Alzheimer's Walk victories

Yesterday was the Boston Alzheimer's Walk, which Paul and I did with his family in memory of his grandmother. It was the family's third year walking but my second; the first year, I broke my ankle two days before the walk.

Last year, I was in process for surgery. I'd met with the dietician, bariatric nurse, social worker and medical director. I'd had blood work, an abdominal ultrasound and a sleep study. I was waiting to meet with my surgeon and be assigned a surgery date.

Physically, I'd been walking a few days a week. It's hard to remember exactly, but I think I could walk about three-quarters of a mile with effort but without pain.

For the Alzheimer's Walk, you could choose either 2 miles or 6 miles. 2 miles was going to be a stretch. 6 was impossible. I ended up walking about 2 miles, I think, worrying about how far I could go and still be able to make it back. At one point, I stopped and sat in the shade to wait for my husband and his relatives to walk on and then come back.

This year, I was excited to walk the 6 miles — because I know I can. The Boston walk changed location, though, and the loops were either 1.5 or 3.5 miles. I'd planned on walking the longer route, but yesterday was hot — and the longer I stood outside, the more I realized it was okay if I walked the shorter loop. I have nothing to prove.

Paul and I did end up walking the shorter route because his parents, who drove in with us, chose that, and we didn't want to strand them while we did the longer route. While it wasn't the physical challenge I'd been planning, there was a mental victory in realizing I have nothing to prove. There was a physical victory in that 1.5 miles felt like nothing.

And there was a combined emotional-physical victory: although I still sweat a ton when I work out, I no longer sweat excessively other times. I sweated yesterday — but it was hot, and everyone was sweating. I didn't feel self conscious at all.

Here's last year's group shot; I'm in red.

And here's me and Paul this year:

I think I look happier, more energetic, comfortable in my body and confident in what it can do.

Progress in my liver

Last Monday morning, the day after my first 5K, I woke up with intense chest pain. "Heart attack?" I wondered but then noticed it was on my right side and radiating into my shoulder blade in the back. "Oh, gallbladder," I thought.

Gallbladder problems are common after weight-loss surgery; rapid weight loss can lead to formation of gallstones. My surgeon prescribed medication to protect my gallbladder after surgery, but I was 99.9% sure I'd had a gallbladder attack. I called my bariatric nurse, who had me schedule an ultrasound and a follow-up appointment with my surgeon.

At noon Monday, I met with my new trainer, Bobby. What an awkward start, with me far from 100%, but I showed up and we mostly talked. I slept all afternoon. Tuesday morning started fine, but rapidly deteriorated as I had a fever and became more and more nauseated. I slept all day Tuesday.

Wednesday I was okay and returned to work. Thursday morning I headed into Boston to my hospital. The ultrasound showed no gallstones — and I was shocked; I was sure I'd had a gallbladder attack. What else could that pain have been? My surgeon is stumped. He ordered blood work, which all looks normal. If I have more attacks, he'll order more tests — a HIDA scan to check the gallbladder's function — but for the moment, we're chalking it up to one of those things we don't understand. Frustrating.

The good news in all of this is that they did an ultrasound of my entire abdomen, not just my gallbladder. All my organs look great— including my liver, which before surgery was fatty. Now, 84 pounds later, there's no sign of fatty liver. My surgeon was thrilled, and I love that there's concrete proof of my improved health.

My first 5K

Today I did something that I couldn't have imagined a year ago: I did a 5K. A year ago, walking 3.1 miles was impossible, and voluntarily signing up for a 5K was inconceivable.

I have to send a shout-out to my Massachusetts bariatric support group on Facebook and the women who convinced me, a month after my surgery this winter, to sign up for the Diva Dash 5K fun run/obstacle course. As I said in my last post, I didn't do the Diva Dash last weekend, opting instead to do my first 5K today with my husband — but without the encouragement this winter, I never would have thought of doing a 5K. Thanks, ladies!

This morning, as Paul and I people-watched while waiting for the start, I realized something amazing: I didn't feel like an imposter, and I didn't feel out of place. I felt like I belonged among all these people setting out to walk, run and walk/run 3.1 miles.

As usual, I worked to create reasonable expectations. If I walked the whole way, I would have counted that as a success. That I was able, physically and emotionally, to alternate walking and running is an awesome success. I'm a little stiff, and I had some asthma coughing afterwards, but I DID IT!! And I feel proud, happy and very grateful for where I am in life.

Catching up and refocusing

Radio silence here for the last month, so it's time for a catch-up.

I've been content for the last few months to rest. I remember the first time I joined Weight Watchers, my leader talked about the "scenic route" rather than the "highway." Well, I've been taking the scenic route. I've been enjoying summer cocktails. I haven't been exercising much. I haven't even been tracking my food. My weight loss has been on vacation, along with my ambition. I've been content because I'm 80 pounds down from my highest — and I feel so much better.

But now, after a rest, I can say that while I'm a whole lot healthier than I was, I'm not as healthy as I want to be.

For some of the summer, my husband and I were walking and biking, but then we had a hot spell and got out of the habit. Recently, I've done almost nothing. That will change Sunday, when Paul and I walk our first 5K.

My original plan was to do the Boston Diva Dash on September 6 with a team from my Massachusetts bariatric support group. But then almost everyone who'd signed up couldn't do it, leaving only me and one other woman. I checked in with her and found out she'd be running most of the race, which meant I'd be by myself since I can run, at best guess, about 1 mile total — about a third of the 5K.

That was not what I signed up for. I wavered: should I back out or should I push through my first 5K (and obstacle course!) by myself? I decided I didn't want to do it alone — but I didn't want to give up doing a 5K. I asked my husband if he'd do one with me; he of course said yes.

Every morning on the way to work, I pass the house where Louisa May Alcott wrote "Little Women." The Orchard House has been advertising a 5K/10K on September 14, just one weekend later than the Diva Dash. Perfect solution.

