You say potato, I say plateau

I have a routine for weigh in-days. This is probably not an uncommon thing for people who weigh themselves on a regular basis (like me) or for the obsessive compulsive.  On the night before a weigh-in, I drink at least 32 ounces of water before I go to bed, knowing full well that at 2:47AM I'll be awakened by my bladder. By 8AM, however, all of the water will have worked its way out and I like to pretend that I've washed out about 7 or 8 pounds off of my scale weight. I'm very fortunate to have access to a nice, quiet, no-nonsense digital scale in our house. It's a much less traumatic experience than when I have to hear the resounding CLANG of the 1940s throwback scale at my doctor's office. In fact, for me, the worst part of weigh-in days at home is the stripping down to your skivvies bit, especially since our scale is located right next to the full-length mirror. In Dr. Oz's book "You On A Diet", he strongly encourages the reader to be intentional about standing before a full-length mirror, completely naked, in order to zero in on the areas where the fat has settled on your body. I don't need to gaze at myself in a mirror to know where the fat has "settled". As far as I'm concerned my entire body is the Oregon Trail. I try to be objective about it but even now, despite the progress, whenever I take in my body's changing form, only one thing comes to mind: a half melted, soft serve cone. Nevertheless, when it comes to weigh-in days, I am a firm believer that any and all clothing can cost you 1 or 2 lbs, so off it goes.

The October weigh-ins have been excruciating. I've been 1 or 2 lbs away from the Big Goal, when I am officially out of the 200s, for the entire month. Going through the pre-weigh in process is frustrating in and of itself. Anxiously awaiting that split second for when the scale would tell me my destiny, like some teenage girl with a pregnancy test, is obnoxious. But seeing that I was still a measly pound away from my moment in the weight loss sun was painful. To me it was like the scale read "EPIC FAILURE" each time I stepped up. By the third weigh-in disappointment, I realized I was going through a plateau.

To plateau in the diet/exercise world is to have your weight loss progress come to a complete stand still. The word itself has a French origin, so when I hear plateau I envision the character Bomb Voyage from "The Incredibles" laughing maliciously every time I step off the scale and saying,"MUAHAHAHAHHAH! Ze fat girl wheel 'ave to work a leetle 'arder zis month!" while clutching a glass of wine in one hand and a block of cheese in the other. I actually googled 'Weight Loss Plateau" and read a bunch of articles on how to effectively break through them. This is what I found:

You can overcome a plateau in two ways:

1. Increase your work out routine by at least 30 minutes: I probably could work out more. I currently exercise six days a week, an hour or more each day (a hodgepodge collection of running, Spinning, strength training, kickboxing, zumba, Step, and HIIT). I could become the kind of person that gets up at 5 or 6, hits the gym, and then returns for the evening classes; however, on the days when I get up at 4 to get to 5AM Spin, I feel as though I've already gone through an entire day by 10AM. Perhaps, in time, my addiction to working out will spill over into the early morning hours. For now, I cherish my sleep. Another reason this option is difficult is that the classes I take are difficult for me. To say they're difficult in general is unfair to my instructors and to my classmates. They're obviously in different states of health (I try not to shoot daggers at Chrissy every time she says "C'mon guys! This is easy stuff!" I remember that 90% of the class probably does find the routine easy even if I'm a hot mess). For me, the thought of doing 30 minutes of anything before or after HIIT class is a rather frightening prospect. So while I'm not ruling this option out for the future, I cannot wrap my mind around it right now with my current schedule.

2. Lower your calorie intake by at least 200 calories a day: After my third disappointing step off with the scale, I realized that once again food was part of the problem. I thought about what I ate during the course of a day and decided I needed to kick the carbs. But the fact of the matter is that I'm not a stupid carb consumer. I say I love potatoes, but I rarely indulge in them. Since June I've cut refined sugar, dairy, and refined wheat products. My current carbs come in the form of Ezekiel bread, brown rice, fruit, and popcorn. These are not bad in and of themselves. The problem is that I'm just genetically a carb sensitive kind of gal. And I have issues with portions. I wish that I could be like my brother (in law) Beriah and eat 1/3 of a manicotti and not gain a pound. Unfortunately, I gain weight by walking by the manicotti. But on the day I decided to forsake the holy potato, I came to the conclusion that leaving the 200s behind was more important.

You may think that being a low carb vegetarian is next to impossible. It's more annoying than impossible, really. Because food is such a relational thing for me, it really bugs me when I have to explain to someone why I won't be indulging in their "best" recipe for pound cake that evening so that I can chomp on some cucumbers instead. To me, refusing is almost insulting; but if I don't start saying "no" to food at church functions, I'm going to regain the 53 lbs before Advent.Case in point: every Sunday for the past 10 years, the same group of friends have come over for a communal, themed meal. Now that I'm low carb, I'm sort of out of luck on "Casserole" night. This Sunday is "Comfort Foods". None of my friends find baked tofu very comforting. The good news is that in the five years since I became vegetarian, they have been more than accommodating about making their dishes "Angie-friendly". I'm sure that if I were to keep the low carb thing up long enough, this new, annoying change will some day become normative and they'll throw me a bone. And by bone, I mean kale chip.

