Goodbye, V-neck

The name of this blog sums it up: Am I Still Fat?

I was sitting here trying to think of something witty to say for my very first blog post and kept coming up empty handed. Well, not exactly empty handed.

In one hand is the new Diet Mt. Dew Ultra Violet, 0 calories. In the other hand was a half-eaten piece of toast (white bread of course) drowning beneath apple butter. I was trying to type and google a picture to use for my profile picture and perhaps a witty picture for this first post, but I had to keep stopping what I was doing. Why? Because the crumbs kept falling down the front of my v-neck shirt.

If I was a normal-sized person this would not be an issue. I would have normal-sized boobs, minus the crevasse in the middle, and the crumbs would tumble down my shirt front and onto my lap. Had I saved all of the clothes I have gradually outgrown, I'm sure you would see the stains migrating from my lap-region to my stomach-boob area because my stomach-boob area is now so large that my lap is safe from falling nutrition.

I started this blog because I've been screwing around for way too long with losing weight. According to my doctor, I should ideally weigh 142lbs. I haven't been at that weight in 9 years. There have been other things happening in the meantime that are notorious for tipping the scale in the wrong direction. Married life, maybe 5-10 lbs. College, the notorious freshman 15 (which I actually didn't gain, at least not all of it). I crept up to 150ish and wavered up and down. Then I broke some toes and didn't exercise as much for a while. After college I started working full time and then an additional part time job. Of course then I had the obligatory baby and with it came the obligatory baby-fat. I was 158 when I found out I was pregnant. I weighed 181 the day my kid was born, most of which was water weight. I didn't really have time to stare at the scale while I was busy juggling a newborn, but I lost a pretty good amount of weight. Then things slowly started creeping up again.

My job was starting a weight loss competition and I stepped on the scale before December two years ago - I was up to 173. That is the most I had weighed in my non-pregnant life. I did lose a pound at that moment because I shit my pants. Slowly, in part with some medication that had weight-loss side effects and changing eating habits, I worked my way back down to 153.

Here it is about a year and a half later and I'm up. Up. UP. Into the 190s. More than when I was pregnant. More than when I was PREGNANT.

It's not for any reason in particular, but for a number of small reasons combined. I'm not working right now. I don't get out and about as much. I was on some medication notorious for instant, explosive weight gain (I'm guessing at least 25-30lbs in my case, in only 2 1/2 months). I don't eat a lot, but I eat constantly and not particularly well. And oh, Pepsi.

This isn't a quest to look like Laura Flynn-Boyle. This is a quest to be able to see my feet again without having to lean over. Perhaps a quest to lose one of the 2 or 3 Michelin-man-like-rings about my waist. I don't even want to say it's a mission to be healthier or more in-shape. I am uncomfortable in my body. I don't like it, and it doesn't like me back. I don't like my throat fat or my belly fat or any other fat for that matter. Don't even talk to me about armpit fat.

It's not that I hate fat. I hate it when fat gets together and turns my body into a conference center. And then into a massive cult compound. Where the fat never, never leaves.

On Monday I started keeping a food diary in anticipation of gradually changing the way I eat. I used some fat watchers point system (albeit bastardized) and have just minimally reduced my intake and tried to make some wiser choices. I think I've lost 2 pounds. Only 50-ish pounds to go.

Until then, goodbye V-neck.