The most embarrassing day of my life.

I decided when I started this blog that I would be as open and as honest as I possibly could about my weight struggles, and my feelings before and during my weight loss journey. There have been many people that I have encountered that have no problem reminding me of my weight, regardless of whether or not they know. My own grandmother has told me that the dress I was wearing made me look like I had sausage casing on my rolls. I had two people within 20 minutes of each other either call me the fat chick, or a fat cunt. Just because I brushed it off, does not mean I have forgotten.

The one thing however, I cannot brush off is the day that I went to Six Flags and the pure self loathing I felt. I  had been so excited on the ride to the park. We were listening to 90s music, and I felt like a little kid. Giddy because I was going to a park, nervous because I hate roller coasters, but mostly I felt truly happy because I would be spending the day with my best friends. 

The first ride we went on was a little kid's ride. The one with the ship where it goes back and forth. I chose that ride because I am a fussy baby and I can't handle roller coasters. It was basically all (hot) dads and tiny children. I felt comfortable knowing that I wasn't going to plummet to my death.

We decided to venture out to try more roller coasters, and while my heart was beating like a drum line, I agreed to try it out. We waited in line, and finally after what felt like a lifetime, we reached the front. I tried getting into the ride, and closing myself in with immediate panic setting in. I was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and trying to hold back the hot tears that I could feel springing up in my eyes. Before the ride attendant could even reach me, I jumped out of the bucket and told my friends I would see them after the ride. I stood in the corner, and held back the sobs that were quickly rising in my chest. I would not let any one in the park see me cry. I would make them think that I had chosen to get off due to my fear, and not my weight. 

That was not the only ride I had tried to go on. After the second attempt at a roller coaster with the same results, as a group we decided to ride a water ride. It was hot, I was miserable, and I wanted some validation that I wasn't the most disgusting person in Six Flags.

We chose a ride with 6 seats in it, and a family of 3 joined us in the ride. Everyone had buckled, and my sausage fingers were still fumbling with the buckle when the ride attendant came over to check. I sat on my buckle to make it look like it had been fastened because I refused to be turned away again. The mother and son had spotted my predicament and could see how red my face was, and kept quiet. (I don't think they knew how much I appreciated that, and how I still fondly think of them.) We took off, and the whole time I kept thinking about falling out and being dragged under and what the headlines would read. I couldn't even enjoy myself because I was too terrified of dying. 

Finally the scariest ride of my life was over, and I was back on solid land; feeling no less defeated than I had before I went on the water ride. To the everlasting credit of my friends, they knew that I was ready to go and none of them put up a fight. They quietly suggested it, shut down any talk of how I was ruining their fun, and we made our way back to the parking lot. I don't know if I ever thanked them, or if they ever knew how much my heart swelled with love for them. But it did. And I thank them now.

This was the most embarrassing day of my life. The only people that know this story are the people that were there with me. To this day, they still maintain that I was able to ride each ride with them, and only talk about the good times we shared. I'll never forget their kindness, and their acceptance without judgement.

But the worst part of all this was not the fact that I couldn't ride anything at Six Flags, but it was the fact that even after this day I did not stop myself in my tracks and change. I allowed myself to put on more weight, and make more excuses as to the reason why I was eating. 

I do not tell this story to garner pity or remorse for me. I tell this story to hold me accountable, and to remember what I felt that day. And to remember that I never want to go back to that. I tell this story because it is a big part of me, whether or not I like it. The only thing I can do from here is press on, and realize that I am currently on the ride of my life and that there's no getting off. 

A sack of potatoes.

I've lost one pound more than what a sack of potatoes weighs. In two and a half weeks! I'm bursting at the seams, and pretty much shouting it from the rooftops. I've definitely yelled it down the hallway of my office, and at people in passing. I've been sure to bring it up at every social occasion that I can. It's like my new baby, that I can't stop bragging about, and that I don't think I'll ever stop doing.

I haven't really done much exercise other than the hike up and down the stairs. I also did go on a walk with Marta but I can't remember much considering I spotted a dog twice and I believe I said, "Oh I have to get my petting hand ready!" So, yeah, I only remember how sweet and adorable the puppy was.

I have cut out all sodas, all juices, all greasy food and all sugars(except for the ones found in fruits and things of the like). I'm eating minimal carbs, and low calories. I'm only drinking water, and I can honestly say I have never felt better in my life. I have had stomach issues my whole life, and I believed that they would never get better no matter what I ate; but I have now found that it is not the case. My stomach issues have all but disappeared.

But for as much as I'm doing to better myself, I am not alone in this. I never have been nor will I ever be. I have my beautiful, kind, and wonderful cheerleaders on my side to help me achieve my goals. For that I will be forever grateful. I can't imagine that there is a better support system in existence than the one that I have.

I keep talking about my goals, and rewards; and I don't think that there is a better time than now to post the rewards I have set for myself.

