW leader (and learning her body did the same), I've just come to accept this is the way it is. My body loves fat and doesn't want to let it go. Got it.

Knowing this, I'd mentally prepared myself for the worst. Even though I'd exercised, eaten well, and done what I was supposed to. Imagine my surprise when I looked up at the scale and saw the loss. I literally giggled. Out loud. Like a little kid.

I left with a spring in my step and then a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I'm absolutely going to gain weight this week, aren't I? :)

It's just a number, right?

You'll never believe what I did the other day.

I told someone--actually, a few someones--what I weighed.

I know to some people this isn't a huge deal. I read so many of the great weight loss blogs out there and am just so impressed with the way some people are willing to put their number out there.

But me? I would rather share my social security number and bank account number than tell people what I weigh. Or worse--tell them what I weighed when I started this journey. Which is why what I did the other day surprised me so much.

My friends and I were talking (okay, more like chatting back and forth via email), and I'm not even sure how, but we got on the topic of weight loss. And before long, after dancing around just how much weight I needed to lose and what the ugly numbers were, I decided to stop dancing.

And I told my friends what I weighed. I told them how much I had weighed when I started. I told them how much weight I still had to lose. And I told them the most embarrassing stat of all--that once, I'd been successful at losing weight. That I'd dropped 60 pounds before I got married and gained it all back in the 3 years after that.

Now let's be honest--my friends have seen me. They've seen pictures. They know I'm not at the weight I was when I walked down the aisle, but the numbers themselves tell the story.

Moments after I hit send, I had a momentary thought of horror. Were my friends sitting at their computers, mouths agape, thinking to themselves, "Holy jeez! I know she was fat...but I didn't know she was THAT fat!?!?"

But before long, the emails picked up and get this--suddenly, my friends started spilling their weights. What they weighed when they got married. How much weight they gained during their pregnancies. How much weight they wanted to lose. What their lowest weights had been, what their highest weights had been.

And you know what--it felt good. Almost liberating. We were all encouraging each other; no one said anything bad about anyone else or their number. It was one of those moments you really think, "Wow. I am so lucky to have such amazing friends!"

So I figured...it felt good to say it the other day, maybe it'll feel as good to say it here.

When I started this journey I weighed more than I ever have in my entire life...255 pounds. Now, I'm at 224 pounds. I've still got a long way to go, but I realized its time I let those numbers stop haunting me the way they do.

Because when all is said and done, they're just numbers. There's no reason to hide them. They don't define me as a person. They don't say anything about the kind of wife I am, the kind of daughter I am, or the kind of friend I am.

They're just numbers. And I'm not going to be afraid of them anymore.