So Sunday morning, after photographing the morning's activities at the church where I work, Paul and I will change into workout gear and drive a few miles to Concord. I'm guessing we'll alternate walking and running, but if we walk the whole way, I'm perfectly fine with that. I've never said in my head, "I'm running a 5K this fall." I've said, "I'm doing a 5K this fall."

Then on Monday I start working with my new trainer, and I've committed to myself that I'll start back in cardio at the gym two other days next week. With the days getting shorter, it's less and less likely that I'll head outside for cardio after dinner, so back to the gym I go.

I'm both nervous and excited about working with a new trainer. I'm nervous because overcoming my worries and my embarrassment about my size and lack of shape is a habit I've had for a long time — and I don't think my mind has caught up to my current size and fitness ability. I have lots more progress I can make — but I'm very aware of how far I've come.

Still, of course I'm nervous that he'll push me too far, to my physical or mental breaking point. Does that sound dramatic? But I once took a strength-training class that had me crying every week and doing squats until my legs collapsed.

With that memory pretty close to the surface, I told my new trainer that I won't be miserable and I won't compete with other people. He can push me, and I'll work hard, but not to the point of misery. He said he understands because he won't be miserable, either. Perfect.

I'm excited, too, to use this as a reboot, as a kick-start to refocusing on my health. In real life, I avoid highways whenever possible, and I'm realizing that's probably true metaphorically as well. But I'm eager to move from a 25-mile-per-hour zone to, say, a 40 or 45. I can still enjoy the scenery while being a little more focused.

Not making myself do things

"Today is the day I make myself exercise," read a post in one of my weight-loss surgery support groups this morning. I've spent enough years in therapy (many of the years since I was 19, and I'm 41) to automatically reframe that to "Today is the day I exercise." I'm not good at making myself do anything. 

It's a fine line. Sometimes I have to muscle through something — but usually not with brute force.

Making myself do something — using force — requires a great deal of energy. In the years when my depression was severe and I had very limited energy, I learned to conserve. I evaluate how much energy something will take and whether I'm willing to spend that energy.

These days, I have much more energy. My depression is in a good place, and I'm carrying around almost 80 fewer pounds. For years, I blamed my low energy solely on my depression. Right before surgery, I acknowledged that weight probably had a lot to do with it, too. If someone handed me 80 pounds in weights and asked me to carry them while going about my day, I would use a lot more energy.

Still, even with more energy to use, I don't force myself to do things. I choose to do things. I decide to do things.

Yesterday I was dressed for my session with my personal trainer when he texted that he was stuck in traffic and we needed to reschedule. Instead of changing back to regular clothes and vegging in front of the computer, I asked Paul if he wanted to go for a bike ride. Strike while the iron's hot, they say, and I was physically and mentally prepared to work out. We rode 7 miles in about 50 minutes — my best ride yet.

Part of me admires people who can force themselves to do things — but for me, it's not sustainable. I'm in this for the long haul, and figuring out how to make this my life, not a temporary state, is key. I'd rather invest my energy in creating long-term healthy habits than forcing myself to do anything.

Moderation — or the cookie post

For the past few weeks (maybe even a month?), I've been wanting a chocolate chip cookie. When I told Paul, he asked me why. "I want the chocolate, and the butter, sugar and flour," I replied after thinking.

Rather than eating a junk cookie from somewhere, I decided to bake. I'll eat 1 (or, realistically, 3), Paul can have some, and the rest will go out of the house so I'm not tempted to eat more. I'm not using a sugar-free recipe — I'm talking lots of sugar, butter and chocolate chips.

I decided to bake today because I have the day off and my in-laws are coming for supper — so there'll be extra people to help eat the cookies. The cookies look and smell delicious, but I haven't had one yet. Most days, I don't eat breakfast — it takes a while for my tummy to wake up, it seems — and today is no different. I know that if I eat a cookie on an empty stomach, without a foundation of protein, my blood sugar will tank and I'll feel miserable. As I sit sipping my protein shake, I'm wishing all choices were as easy as this one.

Late last night, lying in bed before I fell asleep, I wanted a snack. Specifically, I wanted 15 Kashi 7-Grain crackers (or 1 portion). Instead, I meditated and fell asleep. That wasn't an easy decision, but it was another healthy one. 

Even without the crackers, I went over my calories yesterday thanks to two margaritas, and I've been going over my calories a lot lately. I've been content to rest here for a few weeks, but now I'm refocusing. I'm much healthier than I was, but not as healthy as I'd like to be.

So why eat a cookie (or 3)? Because I'm not on a diet. This is my life; this is my forever. I have to learn to make food choices that fit my goal of health. For me, deprivation does not work forever; moderation is a much better bet.

Measuring success (and NSVs)

Someone in a Facebook weight-loss surgery support group asked if she was the only one not worried about losing weight quickly. I replied, "I want to be healthy. I'm working on creating healthy, sustainable habits — so I'm not concerned with how quickly or how slowly the weight drops. I'm concerned with how I feel and what I'm able to do now. My scale was up 4 ounces this morning, but this day is a success because I just ran a whole lap for the first time since high school (I'm 41). THAT matters way more to me than 4 ounces on the scale."

I see so many people in my support groups who are worried about the scale and focus on it exclusively. "Don't give the scale power over you. You're worth more than that," I told someone yesterday. 

If I measured my success by my scale, I'd feel like a failure today. Instead, I choose to measure my success by things I can control (what I eat and whether I exercise); by how I feel physically (energized) and mentally (confident, happy); by what I can do (I just ran a lap! I just ran for 3 minutes 23 seconds straight!); and by non-scale victories (NSVs). 

