She’s Just Pleasantly Complaining


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I wish I understood why some people “absolutely love to work out”. Like seriously, for you people that love the brutal pain that comes with it everyday, I have a lot of questions for you. Let’s sit down and talk about it over a large bowl of chocolate brownie ice cream with whipped cream, k thanks. Last night, I went in for my weekly crossfit routine. Ugh, just thinking about it just gives me the chills. My Crossfit boyfriend (well he’s not really my boyfriend, we just have a secret love affair that no one knows about. Except it’s not really a love affair, he just pushes me to work out, and I really like the positive encouragement) is super nice to me, and really pushes me to work out as best I can. Celeste and I really get a kick out of it when he mentions that it’s not a squat unless it’s “ASS TO MAT!”. Ugh, I’m getting the chills again just thinking about last night– not in a good way. After I left class yesterday, I was so happy that I had accomplished it. Walking up the stairs was quite the challenge, but I thought that it would get better. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

So here it goes, if you will not attend an ice cream binge session with me,  I have a lot of questions for you, Gym Mice…

1) Do you like not being able to sit down on a toilet regularly? Like does it feel good when you need to hold on to the walls, and sit down slowly like you’re about to lose your legs?

2) Do you sometimes fantasize about cutting off your legs? I do. Like today. Everytime I get up, I walk like there’s a dead cat up my bum.

3) Is it normal to sweat from parts of my body that I didn’t know existed? I have found new places on my body that are very new to me. In those places, I find puddles of sweat, hope this is normal, because to be honest, I’m really not in the mood to wait in my doctors waiting room again.

Now, I know that working out is fantastic, and it really helps with the weight loss journey, HOWEVER, these three questions are specifically directed at the people who like to be in daily pain! I’m just a confuzzled ball of fat, so can someone please answer my three teeny tiny questions?

Above, was the angry fat girl complaining. Now, the healthier me is talking and damn I hate that pain but I know it’s worth it in the end. I wish I could go to Crossfit every day, but like you know, I’m not Bill Gates or anything. I’ve decided that I will start a charity for the poor, and unhealthy like me. Donations for Crossfit For The Pleasantly Plump and Pleasantly Poor , can be sent directly to me.

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My Constant Battle


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Obviously with weight loss surgery, comes struggles and battles. Battles such as, losing weight in general, learning to love yourself, making the right choices, not going to restaurants etc. Right now, my biggest battle is dealing with that dreadful question that every person asks me. Showing off my weight loss, and broadcasting it for the world to see, I am clearly asking for questions, and remarks etc, but sometimes, that one question just brings me down.

“How many pounds are you down?”. Why does everyone care about the number of pounds? To be honest, the number of pounds lost, is the least important part of the whole journey. We’re trained to think that the number lost is the most important part of a persons weight loss journey.  If you want to ask important questions, and receive positive replies from me, or anyone losing weight for that matter, you can ask questions like: “do you feel good about yourself?” , “are you happy?” , “do you notice a difference?”, other questions and comments about how great I look and how beautiful I am are really appreciated as well. While my weight loss number may not have changed in the last month, my pant size has decreased, and my confidence level has increased. The scale is an evil tool that really only helps in bringing you down. Why should we care about the number? What’s so important about it? If I’m getting on the scale, and notice that I’ve lost two pounds, I’m going to treat myself, because I’ve lost. Had I not known about this little two pound weight loss, I would have continued on my merry little way and not treat myself to any treats. I’ve gone from the morbidly obese category, to just plain obese. That is HUGE! That’s an accomplishment in itself.

I personally feel that whenever someone asks me how many pounds I lost, I get discouraged. In my mind I think, “only xxx pounds lost in 6 months?, that’s terrible, you could have done so much better”. But I know that when I look at pictures, and when I see myself in the mirror, it’s more than just the number. Muscle weighs more than fat, and if I’m going to the gym 4+ times a week, obviously my weight loss will be less than a person who wouldn’t be working out.

Maybe some people don’t know, maybe it doesn’t bother anyone, but personally I think that this “number” is really an unimportant part of the whole process. I am proud to say that I am happy where I am. I am proud with how far I’ve come, and I’m proud to say that I’ve met my goals. I may be taking my time, but at least I can proudly say that I haven’t gained a single pound in six months!

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6 months post op. Side shot.

Blame


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What I have learned these last few months, is that nothing comes easy. That, and if I lie to myself, things will only backfire and turn out worse for me than they were at the beginning. It’s very easy to blame others for your wrongdoings. It’s easy for me to wake up and say I’m fat, I hate myself, so and so did this to me. Nothing will ever change until I actually, really admit that I am my own problem. My entire life, I’ve been blaming others for my faults. I blamed my mom for not giving me enough attention, I blamed my “father” for not being around, which caused me great psychological pain, I blamed teachers for making fun of me and calling me stupid, and blamed kids for everything else that was wrong with me.

