On body positivity and personal accountability

gym

I can’t believe I’m posting this pic, but I need to — for myself. So shit’s about to get real.

I’ve had some happy-yet-stressful life changes within the past few weeks and have been funneling my anxiety and frustration into eating everything in sight. That’s my go-to stress-reliever/celebration/punishment and always has been since childhood, which has given me quite the fucked-up relationship with food, something I’ve written about here before.

Because of this, I’ve struggled with my weight my whole life, as I’ve also written about many times before. The last few years I have really let myself go, and I hate myself for it because me — and only me — can prevent forest fires in myself.

I would NEVER allow anyone to treat me in such a manner, so why the hell do I allow it from myself? But I do, and the results are:

  • I stuff my face with the most unhealthy food I can find instead of what is best to fuel myself and my body.
  • Since I work from home now, I exclusively wear yoga pants day. in. and. day. out.
  • I don’t take care of myself, at all. That includes getting hair cuts and the eyebrow wax that is, embarrassingly, MONTHS past due (thankfully I wear big glasses that (mostly) hide the caterpillars) and getting no exercise beyond multiple daily walks with my rescue pit bull, Kona.
  • I avoid looking at myself in the mirror at all costs because I absofuckinlutely hate myself that much, which means that I very rarely feel as confident inside as I may appear or pretend to be outside.
  • I have terrible insomnia, clocking just a few hours a night.

As someone who supports and is so inspired by the Eff Your Beauty Standards movement, I’m not very good at supporting or inspiring myself, obviously.

And that needs to change — right fucking now. For real. For good. I owe it to myself and my body. It’s put up with a lot from me the past 42 years, and I sure as hell am not getting any younger. In fact, if my grandmother and mother are any indication, I’m in for a really rough road as I continue to age, one that can (hopefully) be avoided if I start taking care of myself.

My first step toward body positivity: The gym.

After coming home a sweaty mess after Kona’s first walk this morning, I decided there was no time like the present to make my way from hating myself less to becoming body positive. That my old standby, “I’ll start Monday after having one last weekend hurrah,” was not good enough. Because we know all too well what’ll happen Monday.

So I put my sneakers back on and headed down to our building’s gym for the first time in who knows how long. I stepped onto the treadmill and for the next 30 minutes, booked it in a way I haven’t done in quite some time since there’s not a lot of fast walking with Kona Sniffs-A-Lot.

The entire time, I stared at myself in the darkened TV monitor attached to the treadmill. I stare at myself, no matter how upset it makes me, to entice myself to do better than the person staring back at me. To be the change I want to see in myself because I’m the only one who can do it.

As unhealthy as it may be, I hate her, that me in the reflection, I really, really do. Every time my foot hits the treadmill, I imagine I’m striking her for being stronger than me all this time. And I kind of get off that we’re facing each other. That she’s going to see me coming and stampeding her one day, hopefully soon.

When I stepped off the treadmill after my cool down, my very confused legs legit wobbled, and I thought I was going to face plant a la Bridget Jones, but luckily I stayed upright.

And then I took the above photo of myself. I felt disgusting when I snapped it, knowing I’d never be one of those athletic, fit women who post post-workout photos of themselves looking like they’ve hardly broken a sweat with nary a hair out of place and showing off their thigh gaps the size of Utah.

Nope, in it I’m sweating so profusely I had to take my glasses off because they kept slipping down. My double chin is on full display. My forehead is glistening, I’m trying to catch my breath, and my hair is frizzy and sticking up every which way.

I’m posting it because I hate it. Because I want to remind myself that I can’t let that version of me in the TV monitor win anymore. I’m too unhealthy and unhappy with myself to let her.

To put her to pasture once and for all, I’m going to have to push myself harder, further and more often than I’ve ever pushed myself before.

I know that eating right is going to be just as important as establishing an exercise regime. I need to once and for all end my co-dependent relationship with food, and I think it’s going to be even tougher than forcing my ass to the gym. Food has been a key relationship in my life since I was a little kid, and it ain’t going to be easy to switch from salty, shitty, bad-for-me snacks and food to healthier fare. But, it must be done, and it’s something I’ll cover in subsequent post(s) I’m sure.

As always, thanks for reading, and if you’ve got any advice or personal stories you’d like to share, I’d love to hear them.

