The Diet Naked Blog

Accountability

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Trying to be invisible

I had a dream last week in which I was walking down the street in my unflattering cotton knit nightgown.  I wore socks with my black fleece slippers and cradled my pillow in its pink pillowcase against my stomach.  I was homely and repulsive. 

On the other side of the street was someone I knew from college. 

"Hi, Melodee!" the person said.

My heart sank.  I did not want to talk to that person.  She crossed the street.  "What are you doing?" she said.

"Oh, just trying to be invisible," I said. 

* * *

I feel like I've been trying to be invisible.  But instead of shrinking to nothing, disappearing from view, I got fatter.  And the fatter I get, the less people seem to see me.  Which was a relief, in a way.

Yet, I know people see the outside of me, the body I'm in.  They can't see the inside of me unless they really know me, so I'm effectively hidden by my body. 

It's a conundrum.  I don't want to be treated like a fat person.  Yet there is some comfort in being unnoticed because I'm fat and being dismissed as just another fat housewife.  I'm like a superhero in disguise, able to pass through crowds without attention.  (A superhero?  Well, maybe that's a stretch.)

On the other hand, I hate being treated like I'm unkempt, incompetent, inferior.  I hate that eyes pass right over me without meeting mine or taking notice of me. 

I'm trying to be invisible yet I'm distraught at my appearance now that I've done this to myself.  And at the same time, I don't want to be fat and invisible.  

These are the thoughts that roll around in my head since I heard myself say "I'm trying to be invisible" in my dream.

* * *

In the meantime, I've returned to my low-glycemic index roots.  (It's basically the South Beach Diet.  It's funny how the same type of diet has so many names.)  I've had two successful days in a row. 

I exercised every single day in January. 

So, there's that.  Monday I will post my weight and the Diet Naked: The Sequel begins again in earnest.

February means a fresh start

Time to get serious. Again.

No flour. No sugar.

I have a plane ticket to a conference in April. That is my short-term exterior motivation. My long-term interior motivation is my health and how I feel and look.

I look terrible. I feel terrible.

So, back to truly dieting "naked". I'll post my weight next week. (That gives me time to get up the nerve ).

Busy is no excuse to stay fat. What if I'm busy forever?

And so I begin. Again.

Do you eat mindlessly?

I haven't been here for a few days.  I know.  That's never a good sign.

But my exercise streak continues.  I have exercised every day this year.  Hooray!

And I celebrated by 45th birthday.  My husband gave me a Wii Fit which gave me a "Wii Fit Age" of 42.  So there's that. 

Do you notice what I'm not talking about?  That's right.  My actual diet which is still making and keeping me fat.  Sad, very sad.  Also?  Frustrating and embarrassing and ridiculous.

So I will be trying again, starting over, so on and so forth . . . and reporting back here.  Look for me on Monday!  (I know.  It's just a Rule of the Universe to start a new diet--a new Lifestyle--on Mondays.)

Meanwhile, here's a link to an awesome site called Mindless Eating.  (Have you read the book of the same title yet?  It's very enlightening!) 

And the exercise streak continues!

My exercise streak is intact.  Yesterday was a very long day and I confess that I completely forgot about exercising until my husband mentioned, "...and you still have to exercise..."   I really did not WANT to exercise, but the beauty of the streak is that it doesn't matter what you want.  You just do it.  And I did. 

I managed to trip and hurt my right foot pretty badly about a week ago.  It hurts to walk, but luckily, does not hurt at all when I ride my exercise bike.

In other news, I have been (mostly) cookie-free since January 13.  I accidentally ate a cookie at a social gathering a week or so ago and didn't realize until afterward that I ate it.  I mean, I knew I ate it, but I had forgotten that I wasn't eating cookies.  I did not allow that as a reason to eat a whole batch of cookies, though, so that's something. 

A friend recently entered a weight-loss contest.  She told me that she wasn't worried about the eating and exercising part because "that's easy."  She's just worried about getting weighed in front of people.

And I thought how true it is.  Eating right and exercising is not hard if you really want to do it.  I'm frustrated with myself because I keep eating wrong and overeating.  It's like I want the results, but I don't really want to do the right thing.  WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?

But it's a new day.  And it's easy to eat right and exercise.  Right?

Am I hungry?

I'm reading this book called Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat  (There's a related website you can check out called Am I Hungry?)  And that's why tonight I was able to stop myself in the kitchen in the middle of a sort-of binge.

I simply placed my hand on my abdomen and said, "Am I hungry?" 

And I realized that no, I was absolutely not hungry.  So I stopped eating.