What makes the transition to low carb smoother this time around is the fact that I cooked for a vegetarian, Waldorf pre-school in Portland for nearly two years and have familiarized myself with any and all forms of vegetable protein. I'm not just existing on eggs and beans, but have expanded to tofu, tempeh, seitan, TVP (textured vegetable protein) and vital wheat gluten. It comes in handy around week 2 when I start getting antsy for different foods. Nevertheless, I expected the typical South Beach withdrawal symptoms during my first week. In the past whenever I went the low carb route, I was very moody those first few days away from my bread and potatoes. I'd have killer headaches, gut-wrenching cravings, and detailed dreams involving cakes and potato chips. In short, I was a hot mess. I expected to go through all this and more, especially since it takes a lot of discipline to exercise regularly and restrict your food intake. I really didn't think I had any discipline to spare after exercising all week. But then the strangest thing happened: nothing. I wasn't pissed, I didn't freak out when Rachael baked Isaac's birthday cake and cupcakes, and I haven't had many strong cravings. I feel...good. I feel like I might actually be able to do this. I don't know if the endorphin high is leveling out the withdrawal, but I actually feel like I'm finally on the right track now that my eating is in balance with my exercising.

That said, after Day 3, I wanted to see some results on the scale. Feeling great is fine and all, but if I'm giving up mashed potatoes and continuing to plateau, I might start making some desperate moves (I momentarily considered eating fish). On Sunday, I stripped down and hopped on the scale and there it was; I finally saw my 1. My friend Michelle told me that on Biggest Loser the contestants call this "One-derland". I don't know how to really describe the exact moment except to say that I cried (of course. I'm such a sissy) and I bear hugged Rachael in the hallway. She didn't understand why I kept screaming, "I saw the 1! I saw the 1!" I think she probably assumed I was watching Korean dramas again and was overly exuberant about my attraction to Asian men.

Even though this was one of those blindingly happy moments of my life, I stand by what I wrote in an earlier post. I am scared about what it will mean when I am finally at my "healthy weight" on the other end of this 1. There's a lot of vulnerability to being a thinner girl. I feel like I need to somehow toughen up before I get to that point. The other thing, which is difficult for me to admit out loud, is that I'm still kind of waiting to fail. This is just a small, doubtful voice of past failed experiences in health that dwells in the back of my mind. I usually ignore it, especially when I have amazing moments like I did on Sunday.  But I'm still used to being on the other side of 200, the side that I know. At the end of the day, though, what keeps me pushing forward can be summed up by something that my cousin Jodie recently said to me at a baby shower. She said that from what she reads on Facebook and from the past few times that she has seen me in person, I seem like a happier person. And that's just it, I guess. I am happy. I will never ever say something as foolhardy as "There's nothing that tastes as good as skinny feels". Clearly the quote is not from an Italian person. I will say that I am much happier now that food isn't my sole identity. I can still cook, but it's not all that I am. I am a person that is capable of losing 53 lbs, of walking 10 miles in Relay for Life, of running 5Ks, of being the kind of person that I really never thought I could ever be; of being like the people in my gym classes, really.

When I stepped off of the scale on Sunday, I saw this next year as one fulled with infinite possibilities.

So with that said, on to Round 2 (ding!)

Addiction & Subtraction

I know that it's been about two weeks since I last posted, so let me begin with an apology for the delay. Sorry, readers!

There are two moderately acceptable reasons for the gap between posts. The first is simply this: I have no time. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this, but lately I've been doubling up on gym classes. Don't sound the alarms or stage an intervention, I'm not doing any form of crash exercising/dieting (Potatoes 4Life). The plain truth of the matter is that I just love the classes. I can't even say that this is a sudden epiphany because the feeling has been growing for months now. I love my exercise classes and when I have to miss one I get very mopey about it. If I have to miss Zumba, I go from mopey to straight up pissed off. I'm trying to maintain a healthy (no pun intended) balance between my gym life and my social life but the lines are blurred at present. I was on the phone with my friend Sperry a few weeks ago and he, much like my other non-gym friends, asked me why I'm so busy. When I explained my workout schedule for the week his response was, "You're like addicted to working out now, aren't you?" I laughed this statement off. I am not that person. I'm the person that silently judges people who dare to say "Working out is addictive" out loud in my presence. I could wrap my mind around having a potato addiction, but exercising? Sore muscles, smelly tank tops, stretchy pants, and buckets of sweat? That's no addiction, that's a Jedi mind trick.