~ Nikki

Resigning from the clean-plate club

I have a pretty effed-up relationship with food. I eat when I’m happy, I eat when I’m stressed, I eat when I’m sad — I just … eat.

I’d eat all the live long day if I could, if I’m being completely honest, and, for more years than I should even admit, I pretty much did. No matter how full or sick I felt from eating beyond what I healthily should, I still kept going (and going) and should have been the poster girl for the Clean-Plate Club.

While I’m not exactly sure when this food addiction started, I think the fact that my parents owned a restaurant until I was in my late teens might have played a role because, as you could imagine, food was ever-present at all times.

There was always so much to eat, especially at holidays, when we’d have to have a whole second table for just the food — even though we were a pretty small family.
(And of course I know I was very lucky to have had more than enough food at all times when so many do not.)

Unlike my brother, who adopted a very fit and active lifestyle at a fairly young age that he still subscribes to today, I never ate in moderation or exercised off my excess eating. Thus, I’ve battled my weight my entire life, except for the few rare times I worked out on the regular and ate a lot better by following a mostly vegetarian lifestyle.

Sticking a fork in my excessive eating

Eating, diet, exercise, #C25K, clean plate club, excessive eating, binge eating, food addiction

What was left on my plate when my stomach reached its limit today. A month ago, I would’ve kept going until it was all gone.

I knew when I started this newest journey of mine to get healthier and eat better that I had to stop my eating insanity once and for all.

I cannot tell a lie: It’s not been easy, in fact, I think it’s safe to say that for me, it might even be way more difficult than doing #C25K and going hitting the gym a few times a week.

While I am pretty happy with where my life is at right now, that doesn’t mean said life is without stress. In fact, there are a shit-ton of stressors I, like many people, deal with on a daily basis, but for the first time in my life, I am focusing on learning how to manage them without making food a factor.

It’s been a bit easy to add more fruit and veggies into my life as I’ve been mad-craving them, and I’ve adopted a weeknight “no eating after 9” rule, which has been preventing the late-night binges I’ve always fallen prey to. I’ve also become addicted to Special K blueberry with lemon clusters, which feeds my sweet and crunchy cravings with protein to keep me full, so that’s been helping a lot.

One of the biggest changes I’ve really made a priority is giving up my gold-plated lifetime membership card for the Clean-Plate Club. For the first time in my life, I’ve been listening to my body/stomach when it tells me “no mas” by putting my fork down and pushing my plate away.

It hit me today just how far I’ve come as I was eating some delicious coconut pancakes we ordered from our new favorite neighborhood diner. They were light, fluffy and super-coconutty, and I got about halfway through my share of one-and-a-half when my limit hit me like a ton of bricks.

I put the bite I was about to shove in my mouth hole down and put my plate in the kitchen. Just one month ago, I would’ve kept plowing through the entire plate until it was practically licked clean.

I’m not asking for a trophy, because I don’t think I deserve one and I know how far I still have to go, but I’ve always had a thing for those gold foil star stickers elementary school teachers are so fond of …

An 8 to celebrate

“You’ve lost weight,” the fella commented after hugging me when he got home from work the other night.

I scoffed, having been on the tail-end of one of those “fat days” when I just wasn’t feeling the outfit I chose to wear to work that morning.
Can you relate to a day like that, when your clothes just don’t feel comfortable, so you’re constantly tugging at them? Ugh. 

“Obviously you know you have,” the fella said, rolling his eyes before reminding me that I’d told him a few days before that my jeans were starting to feel baggy.

To find out for sure, I hopped on the scale the next day and saw that I’d dropped eight pounds since mid-August when I started this latest “eat-better-and-walk-more” regime.

But I cannot tell a lie. The new regime was one part me knowing I needed to make a change, especially after my summer of inactivity due to the endless heatwave we had … and one part my doctor telling me a few weeks back that I am pre-diabetic because of my weight.

It certainly didn’t come as a shock, especially since my grandmother had severe diabetes and both of my parents were diagnosed with it late in life. I knew it was coming; it had to, considering my eating habits and lifestyle, but hearing the doctor say it was quite the wake-up call.
Funny how those things work, hmm? 

I promptly made an appointment with a nutritionist he recommended, and put many of her suggestions into practices ASAP. And it seems to be paying off, according to Mr. Scale.

Plus, I’ve been getting off at a different subway station most days instead of the one at the end of my work block just to get in an extra walk and aiming for an even further station after work, so that’s been a big help, too, in ensuring that I’m meeting my daily step goal.

