It's Tuesday, which in my new Fitness Project is Goal Day. That means it's weigh-in day (though I weigh myself every day anyway), and if I make my goal, I get a reward (this week it's a loooong backrub from my hubby). Every other week I take my measurements - I don't expect to see a lot of change in just 14 days, but it keeps it present for me, otherwise it would just slip away into the dark recesses of my brain where random Monty Python quotes and facts about the French Revolution are collecting dust.
So, the results are in. I lost another 2.2 pounds this week, bringing the total to just about 4.5 pounds in 2 weeks. I lost half an inch from my waist and hips, each.
On Saturday, I had a long heart-to-heart with hubby about food, and it was so clear how similar the addictions to food and alcohol are. One example is my utter conviction that any occasion is more special if you have food. For him it was alcohol. I mean, if you're going to do something nice, why not do it with food, right? When we go to England, I have a whole list of food I need to eat, otherwise I feel like I'm really missing out on something. I need to get Muller rice (I love that stuff). I need to eat chocolate mini-rolls from Marks and Spencer (I also love them). I absolutely have to drink at least two Cafe Nero hot chocolates a day. I mean, what's the point of wandering around Soho if you're not doing it with a hot chocolate in your hand, right? I can't imagine going to England and NOT eating Cadbury chocolate, or those Belgian waffle things that they sell in little individual packs in the grocery store. It's almost like there'd be no point.
But that's just ridiculous. The point of England is Evensong services, and train rides, and walks by the Cam, and wandering around in Bath, and getting lost in Whitby. The point of England is most definitely NOT chocolate mini-rolls from Marks and Spencer. I can see having one or two things that are your special foods that you look forward to when you travel somewhere. J loves the 7-up in England because it's not as sugary as here. To me, that seems normal. If I only had the mini-rolls, that would be ok. Or just the Cafe Nero hot chocolates. That would be understandable.
The problem is when everything revolves around food. I plan where I'm going to eat, what I'm going to eat, what I'll drink with what I eat, how I feel when I'm eating it.... which kind of talks and walks like an addiction.
So I guess I'll check out Overeaters Anonymous. I really don't want to. I went a few years ago - well, eight years ago - and I had a really bad attitude because everyone there seemed like they were fat and ate too much and had problems, and I sat there all holier than thou, thinking I was different. Who am I kidding...I still think I'm different. But one thing that J taught me is that all the alcoholics think that they're different, too. He's convinced that he's the one person who can handle alcohol, and everybody else has a problem. But he sees that everyone thinks that - the more you think you're different, the more the same you are.
The other thing I'm learning is how to take things one day at a time. Not even one day - one minute. If I'm not pigging out in this moment, then that's a good thing. I don't have to worry about how to get to 40 pounds, or 50 pounds or 70 pounds. I don't have to worry about how I'm going to go on a cruise and not completely lose all this progress I've made (the answer is, I'm taking my scale with me...hey maybe I'll weigh less at sea...who knows). I just have to worry about this moment, right now. And then this next moment. And so on. Eventually you get to where you need to be, one moment at a time, right?
I had my follow-up appointment after the D&C today. I love my doctor. I just love him. I wish I had a little miniature version of him that we could keep around the house, telling me random stories about when he bought his first CD player in the mid 1980's, and only had three CD's for it. He was at a meeting about high risk pregnancies during the time I was miscarrying three weeks ago, and he said he'd been thinking about me when they were talking about treatments for inflammations, and thinking about what he would do with me when we got to the point where I lost Baby T. Then he comes back, and finds out that I, as he put it, "got into trouble." But he's super-excited for me to try again because of all these new treatments he's learning about. I'm now Dr. J's guinea pig, I guess.
Anyway, I told him that we're on a full-scale assault against fat, and we talked about my plan of attack. He was totally supportive, but wanted to make sure I wasn't doing some crazy crash diet, and I assured him that I was trying to eat 1600-1800 calories a day. And he said words that will be forever etched in my brain as a defense against the BMI calculators and height-weight charts I used to study when I was a kid. He said, "I think more like 1800 calories a day for you. You're not short. And you have a big frame with a lot of muscle. We'll lose the padding around the frame, but that frame's not going anywhere."
Praise the Lord, and Big-Boned Girls Unite!!!