But then I thought about what Sperry said all week long and I came to the conclusion that he's absolutely right about me. I have officially crossed over from "It's only an hour. Just get through it and then it's over" to "Why do they only have one class on Sundays?!" Like all addictions, this one definitely has its downsides. For one thing, when I come home from the gym, my only goal is to acquire as much sleep as is humanly possible. It's not that I'm over-doing it in class; I work hard, but I'm a far cry from Chrissy intensity. It's more like my body finally accepted that I am no longer in sedentary blob mode; I need to rest and prepare for tomorrow's classes. After I've showered, I practically frolic to bed at 9PM with two ibuprofen in my system and totally reeking of Icy/Hot. Another downside of this addiction: I have very little time to do anything beyond eating, sleeping, showering, and working out. I have no idea how the moms in my classes manage to fit gym time in, but they're the true, unsung heroes. I am beholden to no one and I still struggle with scheduling classes into my life. Despite the few kinks in the system, I am almost unnaturally happy, like, all the time. I'm definitely sore and exhausted, but I am also supremely grateful to wake up every morning and have the opportunity to improve my health. If I am an addict, then I am glad that for once it's not because of food.

Onward to reason #2 for the delay in blog posting: I've been hoping that my next post would include "Happy 50th to me" in the title. Here's the mildly frustrating truth: I already have lost 50 lbs. I weighed in at about 252 when I was at the doctor's office about a year ago. This should be celebration enough, right? But what I really want is to see the number 1 as the first number on the scale. I haven't seen a 1 in that spot since I was sixteen years old. I know that I told you all not to obsess over the numbers on the scale because they don't define who you are; however, the moment I see that 1 will be, for me, like climbing over my first huge wall and knowing that there this is another side after all. I think that this is a moment that only my fellow bigger sisters/brothers can truly understand. All weight loss is equally awesome, but when you've known what it's like to have your weight begin with a 2 or a 3, you know how big a deal it is when that first number changes, too. It's an experience that is loaded with mixed emotions for me. You see, I've been (technically) obese for the majority of my life. Fat is who I am and what I know; it's a state of mind and body that is reflected in how I relate to other people, how I express my humor, and how I understand the world around me. Fat protects me on a physical and emotional level, as well; when I see that 1, I will be so happy and so scared for the person that awaits me on the healthier end of it. And yes, I'll even admit that a part of me wishes to stay Fat forever. But I can't keep using my weight as an emotional crutch for the rest of my life. So I'm going to wait for this, my first big moment, and keep moving forward.

My moment on the scale wasn't going to happen this week, though. When you're a woman, there's this whole fantastic week each month where you'll crave sweet potato fries non-stop, diligently avoid them whilst working out religiously, and still gain 3 lbs. I thought that because I was only 1 lb away, I'd be able to catch a break this time the ol' cycle came around. Fat chance. Literally. I gained. Clearly, the fruit of my womb was watermelons this month...

Today's post will have to suffice until I muster up the courage to weigh in again, post-watermelon. I'm sorry to end this one all cliff-hangery, but that's kind of how this process goes. I'd love to have my pounds come off in nice, quick, predictable increments but that's just not gonna happen and I'm not about to start sugarcoatin'

 Oh yeah, Reason #3 for the delay: I ran my second 5K last weekend. My buddy Brian Cowan ran the whole thing with me and it was pretty awesome. I decided to celebrate by not running at all this week (extra classes instead)!

Step Family

There's a bit of a running (or stepping, I should say) joke at the Bill house. Apparently, whenever I walk upstairs from the basement (where I live), I either let out a long anguished groan or I shout something like, "Oh my thiiiighs!" I didn't realize I did this a lot until last week, when I noisily thumped upstairs and found Mike and Rachael cracking up as I walked into the living room. Rachael finds it hilarious that even though I work out every day and come home all smiles from classes, the second I hit the thirteen steps leading to the main floor, it sounds like I'm being tortured. This is one of those strange moments that I think of whenever anyone asks me if I feel like I've got lots of energy now that I'm working out regularly. I think that a person's energy is a lot like money in that you will make it readily available for the things that you want, but find that it's in short supply for what you need. Case in point: My two favorite classes are Zumba and Cardio Sculpt and when they occur on the same day, I will somehow make them both happen. Of course, I'll wake up the next morning and the staircase will turn into Everest.

So you can imagine my joy when my friends Dar, Sue, and Sam encouraged me to go to Step class with them on Thursday. It's the only evening class of Chrissy's that I have not yet tried. And I'm going be perfectly frank with you about this one: I really didn't see much appeal to Step. Of course, I really didn't think much of Spin when I first started, either (again, sorry Lucas). The difference with Spin, though, is that while the bike may be stationary, there's still that sentimental "E.T." association whenever I wrap my pudgy digits around the handlebars; when I'm pedaling really hard, or double-timing, I sometimes like to pretend I'm escaping the evil government officials that are trying to steal my alien pet.

