As I stated previously, I started off chunky. That's what you called it when you were talking about a kid. Chunky. Except I wasn't chunky, I was fat. Though I appreciated everyone trying to spare my fragile little girl feelings.
After I had my first kid {S}, I ballooned. I have absolutely no idea what my weight was post birth, I imagine I blocked it out of my mind. It was big. After my second {D}.. then third {A#1}.. same thing.
Between my third and fourth {C}, however, I lost a lot of weight. I achieved this by going to college, rarely eating, walking everywhere {no car} practically 24-7 classes and smoking a gazillion cigarettes. Clearly not the healthiest means to an end. I wasn't even trying to lose weight, it just happened naturally. Ok, well as naturally as possible for someone with the above habits for a year. I was down to what my supposed-to-be "ideal weight", 175. It was groovy.
Then, I had C. Honestly, the whole pregnancy with C, I didn't gain an ounce. I lost a bunch, but didn't gain a thing. It was after I had him that things went down hill. All those cravings I never had whilst pregnant with him reared their ugly head and I put on all the weight I should have gained with him. Only after him. While breastfeeding. {You know, that thing that's supposed to help you lose weight. Yeah. Right.} Of course, it all snowballed until I was topping the scales post-birth of my 7th {R} at 286. Two. Hundred. Eighty. Six. Pounds. At 32. I was disgusted. Seriously so grossed out and disappointed with myself. My husband, bless him, loved me fat as much as he loved me thin. But I didn't love me. Seriously, I hated looking at myself in the mirror. So I decided to have a go at dropping some of this extra poundage.
My husband {S} had been on this diet he'd heard of from a friend who'd been extremely successful and lost a bunch of weight. Basically involved almost zero carb consumption. Which sounded like an awful lot of misery to my baking ears. {Bakers ears? I'm not actually a baker, but I love baking. I don't know how to word that, exactly. You get the point.} But I couldn't ignore what I was seeing. He dropped 30 pounds in about 3 or 4 months. Insane, right? Especially considering he's quite.. uhh.. sedentary. Seriously, he doesn't move unless he has to. Whereas I'm up chasing kids around all damn day.
So I bit the bullet. I tried the diet.
And I lost 30 pounds in about 8 weeks. Seriously. I did amazingly well on the diet. But then we had company over.. and holidays... and I said to myself "Oh, I'll start it again after the In Laws leave" then "Oh, just after this next holiday" then "fuck it, forget about it". Just like that, all of my ambition. Gone.
I didn't even SORT OF stay on it. I just jumped right back into carbs like I'd never left. Which is ridiculous, because honestly, I took to having no carbs like a fish in water. Or whatever that saying is. I felt AMAZING after the first couple of days {detox was a little piece of hell}. I had more energy and was more pleasant. I was more focused and happier than I'd been in ages. Yet I gave all that up for some Thanksgiving stuffing and Christmas cookies.
My desire to lose this weight {that I'd almost completely regained at the point of a week before writing this. Enjoy that sentence, there} was as strong as ever, but my motivation was gone. Completely disappeared. I had the perfect recipe for dropping pounds. Fat melting away like butter on a Southern California sidewalk. Yet I had absolutely no desire to start it up again. What the hell was {is} wrong with me?!?!
So months after this, my birthday looms closer in the distance. 275 pounds and 33. And I shrunk 2 inches over the course of 10 years. So my "ideal weight" is now 155. Nice. Further and further away from the light at the end of the tunnel.
I realize something about myself. I love food. I don't stick to diets because I hate them. I want to eat what I want to eat and that's all that I will eat. I'll stick to a diet for a couple of months, no problem, but I get bored with it. Especially if I've hit some sort of plateau. Which, admittedly, I had with the carb free thing. If only I'd added exercise...
And then it hit me. Exercise. That was the ticket. I looked into a gym membership, but.. well.. let's face it. I would never go. Ever. No, maybe I'd go once, then I'd be so embarrassed seeing all the fit people exercising that I'd leave at the quickest opportunity, never to return. That, plus.. well.. I have a lot of kids. Who the hell has the time to go to the gym with 87458947894 kids? Not me. If I have time to go to the gym, I'd rather be sleeping {currently lucky if I get 4 hours a night. 4 interrupted hours} So.. what were my options?
An exercise machine. {and on that note, I've got to go take care of the brood, so I'll save the rest of the catching up for the next post or two}
KANDI'S NOTES
Carbs taste great and should be avoided at all costs.