I was stressed out.  Tired.  Exhausted after spending almost my entire day with people that I don't know all that well.  (I have an acquaintance who is pregnant with twins who have Twin To Twin Transfusion Syndrome and she just had a specialized laser surgery to try to fix the problem with her unborn babies.  I spent my day, from 2 p.m. to 7 p.m. keeping her company and watching her two-year old and one-year old.  She's on complete bedrest.) 

People wear me out.  I am an introvert--not a crazy hermit-type, but spending time with people depletes me.

At 8 p.m., I left her house (with my 7-year old, who'd spent the whole day with me) and drove directly to a small-group gathering that I attend.  (About a dozen people, give or take.)  I probably shouldn't have gone to that meeting as I was already worn out, but I went.  Then, I returned home in time to work my usual three hour shift (from 9 p.m. to midnight).

I totally wanted to rest, to lay down and watch t.v., maybe, or read.  But I couldn't, because I had to work at my computer.

But I could eat.  And so I did.  I'll spare you the details, but I wasn't hungry after the fat-free popcorn--but I was crazed and kept eating.

At least I realized at some point that I was eating because I was wiped out, emotionally and physically.

So, check out that Am I Hungry? website.  I think it has some really valuable information presented in a clear and useful way.  And then you can ask yourself, "Am I hungry?" 

Smug

You know what I've realized post-weight gain?

There's nothing quite as repellent as a successful dieter who believes he or she has it all figured out.  Was that me?  Was I smug and so unaware?  Did I make people want to stab me in the temple back when the weight was melting off? 

I hereby vow that when I lose this weight (again), I will never ever bring up my weight loss in everyday conversation.  I will never suggest to someone that they do what I do.  I will never announce how many pounds I've lost.  I will never shake my head in pity or wonder why anyone would choose to stay overweight instead of just eating less and moving more.

Self-righteousness is annoying.  And that is not jealousy speaking but horror that maybe that's how I acted when I was wearing smaller pants.  

Humble pie has no calories, you know, so I don't mind eating it.

I will not be America's Next Top Model

Since I gained back (almost) all of my weight (how that pains me), my body looks worse than ever before. 

Maybe this is because I'm older now.  Time's taking it's toll on me.  (I'm going to be 45 in a couple of weeks.)  I have horrible skin, skin which stretches out and doesn't have any interest in springing back into shape.  The fat seems to have congregated with a vengeance in my mid-section in a most unflattering way.  I'm just being honest here.  Things are not pretty.

And whenever I really look at myself, I am disheartened.  It's super depressing to know that no matter how much weight I lose, no matter how much muscle mass I build, my stomach is always going to be ugly.  Stretchmarks stretch across my skin.  I am never going to be America's Next Top Model.

(At least I still have my sense of humor!)

At a certain age--my age, I guess--you have to stop thinking in terms of vanity and looks and start thinking in terms of health and vitality.  I really want to be healthy and fit.  I don't care so much about wearing a bikini (I never did in my life and I'm not about to start now).  I just want to be at a normal body weight.

Really.  I do.

But I still wish that I wasn't so disgusted with how I look.  I wish it didn't matter to me.  I wish I had no mirrors and had never decided when I was a small, normal-sized child that I was FAT. 

It's a sad way to live a life.  I should have been so thankful for my body.  Instead, I loathed it, even though there was nothing wrong with it at all. 

* * *

Today, I was cookie-free! 

Thank you all you kickers-in-the-extra-large-pants

You guys are awesome.  Really.  Did you read the comments in the previous post? All good sound advice, a mixture of tough love and incredulity and no-nonsense help.  Seriously, people, you should write an advice column.

Okay, so here's the deal.  I promise you--and me--that I'm off cookies.  Really.  Cookies are my crack and eventually I'm on the streets clutching cookies in my chubby little hands, stealing cars so I can fund my cookie habit.  (Okay, so I exaggerate, but only about the stealing cars thing.)

And with regards to the cookies--they were purchased from a school fundraiser and we have only a few more boxes left.  While I will not throw them away, I do hereby vow not to eat another one.  I know I'm tempting myself, maybe unnecessarily, but I am strong enough to resist.  If I want to.  Which I do because I want to wear smaller pants!

So, thanks everyone.  I PROMISE.  NO MORE COOKIES.  Let's say . . . until Christmas. 

Self-sabotage is so stupid and yet I can't stop doing it!

I'm eating healthy, whole foods, then ending each night with a bunch of cookies. Someone, please kick me.

At least my exercise streak is intact. I have exercised (mostly on my exercise bike) every day this month. However, the cookies . . . .

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?  (That is a rhetorical question; no answer expected.)