3rd Friday Weigh-in

172.8.

Miraculously, despite my idiocracy, it seems I'm moving in the right direction.  My goal for this week is to eat more vegetables.  That's a little vague.  Specifically more spinach, lima beans, kidney beans, broccoli, carrots, mushrooms, sweet potatoes, bell peppers and more.  I like a lot!  I just never seem to buy them for some reason.  Oh and there will be fruit.  So much fruit.  I'm looking at you pineapple.

Have a great weekend!

Huge Mistake

So yesterday I got a sugar craving.  That's how it started.  For some ungodly reason, I decided to act on it.  Armed with two one dollar bills, I traipsed from my workplace down a flight of stairs to a vending machine in the student lounge.  I was feeling... Mike and Ikey.

The first problem.  There were people around.  I have what I like to call food anxiety.  I feel bad about myself when I purchase or eat food around people I don't know, or don't know well.  This anxiety is lessened when I buy foods that aren't so "bad".  Mike and Ike, the big box, is pretty "bad".  It's nothing but sugar, corn syrup and artificial flavoring.  I knew this.  I still wanted it.

Avoiding eye contact, pretending I was the only person in that lounge, in that building, in the universe... I bought it and ran.  Okay, I walked out, but I felt like running.

I had planned on only eating a serving size and then sticking the rest in my backpack for another day.  Key word.  Planned.  Here's the second problem.  I was doing other things while eating.  You know what that means.  Mindless eating, my arch nemesis.  If I have to multi task while eating, I usually portion out whatever it is I'm having into a bowl and when it's gone, I'm done.  No more. That was you serving.  You've had your treat, now go do the dishes.  But I wasn't at home, I was at work, so without even thinking about it I popped it open and started snacking.

Cut to 560 calories later, the box was almost empty.  Disgusted with myself, I threw the remainder away.  I couldn't even remember eating it.  All I remembered were the articles I'd read, the copy work I'd done.  By this time it was almost lunch, but I wasn't hungry anymore.  My emotional disgust was becoming physical as my body realized how much sugar was sitting in my gullet.  "Holy crap, we have to process what now?!"

So, in another idiotic move, I skipped eating any actual food for lunch.  I just couldn't bare to eat anymore calories.  I wanted to punish myself for being so stupid.  By being even more stupid.  So I left work to go sit through my two hour class, hands visibly shaking, unable to take notes because of said shaking, dizzy with cold lips and fingers.  I wobbled my way home after and caved, ate a sandwich, drank some water, laid down.

I realize that this was more than just a bad dietary decision.  I put my health at serious risk over some candy and the associated emotions I have on eating it.  This shouldn't be normal.  But I think, increasingly so, it's becoming that way.  I know more people with an unhealthy relationship with food and their body image than I do those that don't.

And just think.  I'm doing better.  This is better.  I'll leave things on that note.

2nd Friday Weigh-in

174.0 lb.

Dammit.

That's my only thought for the day.  When I have other thoughts, I will write another post.

No promises, though.

What's in Mystery Meat, anyway?

Cooking for myself is a recent development.  As a child, your parents do all the providing.  Whether that comes in the form of a home cooked meal or a paper sack, they are responsible for what you consume.  Mostly.  You gradually gain more independence in your food choices, get lunch money instead of packed lunches.  School food is an entirely different blog post.  Let's not go there.

In college, if you go, you have the most freedom yet.  From what seems like a wide selection of food, your choices seem endless.  Cereal OR eggs and bacon for breakfast?  Both?  Wowza!  Being serious for a moment, it all malarkey.  Frankly a farce.  The food in big shiny serving containers, made in mass quantities to feed hungry college kids is not much better from Mystery Meat Monday of the third grade.  You don't know what's in it, not really, it just looks like you do. Those mashed potatoes might be the genuine article.  Or they might be only a step higher than shredded sawdust.  You'll never know.  After all, there'll be so much salt and butter added it's sure to taste alright.

I'm sorry; is my soapbox blocking traffic?

The sad fact is, people go to college to learn and walk away (hopefully) with a diploma and the freshman fifteen.  Plus some more if they're really unfortunate.  Something is wrong here.  Part of it is probably poor choices.  But another part is that we don't know where our food comes from or how it's made anymore.  We don't read labels, or question what chemicals are put in our food.  It's served to us and we are clueless about where it came from and sometimes even how it's made.

