Yesterday was not a good day for me. I'm not sure what happened but I ended up in a horrible mood in the afternoon and I was bitchy by the time I got home. I'm glad for my brother's sake he left with a friend because I wouldn't have been fun to be around.

I had basmati rice for dinner and thought about going to the gym. I checked my email and Facebook and thought about going to the gym. I turned on the TV and thought about going to the gym. I made microwave popcorn and thought about going to the gym. I watched 'The Biggest Loser' and thought about going to the gym. Then I realized it was 10:30 and thought about going to bed.

I was feeling so down, and I really had no good reason to be that way. Work was fine, I didn't hear any bad news, it wasn't a bad day. So why was I feeling so miserable? I don't know. I think part of it has to do with the change in weather, more specifically the daylight. Now it's mostly dark when I get up in the mornings so it's really hard to drag myself out of bed. I'm not sleeping very well for some reason. Sometimes I have trouble going to sleep, but the bigger problem is that I don't stay asleep through the night. I wake up constantly and I'm not sure why that is.

My mood still isn't quite back to normal today either but it's considerably better than yesterday. I ate crap food for lunch and it did not set well with me at all, my tummy is rebelling. Note to self ~ no more sesame chicken and fried rice from Carrs.

Not. Pretty.

I'm learning that losing weight is much more mentally challenging than I ever thought it could be. And if I'm honest with myself, I haven't been giving this process 100%. More like...60%? That's probably generous. My heart hasn't truly been in it and I've been doing things I know I shouldn't. Why am I sabotaging myself?! Don't I have a right to live a healthy, active life?? How am I going to reach my goal of 130 pounds if I continue to eat like shit?

It's simple. I won't.

My attitude has to change. I have to make a serious effort to change how I think about food. More importantly, I have to change how I feel about myself. One of the reasons I decided to become healthier was because I saw how hard it was on Mom when she was diagnosed with cancer. I saw how her body failed her, and I thought if she had been in better shape to begin with it might have helped. It wouldn't have changed the outcome, but I thought maybe it would have made things a tiny bit easier, at least in the beginning.

That's not the way to go about this. Because I've all but convinced myself that one day I will be diagnosed with some sort of cancer. I thought that getting into better shape would help me fight the disease and have a better chance than my Mom and Dad did. That I would have a greater chance at beating cancer.

Well that's just absolute bullshit.

If the only reason I have for getting healthy is to fight cancer, I will never get there. Who wants to become healthy to fight a disease that you may or may not end up with?! And what kind of way is that to live?

It's not living, it's waiting to die.

I need to do some serious thinking about my choices. What do I want to gain from going to the gym and making better food choices? What do I have to gain from doing nothing?

What do I want out of my life?

I ate much better today, though dinner could have used some improvement. I logged all my food into the gym's website and was under my calorie allowance for the day. It amazes me how much more food you can eat when it's healthy. You can eat a ton of lettuce compared to a cup or two of something else. Okay, not a ton, but you get the idea.

After work I went to the gym and had my session with my trainer, who I will hereby refer to as Sgt. Fitness. We worked on my arms and upper body today, I'll be feeling it tomorrow but it shouldn't be too bad. I love that after our workouts I can feel that we did them, but I'm not so sore I can barely move, which is what happened at the YMCA. I expect to be sore, I'm horribly out of shape, but I'd like to be able to get out of bed without whimpering.

I like the machines we used, they use cables. No idea what they're called, but I like them. I feel kind of dorky when I'm doing these exercises sometimes. I guess I'm just moving my body in ways I've never moved it before and it feels awkward. It's not a bad thing, and Sgt. Fitness tells me if I'm doing something wrong so I don't worry about that.

This gym stuff is slowly bringing about a different mind set. I'm thinking more about what my body can do (and what it can't), and I'm more aware of how I'm feeling physically. To be honest it's odd to be thinking about myself so much. I'm giving some thought to upping my training sessions from 8 per month to 12 per month. I asked the manager about the price. I should have asked my trainer what he thinks, I suppose. I can't imagine he'd think it's a bad idea. Now it's a question of whether or not I can afford it. I think if I get rid of the storage unit I could manage it, and my health is much more important than stuff. You know, spending the money on this gym stuff was a really hard sell for me at first. I'm paying a monthly membership fee for the gym in general, another for the food website, and then a chunk for the training. It's not cheap. Then I got to thinking about the number of times I've spent a fortune on lotion or candles and didn't think twice about it.

