Silencing your inner whiner

“But I want it!”

“I’m sorry honey, not today.”

“Pleaaaase, I really need it.”

“You got a (greasy hamburger/mocha latte/double fudge sundae) yesterday!”

“BUT I WANT ONE NOOOOOWWWWW!”

Sound familiar?

Chances are if you’ve spent much time dieting, you’ve had that same conversation with yourself more times than you can count. I know I have.

Don’t kid yourself. Dieting, by it’s very nature, demands a healthy dose of self-denial. After all, most of us got, um, overly voluptuous by giving in to our inner five-year-olds a few too many times.

So what should you do when you find yourself in this situation?

Different things work for different people. Some say that allowing yourself to have “just one bite” of whatever you’re craving does the trick.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s baloney. For me, that single bite turns into several, and before I know it, I’ve polished off the whole thing. I’ve found other, more effective ways to kick that craving:

“You can have (blank) if you (blank).” Fill in that second blank with an odious task—doing dishes, folding laundry, scrubbing the toilet…the possibilities are endless. Chances are, you’ll procrastinate long enough that by the time you’re done, you’ll have forgotten what it was you were craving.
Pull on those workout clothes and move. Yep, I know. That’s the last thing you feel like doing. But if you can manage it, you really will feel better. Plus, after working up a sweat, you won’t want to redo what you just undid.

Get out your fattest fat ass picture and stare at it. Keep staring until you remember why you started dieting in the first place.

Find a lower calorie substitute for whatever you’re craving. Personally, I’m a fan of the Smart Ones desserts by Weight Watchers…I’ll post more ideas another day.

And if, at the end of all that, you still want (blank), just eat it. It’s okay to fall off the wagon every once in a while. Just make sure it doesn’t leave you behind.

Cue the Jaws Music

This past Saturday, my husband and I made a little expedition up to The Mall.

To give you a little background, I used to looooove going to the mall. Shopping was one of my very favorite pastimes. But then, my Inner Fat Girl got loose. And when she did, clothing stores, along with their dressing rooms, turned into torture chambers filled with funhouse mirrors.

I cried. I threw tantrums. And finally, I just stopped going. Before Saturday, I hadn’t been on a Serious Shopping Trip in almost three years.

The night before, I was so anxious, I couldn’t sleep. I woke up in a foul mood and snarled at my husband all the way to the mall. When we stepped inside the first store (H&M, in case you’re curious), I was convinced everybody was staring at me—wondering if I’d gotten lost on my way to the fat girl store. By the time I actually found myself in a fitting room, I was well on my way to having a nervous breakdown.

But then something amazing happened. I pulled on a skirt, sucked in my stomach and pulled up the zipper. And…it zipped.

At first, I thought it was a fluke.

So I tried on another skirt. And a couple of shirts. And then some more skirts. And more shirts—this time, button downs. And even, feeling really brave, some pants.

And they fit. They didn’t all look good, but they zipped, buttoned, fastened…generally covering the areas they were supposed to cover without making my body look like a stress ball that’s been squished one too many times.

In the end, I bought seven shirts and two skirts at H&M.

And that was just the beginning.

In fact, I managed to spend more money in a single day than I’ve spent on clothes in the last three years combined. I even got a bathing suit. Not a bikini (no one needs to see that), but a bathing suit.

It felt good.

My husband, bless his heart, soldiered through the day without a single word of complaint. He waited patiently outside fitting rooms, giving advice when asked, keeping his mouth shut when he wasn’t.

But when we finally arrived home, he got very, very drunk—something he doesn’t do very often.

I think I’ll drag some of my girlfriends next time.

Another failed plan

The key to a successful diet is careful planning. Especially when it comes to eating out. I know that. In fact, I almost always get online to look at a restaurant’s menu to see what I can “legally” eat before I go.

I went to a Mexican restaurant for lunch. When I go to a Mexican place, I always get chicken fajitas, minus the tortillas. That costs me 6 or 7 points (I’m a Weight Watchers kinda girl). And that’s what I ordered today.

But that’s not what I got. When our order came out, the server presented me with steak fajitas. Now, the logical thing to do would have been to send it back. So is that what I did?

Nope.

I didn’t want to wait for them to cook another batch.

I didn’t want my husband to feel like he couldn’t eat his meal.

Most of all, I didn’t want to have to tell the server he made a mistake. I’m not good with confrontations.

So I ate it. After all, I thought, how bad can steak be for you?

The answer? Very bad. That stupid cow meat doubled the points value of my meal.

And you know what that means? It means I have to have 0 point soup and salad without dressing for dinner. Mmmm, scrumptious.

So, what have we learned today?

First, I need to grow a spine.

And second, even the best plan in the world won’t do you any good if you don’t stick to it.

The pics that started it all.

