340.0 lbs...down 4.2 pounds for 4.2 total pounds lost.
I'll complete the other measurements monthly.
I have to say that is very decent for my first week. You'll notice that one week would actually be posted on Day 8, but because I started this from the day I took my measurements, it has technically been a week. I think it will be easier to keep track of this way anyway--Monday weigh ins, and weeks on the days as multiples of 7 (7 days in a week, that kind of thing). Anyway, congratulations me!!! I'm well on my weigh...sorry, I couldn't resist.
So about that website I was talking about on Day 5. It came from today's dietitian: http://todaysdietitian.com/newarchives/040609p28.shtml
The article talks about hunger and appetite control during weight loss. This key statement, "Hunger is defined as a strong desire or need for food, while satiety is the condition of being full or gratified" is what I'm trying to manage at this point. I always feel hungry which prompted me to look into it a little bit. It's interesting that the author defined hunger as a strong desire or need for food. This past week I've tried controlling my portion sizes and have found that I thought I was hungry. Maybe because of my increased energy expenditures, or maybe because I've tried to limit my portions to what I believe are "normal" portions and appropriate servings sizes, using Canada's Food Guide (http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/fn-an/food-guide-aliment/index-eng.php) as my reference. Doing these things have left me feeling hungry, or so I think. I remember something about either Biggest Loser or Dr. Phil talking about emotional eating. (I'm sure I'm not the only fat person in the world who obsesses about weight loss and watches these shows, reads books, looks for sources online, orders infomercial DVD's, ANYTHING to help them lose weight).
Anyway, this article, along with the wisdom of my wonderful husband made something click in my head. My husband's tool was to think of something you absolutely hate, and ask yourself if you would eat it. When he asked me this I said liver and onions with Brussels sprouts on the side--oh at the time I could murder 2 plates full. So I think that was me being hungry. Yesterday night after dinner I wanted ice cream. I asked myself if I was hungry, and this time I was NOT! I ended up having it anyway because I wanted it.
So why did I want it? I was craving it. Was it the sugar? What it an emotional need to fill some void? I don't know. What I do know is I didn't get this fat from just eating too much because I was that hungry. Like the article says, our brains help us know when we need to eat, and when we don't, and that there are so many complex issues surrounding food that no wonder it is difficult to figure out why I wanted it so badly. It was Father's Day and I felt I deserved a treat.
Where did this entitlement come from? Why an edible treat? Why not a nice walk on a warm evening? Food was serving an emotional purpose.
I'm not saying that for the rest of my life I'm not going to indulge in birthday cake on my birthday or a nice dinner out with dessert on my anniversary. I believe food should be enjoyed. I also believe food should be used primarily for fuel.
At church yesterday we had a good Sunday school lesson on the Word of Wisdom. If people these days would life by the Word of Wisdom, how many diet related diseases would we have? Having things in moderation was one of the keys for health that was discussed. So I can incorporate a spiritual component to my healthy lifestyle and use food in moderation. Food is enjoyable as it is social. We just have to be careful and use it wisely.
So going back to my hunger, I think that it's a combination of things. First off, if you've looked at my meals, I don't believe any of them to be too restrictive, or even restrictive at all. What I've done is not paid much attention to calories, but serving sizes. By cutting down the serving sizes to my appropriate daily needs, I'm eating much less. I've somehow through the years learned how to eat more and more and my body, physiologically, has needed it to maintain this weight. When I find myself hungry, I try to check myself and really make sure if I'm truly hungry or just wanting something more for another reason. I'm trying to eat often, 4 or 5 meals a day so that I'm not going too many hours for my blood sugar to drop too much and send me on a spike and drop ride. I think I just have to give my body time to adjust to the smaller portions as I believe my big body is rebelling, wanting all of it to be fed but I just want to feed my smaller, healthier body. I'm able to do my workouts and I'm not falling asleep at the wheel, and I'm sleeping beautifully! (Many undisturbed by snoring nights.) I'm waking up feeling good and rested. I'm not sleeping too much or too little (7-9 hours). Other than overall tiredness, likely from this sudden change, I'm actually feeling great--even have a better mood. It makes me wonder what took me so long. You make small changes like I am doing and eventually it will become habit and lifestyle and before you know it, I'll be posting my after photo (I still have yet to decide what before photo I'll post and how much of my face I'm going to blur out). I'll post my before photo soon. I should do it before I lose anymore, not that 4.2 pounds is all that noticeable, but hopefully I'll wake up one Monday and it will be 104.2 pounds. It seems so far off in the distant future that's it's not even attainable, but I just have to have faith that I'm getting my life back and I'm going to be healthy, and soon enough the numbers with coincide with that idea.
