Well readers, I have a confession to make. I fell off the wagon…the weight watcher’s wagon that is. I signed up in January for their awesome and amazing point-plus-jennifer-hudson-program, after my last post (yes, it’s been 6 months since I last blogged, what of it? I’ve been too busy starving myself to write) and right off the bat, I was losing weight like gangbusters! Ok, more like a snail’s pace – but it was motivating to see results both on the scale and with how my clothes were fitting, not to mention how much energy I had and how great I was sleeping!
At about four months in, the unspeakable happened. I peaked at 15 pounds lost. Even though people at work had nick-named me “Shrinking Lori” and my mother commented on how great I was looking (well, you know how mothers are…she said “you’ve lost a lot of your belly fat” or something equally backhanded), I still felt like a failure because the weight had STOPPED coming off. I was eating properly, tracking each grain of rice and drinking a camel’s worth of water each day…exercising even…and the needle just sat there…at a lousy 152lbs.
“F*ck you, one-fifty-two!!” I would say to the scale, but it didn’t hear me…or maybe it just didn’t care.
This is the reason I haven’t been blogging, and the reason I stopped sharing my success on Facebook and Twitter.
I was ashamed and embarrassed. It’s weight loss for crying out loud, how could I fail at losing weight?!?
And then, something worse happened. I threw in the towel. I allowed all the bad habits to come creeping back in. Ice Cream for dinner. Cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Regular vs. lite beer. Dear readers, I hate to say it – I caved. Like a house of cards gently tapped by a charm bracelet (yes, it’s a Brady Bunch reference), my awesome and amazing weight loss plan came tumbling down. And what happened next, you may consider a bright side, but not me. None of the weight came back. That’s right, eating what I wanted when I wanted and still stuck at that one hundred and fifty two f*cking pounds!!
Not only am I not successful, but I am a FAILURE at FAILURE!!!
Fortunately last week, thanks to the wonk weather and poor air circulation at work, I got sick. Really sick. Three prescription sick and with that, came zero appetite. This, my friends, is what finally toppled my freshman fifteen and put me back on track.
I am re-motivated and back to tracking and starving. Bikini season is half over, and I didn’t reach the goal I’d set for myself in time for summer, but my 40th birthday is still 3+ months away and I will not let myself see another setback such as this. This I promise, to myself.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
i'm not a girl named boney maroney
Let me explain, because unless you’ve known me since grade five, you have no idea what the heading of this blog refers to.
When I was in lower grade school, I was one of the skinniest kids in my class. My last name being Moore, Boney Maroney was as good a nickname as one could earn. Because at the time, I really was about as skinny as a stick of macaroni. As I grew into adulthood, I became quite a hot little ticket - slim legs, tiny waist, great rack...
...flash forward 30 years to the present day, specifically this morning when I tipped the scales at 165lbs – my highest weight to date.
Now, I’m a tall-ish girl, so the extra pounds crept up without any real notice except for maybe some tighter waistbands and a second chin. And before some of you out there in Bloggerland say "165lbs? I’d be happy to weigh that!" please bear in mind, I was always between 127-137 for the better part of my life to date. So, as I am currently rounding out my fourth decade, I’ve decided I’ll be damned if this is the body in which I turn 40.
Before I get into the planning stages of said weight loss, let’s review two major obstacles:
1. I love food
2. I hate exercise
It would seem I am doomed to fail before I even get out of the gate because it’s true, I’d rather suffer a hangover than a workout but I am determined. Too add to my motivation, friends of my parents with hotsy single sons have bought a cottage on our lake and no way are they going to see this current bod in a bikini. No. Effin’. Way!
The point of this post is for me to take ownership of my weight. I got lazy, I stopped caring, and as a result, I became unhappy. Not with the fat, but because I let it get to this point. I know how to eat right. I know about portion control. I know sitting on my ass and watching movies for hours is not a great way to burn calories. Going forward dear readers, to help hold me accountable to my goal I will be boring you with the details of how I am going to reach it. Which brings me to just that – my goal. I would really be quite satisfied with a 20lb loss, bringing me down to 145. I can do it. Right?
Ok great, we’ve owned it, identified roadblocks and set a target. Next steps? The how-to.
I guess finishing off the ice cream in the freezer doesn’t really count as pre-work. Or does it? Because once it’s gone, it’s no longer there to tempt me. Right? *sigh* I’m pretty sure it’s this same misguided mentality that got me here in the first place. So the ice cream stays until kids come for a visit. Or until I have a major bout of PMS mixed with full moon fever. You don't want to mess with me then. Trust.
I don't expect at the end of this journey for people to start calling me Boney Maroney again, but you can bet my fat ass, readers, I'm bringing sexy back!
When I was in lower grade school, I was one of the skinniest kids in my class. My last name being Moore, Boney Maroney was as good a nickname as one could earn. Because at the time, I really was about as skinny as a stick of macaroni. As I grew into adulthood, I became quite a hot little ticket - slim legs, tiny waist, great rack...
...flash forward 30 years to the present day, specifically this morning when I tipped the scales at 165lbs – my highest weight to date.
Now, I’m a tall-ish girl, so the extra pounds crept up without any real notice except for maybe some tighter waistbands and a second chin. And before some of you out there in Bloggerland say "165lbs? I’d be happy to weigh that!" please bear in mind, I was always between 127-137 for the better part of my life to date. So, as I am currently rounding out my fourth decade, I’ve decided I’ll be damned if this is the body in which I turn 40.
Before I get into the planning stages of said weight loss, let’s review two major obstacles:
1. I love food
2. I hate exercise
It would seem I am doomed to fail before I even get out of the gate because it’s true, I’d rather suffer a hangover than a workout but I am determined. Too add to my motivation, friends of my parents with hotsy single sons have bought a cottage on our lake and no way are they going to see this current bod in a bikini. No. Effin’. Way!
The point of this post is for me to take ownership of my weight. I got lazy, I stopped caring, and as a result, I became unhappy. Not with the fat, but because I let it get to this point. I know how to eat right. I know about portion control. I know sitting on my ass and watching movies for hours is not a great way to burn calories. Going forward dear readers, to help hold me accountable to my goal I will be boring you with the details of how I am going to reach it. Which brings me to just that – my goal. I would really be quite satisfied with a 20lb loss, bringing me down to 145. I can do it. Right?
Ok great, we’ve owned it, identified roadblocks and set a target. Next steps? The how-to.
I guess finishing off the ice cream in the freezer doesn’t really count as pre-work. Or does it? Because once it’s gone, it’s no longer there to tempt me. Right? *sigh* I’m pretty sure it’s this same misguided mentality that got me here in the first place. So the ice cream stays until kids come for a visit. Or until I have a major bout of PMS mixed with full moon fever. You don't want to mess with me then. Trust.
I don't expect at the end of this journey for people to start calling me Boney Maroney again, but you can bet my fat ass, readers, I'm bringing sexy back!
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