Probably too much sugar; Victoria's Secret.

One of the benefits of working at a corporate restaurant is that certain things are always pre-weighed and measured. So when I decided I wanted some potatoes tonight, I knew if I ordered the red potatoes they were a certain amount that I could budget for. One of the negatives of working at a corporate restaurant if that we have eighty varieties of sauces. So the cook screwed up and put the wrong sauce on my breadless "sandwich," and I was so hungry that I didn't notice until I was halfway through it. The sauce in question has a lot of sugar in it. Damn! Hopefully it didn't do too much damage; I hardly had any carbs at all the rest of the day.


After my post last night, I started thinking about why I dislike Victoria's Secret so much. I mean, I think most of their ads are fucking retarded. And it drives me crazy how none of the women in their ads feature women actually wearing bras that fit instead of ones small enough to make their tits burst out. And their anorexic-looking models make me want to barf. But when I started actually thinking about it, I realized that my dislike of it actually started with something ages ago.

Long ago, probably when I was 19, I went to VS trying to find something sexy to wear for my boyfriend. I was mildly fat at that time; I don't really remember what clothing size I was wearing back then, or how much I weighed. I trotted in there and grabbed some bras in the size I normally wore. But when I tried them on, they wouldn't even go around me! I couldn't even get them hooked! I tried going up a band size, but that still didn't work. I got irritated and left, thinking their sizes much be screwed up. If I wore a 36, and their 38 wouldn't even go around me, then obviously they bras much run smaller. And I didn't really think about it anymore after that; I kept buying bras at Wal-Mart, and then at Lane Bryant.

Thing is .... it wasn't until I worked at Lane Bryant, in 2006, that I actually was measured. I'd been wearing a 36C since I was 15, and I actually needed (by then) a 40D! So of course those bras at VS wouldn't fit me. They were the wrong cup size (my actual breast size hasn't changed with weight), and possibly the wrong band size. Plus, their were molded cups with underwires, when I'd been wearing basically sports bras. But I'd never tried other styles, so I didn't really figure that out. Seems stupid in retrospect. But I never thought about it! I just disliked Victoria's Secret .... turns out for no reason.

Kind of excited now about the idea of being able to get something there! Although I looked at the bra I was talking about yesterday and it was actually a 42 rather than a 40, so I'm still quite a while away from that.

Why low carb, and genetics.

ETA: Since Allan decided to waste god knows how much of his time reading and mis-interpreting this post, I suppose I'll clarify. I say at the beginning of this post that low-carb is the healthiest way for me. I did not say I followed it. Knowing doesn't always equal doing. That ought to be obvious to anyone who can read, when I describe what I was eating and blatantly say it was not healthy. My own fault for being unclear, I suppose. Also, I'm 29, and I was 17 and had been through Weight Watchers, calorie counting (my mother counting them for me, really, as I was 8th grade), Susan Powter's low-fat stuff, rinse and repeat, when I discovered low-carb. It works when you do. I didn't do it. I didn't say I was doing it the last 12 years. I just said I didn't pay attention to calories. God forbid.
And lean sirloin is perfectly healthy.

I've been thinking about the different weight loss plans out there, and their various levels of success. For the last twelve years, I've known that low carb is the healthiest way to go for me. Because of this, I've pretty much not bothered, ever, to count calories. It's been a bit of a shock, as I peruse diet boards, to read so much about calories.

The old mantra of "eat less, move more!" makes me want to tear my hair out. I, and my mother, and various other people I've known, are living proof of the fact that it is not always as simple as "calories in, calories out". That's not to say there're aren't people it works for -- and certainly there are fat people who eat impressive amounts of food, and when they stop, they lose weight. But I suspect that those people are genetically inclined to be thin in the first place!

If it's all as simple as the math of calories, to have maintained a weight of 275 I should have been eating at least 3000 calories a day -- and that's setting aside the face that I waitress, so I spend hours a day walking, walking, walking. Not intense exercise, but steady.

In reality, a very typical day for me was a peanut butter sandwich (two slices of whole grain/seed bread with maybe 3TBS of peanut butter) and maybe 2 cups of milk for breakfast before I went to work (815 calories). At work I'd often have an order of boneless wings -- those are 1160 calories. When I got home I might drink some more milk if I still felt hungry, but more likely I'd start drinking water and  Diet Coke. That makes my caloric intake a little under 2000 calories.

