Dressing room

One of my friends and I like to go to Old Navy periodically, and we did last night. There were a lot of cute things on sale and clearance, and it's fun to dig through them. We usually share a dressing room, and I always take back about 7 items to try on for every one item I end up buying. I am slowly fitting into smaller sizes, which is cool because I am finally at the point where I can buy in the actual bricks-and-mortar store and not have to order from the online-only plus section. I can get into a 16 in their pants, but an 18 is still more comfortable and looks better. I seem to be perpetually in between one size or another, no matter the store or brand.

My friend has also lost a significant amount of weight in recent years. I have never gained weight in my legs, yet that's where the loosest of my skin seems to be, at least as of yet. It was that way for my friend as well--it made me feel a little better, because she wears a 10 or 12 now and looks great in clothes. I think it was the most fun I've had in a dressing room--they have not always been places I wanted to be by any means! Clothes were piled from floor to ceiling, and were laughing ruefully while comparing loose skin, concluding it was the result of aging as well as weight loss. Gravity happens!

still losing!

I lost two more pounds this week. This makes me very happy, since I have been testing my limits a bit--not bingeing or going crazy, but experimenting with food as part of the process of seeing what my system can tolerate. I tried a sliver of pumpkin pie without a problem, but I cannot eat a French fry or part of a grilled cheese sandwich. I can eat half a McDonald's hamburger (an occasional guilty pleasure). Any kind of soft bread, part of a bagel, is a no-no. This whole process remains a learning curve.

I hit a great big sale at Old Navy with a friend on Friday. It is so cool to be able to go into a store like that and buy myself decent clothes that are cheap--I can't even express how cool. They didn't have stores like that when I was growing up, at least not in this area. Plus-size stores were full of clothes that were appropriate for 70-year-olds only, and there was no Target. After my Old Navy shopping spree, I came home with about ten shirts and hoodies for myself, two for Mr. Salted--a huge bag of clothes for $120. Plus or super-size women would be hard-pressed to purchase two or three decent-quality articles of clothing for that amount. I will not miss the fat tax!

I had to go to Costco today for protein bullets. They have them for the cheapest price I've seen. I can hear you saying, Costco the Sunday before Christmas, are you inSANE? No, but I do need protein. I arrived shortly after the store opened--the place was already chock full o' lemmings. I kept my head down, a determined grimace on my face, and kept mentally repeating the words, "reconnaissance mission". (I don't know if that's truly the proper term, but it's French and sounds cool.) I swooped in and gathered my case of water, presliced apples for Mr. Salted's lunch, his coffee, three cases of protein bullets--the essentials. Everyone else had decadent delicious food piled in their carts, hemming and hawing about whether or not Aunt Madge would like these slippers, completely unaware of anyone else's personal space or existence in the universe. I made it in and out of there in half an hour--ankle throbbing, patience gone.

I am not a fan of the season of unreason. I despise, loathe and resent Forced Holiday Fun, both with relatives and at work, and so choose to participate in neither. I like giving gifts to a few people, and I played Santa for a family I know this year who needed a little TLC, which felt fantastic to do. I enjoy doing cards, so I do quite a few of them. I also love getting pictures of everyone with their families and/or animals--that's probably my favorite part of the entire holiday. The rest of it I can take or leave and would frankly prefer to leave. I'm SO ready for it to be over--yesterday.

Monday, Monday

It's dark in the morning now, and the cars are coated with frost. We actually turned the heat on a couple of days ago. I love cold weather, but for one thing: I hate getting out of bed, transferring from warm-snuggle mode to it's-morning-again mode. One of our cats, Mr. Stash, joins in the snuggling for about the last hour or two of the night, and so it was this morning; his purr sounds like an 18-wheeler. Mr. Salted went back to work today. He left about half an hour ago, and I miss him already.

My sci-fi monster leg is still rearing its ugly head. I tried calamine lotion and Ace bandage camouflage for the last couple of days and it didn't seem to help much. Today I'm trying a plain generic lotion and hydrocortisone cream combo with Ace bandage camouflage.

I'm a bad patient, probably because I'm not patient. It's hard for me not to walk on the bad foot--sometimes it's just easier to use it than strike some gymnastic pose on the knee scooter, balance, roll, and hope for the best. I think I would have lost my mind by now if it weren't for TV and this laptop, and my head is sufficiently back together to read books again; I have loads of those too. I just finished "Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, which was, in the words of reviewer Stephen King, "one gorgeous read". A friend just sent me Elizabeth Strout's "Olive Kitteredge" and I think that will be next.