In fact, adding that little effort paid off big time as I won this week’s Workweek Challenge on Fitbit, my first win of this particular challenge in quite some time.

workweek

It was such a good feeling … one that was almost as good as seeing those eight pounds not on the scale.

Nikki

My summer of inactivity

(Pinterrist photo)

(Pinterest photo)

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it just sorta happened, “it” being my summer of inactivity.

I know it’ll sound like a cop-out, and it probably most definitely is, but, man, I just could not handle the astronomical heat we had this summer in New York City.

I remember last summer being hot as F as well, but still the fella and I did go chasing pavement all the same, but this year? No way, Jose. That pavement seemed to be made of solid lava this summer, and I wanted nothing to do with it.

There were very few times I walked from Wall Street up Broadway to the fella’s office just below Houston, and that dedication to take lengthy walks all around Manhattan and Central Park of yore must’ve melted out in all our sweat just from walking to and fro the subway stations.

Then I started having some health issues, and soon after, the fella hurt his foot and was ordered to stay off it as much as possible, so off came his Fitbit. And thus we entered our Couch Potato Phase. There’ve even been days where I didn’t put my own Fitbit on, and I hate myself for that.

My Fitbit has been such a dear friend and motivator for more than a year now, and I just cast it aside like a jerk, like someone who fell off the wagon. I stopped checking my daily step count, stopped joining challenges and began eating even crappier than usual and, when I started to notice the not-for-the-better changes in my body, temperament and health, I stupidly wondered why I was feeling and looking this way.

Oh, it’s because of my summer of inactivity.
Oh, it’s because I’m weak and without willpower.
Oh, it’s because I hate — like really, really hate — being hot and sweaty.

But I can’t wait it out until fall’s cool, crisp air descends upon the city, which is maybe what I subconsciously was doing. No, I am not that kind of person, nor do I have that kind of body/metabolism to take even a few days off from doing some sort of physical activity. I have too damn far to go, and I know I don’t deserve a respite because I don’t take care of the body I have been given.

So this week, the Fitbit got charged for the first time in weeks and out the door I went. While I didn’t break 10,000 steps on the two big walks I took (nor have I broken 10k since July 16, shame on me), being out in my city again felt good. Sweaty and miserable, of course, but good; good to feel that hot, hot sun on my face and arms, good to breathe fresh air, good to get out of my head in a way that only walking allows me to be.

My body almost didn’t know what to do, so I had some aches and pains, but I pushed through them and felt proud of myself for finally deciding to stand up to my laziness and get moving.

Today, I took a deep breath and got back on the scale (that I almost wrote was a bitch, but it’s not her fault, its mine) to see just how far I’ve fallen off the wagon and was shocked — but happy! — to see I’ve “only” gained two pounds since I last weighed myself in April.

I’ve started picking up some more fresh fruits and veggies on my past few trips to the store and have been making a conscious effort to hit them up first when I feel a crave coming on. Plus, we have a coupon for Blue Apron meal-delivery service that we’re going to cash in next week that will give us a free week of meals, so I’m looking forward to the healthy and yummy-sounding options that’ll provide, which I’ll be sure to write about once we start.

Even after only two days of walking, which don’t even come close to the lengthy constitutionals I used to take on the reg, I see such a difference in my mood. So, yeah, you’re way past your sell-by date, summer of inactivity. Be gone with you!

Nikki

Oh, Hello, Great Barrier Reef — and The Next 40

No, I’m not writing this blog (my first on this site in more months than I care to admit) aboard a boat off the northeast coast of Australia (though, of course, I wish I were!).

Instead, I’m hunkered down in front of the AC in my New York apartment excited to report that I just received my latest — and best — Fitbit badge, the Great Barrier Reef badge.

badge_lifetime_miles1600

My best Fitbit badge yet!

 

Since strapping on my Fitbit exactly one year ago this week, I’ve now walked 1,600 miles with it, which is the length of the Great Barrier Reef, the world’s largest coral reef system.

You’d think I’d be a skinny Minnie by now what with all that walking, but alas I’m not. Alas I’m still struggling with the whole eating-healthy thing. Alas, that’s why you’ve not heard a peep from me on this blog since January.