I had no such sentiment towards Step. When I told the ladies I would go to the class with them, I decided to do a little reconnaissance. Mainly, Jensen and I stood outside the classroom door and peered in at a Step class in progress. By the way, when I reference the steps themselves, just refer to the picture below. They're basically long rectangular hunks of plastic that sit upon square plastic risers. Anyway, I watched as about fifteen women moved in unison around the steps as Chrissy called out moves or numbers. It kind of reminded me of square dancing, except that there were no partners or dosey-do's. Jensen and I exchanged skeptical looks and walked on by. I tried to not think too much about my impending Step class, but I was pretty intimidated. It's one thing to dance around on a level floor for a Zumba class, but when you start adding rectangular obstacles that you have to climb, hop, or skip around, things start getting tricky. That said, I was still determined to keep my commitment and go to Step the following Thursday night. Sometimes you just have to look at exercise as you would an arranged marriage; it may not appear a desirable situation on the outset, but perhaps with time and a positive attitude, love will follow.

Wednesday's Cardio Sculpt class definitely gave me a false sense of security, though. When I walked into the class, there were steps arranged in a large circle. I was both happy and relieved by this sight. All week I kept wondering why there wasn't an introductory level step class for the coordinationally-challenged such as myself. When I saw that Cardio Sculpt that week was going to be like a baby Step class, I shook my head at God's sense of comedic timing. On the downside, that particular Cardio Sculpt class was seriously painful; it was very lunge/squat intensive and my thighs were about to burst into flame. I left that class feeling exhausted, sore, but sort of ready to take on Super Step the next day.

Super Step class was almost nothing like Cardio Sculpt class (which my friend Sam gently informed me right before SS started).  Both classes definitely favored the squats and lunges, but Super Step is all about maintaining a rhythm through footwork. Before the class began, I set up my step in the back behind my friend, and experienced stepper, Sue. It was actually kind of cute, really, because there were about five of my gym buddies all clustered together behind the punching bags; it looked like they were protecting my inexperienced steps from Chrissy's line of vision. This might have worked if there hadn't been about 50 feet of empty space surrounding us (and if Chrissy didn't have hawk eyes that notice everything). Chrissy, uh, gently, requested that we spread out more, which we did, and then the music started. That first class was not unlike my first Zumba class, all things said. I did my best to follow what was going on, I looked at Chrissy's fast paced moves with bewildered awe, and I spent most of the class totally lost in the blur of synchronised movements. Also, I could not stop cracking up at my sad attempts to memorize the steps (God only knows what Chrissy was thinking). The ladies surrounding me were stepping, turning, and jumping in a perfect, albeit complicated harmony. I just kept thinking, "Don't fall. Don't fall. Don't fall. Don't fall. Don't fall." When a girl across the room actually did fall over her step I had this unChrist-like moment where I thought, "YES!!! IT WASN'T ME! Oh thanks to be God, someone else fell first." I know that's a terrible thing to think, but that girl was skinny and an experienced Stepper; there is absolutely no graceful way for a fat girl to fall over, and I have a terrible habit of cackling loudly at myself in awkward moments. After that, I had a smidge more confidence and I managed to see the class through to the end. And you know what? I actually liked it! When it was all over, Chrissy congratulated me on my first Step class and then the whole classed clapped and cheered me on. They even took a picture (see below) to commemorate the occasion.

Lidia, Sam, Sue, Lisa, Me, Dar, Chrissy, Chrissy's Step
This picture was to commemorate Angela's First Step, which is like Baby's First Step, only more awesome

I feel like I sound like a broken record whenever I gush about my classes, my gym family, and my instructors. Maybe I am. You just really need to understand that up until a year ago, every memory that I ever had involving gym classes, and even steps for that matter, has been negative. I actually once had a gym teacher make fun of the way my body fat moved when I did jumping jacks, for God's sake. I don't say these things to invoke your pity or your sympathy, I just want you to understand where I am now. I feel as though this past year has been one of redemption; redeeming the views I once had about "gym" people but, most importantly, the views I once had about my body. I joined Jersey Fitness accepting the possibility that I might be judged and possibly alienated by the other members. I did not expect these people, who have only known me less than a year, to be like a second family to me. When I look at all these photos that I post on this blog, I am most proud of the ones where I'm part of a group. I look at those pictures and know that in that particular moment of documented victory, I was encouraged 100% of the way.

Super Step Review:

I started out thinking like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDmkhhJWKU8

Now, it's almost as awesome as this:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ay6GjmiJTPM