Some recent NSVs:
* Monday evening, my husband said I look "professional" riding my bike now. We've been riding the past few weeks, and I've gone from feeling very shaky to steady. And my legs are getting used to the work. 
* A pair of pants and a skirt that I bought to shrink into now fit. The skirt is super exciting because it's an XL — I fit in a bottom that isn't plus size! (I started in a 3X.)
* My favorite ring from college almost fits.
* Yesterday evening, we went for a walk with the dogs, and I suggested we walk UP the biggest hill in the neighborhood. I didn't need a break this time, and I kept a steadier pace than last time. 

Do the thing you think you cannot do

This morning, I'm drinking my coffee, comforting two scared dogs in a thunderstorm and looking on Pinterest. I was looking at a friend's board called "Being Better," and I came across this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "You must do the thing you think you cannot do."

You can't move forward when you're stuck in fear. You have to ignore the fear, at least for a little while.

A whole lot of my journey forward is about doing exactly that. Practice makes it easier, but in the beginning, it seemed impossible. It's something I've practiced with therapists over the years: being at least a little comfortable being uncomfortable. And then in my yoga class this spring, I learned to practice being present with the discomfort.

At one point, surgery seemed impossible. Being healthy seemed impossible. Being fit definitely seemed impossible.

Feeling trapped is hellish. As I've said before, I felt trapped by my body and my size, by being so out of shape and unhealthy. I'd reached a place where I couldn't see the way forward. I see now that when I asked my doctor for help with my weight, I was ignoring the fear, just for a few moments. It can start small and grow.

I saw a meme about pushing yourself just a little bit further, and then a little bit further again, and again. That's what I do with the fear: push it just a little bit at a time.

That pushing is also how I approach fitness, I realized this morning. "I'll run as far as I can," I tell myself when I start a lap. I feel good but then pretty quickly start to get tired. "Half a lap," I say. "You can stop at half a lap." I make it half a lap and then set the next goal. "I'll go to that yellow mark." It becomes clear I can do that, so "I'll go to that white mark." 

At some point, I run out of steam and really do need a break. But inevitably, I find I can go further, last longer, than my mind thought. I'm pushing myself and finding I can do things I think I cannot do. That's an amazing feeling.

6-month check-in

This afternoon I had my 6-month check-in at the hospital. I saw Erin, the bariatric nurse, who's wonderful; she weighed me and took my vital signs. Then I saw my surgeon's nurse, LeighAnne, who's also wonderful. She examined my abdomen (no hernias, happily, but there's a bit of a yeast infection in my belly button. They told me what to use and are documenting it; if it's a recurring, frequent problem, health insurance might pay for excess skin removal down the road) and said my progress is right on track. Then I saw the surgeon, Dr. S, who's also wonderful and was happy with my progress. 

After, LeighAnne put in an order for blood work so they can check my nutrient levels. I was confused about whether they measure my loss of excess weight from my highest weight or from surgery weight. She said my highest — but she kept saying I'd lost 50 pounds, not 75. She looked it up in the computer and saw that she'd been using numbers from my last appointment in April. When she looked at my numbers today, she went from being happy to thrilled. I've lost more than 50% of my excess body weight.

Comparison

That was such a relief and a boost for me. In spite of my attempts to not compare my weight loss with other people's, I inevitably do — and I come up short. Someone in a support group posted the quote "Comparison is the thief of joy," and I liked it so much I ordered a print of it to hang in my house, a visual reminder of owning my journey. 

I'm averaging 10 pounds a month, which I read somewhere was average. When I don't compare my loss with anyone else's, I'm thrilled. When I start comparing, I don't think I'm doing well enough. Daily I see posts in support groups from people bemoaning their "slow" losses of 20 pounds the first month (I lost 17) or 40-50 pounds in 3 months (I lost 35). 

Lesson: Don't compare. 

Real life, and in it for the long haul

I was supposed to see my dietician today, but my insurance doesn't cover it, and the out-of-pocket cost is a couple hundred dollars. Instead, LeighAnne asked how my eating is. I replied honestly that I make healthy choices about 80% of the time; she said that's real life, and that's what the program hopes for. I told her I can do anything for a short time, but I'm working to build healthy habits that will be the foundation for the rest of my life; she said that's the attitude of someone who keeps off weight for the long term. 

I left feeling like a success. Hey, I guess I am.

Ripple effects

One of the fascinating things about this journey is how the effects from my weight-loss surgery ripple out into all other areas of my life. Regaining my sense of freedom (from not feeling trapped by my body or my size) and having increased confidence opens up possibilities.

One example: I've started writing again. Since I was 10, I've identified myself as a writer, even in the long years when I've written very little. It feels great to write, and I even got brave enough to send off the first few chapters to some friends for review. 

Another example: This past weekend, I went to Connecticut for a Flickr meetup. As a morbidly obese person, I would have been too self-conscious and I'd have worried about getting hot and tired. I would have missed out on meeting in real life three fantastic women I've been online friends with for a couple of years.

Last night as Paul and I rode our bikes, I told him I'm sad that I would have missed out before. He was quiet for a minute and then said seriously, "I look at it as a joyful thing that you were able to do it now — looking forward, not back." I married a wise man. 

The weekend had some NSVs, too. 
* Friday night, we went out to supper at a tavern in Mystic. It was crowded and we had to wait for a table. When a table opened up, there was not much room between it and the table behind it — but I fit. 

* Saturday we walked around Mystic Seaport. It wasn't hot, but it was humid. I was sticky and sweaty, but not miserable or self conscious. 




 

Digging deep

I've gone off track. I haven't been exercising as much. I'm eating too many calories and too many carbs. I'm not drinking enough water. 

"Sometimes you just got to dig really deep and find your strength. YOU CAN DO THIS!!!!!" someone posted in a support group last night. It was directed at someone else, but it struck me. 

Many times I've responded to posts by people who've gone off track and don't know what to do. I've always known I'd probably say it to myself one day, and now I am. 

