I'm still flying pretty high off of finishing my ride. I am in awe and disbelief that I actually completed it. I'm not known for being a completer, can you believe that? I have a lot of hair-brained ideas that sometimes I start and don't finish or think of and abandon as quickly as the thought appears. I think it was late 2009 when I first had the idea to participate in the Tour de Cure. I had my cute cruiser bike, the Cadillac of bikes as far as I was concerned. I was starting to dip my toes in the idea of actually caring for my health. The summer of 2010 would be when I put the pedal to the metal and rode 27 miles. 27 miles that's insane I thought, so did Mike. He offered to drive me to the start line and hang by at some near by bar until I finished cheering me on all the way. *cough*asshole*cough* In those days it took me 20+ minutes to ride the 1.5 miles into work. I would get there huffing and puffing, sweating and light headed but oh so proud and determined! By the summer I was still unsure that I could really pull it off but I was ready to give it the best shot I could. Then I got injured. I think if I had any idea what I'd actually signed up for I would have backed out anyway. Physically and mentally I was nowhere near in the condition that would be required to finish. But my back injury took care of that... then Daniel died within days of my injury. It was all almost more than I could bear and I was thankful for the drugs that kept me in a near constant haze all that time. I didn't give up the fight though. Next year, I vowed. Next year didn't happen. Couldn't tell you why, it just didn't. Funny it was right around the time we started to juice. We tried making juice for the first time a week or two before and we decided to do our first fast but first our last HURRAH! Meatgasm 2011, what a day of gluttony. I couldn't even imagine doing that again! Anyway, 2011 didn't happen either and I was pretty disappointed in myself. Mike and I started biking a bit more avidly, Mike way more than I as history has come to show! I had a shitty year and the clouds got heavier and darker. I don't know if I ever made the conscious decision but 2012 would be my year. And so far it has been. I could have and should have ridden my bike more, longer and further but I didn't. I decided at some point that 27 miles was not sufficient. That was my goal for 2 years and for 2 years I failed. So somewhere in my bent logic 43 seemed more likely, more of a challenge perhaps? This year, Mike Jones would not be sitting on the side lines drinking while I rode. This year Mike Jones would be riding with me, not along side me but with me none the less. He was far more prepared for this than I could have prayed to be but I didn't go into it planning to give up.
Saturday morning arrived sooner than I expected but there I was making a dream come true. In my padded shorts, my red rider jersey and my very own first ever numbered bib. Beaming and grinning from ear to ear at the front of the start line.
As the ride started I felt pretty strong, leading the pack but soon more and more riders started zipping past me in their super light road bikes, well more prepared for this than I on my cruiser bike with my camel back and bottle of juice! I kept going though, kept pushing through. Then the hills came, and they kept coming. I fell further and further behind but I didn't care I was doing it! So full of pride and excitement! Go red rider go! The traditional chant in the Tour de Cure, as you pass a rider or a rider passes you who is a diabetic you encourage them. It had been maybe 30 minutes in when I reached what was possibly the longest and steepest hill I have come across in my life. All I could think was f*ck this!! What the hell was I thinking? I got myself right off that bike and started hoofing it up the side of this cliff. Ok it wasn't a cliff but jeez! I thought it would go on forever and I might just lay down and die. I wondered, is it too early to give up? Then a group of older riders came zipping past me. I don't know how!! But one of them called out to me that I was almost there, is there an end to this hill I asked? And to my shock and dismay he slowed down and doubled back. He suggested I shift down and get back on the bike because I was almost there and really it would be easier to pedal than walk it. So I took his advise and he was right, I was so tired of walking it felt easier to ride. He rode slowly with me until I reached the top, he promised I could do it and suggested I enjoy the views the best part of this sort of humanly torture. We reached the top and he went right while I headed left and down hill! I finally reached the first rest stop just over 12 miles in. I was already so emotionally broken by the hills and the intensity. I was tired, hot, lonely and discouraged. I sat on the curb with a banana and cried. How could I be so weak and ready to quit after 12 miles? I needed prayers to carry me through. And I got them, I got back on my bike and my phone started going off with the support and love of so many friends and family and Mike's messages urging me to carry on despite how hard it felt because it would be worth it. I started pedaling again and for a while I still wanted to turn back, to find someone who would call a support vehicle to pick me up but I kept pedaling. All my wonderful friends carried me through until the next rest stop. Another enormous hill was there to greet me before I could reach it. Oh the cursing, you wouldn't think I was on my way to a church by the sounds coming out of my mouth. I would have washed my own mouth out with soap! When I reached the top the rest stop was being broken down and it only helped to make me feel like a failure. Here I am riding on my own, one of the last out there running so slowly that these people are leaving. One of the volunteers asked me if I was giving up. Even though I had been telling myself the whole way to just quit, give up, you're not good enough for this what were you thinking? All of that got pushed aside when she asked me that. Maybe it was my pride but no body tells me to quit but me. I got back on my bike so tired and sore and I rode on, down to the bottom of another hill that seemed to go on forever.
More than half way there now but the end felt impossible. I stopped, drank some water cursed at the road, got back on my bike and rode a few feet then got off again. I begged God to help, I cried out to Daniel because I know he's out there. I said to him We aren't quitters Daniel, we don't give up so help me goddammit! And I kept going. At one point one of the course marshals was riding behind me. All smug on his motorcycle riding slowly behind me because he thought I was the last rider out. I kept thinking are you fucking kidding me dude it's 1pm! There has to be at least a few century riders still going!! I was so angry at him and yet it gave me the resolve to keep going. I pressed on, rode harder because he was there with more determination knowing I could do it or give up and it meant nothing to him but the world to me. If Daniel was out there with me I know he played some part in that marshals presence.