If I didn't feel like eating before work, maybe I'd have the boneless wings (1160) and a dessert (840). Then maybe when I got home I'd have my favorite quick meal, macaroni and cheese. I'd usually get the Velveeta Shells and Cheese 2% because I don't like the really thick sauce (660). That's 2600 calories.

On a day when I didn't work, I'd probably have peanut butter sandwiches and milk twice if I didn't have anything else in the house. That's 1630 calories. If I did have something else in the house, like stuff to make beef and broccoli (usually without the rice), I might hit 2500 calories.

Hedonism Bot. How droll.

If calories were all that mattered, I should have been losing a pound every couple of days, rather than staying steady. Am I saying that what I was eating was healthy? Fuuuuuck no. I'm saying that according to the math of calories, I shouldn't have gone beyond 230 pounds even at the caloric intake I was eating over the long term. And once I got above that number, I should have been dropping weight.

It didn't happen, so obviously there's more going on with my biochemistry. And I think that same something goes on with a lot of fat people, because despite the stereotype, not all fat people spend their days like Hedonism Bot. Some? Yes. Have I had my share of binges? Hell yes. But I've known a lot of fat people who have been in the same situation as me.

But wait, it's simple math! So we must be lying! We're all filthy lying fat people who secretly keep a bag of chocolate coated bacon on hand at all times. Pfffft. Anyway, that's why I do low carb instead of counting calories. When I was a teenager my mother and I both did the calories thing, and the low-fat thing, and we both went and got fatter. So much for math. We don't have a history of diabetes in the family, but I think we must have insulin resistance because low carb works like a charm for us.

My mother is a large part of the reason I came to peace with myself as I am, actually. Not because she ever felt okay with being fat; she was constantly dieting. But since she was about a size 20 most of my life, and since I do not fucking eat that much, I figured there must be a genetic basis. The rest of my mother's family never go above mildly plump, but my paternal grandmother has been on Weight Watchers as long as I can remember, and my dad's sister as well.

How strong is that genetic basis toward being a fatass? I don't really know. My mom actually starved about a hundred pounds off a few years ago -- literally, as she couldn't afford food and wasn't telling anyone how desperate her situation was. Now that she can eat, she's at about a size 10 -- very slightly plump, which she hates and it always bemoaning. So, despite my very strong views that I don't have to change because I'm perfectly healthy and anyone who doesn't like me because of my weight can take a long fuck off a short pier .... I am curious. We'll see how long the curiosity lasts.

Someone at work was having boneless wings for dinner tonight, and the smell got to me. I had two of hers; and I admit I rolled the 60-carbs-per-order around in my head for a while, because I seriously love them. I could happily eat them every day. In the end, I had steak and vegetables. I didn't even have any of the English toffee my boss offered me, and then left on the counter for everyone to scarf. I can't really attribute that to willpower though -- I grind my teeth in my sleep and they were sore today, I knew a bite of that would cause intense molar pain.

So my food for today was an EAS low-carb shake because I didn't have time for breakfast, two boneless wings, a small lettuce/tomato/cucumber/ranch salad, a 7 ounce steak with asiago cheese, and a cup of steamed broccoli and carrots.

Need to remember to get some Vitamin E ... why in the fuck is it so difficult to find natural vitamin E with a tocopherol/tocotrienol mix?

Getting to this point.

After realizing that being fat isn't the be-all-and-end-all of life, I lived quite happily for several years. It took some time to get rid of the morality I'd attached to food -- good food, bad food, "being good", etc. -- and I did that basically by eating, for about three years, whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it. And I actually didn't gain much weight at all, I hovered right around 255.

It was a really good time for me mentally; I needed it. The story I've written in my last three posts is by no means complete; I flirted with eating disorders more than once, but that's a separate story. So for me to stop having stupid responses to food, comfort binging and then reflexive dieting, etc., took a long time. I'm still not 100% sure I can follow any sort of particular diet without sliding back in to a very unhealthy mindset.

So why am I even doing this? Well ... I don't entirely know. For the last year or so I've had occasional diet urges, but couldn't be bothered, quite honestly. No matter what diet you follow, it takes a lot of effort. Add to that the fact that I don't think I'll even have a significant long-lasting impact on my weight, and it seemed pointless. It still does.