"Reread (or write if you never did) the list of reasons why you had surgery. Measure your food. Eat 2-4 oz. of lean protein first, then 1/2 cup veggies, then 1/4 cup starch. Move your body. Drink lots of water. Good luck! You can do this!"

Why did I have surgery? Because I wanted to live a long, healthy life and spend as many years with my husband as I can. I didn't want to end up using a cane or in a wheelchair in my 50s. I was tired of being tired all the time. I was sad that I missed out on things that required walking or other physical activity. I was tired of being out of shape, and I felt scared because walking for just 20 minutes caused serious pain in my back and hips. I was tired of being ashamed. I was tired of not having many options for clothes. I was tired of worrying if I would fit in a booth or a public restroom. I was worried I was burying myself in an early grave. I was tired of always feeling self conscious and knowing I was the biggest, by a lot, person around. I was tired of worrying about my health and feeling out of control.

Since my surgery about 6 and a half months ago, I've gained a sense of freedom that was long lost. I don't feel that my body or my size hold me back anymore. My physical fitness has increased dramatically, and I enjoy moving my body — and moving doesn't hurt. I'm able to do more things with my husband. I feel like a normal person. I'm not self conscious all the time. I have more energy. I'm improving my health.

I took a vacation day today and am dedicating it to refocusing. I'm remembering why I chose surgery: for my health. The decisions I make today will be bounced up against that: Does doing this increase my health? I'm going for a walk. I'm making healthy food choices. I'm drinking water. I'm seeing my therapist (regularly scheduled appointment but excellent timing). I'm remembering who I am now.

Fitness NSVs

It's a perfect day to share some fitness non-scale victories (NSVs).
* Yesterday in my training session, I did 50 seconds straight of jumping jacks, high knees and butt kicks. I've been doing a full minute of squats for quite a while. (My trainer Sal's 5-minute warm up is 1 minute each of jumping jacks, high knees, butt kicks, squats and burpees.We haven't touched burpees yet, but I told Sal that I tried a burpee at home.) When I started my sessions about 4 months ago, I could do about 10 seconds straight of jumping jacks. 
* Last week I went twice to the track to practice running, and my husband and I went again this morning. Today I ran 2 minutes 15 seconds, 2 minutes 30 seconds, then 2 minutes 15 again, and I made it three-quarters of a lap. (Last week, my longest was 1 minute 50 seconds, and a little more than half a lap.)
* After the track, we came home and took the dogs for a mile-and-a-half walk(in the heat). 
* Last weekend, my husband checked over our bikes, and this evening, we went for our first ride. As a kid, I loved riding my bike, but I haven't ridden for years. I've worried about sharing the road with cars, shifting gears, keeping my balance. All of those things went fine. After a slightly shaky start in our driveway and down the hill, my body remembered what to do, and I grinned. 

Biking is harder on the muscles than I remember — but the feeling of the wind in my face was exactly as I remembered.

Scale and non-scale victories

After a few weeks of the scale not moving much, it started again, and as of today, I've lost more than 76 pounds from my highest. That highest was almost exactly a year ago, when I asked my PCP for help with my weight. 

I've been looking forward to the scale goal of 75 pounds lost as one of the major milestones (50, 75, 100). And it feels great!

As my reward, I'm having my car detailed. I hit 75 pounds yesterday, I called today and the appointment is tomorrow — I'm not wasting time. My car hasn't been cleaned in 3 years, and we have dogs. Furry dogs. Furry dogs who shed. A lot. 

My best NSVs for the week both are fitness related. 
* Saturday morning, Paul and I went to the middle school track. I ran three times, from 1 minute 30 seconds to 1 minute 50 seconds, and made it a little more than halfway around the track without stopping. I was really proud I did it three times.
* Our short loop in the neighborhood is twice as long as our old short loop, up from .8 mile to 1.5 miles.

6 months post-op

Today marks 6 months (6 four-week months) post-op. 

I feel fantastic. I'm down 71 pounds total, 55 since surgery. I remain off 3 prescriptions. My walks are up to 2 miles, and I've started running a little (a very little: three 1-minute laps, one 1-minute-30-second lap). I've gone hiking, walked up the big hills (which I used to avoid) in my neighborhood and gotten back into yard work. I know I've said all this before, but to me, it bears repeating. I have my life back, my freedom back, and I'm so very grateful for my surgery and this process. 

The scale hasn't moved much the past few weeks, and, as always, I'm focusing on my NSVs, how I feel and what I can do. It's a challenge, but I'm managing pretty well. 

Next up: getting back on my bike. I'm thinking this weekend. 

 

How surgery helped me

Yesterday, someone posted this question in a support group: "A question for postsurgery people: In retrospect, could you ever have gotten to your goal WITHOUT the sleeve? If not, how did the sleeve make success possible, at last?"

I'm posting my answer here because although I've said all of this in different places, I like having it in one place. 

The most important thing for me is this: the thought of surgery gave me hope. I'd given up on losing weight (tried everything except surgery, of course). I'd been morbidly obese for many years, and I'd reached a point, at 40, where it hurt to walk less than a mile. How could I walk if it hurt to do it? How could I lose weight without walking? I was trapped.

Starting the surgery process gave me hope. I'd thought about it for about three years. I started seeing a therapist to work on the mental and emotional pieces. I pushed through the physical pain of walking and started changing my eating habits, to prove to myself I could follow the program.

I'm 6 months post-op next week, down 70 pounds overall. After surgery, the restriction affects me and helps me the most. I want to be healthy, and since I can eat so little, I have to make my food decisions based on nutrition. If I slip (as I do), the sleeve means I can't eat much of an unhealthy choice.

Now, for the first time in many years, my body doesn't hold me back from doing what I want to do. I have my life back, and I absolutely don't believe that would have happened without my surgery.