Something happened during that second half of the ride; all of the negative self talk, telling myself I couldn't do it, that I was too fat, too slow, too weak to finish, all of that stopped. I stopped being so cruel to myself and remembered it was the hills I was angry at not myself. You're better than this hill, you are stronger and you are worth it so keep going because you can! This ride was such a symbolic trip. Those hills felt like the challenges in my life, the arduous journey through my life. Each of those hills was its own challenge or a memory of a struggle. Some were easy to ride past and others felt like they would make me crumble. None of them did. I did not quit. I could not believe I had made it when I reached the stadium and rode the last few yards towards the finish line. And as I reached the very end I heard over the speakers "Here is Zu, finishing her very first ride ever!!" and the clapping and the cheering. I made it I really made it! I got off my bike and I started bawling uncontrollable deep hard sobs. It was emotionally cleansing. I let go of so much through those tears.
I made it and I keep going. Go Red Rider Go!
Wednesday
2 Bottles of Juice on the Wall
I never thought I would see this day. We are at the end of this chapter, we have 2 more days left before we will have juiced for 122 days or 1/3 of this year. Can you believe that? 115 days ago I was sure Mike would have to go on without me, 100 days ago I thought surely it was a fluke if I didn't just give in entirely. 90 days ago I wanted to cry myself to sleep while chip crumbs stuck to my face. 80 days ago I was sitting on my shrinks couch crying about my lack of self control and having an absolute pity party while she commended me on even attempting this feat. Almost every day of this has found Mike reminding me how proud of me he is and how awesome I'm doing. It hasn't been pretty, it's been life and life is dirty and exhausting, unnerving, and an uphill battle. But it has been the most rewarding 120 days of my life. For one thing I never gave up and that is something to be proud of, right? Sure it might not have been a perfect 120 days but I kept on juicing.
I'm just so happy and in such a good place right now it's hard to put it all in words. What more is there to be said besides I am striving to BE.
Peace, love and juice folks! :-)
I'm just so happy and in such a good place right now it's hard to put it all in words. What more is there to be said besides I am striving to BE.
Peace, love and juice folks! :-)
Thursday
Headed into the unknown
Seeing my shrink today... It’s my last session with her and I’m starting to get some serious anxiety about it. We hit dead ends with every doctor she suggested for ongoing care. It’s frustrating and I’m a little scared of going forth on my own. Mike and I were talking about Carnie Wilson today; I was reading an article about her most recent weight loss surgery. Yes I said “most recent”, she had surgery once before and now she’s had lap band surgery. I wonder how many more times she’s going to do something of the sort before she starts to understand it isn’t just a matter of being capable of eating or not. Back in the day when I went through the beginning stages of the process for bariatric surgery they placed a high emphasis on psychological screenings. At least it seemed that way to me. I met with a dietary psychologist once, who even knew that was a specialty? Anyway she had asked some questions about why I wanted to do it and whatnot. She was concerned because I wasn’t the size of her typical patients. I was 215lbs at the time and the only reason they could consider me at that weight is because of the co morbidities. Funny how much weight I’ve gained and lost from that point. I’m currently about 10lbs lighter than that but I ballooned up as high as 245 and I’ve sat at every weight point in between. But the point was that they explained if I chose to continue through the process I would be meeting with this psychologist for a good 10 sessions prior to surgery. That was when it was still a relatively new procedure, before the days where you could drive down any highway in California and see billboards for 1-800-LAP-BAND. I think it is now being seen almost as a “cosmetic” procedure which it absolutely is not. There can be some serious complications from it but because it isn’t gastric-bypass doctors are pushing people through it like cattle.
Some days I regret my decision not to go through with it, others I don’t. I know for a fact that having the surgery wouldn’t have fixed my food issues and I don’t know if I was ready to face them at the age I was. I was 22 when I was considering it and when I think back I say wow I was young! At the ripe old age of 28 no less! But really I think I’ve done a lot of growing in those 6 years. I always joke that I am bitter beyond my years but really I think I’ve just experienced a lot. I’ve been managing my own healthcare since I was a teenager. Not because my parents didn’t care but because they really couldn’t. They both worked very hard and long hours to be able to provide me with the health insurance I was blessed to have. I was in an interesting situation, making some pretty serious health care decisions on my own. Accepting the recommendations of the doctors I was seeing and even scheduling my own surgeries. That kind of stuff is hard for someone who’s been around the block a few times let alone a 17 year old!
Mike thinks we’re both better for opting against weight loss surgery. It’s a feeling of self gratification, proving to oneself that you can in fact do it. For me it’s neither here or there. I’m still struggling. I am glad to see 45lbs gone but it upsets me that I could have let myself get to that weight because I feel like I am where I should have been starting. Sure it is the same for Mike isn’t it? But I am pretty angry at myself most of the time. I am angry that I lack the self control. I want to make the excuse that maybe this just isn’t for everyone. Sure I have made far better choices since this all began but I continue to fall into the same ditches that I dug before. Sometimes it feels like this restriction I continue to place on myself is just making me lash out and it is. I have eaten more potato chips since we started juicing than I probably ate in 4 months without juice. A bag here a bag there and then a laxative. Believe you me; if I could force myself to vomit I would only because some days I wonder what I might be doing to my intestines. We’ve all seen the 1970’s eating disorder films they used to show in school right? We all know the perils of bulimia but what do laxatives do? Oh I could certainly google the answer to that but it would scare the wits out of me. It isn’t an everyday occurrence but what does even once a week or every other week do? Maybe it is something I should look at before I cause permanent damage. Maybe it is time I stop trying to hold myself to some unattainable measure of success. Maybe I should just be glad that I gave it a chance, I want to say that I gave it my all but is that a lie? I think about that, I gave it my all… and I have thoughts floating into my mind of potato chips being crammed in my mouth, bowls of plain rice, raw veggies. Was that really giving it my all? Given my circumstances maybe it was.