Rewards List:

10lbs: New shoes, betch! (Achieved as of 6/24!!)
20lbs: Treat yo'self 2013! Mani/pedi time!
30lbs: I pick things up and I put them down. Gym membership time!
40lbs: Change your hair, change your life! Haircut time!
50lbs: Plan a "staycation" and enjoy some R&R!
60lbs: Remember to help others. Plan a healthy dinner party for your friends!
70lbs: Hey pretty woman! Get yourself a red dress and go snag Richard Gere!
80lbs: Nobody puts baby in a corner! Dance classes! Patrick Swayze would have loved you.
90lbs: Shawty had them apple bottom jeans. New jeans time!
100lbs: Let's brag a bit! Go see your parents to show off!
110lbs: Nike Shocks? They've been running through your mind. (Pun intended.)
120lbs: Sports Illustrated: Swimsuit Edition called, they said, "Go buy yourself a new bathing suit"!
130lbs: The ghost of Julia Child said to get some cooking classes in.
140lbs: Only 53lbs to go! Plan another "staycation"!
150lbs: Helloooo, Skyrim. Buy yourself a new computer! You deserve it.
160lbs: Take the plunge! Plunge bras, that is!
170lbs: Almost there! Don't give up! Color your hair! Look cute, feel cute!
180lbs: Imagine you're on death row. What's the one meal you would want? Have that.
190lbs: Remember where you came from. Donate your clothes and buy more!
193lbs: YOU DID IT! Book your dream vacation!
193lbs and on: Don't get fat again.

It's a lot of weight, but I can do it. My weight wasn't gained in a day, a week, a month or a year. And I won't lose it in that short amount of time either.

I know where I came from, I just can't wait to see where I'm going.

Stairway to Heaven...

The elevator in my office building has been broken for 5 days, and the only option is to walk up to the third floor. This is not an unusual occurrence for this elevator; it was always going out, but on Friday it was as hot as the tenth ring of Hell. Now, for a person of normal weight it wouldn't be so bad; I am not a normal weight. 

The first day that it went out, I revolted. I went through the seven stages of grief:

I was in shock; it had just been working seven minutes ago. I had ridden down. This is not happening.

I felt guilty; had I caused the elevator to stop working? Was my weight too much for it to handle? I also felt pain, because deep down, I knew I'd soon have to take the trek up the stairs.

I was mad. This piece of crap elevator was always doing this. Why couldn't the landlord of the building stop being such a cheap ass and fix it? I offered money to the custodian of the building if he would give me a piggy back ride up the stairs.(He didn't accept. Maybe I should have offered him more than $4.00.)

I was entering the depression, reflection and loneliness stage. I stood in the lobby in front of the elevator and thought back on all the good times we shared. The multiple trips a day up and down. Where would I ever find a friend as good as this one?

I was starting to adjust to life without the elevator. I knew, I could make it through this somehow. My grief was lessening with each minute that passed.

I was reconstructing my life; I took off my shoes to lessen the pain of this trip.

Finally, I arrived at acceptance. I knew I had to do this, and there was no other choice. Thus began my journey to the third floor.

On the first day, I truly thought I was going to die in the stairwell. I debated on calling a priest to come and read me my last rights and calling my parents to tell them that I love them and where my secret stash of money is hidden.(I am not religious, and I have no secret stash of money, I was delirious from heat and physical exertion.) I finally reached the summit, as this was my Mount Everest, and I felt comatose. I stood on the final step for another minute, and finally I walked into the hallway where I was greeted with hot air and 15 doors until I reached my cool office. If I ever had to walk up those stairs again, I was going to quit my job. 

Then I received the bad news; the elevator would be broken for two weeks. Two weeks of up and down the stairs six times. Two weeks of wondering if this would be my last breath. Two weeks of pure hell.

But then something happened: the days have passed and I have gotten better at climbing the stairs. I'm not huffing and puffing and threatening to blow this house down anymore. I'm not crawling up the stairs, begging for piggy back rides or a chair I can sit on that takes me to the top. No, I am walking up them. I am defeating them. 

It's small victories like this that make me feel proud of myself, and make me want to commit to this lifestyle change. And who knows? Maybe once the elevator is fixed, I'll continue to walk up the stairs. But for now, it's enough to know that I'm able to walk up them and not feel as if I'm going to die.

Oh, hello.

A friend suggested that I start blogging my adventures through my lifestyle change and I decided that it would be a great idea.

I'm a dynamic, bubbly, sassy 24 year old animal and environment lover; who happens to be obese. I have been since I was 14 years old. I wasn't an overweight child, who grew into an even bigger adult. When I was a child, the only thing big about me was my personality and my imagination.

Growing up in southern Connecticut, my life consisted of playing. I would seek out my younger brother when I wanted to play cops and robbers, and when I wanted to feel mature and cool; I'd attempt to infiltrate my older sister's circle. When I wanted to be coddled and win at everything I did, I played with my mother or father. When I wanted to get down and dirty, I'd play wiffle ball with my Gram. My childhood was warm, and happy for the most part.

But that's not to say that I would have avoided being overweight had I stayed in Connecticut, and didn't move to Florida when I was 12. Most of my family is overweight; call it bad genes, blame it on us being Italian and loving food, call it what you want; we're overweight. I grew up seeing my family, and not thinking that being bigger was shameful. But we don't have to get into that.

All that needs to be said is that I'm fat, and I'm changing that.

I have goals, and rewards to go along with them when I reach those goals. Not if. When. Because for the first time in my life, I'm passionate about this. I have a lot of weight to lose, and so much more to gain; and I've never been more open to an experience like this.

I'll post my reward sheets next, along with a picture.