Why is it so easy to spend money on things I don't need but so hard to spend money on my health?! This way of thinking is what's gotten me where I am. Well, that and my love of Dr. Pepper and meat lover's pizza.

Today's Stats:
Treadmill Miles ~ 1.06
Time ~ 27 minutes
Incline ~ 8

I've eaten like crap all weekend. Friday night I had pizza and a Pepsi, along with caramel popcorn. I haven't eaten breakfast at all. I had garlic chicken stuff yesterday and today, along with buttered popcorn. I feel like shit.

It's so crazy what an emotional eater I am. I eat to fill the void of lonliness. I know this, and yet I do it anyway. I can be rather disgusted with myself as I'm shoveling away caramel corn, yet I continue to eat it. The only good thing I've done all weekend is drink a lot of water. Oh wait, and last night instead of eating ice cream I had a peach. Why do I sabotage myself? That's what it amounts to. I want to be healthier, I want to lose weight, I want I want I want, but apparently I don't feel like doing the work that goes along with achieving any of this. Then I feel guilty, like I do now, and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me that I continue to do this to myself. Nobody is forcing me to eat like shit, I do it all on my own.I'm so frustrated with myself.

I'm getting over a cold so I haven't been to the gym since Tuesday, which seems to make it easier to let myself eat horribly. When I work out I tend to eat better. I haven't logged any of the food I've eaten since Friday morning into the gym's website. I don't want my trainer to see it. I don't want to have to explain why I've eaten so much junk, and I know he'd ask. (Who am I kidding, he'll ask anyway) And what would my reasoning be? Oh well, you know, I was feeling lonely and so I stuffed myself with pizza so I could try to feel better. It didn't work.That's what makes this process hard for me to understand. If eating junk actually made me feel good in any way, shape or form, I could almost justify it. I could find a way to make it okay in my warped little brain. But it doesn't. I feel bad when I start poking through the kitchen or pantry, I feel bad while I'm eating whatever I find, and I feel bad when I'm done. So what exactly is the payoff? I have no idea. So why do I do it?!

Being overweight has become a buffer between me and the world. I use it as an excuse to not do things. I sometimes avoid people. I avoid posting pictures of myself so people can see how far I've let myself go. And then on the other side, I get mad at myself for being that way. For not taking advantage of trying new things or meeting new people because I'm embarrassed of my size and how out of shape I am.This has to stop. I have to stop doing this to myself. Is this what Mom and Dad would want for me? More to the point, is this what I want for myself? NO!!!!

So tomorrow I will start again. I will weigh myself when I get up. I will eat breakfast. I will log all of my food. I will work out with my trainer, then get on the treadmill for at least 30 minutes. I will eat something healthy for dinner. I will use this journal to vent if I need to.

I will do better.

After realizing how far I'd let my weight go, I was lost as to how to change it. I should mention that last spring my stepdad and I signed up for sessions with a personal trainer, but my heart wasn't truly in it. My stepdad lost a lot of weight, I lost a few pounds. I was so sore after our workouts that I was lucky if I could lift my leg to get into the shower the next morning. That's not exactly something that encouraged me to go back for more.

When the sessions ran out it was easy to find excuses not to go to the gym. Too tired, too busy, and the good old standby of 'not tonight, I have a headache'. Motivation was nowhere to be found and again, laziness ensued. I let the gym membership lapse after my stepdad moved out of state.

Then my boss talked me into trying a pilates boot camp. I was extremely hesitant. I'm not flexible. I'm overweight. I know nothing about pilates. But I let her convince me to give it a try, and I loved it. Pilates is the best stress reliever I have ever come across. I felt better, I slept better, and I was so excited that I signed up for a year of unlimited mat classes.

Since that time, about 4 months ago, I've gone to exactly 2 classes. I really can't even give a reason for that, I just haven't gone.