But as I am nearly two years out from the big 4-0, I know I need to make some changes — and how — before the diabetes that runs in my family takes me over as it did my parents in their later years, before my body gives out and can’t walk another 1,600 miles, before it’s too late to be the captain of my ship (even though I know I’ve been doing a shitty job of captaining thus far).

I see my mom in so much pain and poor health, just as her mom was before her, that I’m going to be in big, big trouble if I don’t do this for real starting now.

I’m going to transition Run, Nikki, Run into something more suitable to the Nikki that I am and the one that’s on the horizon because, let’s face it, this Nikki is never going to be a runner. Maybe a jogger with a soft J on occasion, but a runner, nope.

yogging

But I will tell you that before I turn 40 in 2017, I will be healthier and happier because of it — I’ll stay that way through The Next 40, which I just changed the name of this blog (but not the URL) to.

Join me on this journey, won’t you?

Nikki

Killing my Nikes and other thoughts on resolutions

I know, I know.
“Here she comes out of the woodwork with the rest of the bandwagon resolution makers.” 
Well, kinda, but not really.

I’ve changed, you see, since I last wrote back in September and even more so since my last annual resolutions post a year ago today. You see, I feel like I’ve finally come into who I am in, like, who I really am.

I’m never going to be 17-year-old Nikki ever again.
Nope, I’ll never be the 130-pound Nikki who wore her super-long, super-curly hair on top of her head in a big fat bun all the time.

The hair doesn’t grow as fast, and the weight, well, it doesn’t come off so fast these days, and while there will, I’m sure, always be part of me who’ll yearn to be the size of that skinny and sparkling teenager again with that fabulous hair, the Nikki I am today, 20 years later isn’t half bad, even though she has some — OK, a lot — of extra baggage.

But luckily, I have a fella and a family that loves me, just as I am. And I’ve finally realized that that’s enough.

Oh, Mr. Darcy. Le sigh. (Credit)

Oh, Mr. Darcy. Le sigh. (Credit)

But, having said that, that doesn’t mean I’m going to just rest on my laurels until I have to be moved out of our fabulous apartment by a forklift amid the rustling of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrappers and takeout burger-and-fry containers from our corner bodega. No. Oh, no, no, no.

You see, I’m still going to try and be healthy not just because I need to or because I should. No. I’m going to still pull on those workout clothes or, even if I’ve had a hellishly busy day, I’m still going to walk from my office to the fella’s after work most nights because I want to.

2015-01-03 14.54.52

I know I won’t be able to wear you for a few weeks, but your days are numbered, Nikes.

I want to kill my new Tiffany-blue Nikes, you see. I want them to smell and rip and tear just like my beloved purple Reeboks did this year because then I’ll know, I’ll really, really know, that I moved. That I made the New York pavement and wherever else these sneakers will tread upon this year my bitch. That I breathed and lived and walked and was happy.

Those Reeboks took me all around this island of Manhattan, on the country roads of Northeastern Pennsylvania, to Ireland and everywhere in between. By the end of the 2014, I had walked more than 950 miles with my Fitbit, plus another 400-plus miles using Map My Walk before I started using the Fitbit, so I think it’s safe to say that these feet of mine walked at least 1,400 miles in ’14. Wow. Wow.

My favorite moment of 2014 was actually almost an entire day. A day that was just a moment in a year’s worth of days, but when I was in it, basking in the sunshine, in the fresh blend of Irish air mixed with an Atlantic breeze with my family, I knew that this was the moment that would define my entire year, define my very existence.

Standing in the middle of a country lane on the Aran Island of Inishmore that was buzzing with crazy tour-bus drivers, polite bikers (who could teach New York bikers a thing or 10) and more cows than tourists like us as my family and I took photos and reveled in beauty the likes of which I’d never seen before, I knew that as long as I had the fella and my family beside me and comfortable sneakers on my feet, that’s all I’d really need in this world — to make the best of this world.

So, that’s my resolution: Walk. Live. Breathe. Take it all in. Exist. Kill my Nikes … and any other pair of sneakers that may follow.

Nikki

Walking California (almost)

On May 26, I started using my Fitbit. And now, four months later, like, just four months later, I hit a huge milestone with this fantastic fitness gadget.

Fit Bit 750 miles

I’ve walked 750 miles — in four months.
That’s just 50 miles short of the length of California.