Only time will tell what will happen once I'm on my own. I don't like the feeling that's for sure.
Friday
60 bottles of juice on the wall
Day 59 is coming to an end... It is an incredibly frustrating feeling to know that I am only half way there. Yet it is also so reassuring to think I am half way there. I don't know if that makes sense or not but whatever.
I've been kind of in a funny place since the chat I had with my shrink about seeing someone on the long term. The two doctors she referred me to aren't taking new patients. I was pretty frustrated by that and at the same time I felt like maybe it was just what I need so I could just stop. Just stop trying to fix whatever is wrong with me because A) there isn't anything wrong with me and I'm just blowing something way out of proportion and/or B) Mike's right and if I just stopped eating meat everything would be better.
I don't actually believe either of those statements. Over the last week I had a number of "discussions" with Mike about vegan-ism and his unfounded theories of how it will heal me. Each discussion left me more unnerved, upset, frustrated and left me questioning myself. His theories left me feeling like I am making more out of what I'm feeling than is actually there. But if it is just me making more of it then that would mean I wasn't secretly eating entire bags of chips, platefuls of rice, and whatever other snacks I could get my hands on to the point of physical pain and emotional self destruction. If I was maybe eating a few chips and then crying about it I could see how many I was just disappointed in myself for breaking fast but I am literally eating myself to death. Because I learned that I couldn't purge after these binges, I have turned to laxatives on a number of occasions. I eat because I don't have the coping mechanisms and skills that other adults have. I eat for the same reasons that many alcoholics drink. And you know what I find fucked up and unfair? It is possibly more acceptable to be an alcoholic than a binge eater. Because alcohol is pretty well accepted but fat people are not. And yet both are horrible life destroying addictions but one is just prettier.
I think, and I am completely speculating here because I don't quite know how to ask... but I think that for Mike this eating thing could seem like a side effect of this attempt to fast. Maybe he thinks that restricting myself to nothing but juice might be bringing out all these cravings. It really isn't. It is pretty deep set stuff. I wish he could be a fly on the wall and listen to my sessions because it is so difficult to verbalize what goes on.
I remember when I was little our bus stop was near a house that had tons of mandarin trees lining their fence. Like tons and tons... Every morning while waiting for the bus I would pick and eat as many mandarins as I could. I would usually fill a produce bag with as many as I could to take with me to school. I didn't have a lot of friends, my sister did. She was always the popular one and so when we waited for our bus she would have all her friends around her and I was always standing awkwardly by stuffing mandarins into my face. Once I stole money from my parents so I could buy ice cream it took years to confess to that. In 4th grade I remember some girls making fun of me I don't remember why but one of the girls had bought a nutter butter bar and left it near the corner of the swing set while she swung. When no one was paying attention to me I stole it. I took off running and hid in a bathroom stall eating it as quickly as I could. At home there were a number of nights where mom would make dinner and enough to have left overs for her and dad's lunches the next day. After we had all eaten and they were watching tv I would sneak in the kitchen and inhale more and more. I remember literally sneaking, being as quiet as I could as I lifted the lids off of pots and pans so she wouldn't know what I was doing in there. Often times she was just pissed off that I had eaten the left overs or that there wasn't enough for both of their lunches. But sometimes she was just pissed that I was still eating.
When I was in high school I couldn't have been more than 14 or 15 I remember we took a trip to see some doctor in Mexicali. My sister, my cousin and I along with another friend of of the family and her daughter all got dragged off into this doctors office in butt fuck ass nowhere Mexico where we were weighed like cattle and put on some insane weight loss medication. I remember we had to be on some strict diet and I prayed I never had to eat another beet in my life. It didn't last long, my uncle quickly demanded that our mothers take us off of those medications since they were known to cause some serious health issues.
See nothing new here... it just isn't something that comes up in the getting to know you conversations. I don't know... I don't remember myself as being a difficult child. I feel like I took pretty good care of myself with minimal supervision. As a teenager I wasn't difficult, again I didn't have many friends and I spent too much time on the internet. Honestly I think I was easy to raise because I didn't ask for much. Am I seeing that wrong? I mean while I was at home tying up the phone lines with my dial up my sister was out on the street somewhere getting high with someone. Which kid would you think got disciplined more?