NSVs

It's been a while since I posted NSVs, so here are a few recent ones. 

• I did a bunch of yard work with my husband this past weekend. I used to love working outside, but for years, I haven't had the energy or the strength. This year, returning to yard work is one of the things I've been looking forward to. We weeded an area we're turning from lawn to garden, put down landscaping fabric, and mulched. Then, with pruning snips, I attacked the one dead and other mostly-dead butterfly bushes. I worked easily for a couple of hours, and it felt minor and like no big deal. 
• Lately, it's been so beautiful that I'm going for walks in our neighborhood rather than going to the gym for the elliptical and treadmill. This past week, I noticed that what used to be the long loop (1.2 miles) is much too short. The past few nights, Paul and the dogs and I have walked 2 and 2.25 miles, which feels much better.
• The heat, so far, isn't bothering me this summer. I just turned on the AC — but only after I looked at the panting Siberian Husky (who now, 10 minutes into AC, is napping happily). 

Reality

Do you know how they say addicts have to hit rock bottom before they change? I resist calling myself a food addict, but I admit I've used and abused food. In fact, I did it again Friday. As you know, I've been fighting urges for junk food and comfort-eating as I grieve Roo. Thursday morning, when I bought my iced coffee, I also bought a small bag of Doritos. I tucked them away but ate them over the course of Friday, all 3.5 servings. 

I love and enjoy the crunch. The salt. The cheese. I don't love seeing the calories, fat and sodium in my daily tally. But most of all, I don't like that I gave in and did some mindless eating. 

Because it *was* mindless, in spite of the fact I thought about it for 24 hours and made the decision. It felt like mindlessly using food for comfort. And I didn't even go to the gym. 

I'm grieving. I'm depressed. I'm hormonal. All true, and yet — they sound like excuses. 

In spite of my unhealthy choice, I ate all my protein and did better with fluid than I have been. And the scale the next morning, shockingly, was down 2 ounces. I'd almost feel better if it had been up — a kind of penance. 

The next day, I got back on track, focusing on protein and mindfully eating, and I did my cardio workout at the gym. I'm reminding myself of all the changes I've made, how different my life and thought patterns are. I bought a small bag (not huge) of chips, thought about it for a full day (instead of eating them right away), and then ate them slowly (not in one sitting) throughout the day. I'm blogging about it (not hiding it like a shameful secret). I went to the gym. I made sure my nutritional needs were met. 

I might not be as far along as I'd like (never struggling — ha! Not realistic, I suspect), but I guess, all things considered, I'm in an okay place. 

Progress

Last summer, when I started the surgery process, I created a Healthy Successes Jar. I took an old mason jar, and I wrote on slips of paper healthy choices I made — drinking extra water, going for a walk, ordering a salad instead of onion rings. 

This winter, after surgery, I created an Activity Jar, writing down things I want to do as I become healthier. I've done some: walking UP the biggest hills in our neighborhood and planting red currant bushes (symbolic of getting back into yard work and gardening). I'm still working towards others, like kayaking (by the time I was interested in kayaking, I was too big to fit in one).

One of the things I was simultaneously most looking forward to and most nervous about was hiking on Monhegan. (For those not from Maine, Monhegan is an island about 10 miles off mid-coast Maine; visitors aren't allowed to bring cars, so you walk and hike.) 

I first went to Monhegan in my mid-20s and found it to be a magical, beautiful place. I've been back a handful of times, but the hiking and walking always have been difficult. It became a metaphor for my depression: walking in the woods, doing the tough work, was symbolic of working through things in therapy. The gorgeous ocean views at the end of the trails were my reward and progress. (And then it's back into the woods for more hard work.)

This time, aside from being nervous on the steep parts of the trails, I enjoyed the walking and hiking. Did you hear that? I enjoyed it. For the first time in many years, my body didn't hold me back from what I wanted to do. It was awesome. 

Another great non-scale victory: my husband's fleece fits me. One of my non-scale goals is to weigh less than my husband. (It's a reasonable goal, since he's several inches taller than I am.) 

And another: my husband's sister came over the other night for a visit. K and I met in college and became best friends (her brother and I started dating 16 years later). She's known me since before my depression and weight gain, and has seen me through the worst times. The other night, as she was leaving, she gave me a big hug and said, "It's so good to see you smiling again."

I need to count these NSVs today, when I'm tired and depressed. We said goodbye to our beloved dog Roo a week ago. Being away on vacation helped distract me, but now that I'm back home, I'm still tempted to eat my feelings. This is hard work, changing patterns and creating new behaviors — but I'm determined to create a healthier me and a healthier life. 

 

Victories and challenges

About a week and a half ago, I checked Ray LaMontagne's tour dates. The concerts in our area were a week later, and my husband and I decided to go. This was a big deal for me. I love music but haven't been to a concert in about 10 years.

I've never liked crowds. I'm sensitive energetically and pick up other people's junk, and then when I became morbidly obese, I hated crowds even more. So many people to be bigger than. So many people to mock me or judge me or pity me.

This past week, though, I've been excited to go. Getting into the city from our suburb was easy (I grew up in the country, so driving into Boston always slightly stresses me), the walk from the parking garage was easy (at one point, walking just 3 blocks would have been challenging), and standing in line, I felt like a normal person.

When we were let in, Paul and I got a glass of wine and stood leaning on a table, overlooking the water, appreciating the afternoon sun and our date night. I was so happy — I wasn't worried about fitting in the seat, I knew I wasn't the biggest person there, I wasn't worrying about what other people were thinking of me. During the concert, I didn't worry when I squeezed by people sitting next to us — I knew I would fit fine. I danced without worrying what I looked like. 

Then we got home, and our elderly dog Roo was bleeding. Roo is almost 15 and has cancer in a few places. We've been considering him a hospice patient for the past few months, happy for each day we get. The tumor we had surgically removed in late January is back and bleeding again. We won't operate again. That means it's time to say goodbye. 