Meals
2 flour tortillas
2 eggs
1/3 cup shredded cheddar & mozzarella cheese
1/4 cup salsa
1 apple
2 cups of water
3 cups of water
1/2 cup mashed potatoes with skin
1 tbsp herb & garlic light cream cheese
1 tsp Becel margarine
2 mini pizzas (Pillsbury: one cheese, one deluxe)
3 cups of water
2 cups of water
Exercise
54 minutes interval training treadmill
30 minutes lower body machines
10 minutes stretching
35 minutes light walk around the neighborhood
Notes:
-Before you criticize me about my food today, I KNOW! I should have eaten lunch for another meal at the very least, where the heck are my fruits and vegetables (I'm beginning to see a pattern here), and with all this exercise I need more protein to support my muscles. Excellent water intake.
-Excellent workout. I'm very pleased with my efforts and the numbers don't lie! I must be doing something right.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Day 6
A little late posting yesterday's events...
Happy Father's Day!
This day always gets to me, along with Mother's Day, and all the other birth and death anniversaries I remember every year about people most significant to me. Dad and I had an awkward relationship. It was pretty much hell growing up. I didn't really know him while mom was alive; he went to work, came home and ate dinner, then us younger kids would be in bed before any kind of bonding or relationship activities would take place that I can remember, aside from TV or reading to him at the table. On the weekends we would have to go to our Grandparents' house to work in the yard pruning orange and fig trees, picking grapes from the vine, mowing the yard, or picking up walnuts that had fallen from the overgrown tree. I don't have very many good memories of those times, as dad was the authoritarian figure and most of my time was spent crying from the pressure to be perfect and him yelling to enforce the same.
After mom died, Dad really didn't have a clue on how to raise functional children. Our dysfunction stems from the inability to appropriately communicate and dysfunctional coping mechanisms like anger quickly leading to yelling, name calling, and put downs. From the age of 13 I had this man as my father, but I was the mother--cook, clean, laundry, phone calls, mailing bills, etc. I rebelled soon after and what time I did spend at home was tarnished with the same dysfunction as in earlier years, only magnified because I had learned these coping mechanisms and used them myself. I tried staying away from home as much as I could. By the time I was 18, I started going to college and home was a place with my clothes, a bed, food; so I managed to deal with it. The yelling toned down a bit; maybe the old man (a term of endearment in the better times) was getting older, or maybe I was growing out of my teenage angst. So fights were more infrequent, but I saw my younger brother go through similar hardships with communication and being quick to anger.
By the time I met Andrew and moved out of my father's house, we were amicable at best times, yet I was quick to criticise Dad and still had a very generally unwell feeling about being around him for too long. A year or so and a visit or two passed and something changed. I started calling Dad to see how he was, after all, he and my younger brother were the only two left at the house. He would tell me about dates he'd go on, and women who broke up with him, how I was doing in school, when we'd come visit again. This went on for another year, then the calls became more frequent. One night he called and asked for health advise. He had gone to the doctor because he thought he had a heart attack. The doctor was unable to conclusively say yes or no, as he had waited days before going and some of the more definite markers were unable to be traced by then. He was given pills upon pills to manage all the risk factors he did have like type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, obesity, alcoholism, depression. He believed in holistic medicine because he witnessed my mom go through a painful battle with colorectal cancer which spread quickly to her liver that (inevitably) ended up taking her life. He believed that it was better to take supplements to improve his health rather than to take many of his prescribed pills because of the awful side effects he had. When he asked, my advise was to listen to your doctor and to live as if you had a heart attack; take care of your body. Our phones calls got more frequent until they became weekly events that I eventually looked forward to making and receiving. We had a plan that one week he'd call, and then next week I'd call. If I ever missed a week, he was quick to make sure to call to make sure I was okay. My missing calls wasn't often and more related to lack of time and stress from going to university. I'd call him the same for his missed calls. I remember one conversation so vividly because he called me "sweetie" and told me he always felt better after talking to me. He was not one to say I love you, I've heard him tell me that less times than I can count on one hand. I never believed he did either until our phone calls started. I learned that he was doing the best he could, this was just him; and I started to love the person that he was for who he was, and tried to bite my tongue if I could when I disagreed with him. That was still a bit difficult.
Then one night, the 29th of December, he called to make sure I was okay. It was a little out of the blue because I had just talked with him on Christmas. He said he wasn't feeling well, but again, just talking was doing him good. He asked if I needed money for school because he had been paying my tuition. I told him not this time; this time we'll pay for it. I lied; Andrew and I couldn't really afford it, we had to use a credit card, but I wanted him to be proud of me that we were making it and that I was growing up and could be independent. The call was short.
I started up a fresh new semester of school. I was hitting the books hard, working in the school library, and trying to make A's. Life was suddenly very busy. After my first few days of school, I was so in love with my education--the prospect of becoming a registered nurse--and so in love with studying and what I was doing that time came away from me. It was January 9th and I was going to call Dad to tell him about my excitement as I had not called this week yet and it was time for a call anyway, but I had to have my first assignment in so I decided to study and call him the next day. That evening my younger brother called to tell me Dad had passed suddenly of an unexpected heart attack.