My mom, the one who I always fought with, the one who I told ruined my life, the one that I said I hated time and time again, now turns out to be my best friend. She may still give me those motherly looks sometimes, but I know, deep down, aside from all those stupid faces and comments she may give, she appreciates me for me, and sees me for what I really am; for that child model I should have been years ago. All jokes aside, she’s one of few who have pushed me to keep going, and who truly believes I can do this. What can I blame her for? Being honest? Telling me I was fat? She was just pointing out the truth. It’s not like I didn’t see it. Maybe she wasn’t saying it in the nicest way, but she did not cause me to be fat. Her words did not put the food in my mouth. My own greasy McDonalds fingers did.

“Father”, left when I was two. No idea who he is. He calls me to tell me he loves me and misses me regularly, but to be honest, I don’t really know him. While some people may be quick to diagnose me with “Daddy Issues”, I think I’m stronger than that. I had a mom who was a father to me as well. I didn’t have a dad to buy me a car, or to run to when my mom was mean to me. Doesn’t mean the lack of his presence is the reason I’m fat.  I think being the child of a single mother makes me stronger, and makes me learn from my strong mother. That man who calls himself my father, in the end- really did absolutely nothing for me. Didn’t teach me anything, didn’t teach me values in life. I guess if he didn’t have the power to do anything for me, how could he have had the power to make me fat? In my eyes, he was powerless- therefore, can’t blame him either.

Teachers and peers were not nice in school. While I was always tall for my age, I knew I stood out. I started to get bigger when I was younger, and while stealing lunch from little kids, I guess that’s when I start to balloon. I did it to myself. I asked to be called Hillary Germs, and I asked the teachers not to like me. Teachers really didn’t like me because I was awkwardly tall, and had to stand next to them in school pictures. I was a really cute kid, and probably took the attention off them which made them really upset and not want to like me. Just a thought. I stole snacks from kids lunches, I didn’t participate in activities because I was lazy.

It’s time I stop blaming others, and just beat this disease once and for all. Feeling sorry for myself won’t make me lose weight. Looking in the mirror, and telling myself that I am fat won’t make the weight fall off. I could have turned this all around and said my mom, absent father, teachers and bullies were the reason why I am fat. No one sat me down and forced cheeseburgers down my throat, no one told me I had to take snacks from kids. No one told me I had to closet eat. No one told me I had to sneak to a fast food chain at 2:00 am.

I did it to me. I have no one to blame but me. Now that I have accepted this, I know that I can do this weight loss journey. While I have stalled, a stall is not my reason for failure, a stall should be a reminder for me to wake the f!@ up and get back on track.

Here’s To Changes


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This weekend, after meeting with my extremely fit and very talented yoga instructor Cousin Roxanne, and her Mummy Honey, I was informed that maybe I should be sweating a little more”. I think maybe I’ve stalled because I have been taking my Zumba classes a little easy. I mean, to be honest, Wednesday and Sundays are basically just the classes to see and be seen. I’ve kind of just taken these gym classes not so seriously, and just use it like a meditation class.So, yesterday, I decided to attend my first ever Crossfit class. Am I stupid? Yes, I am.  Me and Celeste walked into this class practically peeing in our pants with nerves. I didn’t know what to expect, and to be honest, I was pretty certain that I was going to be taken out of that gym in those black duffel bags. 59 minutes later (yes, I counted each and every second of that class) I finished. We were yelled at by the evil Crossfit man, and he kept telling me to stop talking and to get lower, all I wanted to say was “sir, just calm yourself, k thanks, I’m working at my own pace, and my mouth is getting exercise so like enough please!” But I didn’t.  I completed this class with all the people; mind you, I didn’t do nearly as much work as Celeste or the other group members, but I still completed it. After class was over, my legs had turned to spaghetti and I was unable to move. Genius even walked himself last night when he saw the pain I was in. I pushed myself so far, and this pain feels awesome!

Roxanne also gave me some blog advice, and told me that I should talk more about my struggles, and about the challenges I’m facing, and maybe a little less about the skinny girls. As we all know, currently the struggle I’m facing is that I can’t get past this number on the scale. I can’t get rid of it, and it doesn’t want to leave me. This number is like a clingy boyfriend that just wants to stay with me, and I’m just done with him, y’noh? I feel like maybe if I’m honest with myself, and with the rest of the world then maybe this evil number will leave me once and for all.

So, here goes nothing. Here’s to being honest, and here’s to hoping and trying to get past this number. I’m not embarrassed to say it, and I’m not ashamed. I know I will never see that number again, so maybe we should give it an amazing goodbye party.

Dear current weight of 214, I don’t like you. Go away. Thank you.

I Feel Pretty


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I figured something out today, and again, it’s going to sound mucho cocky. I came to the realization that everything about me is amazing. I got the “fat genes” because I had everything else going for me. I had the looks, the personality, the humor,  the brains, and the whatever else is amazing that most people don’t get. I got the fat because I couldn’t have everything, right? Who would want to be friends with someone who had absolutely everything going for them? I sure as hell wouldn’t.

Along with the fat, came the lack of confidence. So I was lacking two things that the other kids already had. But whatever. I feel great now, and I’m so happy with  how far I’ve come.