But honestly, it'd be nice to be able to wear my fun clothes again. In the last six months my body apparently got sick of its set point and I jumped up to about 275 pounds. I basically have nothing to wear except one pair of jeans and a handful of casual shirts. I could go buy new things -- if I had any money, but I really don't. I spent it all on a dream vacation in November! It wouldn't take much weight loss to be able to wear my favorite clothes again, so we'll see how I do.

Also, the last couple of months, I wake up feeling like my entire abdomen is bruised. I also have a strange .... full feeling a lot of the time, like a combination of overeating, constipation, and a pre-period swollen uterus. (How's that for a mental image!) I'm not 100% sure, but I suspect that my body has finally begun packing fat into my abdominal cavity rather than "around the edges" so to speak. It's kind of uncomfortable! The fat around the edges is also making it a little difficult to get comfortable enough to sleep, something that didn't happen a few months ago.

And I'll admit that there's a part of me that still wants to be "skinny". Just to see what it feels like, I guess. Will it ever happen? I don't know. But if I can at least wear my clothes again, that's a start. We'll go from there.

Getting better.

When I was 24, I weighed 250 pounds (ish), and wore a size 22 jeans. Well, I started out the year wearing a 24 or 26, usually from WalMart, with the ends chopped off because they were too long. I also wore huge baggy t-shirts. I had a few nicer tops, and maybe one pair of slacks; I knew of Lane Bryant, and shopped them sometimes, but didn't wear most of my nicer clothes. I was fat and gross, what did it matter?

In June of that year, a string of random events lead to me getting a job as a keyholder at a Lane Bryant. And there, something amazing happened. I met women who were fat, but who didn't cower in their houses, ashamed. They had lives. They had husband, boyfriends, sex. They had friends, and jobs they loved, and activities they enjoyed. They had fun. And they didn't hate themselves, complain constantly about how fat and gross they were, and they didn't diet constantly. I had never encountered such a thing. I was amazed.

It was an incredible awakening. For the first time in my life, I came out of my shell. I started to think I had worth now, not -100 pounds from now. I started talking to people -- to the point where I never shut up now.  I stopped dieting. I went out. I had friends. God, I had fun. I spent a huge portion of my wages from LB right there in the store, buying a plethora of awesome new clothes -- $3000 worth. And I had a 40% discount! Suddenly, I started to see my body as it really was, instead of the blimp-like proportions I imagined. I stopped dieting and started getting really irritated when my family members gave me well-intentioned grief about my weight. For the first time in my life, I was happy.

Sometime later, I stumbled across Shapely Prose and other fat-acceptance websites. I had stumbled half-way into fat acceptance without even realizing it. The more I read, the more irritated at our society's weight obsession I became. The more I started to see examples of how fat is vilified, how fat people are mistreated, and how women especially are treated by a society that implies they should be invisible (the thinner the better) unless they're extremely sexualized. I won't go in to more; the reading is all out there for anyone. I got in to arguments with people sometimes -- at work once, a male coworker "jokingly" told a female coworker that dessert was going to go straight to her thighs. I got right in his face. It was a good time.

But basically, I stopped believing that being fat was a moral failing and that it doomed me to die of a heart attack at 30. And I was happy.

To be continued.

The dark days.

I've been fat my entire life, except maybe when I was really little. Actually, I remember at five years old running in to the house, very excited to show my mom that my tummy was flat. At five years old. How sick is that?

I was really only chubby until high school, but I felt like I was the whaliest whale in the universe. When I look at pictures of myself at 14 now, I'm disgusted. I don't know what size I was, but I know I was not fat. But because I grew hips and tits before most of the other girls, I was teased mercilessly for being a lardass.

In high school it got better, honestly; but by then the damage (by other kids, by my well-meaning but slightly moronic father, and by my desperately dieting mother) was already done. I hated myself; I hated everything about my body. I thought I was fat and useless and that nobody would ever love me, let alone physically want me. Basically, I was miserable.

I dieted off and on, but always gained the weight back. My biggest "success" was getting back to a size 14 once when I was .... 21, maybe? But then I stopped dieting and regained all the weight within a month. That was the last time I really stuck to it and lost an significant amount of weight. After that, I mostly just gave up and was fat and miserable. I felt like my skin was slick and oily and repulsive; I felt like I waddled; I felt like everyone who looked at me instinctively hated me.


To be continued ....