The majority of my life up until then had be spent hating this man up until about 3 years before his passing. Sometimes I wanted him to die. I wanted the hell that I was living to be over with. But then as it happened all too swiftly, I loved my Daddy and I was so proud of the accomplishment we made to have a civil and loving relationship--so quickly that was ripped away from me. I thought it's not fair. Earlier in years past, I thought he was going to be the angry alcoholic until 99 and my whole life would be overcast with this gloom forever. Right before his passing it was-- well not anymore, I have the version of this Dad that I always wanted and more. I thank God for the blessing that we were able to restore our relationship to a pure version, one I think that we both wanted but never knew how to get. I sometimes feel guilty for being the reason why we failed at love for so many years. But the last years were so magnificent in comparison that I ache for the relationship we had. So when I think of Father's Day, or his birthday, or his death anniversary, or my parent's wedding anniversary, I have a bittersweet nostalgia bathe my soul. I have my own kind of heart attack, Daddy. I miss you.
As for my loving husband: He's not a daddy to a living child yet, but we call each other mommy and daddy in reference to our 90 lb labcat (lab/catahoula cross) B. We don't celebrate exactly, but we give each other allowance for a pretty fantastic day. He's brought me flowers on Mother's day; I've written him a card from B that I just found out he still has. :) So we relaxed yesterday. There was lots of fun had after church playing the Sims 3, listening to him play guitar, and watching one of "his" movies. During sacrament I thought it was more important to obey the sabbath and stay home instead of working out. The blessing of obeying that was having a wonderful day with my husband. My body needs rest anyway, and that feels like a justification for not working out because in my mind I still feel like I need to go all out 2 hours, every day of the week. I'm still learning to balance.
Meals
1 bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios
1 cup of milk
1 60% whole wheat hamburger bun
1/4 cup whole wheat spaghetti (l/o)
1/8 jar Ragu
2 oz meatballs
1 cup lettuce/tomato
1/2 cup potato salad (l/o)
2 cups of water
2 cups of water
1 cup mashed potatoes with skin
2 tbsp herb and garlic light cream cheese
2 tsp Becel margarine
2 cups of water
1 1/2 cups of cookie dough ice cream!
1 cup of water
Exercise
Rest
Notes:
-I caved in with the ice cream. Here's my mantra the entire time I was contemplating eating it: "I am health. I need balance." The rest of the day was alright. I'm finding that I'm still lacking the fibrous fruits and vegetables that I need and I've been eating a LOT of potatoes recently. That's what happens when you have left overs.
-My body needs rest. I'll be okay resting today as long as I work out tomorrow.
Happy Father's Day!
This day always gets to me, along with Mother's Day, and all the other birth and death anniversaries I remember every year about people most significant to me. Dad and I had an awkward relationship. It was pretty much hell growing up. I didn't really know him while mom was alive; he went to work, came home and ate dinner, then us younger kids would be in bed before any kind of bonding or relationship activities would take place that I can remember, aside from TV or reading to him at the table. On the weekends we would have to go to our Grandparents' house to work in the yard pruning orange and fig trees, picking grapes from the vine, mowing the yard, or picking up walnuts that had fallen from the overgrown tree. I don't have very many good memories of those times, as dad was the authoritarian figure and most of my time was spent crying from the pressure to be perfect and him yelling to enforce the same.
After mom died, Dad really didn't have a clue on how to raise functional children. Our dysfunction stems from the inability to appropriately communicate and dysfunctional coping mechanisms like anger quickly leading to yelling, name calling, and put downs. From the age of 13 I had this man as my father, but I was the mother--cook, clean, laundry, phone calls, mailing bills, etc. I rebelled soon after and what time I did spend at home was tarnished with the same dysfunction as in earlier years, only magnified because I had learned these coping mechanisms and used them myself. I tried staying away from home as much as I could. By the time I was 18, I started going to college and home was a place with my clothes, a bed, food; so I managed to deal with it. The yelling toned down a bit; maybe the old man (a term of endearment in the better times) was getting older, or maybe I was growing out of my teenage angst. So fights were more infrequent, but I saw my younger brother go through similar hardships with communication and being quick to anger.