I'm heartbroken and grief-stricken. I feel flat and in pain. 

I had my session with the trainer this morning. Having something to focus on helped, but when I came home to lie down for a nap, I told Paul I thought about buying a big bag of chips and eating them — but I don't want to do that. 

It helps knowing that I've lost more than 67 pounds since July and more than 51 (!) since surgery. It helps that I physically could eat a small bag of chips, not a huge bag. But there's more going on. 

I'm committed to creating healthy habits, a foundation that will carry me through the times when my stomach has expanded and I CAN eat more than a small bag of chips. I'm committed to my health, including my mental health — and right now, that means finding a healthier way of dealing with my grief than eating. I think I need to just be with the grief when it rises, as painful and raw as it feels.

19 weeks post-op and NSVs

Yesterday was 19 weeks post-op, and the big news this week was the scale: I lost 4.8 pounds for a total of 64 down from my highest, 48 since surgery. 

Fitness

My fitness journey continues: I did my second full-hour session with my trainer, Paul and I did a jogging lap around the empty side parking lot on our way to do cardio (a new habit?), and I bought a heart-rate monitor. My (virtual) fitness buddies recommended the Polar FT4; another friend recommended the FT7. I chose the FT7 because it has a few more features but honestly because I preferred the color choices. 

The FT7 has a chest band and a watch. The first time I used it, I learned something interesting: I'm happiest working out a little below my target heart rate. The monitor helps me push harder without pushing too hard. 

NSVs

I had a few good NSVs this week.
* A few years ago, I bought a pair of shoes from DanskoOutlet.com. They were too tight and have been sitting under my bed. I tried them on this week, and they fit perfectly!
* In BJs this afternoon, I dared to walk through the clothing section. I've been searching for plain V-neck t-shirts, which they had. I bought three XL shirts, thinking they'd be too small — but I think they fit. My husband says they do, so I guess they do... but I've been in plus sizes for so many years that I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around fitting in regular sizes.
* I dropped off my BJs purchases at home, changed and went to the gym. This is huge because normally once I'm home, I don't leave again. I was really dragging and cut myself a break on my workout; I did 10 minutes on the elliptical at target heart rate, 10 minutes on the treadmill at target heart rate, and then 20 minutes slower on the treadmill (instead of 25 at target heart rate). But I got to the gym and did some cardio, so it's a win. 
 
 

18 weeks post-op, and I turn 41

Tomorrow is 18 weeks post-op, and it's my birthday, too. 

One year ago, I was excited to turn 40 off the coast of Norway. My husband and I did a trip to my dad's native country, and we spent 10 nights on this ship. The morning of my birthday, the sun was shining and it was surprisingly warm. We were docked in Trondheim, and my husband and I started towards town. 

I was miserable. I was hot. I was sweating. We had to walk 2 kilometers to town, and I was horribly out of shape. Walking was work. Walking was hard. Walking while hot and sweaty was almost unbearable. 

I was ashamed I was so out of shape. I was ashamed I wasn't able to be a normal tourist and enjoy where I was. I was ashamed I'd let myself reach this point, and I panicked because I'd tried so many things to lose weight, and I couldn't see a different way forward. I felt trapped and doomed. 


Looking back, I see that birthday — and that trip — influenced my decision to have weight-loss surgery. Needing to ask for a seatbelt extender on the plane. Having the airplane seat divider dig into my leg and hip. Worrying whether I would fit in public restrooms. Getting out of breath going up a flight of stairs, and not fitting well in one kind of deck chair on board our ship. Missing out on walks with my husband because I didn't have the energy or the strength. Missing out on sightseeing when we visited my cousins in Copenhagen because I couldn't walk enough. 

In the airport when we were coming home, I leaned towards Paul and whispered, "Am I as big as that woman?" Paul looked at me questioningly. "I'm not trying to be mean. She looks huge to me, and then I realized maybe I'm that huge, too." 

I think Paul said I'm not that big, but the impact had been made, and although I didn't articulate it at the time, I did not want the life I had.

A year later, I love the life I have. I love that I'm healthier. I love that I'm getting fit, that I feel better, that I have more energy. I love that I don't feel trapped by my body and its limitations. I love living my life in ways I could only dream of a year ago. 

Training NSVs

I'm super-proud and excited: This morning I did my first full-hour session with my trainer!

Since I started working with Sal at the beginning of April, we've done two 30-minute sessions a week. Last week we did one 45-minute session, and today we did one 60-minute session.

When I do cardio at the gym, my body has been wanting to go faster than the 3.1 mph I've been walking on the treadmill. I've tried to speed up, but my feet and shins hurt; instead, I've added in 10 minutes on the elliptical. I can't go fast — I'm doing 40-something revolutions per minute — but it definitely is helping me increase my stamina. 

Although it feels like my body wants to jog, I've been hung up in my mind. Truly, I've never been a runner. Or jogger. Even in junior high and high school gym class, when we ran laps, I always ended up walking part of it. If I couldn't do it when I was 15, why would I think I could do it at 40, weighing a hundred pounds more? 

This morning, we did most of my session outside in the empty side parking lot. After I did walking lunges,jumping jacks, heel kicks and squats, Sal said, "You might not be excited about this, but I'm going to have you do a lap."

"A walking lap?" I asked hopefully. 

Sal shook his head. 

"A jogging lap?" 

He nodded. "Try it, and if you need to stop jogging and do a fast walk, that's totally fine."

I told Sal my body's been wanting to go faster, but I've never been a runner and why would I be able to do it now. "You have to get rid of those thoughts," he said, and told me about another client who had never run and is now doing half marathons. 

Okay, then. I've committed to trying what Sal recommends, so off I went. I didn't expect to be able to jog the whole parking lot — but I did! And it wasn't brutal. And then, after I caught my breath, I did it again. 