And oh, what wonderful miles they were, through the streets of New York, the beautiful landscapes of Ireland and anywhere and everywhere in between. The soles of my Reeboks have worn away, same thing for the gray Skechers GoWalk I usually wore to and from work during the week; the latter are now retired and replaced by an obnoxious neon yellow pair, while I’m in desperate need of replacing the Reebok RealFlexes I fell in love with two years ago and am on my second pair of.

Now, had I been eating the way I should, or the way I did when I lost 20-plus pounds earlier this year, I should probably be skin and bones right now. However, that wasn’t the case. I’ve been weak. Like, real, real weak. Luckily, though, with all this walking, and logging more than my required 10,000 steps a day, I’ve not gained anything, so at least there’s that.

But I can do better. I know I can. And, much more importantly, I know I have to, so I’m making a pact with myself to lose at least 10 pounds by Christmas. That’s 10 pounds in three months, which really is nothing, but it’s not too large a number to make me quit when the going (read: temptations) gets tough, as it oh-so-often does.

So, here’s to the next three months — and the next 750 miles. I have to walk back up California, you know!

Nikki

Getting fit with Fitbit

A lot sure has changed since my last post.

For starters, I’ve gone back to work full-time, which has been really, really great. And with that, of course, there’s been some bad.

My foot started acting up soon after I started, so in addition to not being able to log those five-plus mile walks every day like I’d been doing prior to getting hired, I wasn’t even able to do much more than walk — more like painfully limp, actually — to and from the subway to work and home.

It killed me, it really did, going from being so active to just doing the bare minimum. I know I’ve changed, and I like the body that all that walking over the past several months has given me. It’s not my best, nor my goal, but it’s better than it was when I started this journey, and that’s all that matters to me.

Luckily, my foot seems to be getting better (knock wood!), so the fella and I took a decent walk last Monday before doing our grocery shopping. And I cannot tell a lie: This came after a horrible, horrible weekend of eating. We’d gone back to my parents’ for the holiday weekend, and, like I’d written the month before, the food was plentiful — and not very good for us.

Wings and beer at our favorite place. A secret hot dog run. The biggest grilled steak I ever did see (and eat). A nice, big slice of an amazing early birthday cake and then an absolute massacre of a NEPA delicacy: Victory Pig pizza, which we bought frozen and ate when we got home Sunday. All 12 cuts. Gone. In one sitting.

We felt disgusting the morning after, so Monday was a total detox day, which gave a really great start to our mindset for the rest of the week. I’m happy to report that, by Friday, I lost the pounds I gained on our “Lost Weekend.” Most of it was thanks in part to being able to walk more — and the latest addition in our fitness regime: the Fitbit Flex band, which the fella’s parents gave us both as an early birthday for me and Father’s Day for him gifts.

In case you’re not familiar, Fitbit is a rubber bracelet-like device that wirelessly tracks the number of steps you take, sleep patterns, calorie burning, etc. While ours are black, the device comes in several colors, so it can be changed up to be more of an accessory to your outfits. Getting Fitbit was the fella’s idea, and he was almost to the point of annoying with how excited he was about getting one. I, on the other hand, took some convincing.

Photo from techgirl.co.za

Photo from techgirl.co.za

I’m not a big wrist-jewelry wearer. I loathe watches and have one bracelet I’ve worn for years now, so I’m used to it, and I love it … but, I take it off the second I get home because I can’t sleep in any jewelry. When the fella snapped the Fitbit on me the first time, I immediately felt constricted. Compared to my bracelet, the Fitbit was ginormous. Bulky. Uncomfortable, especially to sleep in. Every time I moved, I felt it. Worried that I would turn it off or screw it up. So that first night, I didn’t sleep very well.
Plus, it’s always with me. Sleeping, in the shower, should I ever find myself swimming in a pool or ocean, there it will be. That’s a commitment I don’t even make with what little jewelry I do wear, and they’re Tiffany pieces for God’s sake!

I grumbled about it the next day, tried wearing my bracelet on my left wrist since the Fitbit had to be on my non-dominant hand and felt so off-kilter I could’ve screamed. I’ve since put the bracelet back on my right wrist with the Fitbit and feel much better, thankyouverymuch.

As the week wore on, and my foot felt well enough to walk up to the fella’s work after I got out as well as some lunchtime strolls and I started looking at my Fitbit dashboard online and on the app, I started to come around. It got easier to sleep with, and the first time my wrist vibrated because I met my daily step goal, I first jumped because it startled me, and then I felt very accomplished.