On the confidence note, this morning I went to the gym, it was 7:00 am. (What the hell was I thinking? Had I absolutely lost my mind? Well, I lost that years ago, but whatevs, right?) Anyway, so even though it’s 7:00 am, I should still have even the tiniest bit of energy in my oh-so-large body, I look over at myself in the mirror at my sexy Zumba dance moves, and then look over to Bubby Yetta on my right. This bubby was moving in all sorts of ways imaginable, while I’m standing there on the side looking like a seizing squirrel doing the funky chicken. I don’t like to dance like a normal person because I’m always afraid that my belly rolls are going to pop out of my shirt and I’m actually going to look like something died in pants and I’m just moving in all sorts of stupid ways looking like a moron. Anyway, I immediately get this sudden burst of energy, after seeing this bubby. Well, it wasn’t exactly a burst of energy, it was more of an embarrassment thing, because I want to be dancing better than a 93 year old lady. But I shouldn’t hate, GO YETTA!

Anyway, my hard work paid off and I need a leg massage. Any takers?

Hefty Helga Goes For A Run


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Yesterday, I decided to play a sick April Fools joke on myself, and start exercising for the first time since last year. I thought it would be a good idea to get my lazy boney butt off the couch and get ready for a serious workout. Before I continue, I must reiterate that my last workout was in November of 2012. So I get my cool super tight pants on, a loose shirt and a headband to make me look ultra sporty. I grab my gym membership and RUN out the door to get to the gym. When I get to the gym, my fat, sweaty hand touches the door handle to walk in to the 7:00pm Zumba class, and I’m having a really hard time opening the door. “Helga, you idiot” I say to myself, the gym is closed! Now, Helga would have normally taken this opportunity to stop at every fast food joint on the way home to get a little taste test of everything going on in the city. But Healthier me said, let’s go for a run! I started running, and really struggling, but I kept going, and when the streets staring going uphill, I  promised myself that I wouldn’t stop. I kept running, and running, and thirty minutes later, I reached my house.

I don’t care who saw me, or how bad I looked. All I know is that I got a great workout. My arms were flailing everywhere, my shirt kept lifting up and everyone was able to see my tire, and I probably sounded like a dying seal with every loud thumping sprint I made, but either way, I was still proud.

I got home, and had to take a breather. Literally, I needed to breathe, because I was having an asthma attack. I called Ronnie, she just laughed and told me she was proud of me for running and that I would be fine. I tried to call Donald, but he was out with Mr and Mrs. Cho Sr. for dinner, probably eating some yummy food that I was probably upset I didn’t get to have. I started wheezing and tried to make music with it. Literally, I sang row row row your boat with my wheezes, it was very instrumental and a moving piece.  I thought ice cream might help, but it didn’t, and then a shower, but that didn’t help either. I was all out of asthma pumps, and I was lying in bed like a lonely soul making seal sounds with my failing lungs.

I’m all better now, and I have this crazy burst of energy to go out and do something fun! Gym only opens tomorrow, so I guess it’s another Richard Simmons night for me tonight!

Put It Down Fat Girl


My gym membership finally came back into effect today. YAY! Not. What a sick April Fools joke.   Fat girl inside me still feels lazy and doesn’t want to go. I know I have to, but I don’t want to. But I need to, because I don’t want flabby skin forever. Once I go, I know I’ll get all this crazy energy, and want to go all the time. I’m kind of also excited that I’ll get to be one of the “normal sized” people in class. I think I’ll be able to last a lot longer in class and won’t come up with as many excuses to not go to classes. Speaking of fat girl, let’s give her a name; how about Hefty Helga. It’s not nice to just call her fat girl, right?

This weekend, after some much needed alone time, I found myself looking in the fridge; saying hello to snacks and ice creams. As I pick up a spoon to eat my delicious looking ice cream frozen yogurt,I look down at my jumbotron stomach, and say “put it down fat girl”. Healthier Hillary decided that it would be the right thing to put the ice cream weapon down and take advantage of this time to herself. I got this sudden burst of energy, and moved all my furniture to one end of my apartment. I put on some running shoes, a large sweatband and turn on a Richard Simmons tape. Thirty minutes of Sweatin’ To The Oldies later, I look over out my window, and I notice this nice but creepy rapist-looking fellow staring at me, you know the kind with like the creepy moustache and the big rapist glasses? (I’m sure his name was Raymond or something creepy like that). It was way creepy and I should totally invest in some blinds.  I still don’t know whether I should take Raymonds intense gaze as a compliment or as a totally creepy gesture. Either way, is it wrong if I said I liked it?

Also, this weekend, I found my two favorite chocolate bars together to make one delicious mouth watering treat. DAIRY MILK BUBBLE BARS. I almost peed myself when I saw this. I went to the store and started sniffing the packaging. I will admit I got a few stares, but so what? I realized how much of a douche I looked like, and yelled at Helga to put it down. I don’t need you chocolate, we’re over.

The scale was nice to me the next morning, so I think Ricky Simmons and I are going to be best friends. My new weight loss trick is to stick a picture of Hefty Helga on the fridge. Every time I go to grab a treat, I’ll be reminded of how I don’t want to be that girl anymore.