Jazzercise ain't a Joke!

     In my enthusiastic attempts to keep my exercise regimen on point...I actually agreed to go to Jazzercise at 7:30 in the morning...on a Sunday. Not only did the class begin that early, it was also located 45 minutes from my house. Dedication right??
     Allow me to clarify a few things before you all get the wrong impression. I don't want you to think I'm on the verge of giving Jillian Michaels a run for her money in the workout arena. Far from the truth! I have this wonderful friend who happens to be a Jazzercise instructor. For years, yes YEARS, she has invited me to come check out her class. She happened to ask again recently while we were attending a Saturday teacher interview day together. Being that I have rededicated myself to my health journey, I decided what the heck...I'm gonna do it.
     So I set my alarm that night for 5:30 in the morning to allow plenty of time to arrive at the studio. Needless to say my pal was surprised to see me waiting in the parking lot upon her arrival. I filled out the necessary "I won't sue you if my fat self suffers a heart attack" paperwork, all while explaining that I can only stay 30 minutes because I need to get to church.
     Ok...I love Jesus! I really love Him and that Sunday morning I loved him even more than ever! I was so thrilled to have a valid reason to leave that joint after 30 minutes. Even with modifications (they hop and I step... they squat or lunge low, I do not) I was about to die. I kept on smiling and getting my groove on but holy moly...they don't play!
     So I salute the Jazzercise enthusiasts out there. Those who hold strong to an exercise program that gets the job done. I realize studios are closing and interest is waning. But I for one can honestly say, as I did in my title, Jazzercise ain't a joke! Keep up the great work. Maybe one day... some day, I will join you again. And perhaps, just maybe, I will make it for the full hour class. Mind you, I don't think it will be any day soon.

In case you were wondering...no, that's not me in the picture.

Climbing Walls...

     As with any journey, there comes a time when you hit a brick wall. This could be literally as in a wall at a dead end street during a road trip, or a figurative brick wall you encounter while making changes in your life. I hit my first brick wall in my health journey just last night.
     The biggest focus for weight loss is what I eat. I have to make better food choices. No matter how many minutes I build up to on the elliptical machine, if I continue to eat fattening foods I will not progress as I'd like to.
    My husband and I met some friends at a local restaurant for dinner. We were there to watch our area's professional hockey team play. They are in the run for the Stanley Cup....GO LIGHTNING! Anyway, I did well at first. I ordered a tossed salad and a Mahi Mahi dish including fresh vegetables prepared in a foil steam pouch. It was a healthy and tasty choice.
     Then my hubby ordered a combo appetizer...because he was still hungry after eating his French dip sandwich. Yes, I want to punch him in the face sometimes. The platter included spinach dip, potato skins, fried mozzarella, and onion rings. I sat across the table and tried to keep up the conversation with our friends to distract myself from the yummy stuff sitting within arm's length.
     Well...I eventually gave in. It started with a couple of tortilla chips. Then it progressed to tortilla chips with spinach dip. Maybe I'll have just a little bite of the fried cheese. What...you're too full now Kevin? OK...I'll eat the other mozzarella plank (it was bigger than a little cheese stick).
     I have found that it is a slippery slope indeed when I take even a nibble of food not on my plan. It seems that it should be so simple, just don't do it. And I really have a palate for healthy food. I was raised eating veggies and still love them. I don't often have a hankering for red meat, mostly preferring chicken and fish.
     So why can't I just say no? If I could answer that question I could make millions selling my secret. I have read literature on how I need to set the stage for success. Don't put myself in places where poor food choices are available. But life happens and I can't always control my surroundings.
     I laugh as I picture my fat behind literally climbing over a brick wall...that would not be pretty.  Grunting, sweating, trying to throw my leg up then hoisting my chunky butt to the top. I can only hope that as I lose weight it will be easier to climb over the brick walls I come up against...literally and figuratively.

Doctor Doozies

WEEK TWO, DAY ONE = 255 lbs (-3)