So here I am 59 days into this "fast" and really trying to make an effort for me. I wish I could show to myself that I can do this. That I am stronger than my addictions and when I think I'm close to saying "Yeah!!! I totally did that!!" I just screw myself up. I find myself sabotaging myself and I don't know why. Today I made it the entire day without falling victim to myself. I had been longing for chinese food since my coworkers were having it today and it smelled so good. But I stayed in the office at lunch to minimize temptation and after work I got into my work out clothes and drove to jazzercise after turning down an offer to hang out with friends while they ate dinner. I was frustrated, I wanted to eat something and the only thing that would distract me or so I hoped would be jazzercise for the next hour. I climbed the stairs to the class and thought it strange that the music was already going. Goddamn it how could I have forgotten that Friday classes start at 5:30? I went back to the car, it was nearly 6 no use going in at that point. But I was gripped with panic. If I went home I would undoubtedly eat something. If I walked into a grocery store to get stuff I need for juice I would eat something. I started bawling in the parking lot of the Jazzercise center like a crazy person. Like THE crazy person that I am. I had no idea what the hell to do. I am completely mad. Who does that? I couldn't think of any escape route. It was like fighting the urge to stop and pick up a bottle of booze or just stop into a bar where no one recognizes me. I wanted it so bad and yet I was sobbing because I didn't. I just lost it and I don't know how else to explain it. I told Mike what I was doing and he suggested I drive myself back to my office and go into the gym there because I needed it. It would be therapeutic, and he was right. I did just that and I walked on a tredmill until the panic was gone and I felt like I could go into a grocery store without devouring everything in sight. Until i could walk into that store pay for my produce and not ask for cash back so I could buy cookies from those crack peddling girl scouts. And I did it. I came home and I made juice and I did not eat anything. It was absolutely exhausting. And tomorrow I will wake up and go to class on time and I will somehow make it through the rest of the day fighting off the same demons and Sunday and Monday and everyday after I will continue to do the same as best as I can.
I've been kind of in a funny place since the chat I had with my shrink about seeing someone on the long term. The two doctors she referred me to aren't taking new patients. I was pretty frustrated by that and at the same time I felt like maybe it was just what I need so I could just stop. Just stop trying to fix whatever is wrong with me because A) there isn't anything wrong with me and I'm just blowing something way out of proportion and/or B) Mike's right and if I just stopped eating meat everything would be better.
I don't actually believe either of those statements. Over the last week I had a number of "discussions" with Mike about vegan-ism and his unfounded theories of how it will heal me. Each discussion left me more unnerved, upset, frustrated and left me questioning myself. His theories left me feeling like I am making more out of what I'm feeling than is actually there. But if it is just me making more of it then that would mean I wasn't secretly eating entire bags of chips, platefuls of rice, and whatever other snacks I could get my hands on to the point of physical pain and emotional self destruction. If I was maybe eating a few chips and then crying about it I could see how many I was just disappointed in myself for breaking fast but I am literally eating myself to death. Because I learned that I couldn't purge after these binges, I have turned to laxatives on a number of occasions. I eat because I don't have the coping mechanisms and skills that other adults have. I eat for the same reasons that many alcoholics drink. And you know what I find fucked up and unfair? It is possibly more acceptable to be an alcoholic than a binge eater. Because alcohol is pretty well accepted but fat people are not. And yet both are horrible life destroying addictions but one is just prettier.
I think, and I am completely speculating here because I don't quite know how to ask... but I think that for Mike this eating thing could seem like a side effect of this attempt to fast. Maybe he thinks that restricting myself to nothing but juice might be bringing out all these cravings. It really isn't. It is pretty deep set stuff. I wish he could be a fly on the wall and listen to my sessions because it is so difficult to verbalize what goes on.
I remember when I was little our bus stop was near a house that had tons of mandarin trees lining their fence. Like tons and tons... Every morning while waiting for the bus I would pick and eat as many mandarins as I could. I would usually fill a produce bag with as many as I could to take with me to school. I didn't have a lot of friends, my sister did. She was always the popular one and so when we waited for our bus she would have all her friends around her and I was always standing awkwardly by stuffing mandarins into my face. Once I stole money from my parents so I could buy ice cream it took years to confess to that. In 4th grade I remember some girls making fun of me I don't remember why but one of the girls had bought a nutter butter bar and left it near the corner of the swing set while she swung. When no one was paying attention to me I stole it. I took off running and hid in a bathroom stall eating it as quickly as I could. At home there were a number of nights where mom would make dinner and enough to have left overs for her and dad's lunches the next day. After we had all eaten and they were watching tv I would sneak in the kitchen and inhale more and more. I remember literally sneaking, being as quiet as I could as I lifted the lids off of pots and pans so she wouldn't know what I was doing in there. Often times she was just pissed off that I had eaten the left overs or that there wasn't enough for both of their lunches. But sometimes she was just pissed that I was still eating.
When I was in high school I couldn't have been more than 14 or 15 I remember we took a trip to see some doctor in Mexicali. My sister, my cousin and I along with another friend of of the family and her daughter all got dragged off into this doctors office in butt fuck ass nowhere Mexico where we were weighed like cattle and put on some insane weight loss medication. I remember we had to be on some strict diet and I prayed I never had to eat another beet in my life. It didn't last long, my uncle quickly demanded that our mothers take us off of those medications since they were known to cause some serious health issues.
See nothing new here... it just isn't something that comes up in the getting to know you conversations. I don't know... I don't remember myself as being a difficult child. I feel like I took pretty good care of myself with minimal supervision. As a teenager I wasn't difficult, again I didn't have many friends and I spent too much time on the internet. Honestly I think I was easy to raise because I didn't ask for much. Am I seeing that wrong? I mean while I was at home tying up the phone lines with my dial up my sister was out on the street somewhere getting high with someone. Which kid would you think got disciplined more?