Now I'm not saying we should all be on hyper vigilance, or that these things need to be abolished.  But we didn't become one of the fattest nations by eating organically.  What I'm saying, if I'm saying anything, is that we need to start thinking about it, at least.

I'm no longer in the dormitories.  I live in an apartment off campus, with a fully functioning kitchen.  I cook for myself every night, to varying degrees of fanciness. Some nights I make lasagna or chili or some other multiple serving dish and freeze the extras, for many lunches and dinners to come.  Other times, I just boil some whole wheat pasta and sprinkle it with mozzarella and bacon.

Hey, I never claimed to be perfect.

I almost never eat out anymore.  For money reasons, sure, but primarily for health reasons.  Yesterday for lunch, I acted out of character and went to Steak and Shake with a friend who had quite a hankering for a nice greasy burger.  I might disagree with his desire to act on it, but I don't condemn.  I treated him, actually.  During our meal, I made an off hand comment about how even I like to eat fast food occasionally.  He stared at me and fumbled for verbal footing.

"Steak and Shake is not fast food," he said finally, his tone indignant.

Moments later, our food arrived.  The waitress apologized for our long ten minute wait.  As I looked at the chili I had ordered, a meal that I'd had absolutely zero hand in preparing, cooking and serving, I knew my friend was not alone in his vehemence.  Much of America, of the world, very much agreed.  This is not fast food.  It's life as we know it.

1st Friday Weigh-in

Drum roll, please!

173.2.

Okay, that could have gone better.  But!  I will not beat myself up about it.  I was expecting a slightly higher number this week because I haven't been making the best food choices.  Not necessarily  unhealthy choices, rather just too-much-food-not-enough-exercise choices.  I made banana bread, for example.  And have been eating way too much of it!

So next week I will make better choices, and that number will naturally decrease as I do what's best for my body.

Have a great weekend, friends.  I have a hot date tonight, so don't wait up ;).

Junk Food Bin

I have a guilty secret.  And it's called a junk food bin.

This bin is the only place I let junk food live.  When the bin is full, that's it.  No more junk purchases.  It's actually not all that bad, I think.  Working off my memory, I have chicken and beef flavored ramen (which I don't even like/eat; it's for my picky friends when they get hungry), Orville Redenbacher's Smart Pop Butter, Nutella, Nabisco 100 calorie desserts (Sandies, Chocolate Chip and rice krispies treats), one bar of Lindt's 70% Cacao, one bag of Goetze's Caramel Cremes and one bag of Sensible Portions Potato Straws in the BBQ flavor.  I don't typically buy pre-made bakery treats.  I like baking too much for that.

I've tried not having any snack type things in the apartment, but I feel like I'm depriving myself, which has always been the fast track to binging for me.  If I want ice cream and I deny myself, I will eat literally everything else in the pantry and still feel like ice cream in addition to feeling horrible about myself.  Better to just let myself have half a cup, for christ's sake.

Having the bin helps me keep some "bad" foods in the apartment without letting them take over.  I try to make them last because, let's be honest, I'm a broke college student.  I buy semi-nice dark chocolate and organic snack type things so I feel like it's even more of a treat.  Something to be savored, not scarfed down.

How do you strike a balance between healthy eating and the constant temptation?  Share your thoughts, even if it's to tell me that you don't like my system!

What's in a name?

I'm horrible at making up titles.  Some posts will probably have titles longer than the content, because I think that sort of thing is hilarious.

I never said this would be a sophisticated blog.

So when I started this thing, like, three days ago, all I knew was what I wanted to write about and I hadn't even contemplated what I would call the darn thing.  At first I came up with "Fit for fat".  I was pretty proud of that one until I found out the url had already been taken.  Bummer.  The rest of them were pathetic, feeble attempts at being witty, amusing, cute, and a bunch of other adjectives I can't remember.  That's how dumb they probably were.