     I know I gave nurses a hard time in one of my previous posts, but lest I be accused of not being fair, allow me to tell how doctors have also enhanced my fat experience. Like I've explained, being overweight was not something I experienced early in life. When I became pregnant with my daughter in 1994 at the age of 21...one of my biggest fears was gaining enough weight to reach 200 pounds. Oh the HORROR! Hell, now that's not far off from where I'm aiming as my goal weight.
     In 2003 my ex husband and I were living in Lakeland, Florida and I was working at Brandon High School teaching students with severe emotional disturbances. I was also experiencing some differences of philosophies with a colleague. Needless to say it was a stressful time. Upon arrival home one afternoon  my ex took one look at my overly flushed face and told me to get back in the car. He drove me to the volunteer firehouse around the corner from our home to have my blood pressure taken.
     I can't remember the exact reading but it was not good. I promised to make an appointment with my doctor and we went home. Knowing that I can be stubborn when it comes to going to the doctor, my ex decided to go to the appointment with me. There we sat in the small examination room, me on the "table" and my ex husband in a chair in the corner.
     Before I continue my story, there is one thing I have to tell you. Everyone has that one body part he or she hates above all the rest. That one area you wish you could change even if you could change nothing else. For some it's their hips, or their thighs, or perhaps their tummy. Mine is my upper arms. I detest my upper arms. I never wear anything sleeveless because I am foolish enough to think that covering them with material will disguise their girth. I shoot eye daggers at skinny armed women at Disney when Kevin and I go to the parks. Walking around in their tank and spaghetti strap tops. I just want to smack em!! When it comes to pictures I am the "Queen of crop" I try to position myself on the end of group shots so I can crop my arm out. Yet another fat life adaptation I have mastered.
     So back to the doctor's office. I'm on the table and my ex is in the chair when the doctor enters the room. He looks at my chart and sees that my blood pressure is once again elevated. He then looks at me and says..."Did they take your blood pressure with the big cuff?" I look at my ex, he looks at the ceiling to avoid eye contact with me, and then I turn to the doctor and answer..."No, they did not use the big cuff." Meanwhile my ex is still counting ceiling tiles, too afraid to get involved.
     The "big" cuff was brought in and my blood pressure was still elevated. Even with the "big" cuff! The doctor starts discussing ways to keep my blood pressure down. He talks about reducing the stress in my life. Yeah, that wasn't happening. Then, because I knew it was coming, I say "I could stand to lose a few pounds too." Chuckle, chuckle.
     Doctor Feel Good doesn't even look up form the chart when he says "Yeah, like 50". Wow!! A+ for bedside manner you turd. Now to his defense, I did need to lose 50 pounds, but he could have been a little gentler in his delivery. Fat people have feelings too!
     My next doctor "realizing I'm fat" experience came about six months ago. For the past two years I have had trouble with swelling in my feet and ankles. When I mention it to people they always ask "Do you eat a lot of salt?...to which I resist the urge to reply "Well I have a salt lick on my bedside table, is that a bad thing?" I don't mean to be a jerk but yes, I know that too much salt can cause swelling. It appears to be more than that.
     I went to a cardiologist to rule out heart concerns. I then went to a vein specialist to explore that possibility. I had been joking with my friends and sharing my philosophy about the reason for my swollen ankles. What did I blame it on? Being fat, of course. See...I explained to my friends that what happens with my blood cells on the way to my feet to remove excess waste product is that they get tired. They hit just below my knees and are so dang tired from traveling through all the other expansive areas of my body (butt, boobs, belly and don't forget my arms) that they just give up and turn around.
     All of my friends laugh and call me crazy. That's not it they tell me. Well, I shared my funny hypothesis with the vein doctor and guess what? He agreed with me and said I wasn't far off. Nice!!! I'm telling you, my medical woes can all be traced back to being overweight. Which is one more reason why this journey is so important. I must reach a healthier weight for reasons least of which is to look better. Although that won't be a bad thing either.

Look at that arm? Good grief!!!
 

Don't Ask Y....Just Try!

   

How I feel when I think of exercise!