Sal was pleased. "Before you know it, you'll be doing five laps without stopping," he said. And you know, he's probably right. 

After my laps, I did side lunges up the handicap ramp, followed by bicep curls and leg extensions on weight machines. And voila! An hour had passed. I thought I'd need to hold onto the railing going up the stairs, but I was fine. Sore, but fine. And proud as hell. 

NSVs

Today has been a great day for NSVs. 

* This morning, I snuggled with Becca on the bedroom floor. When it was time to get up, I mentally groaned — and then I remembered it's not hard to get up off the floor anymore. 

* My FitBit tells me I climbed 13 floors today. The church where I work had a pie-baking competition tonight, and in my running up and down stairs, I didn't get the least bit out of breath. 

* Today's weather was thick and rainy, and the air inside was heavy and warm. I definitely noticed, but I wasn't a miserably hot, sweaty, self-conscious mess. It was awesome!



 

17 weeks post-op

The scale didn't move much this week; I'm down .4 ounces, for a total of 57.4 pounds since my highest, 41.4 since surgery. However, this week has been hugely successful. There was yesterday's victory of getting rid of chips and dip, then battling (and beating) head hunger, and I've also had some NSVs with my trainer, Sal. 

Last Friday, I told Sal that I thought I was ready to do more than 30 minutes at a time. Sunday, we did 45 minutes — and I was fine. Sal noticed that my recovery time between exercises is much improved, and I could feel that. And tomorrow, we're aiming for a full 60-minute session. 

From grocery store fail to awesome NSV

This afternoon on my way home, I stopped at the grocery store. I'd had Greek yogurt, berries and 1/4 cup granola around 11:30 am, and it was about 2:30 when I landed at Shaw's. I bought berries, veggies, protein. Then I decided I wanted a little bag of chips, and I walked down the chip aisle. No small bags, but I picked up a big bag of my favorite: kettle-cooked. Then to the dairy aisle for my favorite dip. 

At the checkout, I always look at the health of what I'm buying. Today was largely healthy — with two glaring exceptions. 

At home, after unpacking what I'd bought, I realized I needed to eat something, and I drank a protein shake. Then I bagged the chips and dip and walked to my neighbor's house. Her husband loves chips and dip (and is a healthy weight) so handing them over was a win-win. He looked in the bag, saw everything was unopened, and asked, "Don't you want any?" 

"Nope," I said firmly. "I don't need them."

For dinner, I made protein and veggies, and ate (as usual) mostly protein. I'm not physically hungry, but I'm thinking about those damn chips. I think this is called head hunger, and while I'm sure I've experienced it, this is the first time I've been aware of it. 

It sucks. 

That leaves me two choices, right? I can distract myself, or I can sit with it. One of the things we work on in my yoga and meditation class is breathing through the tension, and I think it's a good thing to practice.

So... onward. Even when that means breathing through the discomfort. 

Scale victory

My next scale goal has been my weight dropping to where I'm not in the highest obesity category on the BMI scale. And this morning, I made it!

I'm down 57 pounds since my highest, 41 since surgery. My BMI is down from 48.8 at my highest — class 3 obesity, sometimes called high-risk, morbid or super — to 39.3, or class 2/moderate risk.

Before my surgery, the bariatric team at Beth Israel told me I might always be considered "overweight" according to the BMI scales, and I'm okay with that. I'm even more okay with it after a friend shared with me her doctor said she's considered obese on the BMI scale. This friend is fit and I'd guess a size 10 or 12 — and if that's considered obese, I'm 100% fine with it.

NSVs

Some recent non-scale victories (NSVs):

• I've been trying to increase my speed on the treadmill. It makes my arches and shins hurt, so I worked up the nerve to try the elliptical. I've only ever made it 3 minutes on an elliptical, but I did 10. On two different days. 
• Late yesterday afternoon when I woke up from a nap, I decided I wanted to go to the gym. (The day before I didn't end up exercising, and I didn't want to skip two days in a row.)
•  In my session this morning, my trainer watched me do jumping jacks and then said, "You look a lot better doing those. Your form is great, and your speed has really picked up."

15-weeks post op: check in with bariatric program

Yesterday was 15 weeks post op (4 months next week? how is that possible?), and today I had a check-in at Beth Israel. I was nervous and called my best friend on the drive into Boston. "I'm wicked hormonal, and I've eaten 2 cups of sesame sticks in the past few days," I said, and it felt like a confession. "But then I went to the gym." 
"Do you know how different that behavior is?" she asked. "Sesame sticks — and going to the gym?" 

She's right. I really am living a different life. 

I know some people ask why bariatric patients, if they work so hard after surgery, need surgery at all. Why not just do it without surgery? I wonder that sometimes myself. 

The answer, for me, is that I need the restriction of my new, smaller tummy. Yes, I concentrate on protein first and 80-90% of the time, I make healthy food choices. But my ability to take in food (healthy or not) has been drastically reduced. One day last week, I grabbed a handful of tortilla chips. I ate 4 and put the rest away — I was satisfied. Before surgery, that never would have happened. I could, and would, eat far more, possibly without ever feeling satisfied.

Another piece of the answer is that after surgery, my body responds better to healthy eating and activity. Last July to December, I watched what I ate and drank, and went for walks — and I lost 10 pounds total. As overweight as I was, I still don't understand why weight didn't come off more quickly. Now, after surgery, I feel like my body works better. When I exercise and make healthy food choices, the weight comes off. 

I also was nervous, I think, because I see people in my support groups losing weight faster than I am. When I isolate myself, I'm perfectly happy (thrilled, in fact) with my loss and the timeframe, but inevitably, a little part of me compares my progress to other people — and I come up short. 