By the time I met Andrew and moved out of my father's house, we were amicable at best times, yet I was quick to criticise Dad and still had a very generally unwell feeling about being around him for too long. A year or so and a visit or two passed and something changed. I started calling Dad to see how he was, after all, he and my younger brother were the only two left at the house. He would tell me about dates he'd go on, and women who broke up with him, how I was doing in school, when we'd come visit again. This went on for another year, then the calls became more frequent. One night he called and asked for health advise. He had gone to the doctor because he thought he had a heart attack. The doctor was unable to conclusively say yes or no, as he had waited days before going and some of the more definite markers were unable to be traced by then. He was given pills upon pills to manage all the risk factors he did have like type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, obesity, alcoholism, depression. He believed in holistic medicine because he witnessed my mom go through a painful battle with colorectal cancer which spread quickly to her liver that (inevitably) ended up taking her life. He believed that it was better to take supplements to improve his health rather than to take many of his prescribed pills because of the awful side effects he had. When he asked, my advise was to listen to your doctor and to live as if you had a heart attack; take care of your body. Our phones calls got more frequent until they became weekly events that I eventually looked forward to making and receiving. We had a plan that one week he'd call, and then next week I'd call. If I ever missed a week, he was quick to make sure to call to make sure I was okay. My missing calls wasn't often and more related to lack of time and stress from going to university. I'd call him the same for his missed calls. I remember one conversation so vividly because he called me "sweetie" and told me he always felt better after talking to me. He was not one to say I love you, I've heard him tell me that less times than I can count on one hand. I never believed he did either until our phone calls started. I learned that he was doing the best he could, this was just him; and I started to love the person that he was for who he was, and tried to bite my tongue if I could when I disagreed with him. That was still a bit difficult.
Then one night, the 29th of December, he called to make sure I was okay. It was a little out of the blue because I had just talked with him on Christmas. He said he wasn't feeling well, but again, just talking was doing him good. He asked if I needed money for school because he had been paying my tuition. I told him not this time; this time we'll pay for it. I lied; Andrew and I couldn't really afford it, we had to use a credit card, but I wanted him to be proud of me that we were making it and that I was growing up and could be independent. The call was short.
I started up a fresh new semester of school. I was hitting the books hard, working in the school library, and trying to make A's. Life was suddenly very busy. After my first few days of school, I was so in love with my education--the prospect of becoming a registered nurse--and so in love with studying and what I was doing that time came away from me. It was January 9th and I was going to call Dad to tell him about my excitement as I had not called this week yet and it was time for a call anyway, but I had to have my first assignment in so I decided to study and call him the next day. That evening my younger brother called to tell me Dad had passed suddenly of an unexpected heart attack.
The majority of my life up until then had be spent hating this man up until about 3 years before his passing. Sometimes I wanted him to die. I wanted the hell that I was living to be over with. But then as it happened all too swiftly, I loved my Daddy and I was so proud of the accomplishment we made to have a civil and loving relationship--so quickly that was ripped away from me. I thought it's not fair. Earlier in years past, I thought he was going to be the angry alcoholic until 99 and my whole life would be overcast with this gloom forever. Right before his passing it was-- well not anymore, I have the version of this Dad that I always wanted and more. I thank God for the blessing that we were able to restore our relationship to a pure version, one I think that we both wanted but never knew how to get. I sometimes feel guilty for being the reason why we failed at love for so many years. But the last years were so magnificent in comparison that I ache for the relationship we had. So when I think of Father's Day, or his birthday, or his death anniversary, or my parent's wedding anniversary, I have a bittersweet nostalgia bathe my soul. I have my own kind of heart attack, Daddy. I miss you.
As for my loving husband: He's not a daddy to a living child yet, but we call each other mommy and daddy in reference to our 90 lb labcat (lab/catahoula cross) B. We don't celebrate exactly, but we give each other allowance for a pretty fantastic day. He's brought me flowers on Mother's day; I've written him a card from B that I just found out he still has. :) So we relaxed yesterday. There was lots of fun had after church playing the Sims 3, listening to him play guitar, and watching one of "his" movies. During sacrament I thought it was more important to obey the sabbath and stay home instead of working out. The blessing of obeying that was having a wonderful day with my husband. My body needs rest anyway, and that feels like a justification for not working out because in my mind I still feel like I need to go all out 2 hours, every day of the week. I'm still learning to balance.
Meals
1 bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios
1 cup of milk
1 60% whole wheat hamburger bun
1/4 cup whole wheat spaghetti (l/o)
1/8 jar Ragu
2 oz meatballs
1 cup lettuce/tomato
1/2 cup potato salad (l/o)
2 cups of water
2 cups of water
1 cup mashed potatoes with skin
2 tbsp herb and garlic light cream cheese
2 tsp Becel margarine
2 cups of water
1 1/2 cups of cookie dough ice cream!
1 cup of water
Exercise
Rest
Notes:
-I caved in with the ice cream. Here's my mantra the entire time I was contemplating eating it: "I am health. I need balance." The rest of the day was alright. I'm finding that I'm still lacking the fibrous fruits and vegetables that I need and I've been eating a LOT of potatoes recently. That's what happens when you have left overs.
-My body needs rest. I'll be okay resting today as long as I work out tomorrow.
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