In July I decided that I needed to find a gym to join. One that I liked, that I would actually go to, that didn't scare the hell out of me. I'd been hearing ads on the radio for a gym I'd never been to before, so I Googled them and started reading their website. Of course they never tell you how much a membership is, so I called and scheduled an orientation appointment to find out about them. I met with the manager and she was a little intimidating, not by her attitude but by her sheer enthusiasm for the gym and what they do. She surprised me by asking lots of questions about me ~ what my goals are, why I was there, on and on it went. When I was done telling her my goals, she informed me that her goal was for me to meet my goals. That surprised me too. Since when do these people actually give a damn about their members, aside from making sure they pay the bill on time? After she showed me their different plans, I signed on the dotted line, was introduced to my new trainer, and walked out the door with a smile on my face.

By the time I got home I was in panic mode. What the hell did I get myself into?! I had just signed a one year contract for sessions with a personal trainer twice a week, as well as their food tracking website and the general gym membership. What in the world was I thinking?! I alternated between being really excited about doing something for myself for once and being sure it was all a huge mistake.

The first time I walked through that door for a session with the trainer I was terrified and trying desperately not to show it. I failed. The receptionist (who shocked me by knowing my name), assured me the trainer wouldn't bite and told me to have fun. Right, I thought, that'll happen when pigs fly.

A few minutes later the trainer came to get me and I was scared all over again. He was young, good looking, in great shape, extremely friendly, and he was about to weigh and measure me.

Oh. My. God.

I wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor, I was so embarrassed. It was bad enough that I knew what I weighed, but now this cute guy was going to know too?! Kill me now.

He asked me lots of questions, we did a couple of surveys about medical history, and he asked about my goals, expectations, and what I wanted to change. Um, everything, yep, that'll do it, thanks! He measured my body fat percentage with some little device I held up in my hands. The number made me cringe. Then came the measuring part. I was again embarrassed. That's the closest anyone besides my doctor had been to me in ages. When it was over we talked about a plan of action and made an appointment for my first real session of training. I again questioned my sanity in the matter, and I got on a treadmill for half an hour of cardio before heading home.

I remember feeling rather proud of myself as I drove home. I had survived being measured, the trainer seemed nice, and nobody made fun of me. To be more accurate, the trainer didn't make fun of me. I realized part of the reason I was so scared about it was because of what his reaction would be when he saw the numbers. I know they are bad, otherwise I wouldn't be there. But I've been to gyms where the employees are rather judgemental and rude to overweight people, and that wasn't something I needed.

My first real session with the trainer wasn't what I was expecting. We did resistance training, which I'd never done before, and the session was half an hour long. I was sweating like mad after one set of exercises, so then I was embarrassed yet again for how out of shape I had let myself become. However, I found that I liked it. The exercises we did were easy to follow, he was really patient with me, and when I was done I felt like I'd accomplished something. Even better, I had no trouble getting in the shower the next day! I could feel the workout all right, don't get me wrong, but it was nowhere near the pain I'd experienced before. I began to feel a bit more enthusiastic about the whole thing.

I started keeping track of what I was eating on their food website and was not too happy to discover how awful my eating habits were. It was a real eye opener to see just how bad some of what I was eating was for me. For example, everyone knows McDonald's food is bad for you. But I didn't realize exactly how awful it was. I just never took the time to look at a breakdown of the fat content in their food. Holy crap! How the hell is it possible for them to make potatoes so horrible for you?!

Anyway, onward we go.

I've been going to this gym for 2 months now. My trainer has been a lot of fun, though I feel foolish because I tend to ramble while we're working out. I'm sure he's heard way more about me than he cares to know. I'm learning a lot about nutrition and though I can't believe I'm saying this, I like going to the gym. The workouts I do with the trainer area always different, so I'm never bored with them, and he's had me steadily increasing the incline on the treadmill so that's not boring either.

I'm starting to get a tiny idea of what my body can do if I let it and if I try.