I settled on "The Scale Goddess" because some days I feel like I've been inducted into a crazy cult... I should probably clarify that.  Look at this way.  Every morning, I pay my respects to an object.  The feedback that object gives me defines my day.  If it's positive, I'm happy, confident, strutting around, shaking that thang.  If it's negative, I'm destitute, bereft, melancholy, a grumpy Gus, not happy.  I think of all the things I could do to fix the object's opinion of me.  And when I get home, against all reason, I strip naked and weigh myself again. Oh, I didn't mention that I weigh myself in the buff?  Because I totally do.  This object is the scale, and I go to it everyday, sometimes multiple times a day... naked.  Change the scale to the moon or some other cosmic force and I'm a stereotypical Wiccan.

If this sound completely crazy, that's because it is.  Not that Wiccan's are crazy.  I love Wiccans.  Gee Dee it,  rewind.  What I'm trying to say is, as weird as all religion is to me, I will be the first to admit that this behavior is weirder.

As I said the other day, I'm better at outwardly responding to the scale.  I don't binge.  That's a huge  accomplishment for me.  But I absolutely let it affect me in almost every other way.  This isn't good.  In many ways, getting out of this crazy cult is almost more important than losing the rest of the weight.  I think writing about it will be therapeutic for me.  Even if it is the equivalent of talking to an empty room.  Crazy if you do, crazy if you don't.

And that's why the blog is called The Scale Goddess!

Two steps back isn't THAT bad, chill out self.

I was going to write about the title of the blog this post and why I chose it, but something more pertinent came up.  That is, I'm up by a couple pounds this morning.

Not too long ago, this would have sent me into a tailspin of despair.  And by not too long ago, I mean, like, a month ago.  But I've been trying to take a more relaxed outlook on my weight.  It's been a long road and I'm kind of tired of kicking myself so much for being fat.  Your tush starts to look like a kaleidoscope of bruises and then sitting is a pain... you know what I mean.

It's still a process.  I have to actively tell myself, "You are no less lovable, sweet, intelligent or beautiful because you are 2 pounds heavier."  And even then, my inner critic gives my inner hippy a dour, blank stare and sort of continues on her merry-less way.  I have to tell myself it's only temporary.  Even if temporary translates to one day, one week, or one month I will see the number on the scale decrease, eventually.

I'm a pretty impatient person.  Hence the daily weighing where I can't wait to see results.  Occasionally, like today, this habit backfires on me and I feel kind of down and mopey instead of motivated.  Years ago, against all reason, I would have turned to food for comfort.  I would like to say that urge no longer exists, but that'd be a dirty dirty lie.  The only real difference is that I recognize the utter insanity of it.  I'm much more in tune with my body and can tell when I'm searching for food out of boredom, frustration, sadness, any myriad of emotions.  I can also recognize the difference between thirst and hunger.

So yes.  Taking two steps back isn't such a bad thing.  Maybe you'll get a new perspective.  You never know.

Not the beginning, but close enough.

I'm not what you could call a newb to blog making.  In fact, I'd say I'm an expert in blog abandoning.  Good thing they let you have more than one to an email address or I'd have a bunch of abandoned email babies too.  I'm a monster.

I am, however, pretty much addicted to reading blogs.  Mostly about weight loss.  Maybe because I like reading  about the pathetic futile struggles of fatties.  Okay, that's a lie.  And a mean one.  Ouch, where'd that come from?  Anyway, no, the reason I'm addicted to weight loss blogs is because I identify too well with what they're going through.  I thought maybe it was high time I started documenting my own journey.  Or something similarly poetic.  My friends will be utterly delighted, if they ever learn of this endeavor, though.  It might mean I'll stop talking their ears off about nutrition and the fast food industry and the status of my current weight.  Unlikely, but  far be for me to crush their dreams.

I'm a 22 year old college student at a mid west college.  I weigh approximately 170 pounds although at my highest I was almost 300.  I probably should have started this blog then, but then, hindsight is 20/20.  I weigh myself every day.  I know they say it's not healthy, but it's what works for me.  I need it to motivate me to make good choices at this stage in my life.  I will do official type weigh ins every Friday morning, after I pee and before I eat breakfast.  My goal is around 130.  Where I end up is anyone's guess.  Maybe I'll love myself at 150.  Maybe I won't be happy until 120.

Let's figure it out together?