So here I am 59 days into this "fast" and really trying to make an effort for me. I wish I could show to myself that I can do this. That I am stronger than my addictions and when I think I'm close to saying "Yeah!!! I totally did that!!" I just screw myself up. I find myself sabotaging myself and I don't know why. Today I made it the entire day without falling victim to myself. I had been longing for chinese food since my coworkers were having it today and it smelled so good. But I stayed in the office at lunch to minimize temptation and after work I got into my work out clothes and drove to jazzercise after turning down an offer to hang out with friends while they ate dinner. I was frustrated, I wanted to eat something and the only thing that would distract me or so I hoped would be jazzercise for the next hour. I climbed the stairs to the class and thought it strange that the music was already going. Goddamn it how could I have forgotten that Friday classes start at 5:30? I went back to the car, it was nearly 6 no use going in at that point. But I was gripped with panic. If I went home I would undoubtedly eat something. If I walked into a grocery store to get stuff I need for juice I would eat something. I started bawling in the parking lot of the Jazzercise center like a crazy person. Like THE crazy person that I am. I had no idea what the hell to do. I am completely mad. Who does that? I couldn't think of any escape route. It was like fighting the urge to stop and pick up a bottle of booze or just stop into a bar where no one recognizes me. I wanted it so bad and yet I was sobbing because I didn't. I just lost it and I don't know how else to explain it. I told Mike what I was doing and he suggested I drive myself back to my office and go into the gym there because I needed it. It would be therapeutic, and he was right. I did just that and I walked on a tredmill until the panic was gone and I felt like I could go into a grocery store without devouring everything in sight. Until i could walk into that store pay for my produce and not ask for cash back so I could buy cookies from those crack peddling girl scouts. And I did it. I came home and I made juice and I did not eat anything. It was absolutely exhausting. And tomorrow I will wake up and go to class on time and I will somehow make it through the rest of the day fighting off the same demons and Sunday and Monday and everyday after I will continue to do the same as best as I can.
Thursday
Chapter 1...
I'm reading a book called "Food: The Good Girl's Drug..." So far it has been eye opening and painful to read. I've really only been able to make it through the first chapter because I keep stopping myself. It is difficult to continue on when you see the naked truth in front of your eyes. The deeper I'm delving into this whole self discovery and realization the more painful it becomes. The more fucked up I see that I am. I want to stop, I've had enough. Can't we just go back to ignoring the issues? This juice fast in combination with therapy have really scrounged up some shit. Stirring the pot makes stuff look murky but it also makes it better doesn't it? The juicing (because I quite frankly can't call it a fast) was supposed to help break the chains of these demons. These unhealthy habits and addictions to the wrong foods. Instead what I'm left with is a darker realization. I'm not addicted to eating the wrong foods, I am addicted to all foods. I am harming myself with food. I have an eating disorder. Now mind you I haven't presented this to any M.D. yet, however, it is pretty clear. We already knew I had a pretty skewed relationship with food, emotional in nature but it goes well beyond that. It is embarrassing to be honest. The deeper I go down this rabbit hole the deeper it gets. I wonder at many points throughout my day whether I shouldn't just be institutionalized for a little while. Spend a few hours a day with a doctor talking and maybe a few hours in an Overeaters Anonymous meeting. It's weird to think right? I'm not bulimic and I certainly am no anorexic but my struggles with food and self are just as fucked up. That all being said... what follows is just some journaling, as I finish each chapter it asks me a few questions to reflect. Gotta love self help books right? To give you a synopsis of the chapter, it explains BED (binge eating disorder) as well as good old fashioned emotional overeating. It shared the stories of a few people one is a gal who has always yo-yoed, another over eater who is nearly anorexic and one who has been obese since childhood. The questions were 1. what was my body and weight history. 2. did i relate to any of the eating disorder descriptions, how or why. 3. Do I think I am an emotional over eater or a binge eater and what terms would I use to describe my issues with food. So that my friends is what you will learn if you continue reading. I don't know why I'm sharing all this, but I've shared just about everything else with you all so why not right?
From a young age I knew I was over weight. My mom and aunts commented on our looks and I could see the difference between me and the other kids. I remember wanting to exercise and there were times when I would go "running" I was maybe 5 or 6 years old and I would wake up early on the weekend, put on my matching sweat pants and shirt and my Velcro shoes and grab my walk man as I walked out the door. I never made it very far, I'd run out of breath and energy and have to huff back to the house.
The question was whether I have identified as overweight or obese my entire life... I think in a lot of ways that identification was made for me. I have so many memories that are just flooding back.
I had a 2 piece bikini when I was a kid, it was so colorful and I was so excited to wear it. I finally got the chance to when we visited my grandparents in Mexico one summer. I distinctly remember that I didn't feel all that uncomfortable in it though I probably looked it. I remember seeing a picture later on and I just looked so god awful in it. The memory hurts but it is honest. That same suit was at the center of a fight I had with my sister not long after that. I had a friend since kindergarten, her name was Lolita. One day she came over after school and I was so excited because none of my friends ever came over. The excitement was certainly short lived. My sister being the older and cooler one of the two, with better ideas for what to do convinced my friend to go play with her. My sister wanted me to loan my bathing suit to Lolita so they could go play in the sprinklers or something. Whatever it was it involved water. I refused. I was too fat for it but I was not going to let her wear it. I was angry and probably hurt that I wasn't being included, I'm still angry about it today! Ha...
As I got older kids got meaner but for me the bullying always started at home. When I was 8 my little brother was born. I was so excited about him and loved him so so dearly. By the time I was 10 and he was 2 and able to talk things weren't so rosy anymore. My sister taught him to be cruel to me. He was like a tiny parrot for her to play with. I don't know how old he was but at one point he was chanting "fat, fat, fatty!!" or "shamuuuuu". He would giggle and think he was doing something good but he was cutting wounds that really haven't healed. 20 years later and I still remember all of them. I don't blame him and I don't hate him. I love my brother he is a wonderful man, do I blame my sister? Yes, I do. I can't hold her solely responsible because she too was a kid and couldn't understand the implications of her actions just as I couldn't. It hurt deeply and it does today just as much, so who's to blame? I don't quite know if there is blame to be placed. There is infinite amounts of pain though.
