Four Sticks of Butter

I can’t recall the source, but I read that one pound looks like four sticks of butter. That conjures an image of Oprah pulling a wagon onto the stage during one of her shows, showing the amount of weight she had lost. Sometimes I close my eyes and try to visualize my own wagon full of 432 sticks of butter. It’s difficult because I’ve never seen that many sticks of butter at once, but also because, even though the scale tells me I’ve lost over 100 pounds and my clothes have gotten smaller, I don’t always see myself minus 432 sticks of butter.

 

If you study eating disorders, especially anorexia and bulimia, you already read that people look in the mirror and see themselves as fat. At my highest weight, I’d look in the mirror and be convinced I wasn’t that big. It’s only now, wearing pants that balloon around me, that I realize how big I was. And yet, when I look in the mirror wearing a size 10, I don’t see myself that much thinner. Not all the time.

 

There are moments, if I’m wearing an outfit that really fits and one that I’m comfortable in, that I can check myself out. I leave the house feeling confident. But there are other times I just don’t see it.

 

My distorted point of view and low self-esteem not only impact how I see myself, but how I feel about other people’s image of me. I was always the girl dancing by herself at a club. My friends would be partnering up with guys, getting a lot of attention. Every once in a while someone would take pity on me, but I usually had to just be content to dance amid the group or with one of my female friends. Last weekend, as part of a bachelorette party, I hit the dance floor feeling pretty good about myself. I lost count of the guys that danced with me, but afterward, I asked myself, “Did they dance with me because they were attracted to me, or because it was dark and they were drunk?”

 

I hate feeling pathetic and lacking confidence. It’s not always like that. I don’t know what makes me look in the mirror one day and see a thinner, happier version of myself, and the next day I still see 432 sticks of butter on my arms, thighs, stomach, butt.

The Scale AKA My Nemesis

When you’re trying to lose weight, taking on a new fitness program, starting on a new medication, or doing any number of things, there is always conflicting advice. “They” say to do this, and “they” say not to do that. When it comes to weight loss, some of “they” say that stepping on the scale as often as possible will keep you motivated, and the rest of “they” say not to do it too often or you’ll get obsessed and fret over every fluctuation.

In the beginning I weighed myself at the same time, under the same conditions, every morning. It was both motivating and infuriating. It was motivating when the numbers were dropping, and aggravating when I’d experience a seemingly pointless gain (I cut back calories or increased my exercise, so why did it go up two pounds?!?!). During the holidays, or any other major splurge, I got out of that habit. These days, if I’m having a good run, I check often. Whenever I splurge on sweets, I wait several days to weigh myself. Why? Because the truth is, I know if I’ve gained or lost. If I’m eating well and exercising, chances are it’s going to make me happy to see the numbers on the scale. If I’ve had a piece of cheesecake, I’m not going to like what I see.

Why do I put so much stock in what the scale says when I can practically predict what it’s going to read? I get so mad over every gain, so disappointed, so angry at the scale. Clearly, it’s not the scale’s fault.

I came down with a cold on Friday. I’m not one of those people that loses her appetite due to an illness. If anything, I want to eat even more because the food is nourishing, makes me feel good, etc. And when you’re feeling crappy, what’s better than comfort food? The weekend was one long vacation from my healthy life. I didn’t want to weigh myself, but I couldn’t stay away from the scale. It wasn’t as bad as I’d predicted, but I still feel like I got set back a lot. These days the weight is taking even longer than 1-2 pounds a week. But I can’t yell at or kick the scale. I’m the one that at the cake and cookies.

When I Am Thin…

A good part of my twenty-six years on this earth have been spent thinking about what I would do if I were thin, if I were in better shape, if I had more confidence in myself and my body. I’m tired of thinking about those things; I want to experience them.

I’ve decided to make a list of the things I will do when I reach my goal weight. I’m sure I’ll add things, and hopefully, soon, I will be able to start crossing things off.

• Buy a bathing suit because it is cute, not because it hides all the trouble areas.
• Wear bathing suit in a public place without large pieces of clothing to hide myself.
• Buy a sexy little black dress.
• Start wearing shorts again.
• Buy a short skirt.
• Wear tank tops.
• Go to a day spa for a massage, facial, and to get my hair and make-up done by a professional.
• Get professional pictures of myself taken.
• Go wall climbing.
• Join my friends on a float trip and wear a bathing suit.
• Take an aerobics class with a group.
• Sign up for dance lessons.

Introduction

My New Year’s resolution, like over half the population, is usually to eat better and exercise. In 2006 I started my resolution a couple months late, but it was the first time I ever kept it.

On 12/31/05 my two best friends announced their engagement. A short time later I was asked to be a bridesmaid. The thought of walking down the aisle in a dress at my current weight mortified me. I was also on the verge of a weight related health crisis (infected gland). Without a lot of thought, I set my alarm one night for twenty minutes earlier than usual. I got up in the morning and took a walk. I ate a piece of plain toast and fruit for breakfast instead of cereal or a poptart. For lunch I had salad and fruit, and dinner was chicken and vegetables. Without a lot of thought or planning, I was changing the way I lived my life. I stopped heading toward the Burger King drive-thru after work. I grabbed a banana for an evening snack instead of five handfuls of potato chips. I took a walk whenever I felt my mouth watering for something chocolate. I was not on a diet. I told myself, and everyone around me, that I was not on a diet – I was changing my lifestyle. I was being healthy. I was going to lose weight before my friends wedding.

I had not weighed myself in years. I was astonished by the number I saw when I finally stepped on the scale, but I opened a blank Word document and typed it and the date at the top – 258 pounds. Every few days I weighed myself and recorded the date and number. I counted the months to the wedding, and once I knew how many pounds I could average a week, I set monthly goals for myself.

After one month I had lost 8 pounds. Two months passed and I had lost 16. I managed to maintain an average of 2 pounds a week by walking for 20 minutes a day and sticking to a sensible diet of fruits, vegetables, chicken, fish, whole grains and water. I ate yogurt instead of dessert with my lunch. Raisins and almonds became a delicious, healthy snack. After three months I added 10 minutes to my morning walk. June arrived and I had lost 30 pounds. I was starting to get comments, and I had gone from a size 24/22 to a snug 16.

Every year, I always wanted to be thin for my birthday. I wanted to look and feel good while celebrating another birthday. With November looming, I added fifteen minutes onto my morning walks and started taking a second, shorter walk in the evenings. I lifted weights a few times a week and added other aerobics from time to time. By my 26th birthday I had lost 70 pounds and could wear a size 14.

The holidays were a dreaded time. I had lost close to 80 pounds by Christmas, but I knew it was going to be hard not to overeat. I increased my morning walk to 60 minutes and tried to average 30 minutes in the evening. Between Christmas and the middle of January I only lost a couple pounds, but by the end of February I had lost 90 pounds.

My friends’ wedding date was getting closer. I wanted to have lost 100 pounds by the wedding, and on March 24th, the day of the bridal shower, I had reached my goal. I was wearing size 10 jeans and weighed 158 pounds. It was rough to continue losing with all of the wedding activities and the food/drinking that went with them, but by the day of the wedding I was down to 153 pounds.

Standing on the altar with my friends was a celebration of their relationship and future together, but for me it was also a celebration of 12 months of hard work. I was 100 pounds less of a person than I had been 1 year ago, but so much more whole than sI had ever been. I felt good, confident, and happy. I was overjoyed for my friends, for their new marriage, for their friendship – and for giving me the motivation to be healthier and happier.

Although I can say I’ve lost 100 pounds, every day is a struggle to keep that off and continue toward my ultimate goal.