     I went to my local YMCA this morning to work out. I joined the facility a couple of months ago and was attending regularly up until I "tweaked" my right knee. I think it happened during a Body Pump class when I was doing a set of squats. They are serious when they say to keep your back straight and don't lean forward over your knees. I know that now!
     Since my hubby and I were taking a trip to the mountains a couple of weeks ago, I cut down my visits (as in I quit going) in order to let my knee heal enough to enjoy the mini vacation. Upon our return I continued to be lazy until my motivating event (see post #1). I arrived at the gym at 5:20 Tuesday morning. I walked on the treadmill, wearing my knee brace, and not as quick paced as I normally do.
     The rest of that day and into the next morning my knee was hurting again. I elicited the advice of friends and searched the internet for exercises that wouldn't make my knee worse. The machine that kept surfacing in my research is the elliptical. Ugh...I was afraid of that. Those things kick my butt!!
     Being that I am on my health journey and extremely determined, I arrived this morning at 5:30 ready to give it a go. I climbed onto the contraption intended to streamline my physique, or at least help me reduce my rolls, and started my workout.
     Yep....just as bad as I remembered. But I kept going. About two minutes in I was already discouraged. I looked to my left to see a gentleman of no less than 65 years of age giving it some major hustle. Good grief! I'm being shamed by the elderly. I took a deep breath, sucked it up and started pumping my legs faster.
     At minute 3 I slowed down so much that the durn machine asked if I was still there! Yeah, yeah...I'm here. I picked up the pace again and tried to distract myself with the television in the middle of the room.
    Minute 4...what is wrong with me? Now I start trying to sneak a peek at the old guy's screen to see how long he'd been at it. Surely he started mere seconds before I did. The machines are set for 30 minute sessions and count down from there. I strained my eyes to look at my neighbor's screen without turning my entire head and making it obvious. 4.36...what? He only has 4.36 minutes left out of thirty? And he is pumping his legs like he's running away from a serial killer? You have got to be kidding me!
     When I finally reached 5 minutes, I started looking for a way out. I knew I couldn't go back to the treadmill because of my knee. I started scanning the exercise area for another machine, ANY other  machine that could provide a low impact cardio option. Ah ha....I saw it. There on the side of the room sat a row of stationary bikes.
     I was determined to make it to 6 minutes. And I did it! Then I went and got a sanitizing wipe, cleaned the machine, and kissed the elliptical good bye. I headed to the bikes and noticed something even better. "Hello gorgeous" I thought to myself as I approached the bikes that have a full seat including a back...on which you sit and pedal out in front of your body. I was ecstatic!
     I know, I know...it's kinda cheating but regular bikes make my tush hurt! I have a one body part in pain at a time rule. Not really, but it makes sense now that I write it. I perched myself on that bike and started pedaling like nobody's business. I even increased the tension as I went. I completed the full 30 minute session on my new found friend and felt accomplished.
     See, here's the thing, at this point in my health journey it is important to build habits. It is less about the intensity of my workout but more about getting up each morning (did I mention it's at 5:00 am) and just going. Sometimes the most difficult part is showing up. I will tackle the elliptical again. Every time I go I will start with that machine and who knows, maybe I'll make it to 7 minutes by the end of this month. Miracles do happen.

Tales of Scales...

Only skinny women smile on a scale...lol!!!

     I realize that nobody enjoys stepping onto the scale at the doctor's office, but when you're obese it is even tougher. My favorite type of device to be weighed on is the slide scale. The cute little nurse (it seems I always have the cutest and the smallest nurse) never wants to offend me when taking my weight. It's probably because she is afraid I'll eat her!
     Anyway, in order to not offend me the nurse will move the large slide to the 150 pound notch and stop. Then her little finger starts tap, tap, tapping the top slide all the way to the end. Quickly realizing her mistake when the bar never tilts in the right direction, it is still sunk on the left side, she attempts to distract me with idle chatter as she moves the large slide to the 200 pound slot.
     Now we're making progress. Tap, tap...tap.....tap, oops, a little back to the left. Ahhhh, there we have it. 200 and....whatever my weight is at the time. Finally, I decided to end the misery when I go to the doctor. I perch myself on the scale and move the large bar on the bottom directly to the 200 notch. I told my last nurse "Honey, I haven't been less than 2 bucks in years. Now let's see how much change I owe ya."
     I think I truly frightened a little nurse back when I had my hysterectomy in 2005. I had already gone to my "naked" appointment where I was physically checked out prior to my surgery. Two days later, literally 48 hours, I returned to just meet with the doctor in his office to go over paperwork and procedures. Did you know doctors actually have offices? With desks and everything.
     Like usual, the most petite nurse in the world (or at least that office) opens the door to the waiting room and calls my name in squeaky, high-pitched voice..."Kimberly???" I stand to walk with her into the back. Just the short jaunt down the hallway makes me feel like an Amazon compared to the nurse. I assume she is walking me to the doctor's office.
   Then we stop...right in front of the scale. "Go ahead and step on the scale for me" the tiniest person in the world says to me. I don't know what got into me, perhaps the stress of the upcoming operation, but I looked right at her and said "No". "No?" she asked. "No", I repeated. "Look", I continued "I was here two days ago. I was fat then and I'm fat now. I'm in no mood to step on that scale." I stared at her, she stared back.
     "I'll be right back" she squeaked and walked away. I sat there wondering what was wrong with me. Nobody likes a mean fat lady. I need to be jolly. I was also thinking that I was not getting on that scale and that tiny gal sure couldn't put me on it, at least not by herself.
     A few minutes later she padded back down the hallway. "You can follow me." She then escorted me to the doctor's office. Now was that so difficult? To all of the petite nurses out there, I apologize. I know I shouldn't take out my frustrations on you. My goal is to get to a point where my bad attitude  is greatly adjusted. As my weight goes down, so will my anxiety level about the doctors' scales...and it'll save all the tiny nurses in my life.
    

Finding Out I'm Fat....