I felt like reading the opening pages of the book was like reading the story of my life. Set before me in a way that finally made some semblance of sense. So let me tell you what the national eating disorders association describes BED as: recurrent binge eating without the regular use of compensatory measures -- such as vomiting, excessive exercise, or using laxatives -- to counter the binges.
From a young age I knew I was over weight. My mom and aunts commented on our looks and I could see the difference between me and the other kids. I remember wanting to exercise and there were times when I would go "running" I was maybe 5 or 6 years old and I would wake up early on the weekend, put on my matching sweat pants and shirt and my Velcro shoes and grab my walk man as I walked out the door. I never made it very far, I'd run out of breath and energy and have to huff back to the house.
The question was whether I have identified as overweight or obese my entire life... I think in a lot of ways that identification was made for me. I have so many memories that are just flooding back.
I had a 2 piece bikini when I was a kid, it was so colorful and I was so excited to wear it. I finally got the chance to when we visited my grandparents in Mexico one summer. I distinctly remember that I didn't feel all that uncomfortable in it though I probably looked it. I remember seeing a picture later on and I just looked so god awful in it. The memory hurts but it is honest. That same suit was at the center of a fight I had with my sister not long after that. I had a friend since kindergarten, her name was Lolita. One day she came over after school and I was so excited because none of my friends ever came over. The excitement was certainly short lived. My sister being the older and cooler one of the two, with better ideas for what to do convinced my friend to go play with her. My sister wanted me to loan my bathing suit to Lolita so they could go play in the sprinklers or something. Whatever it was it involved water. I refused. I was too fat for it but I was not going to let her wear it. I was angry and probably hurt that I wasn't being included, I'm still angry about it today! Ha...
As I got older kids got meaner but for me the bullying always started at home. When I was 8 my little brother was born. I was so excited about him and loved him so so dearly. By the time I was 10 and he was 2 and able to talk things weren't so rosy anymore. My sister taught him to be cruel to me. He was like a tiny parrot for her to play with. I don't know how old he was but at one point he was chanting "fat, fat, fatty!!" or "shamuuuuu". He would giggle and think he was doing something good but he was cutting wounds that really haven't healed. 20 years later and I still remember all of them. I don't blame him and I don't hate him. I love my brother he is a wonderful man, do I blame my sister? Yes, I do. I can't hold her solely responsible because she too was a kid and couldn't understand the implications of her actions just as I couldn't. It hurt deeply and it does today just as much, so who's to blame? I don't quite know if there is blame to be placed. There is infinite amounts of pain though.
I felt like reading the opening pages of the book was like reading the story of my life. Set before me in a way that finally made some semblance of sense. So let me tell you what the national eating disorders association describes BED as: recurrent binge eating without the regular use of compensatory measures -- such as vomiting, excessive exercise, or using laxatives -- to counter the binges.
- Some symptoms include: Frequent episodes of eating large quantities of food in relatively short periods of time.
- Feeling out of control over eating behavior
- Feeling ashamed or disgusted by the behavior
- Eating rapidly
- Eating in secret
- Eating until uncomfortably full
So sure while a lot of us fatties might eat rapidly or until uncomfortably full how many of you are feeling ashamed of yourself to the point of tears or like you literally cannot stop? I do. I'm raising both hands over here. I have gotten myself to the point where I have been in so much pain that I have tried forcing myself to vomit but I cannot make it happen. Recently there was an incident involving a few too many cups of white rice which left me in so much agony and shame and disgust that after failing to make it come up I was ready to drive my ass down to walmart for some ipecac. Instead I laid on the couch in the only position which didn't hurt and I waited for it to pass. When the pain had subsided enough I went into the kitchen and finished off the remaining rice. And then I cried. A girls account in the book talks about the postbinge guilt trip. It reads "All of my focus comes off of my work and onto my flaws. I think about how I have no self-control, how I'm obese, and I look down at my belly in disgust and let my thoughts abuse me." I can't tell you how frequently this happens. Often I end up picking up the phone and crying to Mike for absolution. I don't know why but I always want him to tell me what I did wasn't as bad as I think it is. He usually will and that will silence the screaming in my head for a bit. But there is always a next time...
So do I think I am an emotional eater or a binge eater... I never considered there could be a difference but now I realize that I am a binge eater. Sure emotion can be fueling it but ultimately I binge. I would eat the whole world away if I could.
I remember a number of years ago Mike and I considered the idea of weight loss surgery. To the extent that we went to a seminar about it. They talked about how you suddenly felt full! These people they understood what that feeling was. One woman raised her hand and asked "what does feeling full have to do with anything?" What does it indeed.
Monday
Good bye cruel friend
Effective immediately the scale is leaving the house. Mike and I decided this was the best thing to do for a number of reasons. Fasting has never been exclusively about losing weight. Honestly weight loss has been one of the lower priorities of as far as a fast is concerned. First and foremost we are seeking a way to break free from the addiction to processed foods and over eating that we have struggled with all our lives. Who hasn't heard the old saying that your body is your temple? Seriously my body has been like a run down looted, gutted out and burned down old temple. Not even snakes or spiders would call it home.