But Erin, the bariatric nurse, and Dr. H, the medical director, were very pleased with my progress. Dr. H said the percentages of body weight loss and excess weight lost are right where they should be, and they both said my loss is right on track. They were thrilled when I said I go to the gym, work with a trainer, go to yoga class and walk with my husband and the dogs. 

Over the scale in the bariatric area, there's a quilt. In the center, it says "Now I can..." Some squares have statements written by patients, things like "have my grandson sit on my lap" or "cross my legs comfortably." My square, I told Erin this morning, would say "live my life." I don't feel trapped anymore, or limited. I feel FREE.

The numbers

I'm down 53 pounds since my highest, 37 pounds since surgery 15 weeks ago. I put those numbers out there for other sleeve patients who might think they're "slow losers." According to my medical team, we're right on track. 

Self-love

This afternoon, scrolling through some of my online support groups, two posts in quick succession caught my eye. One woman posted a before-and-after photo, saying the before was "humiliating." Another woman posted that she went to the doctor today and said, when she saw her weight, "Ew, disgusting."

My heart aches. I know what it's like to feel humiliated. I know what it's like to feel disgusting. I know what it's like to feel helpless and hopeless. I want each of us on this weight-loss-surgery journey to be proud of our progress — but more than that, I want us to love ourselves. 

I worked hard for years (in therapy, in receiving energy work, on my own) to love myself and my body, no matter its size. Not being happy with my appearance or size or health is one thing; talking down to myself is another. It's a fine line, and one I've certainly crossed, no matter how hard I've tried. But seeing someone feel shame, which is connected to humiliation and disgust, truly makes my heart ache. 

So you, reading this, whoever you are — a friend who's never struggled with their weight or someone on this weight-loss-surgery journey — please, try to love yourself. If you can't do it, try sending a little love your way. Imagine how you would treat a loved one, and then treat yourself that way. You deserve it. 

13 weeks post-op

Tomorrow marks 13 weeks post-op. The scale hasn't been moving much, so I've been trying to focus on my non-scale victories. I really like my life and myself right now. I feel so blessed. 

Two weeks ago, in yoga class, I shared my surgery story with the class. People were wonderfully receptive and open. I talked about grace — how fortunate I am to be in a place where progress and movement come easily, and how I wish I could share that with everyone. 

This morning, driving to yoga, I was thinking that for me, grace comes after a period of hard work that seemingly yields no results until BAM! I jump forward. That place where hard work and grace intersect is a place that interests me, a place of growth and of transformation.

And then I realized: hard work continues in the state of grace — but somehow it doesn't feel hard. It's completely manageable. 

Different topic, same approach?

This morning I also was thinking about writing. I write all the time in my head but rarely actually type the words. That's the scary part. That's the part where I could fail. 

And then I thought of where I am with exercise. I'm walking, I'm going to the gym, I'm working with a trainer, I'm going to yoga. I'm trying not to mind, and mostly succeeding, that I'm the slowest person on a treadmill. I'm not letting my inexperience stop me from doing yoga. I'm not letting fear or shame stop me from doing personal trainer sessions.

If I can do all of that, things that a year ago seemed impossible, then surely I can apply the same attitude to writing. I am where I am. I might be slow. I might be clumsy, out of practice. But I can begin, and be gentle with where I am, knowing I'm transforming. 

And... a scale victory

The scale moved the middle of last week, then again over the weekend. I've lost 51 pounds since July, 35 since surgery. My next scale milestone: 7.5 more pounds, when I'll officially be classified as "obese" on the BMI scale, rather than "morbidly" or "extremely obese."


 

Expectations and comparing myself to others

I work in an Episcopal church, and one of the parishioners is an extremely talented photographer. Sunday was the bishop's visitation, and I was at work with my camera; a few parishioners brought cameras, too, including A, whose work I so admire. She showed me one of her shots, and I thought, "Why am I even here?" I was discouraged. 

Yesterday morning, I was talking to my coworker Sarah (the wise friend who suggested I reward behaviors instead of scale progress) and said I either need to learn more or give up my aspirations. "I love looking at your pictures!" Sarah told me with a hug. She praised my eye and reminded me not to compare myself to A, or anyone. There's room for different talents, she said. 

She's right, of course. A has studied and is semi-professional; she has an amazing eye and the technical skill to back it up. I'm an amateur with a passion, and I've taken exactly one photography class: in high school. 

Against that backdrop, I had my second personal trainer session yesterday afternoon. I was nervous but showed up and even mustered excitement. I asked Sal if we could reconfigure the 5-minute warm-up into sets, because even though he doesn't expect me to not need breaks, the breaks feel to me like I'm failing. We did three sets of 12 jumping jacks, high knees and kicks. Then three sets of walking lunges, three sets of low planks (holy cow, that was tough — I shook and sweated and shook some more), three sets of crunches and finally three sets of arm exercises with weights. The sets worked great for my mind — they were manageable amounts that I made it through. 

Towards the end of my session, Sal's next client came in and started the 5-minute warm-up. I told Sal that my goal at the end of our year of sessions is to do the 5-minute warm-up; he said I'll be able to do it much sooner, and his next client chimed in and said, "Don't worry. You'll totally be able to do it." As I walked out, I thanked her for her encouragement; at that point, she was doing jumps. "I started in November," she said, "and there was no way I could do these then. You'll be surprised how much progress you make." Which is exactly what Sal is always telling me. 

At the gym, I'm improving my physical strength and skill with my training sessions. I don't expect to be able to do what someone who's been training longer can do. I didn't compare myself to the next client: I stayed focused and finished my workout, where I am right now.

With that in mind, this morning I emailed A and asked if she has recommendations on places or people that offer photography classes. In the light of a new day, I don't want to give up my aspirations. I want to pursue them. 

My goal for today is to embrace where I am right now — with my physical health, my surgery journey, my photography — and not compare myself to others.