WEEK ONE, DAY TWO = 258lbs  

     I've been racking my brain to try and pinpoint the exact time I truly felt fat. Was it the first time I stood up in a plastic lawn chair and it remained stuck on my hips? Or was it the first time I had to buy a size 16 pair of pants? (I have a couple of size 18 now) Or was it the first time I looked at the height and weight chart at my doctor's office and realized that not only am I overweight, I'm technically obese?
     Or perhaps it was the time I was ripping off toilet paper and pulling it across my body and the end of it got caught in my fat crack (referenced in post #1 as the space where my belly fat lies on my thigh) causing a square to rip off the end and sit there protruding from my side like a hanging tongue! As I sat there I said to myself..."There you have it, you are officially fat sister!"
     Here's the thing, I put my weight on (until these past two years) very gradually, like most people do. I am also blessed with genetics that cause me to distribute my weight pretty evenly. Therefore I have to be pretty darn heavy for my stomach to really start sticking out. But the time has come...it is out and it aint coming back in without some work.
     And then there is the problem I encounter where I actually have to argue with people about the fact that I am fat. Allow me to explain. I'm a pretty jovial, fun, loving person. I have a pretty face, great hair, and I dress fairly well. My life is filled with wonderful friends and colleagues. Now I realize that it is not good to make derogatory comments about my weight and it is something I need to greatly reduce, however, I am not being dishonest.
     So when I say something about my fat behind and a friend or colleague says "You're not fat" I actually get perturbed. Yes...I am fat. No...I'm not a terrible person but yes...I am fat! When you're 5'8" and weigh as much as most of the Tampa Bay Buccaneer pro football players, honey, you're fat.
     But here's the great news. I don't have to be forever. I actually refuse to look at one more picture and think..."Who in the world is that fat lady with my husband?" Might mean I'm not taking a picture for a very long time. Just kidding...

The Start of It All....

    

About 6 months ago...I am about 17 pounds heavier now.

     My name is Kimberly. I'm 44 and I'm fat. I haven't always been this way. Quite the contrary actually. Throughout my childhood and teen years I was athletic, healthy and lean. As a young adult, following high school and college athletics, I became shapely. But still I remained a far cry from obese.
     When I was around 10 years old I asked my mother to take me to the doctor because I feared something was wrong with me. My primary, actually my only symptom...my ribs were showing. Growing up in a family of overweight adults on both my father and mother's sides I was very distraught at my apparent abnormality...a flat stomach with visible ribs. I look back now and wonder how my mother controlled the urge to punch me in the face.
     Around this same time my mother had her first of two weight loss surgeries. Gastric bypass surgery was still controversial and considered experimental at the time, forcing my mom to travel two and a half hours away from our home near Tampa, Florida to Shands Hospital in Gainesville, Florida for the procedure. I remember visiting her in the hospital to see the large rolled gauze "baby" strapped on her wound which extended the length of her torso, sternum to below her belly button.
     Her recovery from the surgery was slow and painful but not nearly as difficult as adjusting to life with her new, drastically smaller stomach. Three bites at a meal was about all she could take. One more meant she vomited everything up to only try to start again. Certain foods were worse than others and much trial and mostly error took place. But, the weight melted off. My mother lost over 100 pounds.
     As the years went by, she put the weight came back on. By the time I was in high school she was heavier than ever. I can honestly say, however, that her weight never appeared to stop her from doing anything she needed to do. What I didn't know, and wouldn't realize until I too had become overweight, was that I am certain her weight kept her from doing many things she wanted to do.
     I will soon tell you the reasons behind my somewhat recent weight gain, but for now let me tell you the catalyst for beginning this journey at this time...like now...as in RIGHT NOW. What I'm about to write is not for the faint hearted but it is real. The absolute truth!
     I was sitting on my couch last night watching television with my husband. We own a leather, reclining couch and I had the leg rest up sitting with my legs extended out in front of me. Being in the comfort of my own home, I let out a little, silent toot. Now, as all of the ladies out there can attest, sometimes if you're sitting just right and fart, it will roll up your front side and escape the top of your hoo ha. It's happened to us all. In this particular instance, not only did my flatulence roll up the front, it took a sudden detour into the crack created by my belly fat laying on the top of my thigh.
     But wait, it gets better! Of course I can feel this happening and I assume that it will simply escape the side of my fat crack and none will be the wiser. Oh, it escaped alright but did not go silently into the night. All of a sudden there comes this high squeaky "poof" sound that causes my husband to look over and say "What was that?"
     Rest assured, this man has heard me fart...many times. But this sound was distinctly different. I was mortified, which rarely happens as I typically have no shame. I started laughing to mask my embarrassment and responded "You don't even want to know." But I eventually told him.
     About thirty minutes later I went to take a shower to freshen up as my hubby and I had discussed getting frisky. I stood in the shower and cried, and cried. I kept thinking about how horrified I was about what had just happened. I did not feel sexy...at all!! And it was right then and there that I made the decision to start this weight loss journey and share my experience. Yes, I was motivated by a fat fart!

Senior year of high school, 17 years old

Going to a wedding, 19 years old