I fail at avoiding carbs.
I love carbs.
I'm fat.
After I had my first kid {S}, I ballooned. I have absolutely no idea what my weight was post birth, I imagine I blocked it out of my mind. It was big. After my second {D}.. then third {A#1}.. same thing.
Between my third and fourth {C}, however, I lost a lot of weight. I achieved this by going to college, rarely eating, walking everywhere {no car} practically 24-7 classes and smoking a gazillion cigarettes. Clearly not the healthiest means to an end. I wasn't even trying to lose weight, it just happened naturally. Ok, well as naturally as possible for someone with the above habits for a year. I was down to what my supposed-to-be "ideal weight", 175. It was groovy.
Then, I had C. Honestly, the whole pregnancy with C, I didn't gain an ounce. I lost a bunch, but didn't gain a thing. It was after I had him that things went down hill. All those cravings I never had whilst pregnant with him reared their ugly head and I put on all the weight I should have gained with him. Only after him. While breastfeeding. {You know, that thing that's supposed to help you lose weight. Yeah. Right.} Of course, it all snowballed until I was topping the scales post-birth of my 7th {R} at 286. Two. Hundred. Eighty. Six. Pounds. At 32. I was disgusted. Seriously so grossed out and disappointed with myself. My husband, bless him, loved me fat as much as he loved me thin. But I didn't love me. Seriously, I hated looking at myself in the mirror. So I decided to have a go at dropping some of this extra poundage.
My husband {S} had been on this diet he'd heard of from a friend who'd been extremely successful and lost a bunch of weight. Basically involved almost zero carb consumption. Which sounded like an awful lot of misery to my baking ears. {Bakers ears? I'm not actually a baker, but I love baking. I don't know how to word that, exactly. You get the point.} But I couldn't ignore what I was seeing. He dropped 30 pounds in about 3 or 4 months. Insane, right? Especially considering he's quite.. uhh.. sedentary. Seriously, he doesn't move unless he has to. Whereas I'm up chasing kids around all damn day.
So I bit the bullet. I tried the diet.
And I lost 30 pounds in about 8 weeks. Seriously. I did amazingly well on the diet. But then we had company over.. and holidays... and I said to myself "Oh, I'll start it again after the In Laws leave" then "Oh, just after this next holiday" then "fuck it, forget about it". Just like that, all of my ambition. Gone.
I didn't even SORT OF stay on it. I just jumped right back into carbs like I'd never left. Which is ridiculous, because honestly, I took to having no carbs like a fish in water. Or whatever that saying is. I felt AMAZING after the first couple of days {detox was a little piece of hell}. I had more energy and was more pleasant. I was more focused and happier than I'd been in ages. Yet I gave all that up for some Thanksgiving stuffing and Christmas cookies.
My desire to lose this weight {that I'd almost completely regained at the point of a week before writing this. Enjoy that sentence, there} was as strong as ever, but my motivation was gone. Completely disappeared. I had the perfect recipe for dropping pounds. Fat melting away like butter on a Southern California sidewalk. Yet I had absolutely no desire to start it up again. What the hell was {is} wrong with me?!?!
So months after this, my birthday looms closer in the distance. 275 pounds and 33. And I shrunk 2 inches over the course of 10 years. So my "ideal weight" is now 155. Nice. Further and further away from the light at the end of the tunnel.
I realize something about myself. I love food. I don't stick to diets because I hate them. I want to eat what I want to eat and that's all that I will eat. I'll stick to a diet for a couple of months, no problem, but I get bored with it. Especially if I've hit some sort of plateau. Which, admittedly, I had with the carb free thing. If only I'd added exercise...
And then it hit me. Exercise. That was the ticket. I looked into a gym membership, but.. well.. let's face it. I would never go. Ever. No, maybe I'd go once, then I'd be so embarrassed seeing all the fit people exercising that I'd leave at the quickest opportunity, never to return. That, plus.. well.. I have a lot of kids. Who the hell has the time to go to the gym with 87458947894 kids? Not me. If I have time to go to the gym, I'd rather be sleeping {currently lucky if I get 4 hours a night. 4 interrupted hours} So.. what were my options?
An exercise machine. {and on that note, I've got to go take care of the brood, so I'll save the rest of the catching up for the next post or two}
KANDI'S NOTES
Carbs taste great and should be avoided at all costs.
I fail at avoiding carbs.
I love carbs.
I'm fat.
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