The Past

I'm starting this journal so I can finally be honest about my weight loss journey. I've been keeping track at my every day LJ but I find myself not telling the whole truth sometimes. I shouldn't feel the need to edit my thoughts in my own journal, really what's the point of having one if I can't be honest with myself? But, being me, I worry entirely too much about what others think and sometimes it keeps me from saying things I'd say otherwise.

Well, no more.

Here I can be free to say exactly what I think about things, and how I feel about things. I'm going to find out how it feels. Starting this healthy kick is hard enough without adding some warped sense of pressure to the mix.

My highest weight was 212 pounds. How did that happen?! It's not like the weight just hopped on my ass overnight. It's taken years for the scale to creep up as high as it has. In a way I feel shocked that it's gotten so bad, and yet I watched it happen and did nothing to stop it. It's like watching some made for TV movie about someone else's life. You know, a woman marries the seemingly perfect man only to find out after the honeymoon that he likes to beat on his wives. You see it and think, that is just so dumb. How could she have let that happen? How did she not see the signs? That will never happen to me! I would never be so stupid. Etc. etc. etc.

I'm here to tell you, it can happen to anyone.

But I'm going to start at the beginning, when weight started to become an issue for me. I'm not going to re-hash that awful period of my life, but the gist of the story is that I found myself dealing with emotional problems I'd never even imagined before. I can look at it now and admit it was a stage of depression, but I didn't know it at the time. I became withdrawn from most of my friends, I stopped going out and doing things, I was at odds with my family, and my stress level was through the roof. I was a mess. This was the first time I gained weight. I went from 125 pounds to around 150 pounds.

Then came a period where I was so busy and had such a wacky schedule that eating was the least of my concerns. I grabbed fast food, when I remembered to eat at all. Before I knew it I was back down to about 130 pounds. I was far from healthy, I cringe when I think of my eating habits at the time, but I remember how excited I was when I bought my first pair of Tommy Hilfiger pants in a size 7 and they fit perfectly.

Not long after that, my life settled down a lot. I got a steady job with normal hours, my lifestyle changed quite a bit, and I slowly began gaining weight. Not a lot, just a few pounds here and there, but enough that people started noticing. And commenting.

Let's fast forward to 2004. My stepdad was offered a job in the great state of Alaska, so he and my Mom were getting ready to move, and they asked if I wanted to come with them. I'll be honest, my first thought was 'are you kidding me? Alaska?!' Utter shock. Then I said why not? If I hate it I can always move back, right? Laziness ensued. I wasn't working when we first moved here, so I sat on my ass all day reading like there was no tomorrow, playing with my beloved Yorkie-Poo Nika, and spending the days with my Mom. The weight continued to add up. I continued to pretend it wasn't happening.

Fast forward again to fall of 2007. On October 11, 2007, my Mom was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer. Ten days later my Dad landed in the hospital needing heart bypass surgery. Life as I knew it was turned completely upside down and my only focus was on my family. My Mom was in the hospital for almost a month before the diagnosis, during which time I lived on a mixture of Chinese food, Arby's roast beef sandwiches and McDonald's french fries. Not to mention Irish Creme lattes, Dr. Pepper and Diet Coke. My weight just went crazy but between phone calls to my Dad and stepmother and taking care of my Mom, I was too busy to notice or care about my health.

Mom died of lung cancer on June 15, 2008, and Dad passed away from stomach cancer on December 29, 2008.

I was an emotional wreck. I ate horribly, I couldn't sleep, I'd started having migraines. I was a mess, physically and emotionally. I finally saw a doctor and started taking fluoxetine (trade name Prozac), which helped me far more than I thought it would, which also pissed me off that I needed it. I also took amitriptyline to help me sleep, it helped immensely.

Life has changed drastically for me over the past couple of years. I've lost my parents, I no longer speak to my stepmother, my stepdad moved back to Montana, and my brother and I are still in Alaska about 2,500 miles from all of our family. This is how I got to the point of stepping on the scale one day and seeing the number 212. I couldn't believe it. I decided the scale had to be wrong, so I weighed myself every single day for a week and it only changed by maybe half a pound. I had a check in with my doctor and their scale was only 2 pounds different.

There was nothing wrong with the scale, there was something wrong with me.