A picture, as the saying goes, is worth a thousand words. So I’m going to be brave and post a couple of the photos that were my undoing—or maybe my doing? I don’t know.

However, thanks to my persistent begging, the powers-that-be have granted my request to have new photos taken. I’m sure they won’t be as spiffy as these, but if they turn out at all good, I’ll post ‘em so y’all can see where I’m at now.

I can’t figure out how to make them look pretty here, so until I do, I’ll put them on Shutterfly. Here’s the link:

share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0Aas3LRy2btmLtY

Fast Forward

So here we are in March 2008.

I finally sent my outer fat girl packing. To date, I’ve lost 43 pounds. I’m still not the skinny bitch I used to be, but I can look at myself in the mirror.

And when I do, I can see my collar bone. And my pelvic bones. And the outline of my ribs. Parts of my body that I didn’t realize were missing until they suddenly reappeared.

Of course, there was no “suddenly” about it. It’s been a looooong haul. A whole year filled with hunger pangs, sore muscles and yes, the occasional tantrum ( I get cranky when I’m hungry).

I’m not done yet, either. I’ve got at least another seven pounds to go. At least.

But I’m more than a little bit proud of myself for getting this far. Now, when I’m standing in front of my closet thinking I’ve got nothing to wear, it’s because my clothes are too big. I had to punch a new hole in my belt. Last night, I even slid my jeans off without even bothering to unbutton them.

And that, my friends, made it all worthwhile.

One Year Later…

In 2006, I realized I was fat. So you’d think I’d go on a diet. Immediately.

You’d think.

Instead, I spent a whole ‘nother year feeding my face. Watching my ass grow. Unbuttoning my pants when they got too tight, and when even that failed to provide relief, buying bigger ones.

Sometimes, I even managed to convince myself I looked good. Like, for instance, the day I was part of a real live photo shoot. It was the real deal, complete with makeup artists, hair stylists, great lighting—even a fan to do that sexy blowing hair thing.

I thought I looked hot.

Until I got the pictures back.

I didn’t recognize myself. I couldn’t believe that the person in the photo was me. It was, to put it lightly, a bad day.

And that’s when I decided to do something about it. Decided to put down the ice cream and pick up my running shoes.

Decided to set my inner skinny girl free.

The Beginning of the End

Two years ago, I realized I was fat. On that terrible day, I published the following post.

Swallowed Whole

I’m not sure when it happened. Or how. One minute, I stood among the young and cute. Weighing in at 130 pounds, I posed proudly in my string bikini. Wriggled into teeny tiny jeans and tight little tops. Placed more value on the salty taste of sweat falling off my brow than the sweet, chocolatey taste of cookies.

But then, something changed. My inner fat girl got loose. I never saw her coming. Not her dimpled butt cheeks and jiggly belly. Never got a glimpse of her over-inflated boobs. And certainly never noticed that puffy face.

Until the morning I woke up and discovered she had swallowed me whole.

Oh sure, there were moments. Moments that had I paid attention, would have set the alarm bells ringing. Like the day my size 6 jeans no longer zipped up. Definitely the morning my size 12s admitted defeat. Or the moment I realized my breasts were bursting out of my bra – and I wasn’t pregnant. Surely I should have noticed when ice cream began making a nightly appearance. Or when the dog ate my running shoes – and I didn’t realize it for a whole month.

Moments like those should have gotten my attention.

Instead, there were excuses. Work was stressful. And I was busy. I didn’t have time to exercise. Or to eat right. My medication made me gain weight. Or the dryer had shrunk my pants. I’d fix it. Tomorrow. Next week. Or next year. I’d lose it by Christmas. By summer. Definitely by my birthday.

Guess what? I’m still fat. Still shopping at Lane Bryant for my fat girl pants. Still hooving chocolate chip ice cream (although now it’s lite) while sitting on my flabby ass. Still feeling invisible – or even worse, way too obviously fat in a sea of skinny girls.

My mom could probably fit in those size 6’s I have packed away. My dad’s definitely in better shape than me. My best friend now holds my skinny girl status. While I remain, according to my husband, “just a little bit fat.”

I’m tired of it. Sick to death of it. If I could take a knife and just carve away all the excess flab, I would do it. But getting rid of the fat girl isn’t that easy. She holds on tight. Gives way slowly. And she’s always ready to stage a comeback.

I’ve thought about doing everything. Weight Watchers. South Beach. Hypnosis. Nutrisystem. Slim Fast. I’ve even (briefly) toyed with the idea of becoming bulimic. All I know is it’s a war I can’t afford to lose. Even though it’s a battle I don’t really want to fight.

I’ve been swallowed by a fat girl. When you see me, know that the skinny me, the real me, is still screaming inside. But someday, one day soon, I’m going to break free into the light.

I look forward to seeing you all then. But until that day comes, be nice to fat girls. We all have a skinny girl hiding within.