The journey of self discovery and renewal that I have been on for the last few years has brought me understanding of my addiction to food. I have a very disruptive and emotionally unsatisfying relationship with food. I don't know why it is, I can't say it's my heritage cause frankly this is all inside of me. It is how I respond to my emotions. It is my comfort when I am so drained and there is nothing left of myself, I choose to replenish it with food. I have to stop living to eat. Weight loss may come or it may not but regardless that is not the end all of my journey.
The scale in this house has more and more become a way of finding my self worth. Did I do well this week? Great I am so proud of myself! If I didn't I begin to judge myself, think of every piece of food that I might have snuck in while Mike wasn't around. I begin to measure myself up against Mike, who can go out for a bike ride and have lost 3 or 4lbs to my 2 for the week. I have to stop doing that. This is not why I am doing this.
When we first began juicing it was about the weight loss. That's what we saw this guy on some documentary achieve! But as the days went on and we started noticing the decrease in our insulin in take, our renewed energy and strength... I was sleeping through the night! Wow what an idea that food can truly affect your life in ways other than making your not hungry.
For Mike continuing on and fasting multiple more times during our life can mean the end of all his insulin and pills and living a diabetes free life. That is something I truly hope we can achieve. That unfortunately isn't in the cards for me. However, I know that breaking the cycle of addiction and emotional eating will lead me to a happier healthier life. I want that so badly for myself. I want that more than I want to be free of the diabetes. I can live with the diabetes and I can live well, but this sick cycle of emotions is something I can't live with.
The last number of weeks I have been under immense amounts of stress, worry and fear. Who wouldn't be? Mike is coming up on a year of unemployment, taxes are due, I have more work than I can shake a stick at and my husband is leaving for 2 months all in the middle of a fast. My old handy go to friend is not allowed to play with me! If all this were going on and I was eating you can bet your ass I would have been a good 30Lbs heavier by the time Mike got back from Cinci. I'm missing my parents and I worry about my mom and her broken leg and what might happen with that. I hear how depressed she sounds when I've spoken to her and it makes my heart hurt. It makes me want to reach for a bag of chips. Because the chips will comfort me if only temporarily.
As of late they haven't, I have on a few occasions snuck some and frankly they weren't enjoyed. I just felt a desperation to eat them before anyone saw me or god forbid Mike found out. But almost every time I would confess my sins to Mike who would tell me it was ok, just don't do it again. You're right thanks hon, until the next time. I'd get on the scale and wait for its reproach. And I would leave the room head hung low. Yesterday was a bit of a breaking point for me. I can't continue doing this. I refuse to be a slave to that scale. It does not congratulate me for going an entire day on juice, it only reprimands me for the bag of chips. It doesn't say you're doing awesome in Jazzercise keep it up! It says you did it again didn't you? So that is why until we reach 122 days of juice the scale will find itself in the trunk of the car. Because that is the only place it belongs.
The journey of self discovery and renewal that I have been on for the last few years has brought me understanding of my addiction to food. I have a very disruptive and emotionally unsatisfying relationship with food. I don't know why it is, I can't say it's my heritage cause frankly this is all inside of me. It is how I respond to my emotions. It is my comfort when I am so drained and there is nothing left of myself, I choose to replenish it with food. I have to stop living to eat. Weight loss may come or it may not but regardless that is not the end all of my journey.
The scale in this house has more and more become a way of finding my self worth. Did I do well this week? Great I am so proud of myself! If I didn't I begin to judge myself, think of every piece of food that I might have snuck in while Mike wasn't around. I begin to measure myself up against Mike, who can go out for a bike ride and have lost 3 or 4lbs to my 2 for the week. I have to stop doing that. This is not why I am doing this.
When we first began juicing it was about the weight loss. That's what we saw this guy on some documentary achieve! But as the days went on and we started noticing the decrease in our insulin in take, our renewed energy and strength... I was sleeping through the night! Wow what an idea that food can truly affect your life in ways other than making your not hungry.
For Mike continuing on and fasting multiple more times during our life can mean the end of all his insulin and pills and living a diabetes free life. That is something I truly hope we can achieve. That unfortunately isn't in the cards for me. However, I know that breaking the cycle of addiction and emotional eating will lead me to a happier healthier life. I want that so badly for myself. I want that more than I want to be free of the diabetes. I can live with the diabetes and I can live well, but this sick cycle of emotions is something I can't live with.
The last number of weeks I have been under immense amounts of stress, worry and fear. Who wouldn't be? Mike is coming up on a year of unemployment, taxes are due, I have more work than I can shake a stick at and my husband is leaving for 2 months all in the middle of a fast. My old handy go to friend is not allowed to play with me! If all this were going on and I was eating you can bet your ass I would have been a good 30Lbs heavier by the time Mike got back from Cinci. I'm missing my parents and I worry about my mom and her broken leg and what might happen with that. I hear how depressed she sounds when I've spoken to her and it makes my heart hurt. It makes me want to reach for a bag of chips. Because the chips will comfort me if only temporarily.
As of late they haven't, I have on a few occasions snuck some and frankly they weren't enjoyed. I just felt a desperation to eat them before anyone saw me or god forbid Mike found out. But almost every time I would confess my sins to Mike who would tell me it was ok, just don't do it again. You're right thanks hon, until the next time. I'd get on the scale and wait for its reproach. And I would leave the room head hung low. Yesterday was a bit of a breaking point for me. I can't continue doing this. I refuse to be a slave to that scale. It does not congratulate me for going an entire day on juice, it only reprimands me for the bag of chips. It doesn't say you're doing awesome in Jazzercise keep it up! It says you did it again didn't you? So that is why until we reach 122 days of juice the scale will find itself in the trunk of the car. Because that is the only place it belongs.