I'm pleased today because the XXL yoga pants I got on clearance from Old Navy fit comfortably now. I watched some TV documentary the other day--I think it was "Secret Lives of Women" on WE--that featured three women who had lost significant amounts of weight. All of them became fitness buffs; one kept saying, "I was up to 200 POUNDS, I had to do something!" I refrained from throwing a pillow at the TV; I'd love to weigh 200 pounds. I'm not the only woman I know who would say that, either. I'm currently down to 231; now that I had this surgery, I hope to see 150 again. I remember 200 used to be my benchmark of doom too; back when I was bulimic and somewhere in the 170s or so, I said it over and over: "I will kill myself if I get to 200 pounds." I know that I meant it at the time, probably because it seemed implausible to me that I could get any bigger.

It's great that so many people lose lots of weight and get into fitness, but at the same time it can be off-putting and discouraging. One of the things that turned me off immediately about my exercise physiologist was the fact that he brought up me running a marathon at our first appointment. (There's about as much chance of me running a marathon as there is of Paris Hilton being invited into the Actor's Studio.) Personal trainers work wonders for some people, but I don't care for the dynamic at all. When I am cleared by the ankle surgeon, I plan to pick a pool and do some water aerobics or laps. My wellness center likes to preach accountability; the only one I want to be accountable to is myself; after all, I'm the one who has to live in my body AND my head. While their strong emphasis on follow-up after weight loss-surgery--particularly with the nutritionists--makes sense and has worked for many, they also seem to think that success can only be defined as they define it, where I think success has to be defined for each of us by each of us.

This week

My life has been crazy lately. My ankle surgery is tomorrow. I'm almost looking forward to it just because I will be able to rest and be left alone! I'm trying to imagine how it's all going to work, not being able to put weight on it at all for almost a month. The knee scooter is actually kind of fun. Showers are going to be tricky, but a friend lent me a shower chair and I don't plan on attempting to use it unless Mr. Salted is home. I bought one of those plastic covers to protect the cast or boot at the pharmacy. I'm wondering how much the ankle will hurt and for how long--I had to track down the liquid Demerol again, which is no mean feat, and the bottle isn't that big to begin with.

I've been working as much as I could because they have needed extra help, and I just had a copywriting job to do this morning as well. My grandmother was sent home to live independently today, much to my disgust. I made a decision to back far away from THAT situation (a) because I have done everything I could and (b) for my own sanity, but I have still been in daily phone and/or email contact with family members as well as checking in on her via the phone.

I saw the nutritionist yesterday--a different nutritionist who is filling in for the one I've seen this whole time. She was nice enough, but her affect bugged me--I felt like she was doing the swooping in, "tell me about your mother", Dr.Freud kind of thing. I just don't feel that I have much to say now--I take my supplements, I eat what I'm supposed to, and my weight loss is more than satisfactory. In fact, I had lost 12 pounds in the last month and was actually two pounds lighter than that weight this morning. I just don't care about food anymore. The less it factors into my life, the better. I make sure I get my protein and I eat my healthy snacks that I can have, and it keeps me alive. Sometimes I have a couple of bites of what Mr. Salted makes, but the majority of what I eat now is protein bullets, shakes, and bars. It is weird that so much of it isn't "natural" food, but I'm getting the vitamins and minerals I need, I feel great, and my hair isn't falling out!

I will be glad when my ankle is fixed so that I can work out, but I really don't want to see the exercise physiologist. It's a big part of the wellness center's follow-up thing, so I don't know if I can really avoid it, but I think it's a waste of time and money and I hate it. I don't need to work out in front of this guy while he says "good job" like I'm a dog he's training. I know a lot of my resistance is due to my past experiences with being forced to exercise, ridiculed, etc., but I just want to make my own decision to go to the pool or go for a walk my damn self. I don't want a coach or a trainer, and I find dealing with him really annoying--it just isn't working for me.

After I weighed myself this morning, I was 235, which is less than I have weighed in ten years. Needless to say, that felt great. I heard Old Navy was having a big sale, and it was payday, so I stopped by on my way home from work. I found some great lounge pants with skulls and hearts on them that fit now, some yoga pants that will fit soon, and some absolutely darling summer dresses (that will fit by summer) for $15 and $20. It's so strange to buy clothes that are too small on purpose. It's also disconcerting to feel good about your weight all day, then try on clothes that make you look like the Michelin tire man. I had to remind myself how much weight I've already lost and have faith in the progress I will continue to make.