Then a funny thing happened, which is what makes the product so great: I got competitive with myself. Each day I wanted to — I needed to — beat my step count from the day before and/or beat the fella, who sent me a taunt on the app, which looks similar to a Mr. Yuk sticker.
Oh, hell no, fella. Hell. No. 

Though I am still getting used to wearing the Fitbit, which really isn’t as bulky as I made it out to be with my set-in-my-ways way, I really think it’s revolutionized the way the fella and I look at fitness. We’re still using My Fitness Pal to track our calories (Fitbit syncs with MFP, which has been great), but after having some issues with Map My Walk, which told me on several different occasions that I walked two miles in two seconds (even though the distance from the subway to work is less than a mile and takes about five minutes), it’s been awesome to see a much more accurate measure of distance. I chalk some of my issues with MMW up to me being back in the Financial District, which, despite being the center of the financial world, is a huge reception dead zone most of the time.

While I do miss the mapping MMW did, I don’t miss having to end a workout before I go down into the subway station, meaning that the many steps I take underground through stations and on platforms go uncounted. The Fitbit counts them all, and its accuracy showed me that I really wasn’t burning as much as I thought I was, as much as MMW led me to think I was — which might finally start showing me some substantial loss on the scale now that I know my true caloric burn.

If you’re looking for something that could take your fitness/health goals to the next level, you might want to look into a Fitbit. I’m not being paid for this little write up (though if the company wants to, I won’t object, haha). I’m just a girl looking to be her healthiest self and using a product that I think makes a big difference in my life. We all know we should aim for 10,000 steps a day, and this product is helping me blow that minimum away — and helping me become the thinner, fitter person who’s getting closer and closer every day.

Nikki

-20 and surviving a carb fest

I figured I would hop on the scale Friday before I headed home to visit my parents for the weekend. If I was down a bit, I’d keep that top of mind when I got to the place where food was always the sixth member of our family (after the parents, the brother, me and our beloved late Lab, Zakk).

I was pleasantly surprised to find I was down a full 20 pounds — it felt like it was a long time coming, but I’m glad I finally hit this major milestone. So excited by that number — and the fact that I was running extremely late to catch the 11 a.m. out of Port Authority — I didn’t have time to eat or grab a snack to take on the bus with me before I left the house.

Needless to say, by the time I got of the bus more than three hours later and after a grocery-store trip where we got about three bags full of carbs (think three different kinds of chips, two different kinds of pretzels, a loaf of bread, hamburger buns and this super-yummy baked oatmeal from the bakery department), I was famished. And bordering on hangry. So I opened one of the bag of pretzels and ate a few handfuls as I drove.

We picked up some Wendy’s salads, and I’m proud to say that my hunger didn’t force me to weaken and get the crispy chicken sandwich and fries I really wanted. I got a salad, and after I ate it when we got home, it just wasn’t hitting the spot. I went back to the pretzels I opened in the car. Then I dipped into the baked oatmeal. I went back to the pretzels and then I just felt sick. And ashamed of myself.

But that didn’t stop us from going out to a nice dinner later on that night. I had soup and ahi tuna, so my dinner wasn’t that bad, but I still felt awful, both because I knew I had eaten way, way too much and because I was severely disappointed in myself.

I woke up Saturday determined to be better. I decided to go for a walk, but since my folks live on a dirt road, and it had rained so it was all mud, I headed to the track at my old high school. I love walking on those rubbery tracks, but my God, they are so boring compared to walking the city streets or the woods surrounding my parents’ where I really wanted to walk, so after I hit the two-mile mark, I told myself I’d do another half mile and head home.

Just as I started the final two laps, a woman who had continually outpaced me — and I was walking “very brisk,” according to Map My Walk — passed me again, but this time she said hello and commented on how nice the day was so far. We started walking together and talking about walking, health and we even shared weight-loss tips with each other.

Before we knew it, we both exceeded our walking goals — by two and a half miles! It was great to have someone to pass the time with, and Denise and I exchanged numbers to continue sharing tips and walk the next time I’m back in Dallas. It was such a pleasant surprise, one that doesn’t really happen here in the city, where you just start chatting with a stranger.