Under pressure
We rounded out day 20 with a trip down to the bed bath and beyond. That place is seriously dangerous. There is so much crap that you don't need but always see and think oOooO shinny! For me it was the plastic lawn, aka a counter top drying station for bottles. You can probably figure out why but in case you can't, for my bottles! They're usually sitting upside down on a dish towel trying to dry themselves out somewhat unsuccessfully. So anyway I left the fake lawn there but I really considered it... There was some thing that looks like a nail gun to tenderize meat that we saw years ago and now we were like oooo maybe when we're done with the fast... Old habits die hard. But the tools and gadgets and odds and ends!! They're everywhere and I want one of everything! We did pretty good, I picked up a longer bottle brush and a straw brush. Crazy right? I was pretty surprised that they sell straw brushes but it makes sense. I've been using crafting pipe cleaners but it makes me leery that there's gross bacteria inside the straws even when I leave them soaking in boiling hot water. So anyway, I bought that straw brush and was really excited. We also picked up a cherry pitter for Mike as well as a pressure cooker! Wow that thing is wild! It was fun to try out and I'm excited to cook stuff in it that I'll be able to eat. Tonight we made a veggie stock in it which is still sitting and marinating. I'll get to putting it away in a bit.
I am feeling extra unmotivated at the moment. I made that stock and soup for dinner and now I'm just meh... There's some grumbling in my stomach. Not hunger pangs at all just rumblings, I wish it would just quiet down already! I'm also extra rambly tonight. That's not a word, don't judge me! The weather is getting ready to take another ugly turn down here. More rain, more scary swollen rivers. Another great reason to live on a second floor unit. Blah blah blah pressure cooker blah blah blah... I just wanted to tell yall that we got a pressure cooker but that's really about it. We went and had our blood drawn today so we should be getting a call from the Dr. any day now. Zu keep taking your goddamn cholesterol meds is the message I'll have on my voice mail cause I'll surely miss or ignore the call. He'll be singing Mike's praises cause Mike is awesome and I'm a big stinker. Just another reason to say Thanks Mom and Dad!
We did this health screening at work on Friday that's how I know my cholesterol is still high. In exchange for telling them how disgustingly unhealthy we are we get a contribution to our VEBA accounts. Honestly I don't know what the hell my VEBA account is. I think it's like part of my retirement fund that goes directly to pay for my future medical costs. I gotta keep stock piling the $$ in there cause lord knows I'm gonna need it! Anyway so we met with a nurse they weighed any willing participants and they drew a bit of blood checked cholesterol and blood glucose levels and then you go to our insurance website and do this little survey and it basically tells you your health and what your "physical" age is vs your actual age. According to that thing my health is equivalent to that of a 33 yr old. Not sure what that really means... So if at 33 I'm the same then I'll be right on track? It also told me I was at high risk for the beetus and depression. Well fuck me running! Depression? Me? NO WAY!! And the goddamn beetus?! I simply cannot accept this diagnosis internets!!! Haha life is good on meds let me tell you! So that's that, I'm dying faster than the average bear, but we're all gonna get there eventually right? Just gotta make the best out of the hand you've been dealt. Unfortunately for me I will never be one of those skinny bitches who gets to dunk french fries in a frosty. But really why would I want to do that? That's gross.
I am feeling extra unmotivated at the moment. I made that stock and soup for dinner and now I'm just meh... There's some grumbling in my stomach. Not hunger pangs at all just rumblings, I wish it would just quiet down already! I'm also extra rambly tonight. That's not a word, don't judge me! The weather is getting ready to take another ugly turn down here. More rain, more scary swollen rivers. Another great reason to live on a second floor unit. Blah blah blah pressure cooker blah blah blah... I just wanted to tell yall that we got a pressure cooker but that's really about it. We went and had our blood drawn today so we should be getting a call from the Dr. any day now. Zu keep taking your goddamn cholesterol meds is the message I'll have on my voice mail cause I'll surely miss or ignore the call. He'll be singing Mike's praises cause Mike is awesome and I'm a big stinker. Just another reason to say Thanks Mom and Dad!
We did this health screening at work on Friday that's how I know my cholesterol is still high. In exchange for telling them how disgustingly unhealthy we are we get a contribution to our VEBA accounts. Honestly I don't know what the hell my VEBA account is. I think it's like part of my retirement fund that goes directly to pay for my future medical costs. I gotta keep stock piling the $$ in there cause lord knows I'm gonna need it! Anyway so we met with a nurse they weighed any willing participants and they drew a bit of blood checked cholesterol and blood glucose levels and then you go to our insurance website and do this little survey and it basically tells you your health and what your "physical" age is vs your actual age. According to that thing my health is equivalent to that of a 33 yr old. Not sure what that really means... So if at 33 I'm the same then I'll be right on track? It also told me I was at high risk for the beetus and depression. Well fuck me running! Depression? Me? NO WAY!! And the goddamn beetus?! I simply cannot accept this diagnosis internets!!! Haha life is good on meds let me tell you! So that's that, I'm dying faster than the average bear, but we're all gonna get there eventually right? Just gotta make the best out of the hand you've been dealt. Unfortunately for me I will never be one of those skinny bitches who gets to dunk french fries in a frosty. But really why would I want to do that? That's gross.
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