I was so glad our walking paths crossed, and her pushing me to go those extra miles was instrumental in keeping me on the straight and narrow the rest of my time at home. Of course I ate Mom’s famous whimpies, but I only had one with a bun and just a small follow-up scoop of the meat, and when I still felt hungry, I had grilled chicken with spinach and balsamic. While I treated myself to some chips, I didn’t house most of the bag like I used to do.

I stayed pretty good on Sunday, and when I weighed myself Monday morning — just as a check up, not because I have an obsession with the scale — I had maintained Friday’s weight, which had always been unheard of after a weekend at home.

I knew going home to my parents, who used to own a restaurant and always had the best food around the house, would be a huge test to the willpower I’ve been building the past few months, but I daresay I passed with flying colors.

Now onto the next challenge, whatever that may be!

Nikki

 

Fighting with the scale

I have, quite literally, been walking my ass off the past few months.

My previous post about walking 25 miles over the course of a weekend, while I find it super impressive, is just part of what a normal week is for me. This week, for example, I’ve already exceeded 25 miles, and it’s only Thursday, and I’ll be putting on my Reeboks as soon as this post is done and logging another six or seven miles by the time I get home.

According to the first-quarter stat update from Map My Walk, I’ve already done 205 miles in 2014, and the e-mail said I’m “on track to hit 822” by yearend. I love a challenge, so I plan to raise that number by 178 to make it an even 1,000 miles at least.

Having said that and that fact that I’ve been walking my ass off and feeling my jeans get bigger and getting back into some of the clothes that have been shoved into the bottom of a drawer or the back of my closet, the scale has just been an unbudging SOB. In fact, it even went back up five pounds, which I know is a bold-faced lie because 1) I’m wearing those clothes that finally fit again, 2) I definitely see a difference in my face and stomach and 3) I am more often than not eating less than my caloric allowance because of all that damn walking, which is obviously a key to weight loss.

The scale has been giving me NO love lately. (Getty Images photo)

The scale has been giving me NO love lately. (Getty Images photo)

It’s been depressing me, to be honest, and the old me would’ve been derailed by my weekly (or multi-weekly, if I’m being completely honest) weigh-ins ten times over, so what the hell gives? I have never eaten so well, so clean and so good in my life — I mean, I am eating spinach and other veggies and fruits like it’s my damn job, we’ve pretty much cut out everything white and hardly eat a starch with dinner anymore. I actually crave all these good things on a daily basis, and even on the weekends, when we have our one lax day where we might, say, have an Irish breakfast for brunch or indulge in a burger or share a lemon gingerbread cookie at our favorite bakery, it’s usually after one of our mammoth walks so at the end of the day, I still have a ton of calories left over.

So yes, scale, I am having a pretty big beef with you right now. I’ve been chalking it up to the fact that it was the cheapest scale they had at the store when I bought it last year, but c’mon. It’s one of those stupid old non-digital ones, how could you not work properly? Especially after you showed me that 15-pound loss so lovingly just a few weeks back?

Last night, I finally confessed my depression about the whole thing to the fella, and he found it BS, too, saying he knows I’ve been losing because he sees it when he looks at me and knows how well I’ve been doing. He thought maybe it’s because it’s a cheapo scale and that maybe, since he was standing on one of the floorboards that creak in the house because it’s slightly raised, where I’m stepping on in the bedroom might be uneven or something.

With that in mind this morning, when I finally decided to hop back on (it’s been about a week since I last weighed myself because of this whole scale-hating episode), I moved the scale and voila, there was that lower needle that I’ve been looking for, thank the gods of weight loss!

In my years (and years) of trying to lose, I have always read in fitness magazines and on blogs that you should throw your scale out because of the very reason I’m about to mention as the reason I just can’t perform said action. Most women have been trained to think in numbers when it comes to weight, not just “going by how your clothes feel” like those blogs and magazine articles tell us to do.

It’s really hard for me to not track my progress with a scale, and I think that not having one when we first moved to New York, though it was not the sole catalyst for the weight gain I am now battling, I do regret not having one to check in on. I think seeing the number creep up might’ve helped get me in line a lot more than my tightening pants, which is stupid, I know, but I think some of you will agree with me that we sometimes come up with excuses like, “Oh, they were just washed,” and then come home with the button imprint embedded on our bellies.

So what about you? Are you a slave to a scale or a go-by-the-fit-of-my jeans kind of person? I’d love to hear your tips and suggestions!

Nikki