Wednesday, December 29, 2010

piggy pig pig pig

I ate so much today. I am very unhappy with myself. I can point fingers, but it was my decision to eat what I did.
I had lunch with my friend. I intended that to be the majority of my food for the day. We got free dessert (and ate it).
I was supposed to watch movies with a different friend at night and I was going to have a snack with her. It was going to be a good food day.
Then at 3 pm a different friend called and said "whatcha doin, I'm parked in your driveway." She's on this weird diet and every 10th meal she can eat what she wants and it was her 10th meal and she wanted to go out. My other friend called and bailed on movies cuz she was sick. So I went to eat with my surprise visitor. I had not a lot of food, but not GOOD food. Then we drove around trying to find her a new Bluetooth because she left hers at a gas station back home in Pennsylvania and then we ended up having ice cream.
I haven't worked out for a week and can't for another week. Although my foot isn't broken it still hurts like hell (probably bruised bones) and still can't really walk well. I can't work it off, I'm stuck with all this in me. I wish I could puke. I want a how-to on bulimia. 
I feel bloated and horrible and I refuse to put in my calorie count because I'll probably cry. I'm sure it's over 2,000. Not that I do this often but lately I'm around 1000 and trying to be so good.
We all fail. I'm not quitting or beating myself up. It is what it is.

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

short n sweet

When I was at the doc yesterday my blood pressure was 115/72 (and I was feeling very stressed and thought it would be high!)...for many years (forever) it had been 130/80 every time. Unfortunately they didn't say what my pulse was, but I know it's down from the 90s to the 70s.

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010


I am so angry with myself. Last night my husband was out with friends. I'd had a lovely day, spent it with a friend I hardly see (the one who is also my personal trainer), then dinner with my mom. I was ready to go to sleep and I realized one of my cats wasn't around, I called her and she didn't come. I needed to find my book so I started downstairs to see if the cat was locked in the basement. Halfway down the stairs I saw her on the couch grinning at me. I was scolding her for not coming when I called, and then boom! I was on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. My ankle made a horrible noise. Still not sure if it's broken yet. Of course, my left ankle, my lymphedema leg, which is of course HUGE this morning from the trauma.
So I'm in just my panties, big huge fat me, on the floor, crying in pain.  My cell phone is upstairs in the bedroom with everyone's phone numbers.  I had to crawl into the kitchen.  Why exactly is the kitchen phone so damn high off the floor?  I am going to remedy that as soon as I can walk again.  I was trying to find something to hit the cordless phone with to knock it to the floor.  I needed an "I've fallen and I can't get up" pendant for sure.  I finally got the phone to the floor and called my husband who of course didn't answer.  I've always said to him, "Someday I'll be dead in a ditch and you won't know because you didn't answer the damn phone."  I left a message (not like he ever plays them) and kept calling and calling and calling.  Eventually he answered, pissed off, "I can't hear you" and I 'm screaming "I fell down the stairs!  I broke my ankle!" and he hangs up on me.  Eventually he answered again and said he'd come home.
Meanwhile I'm thinking, should I call 911?  Then I think, I'm 275 lbs, basically naked.  The doors are locked.  They're going to bust in the door (and who pays for that!?) and I won't fit on a gurney and they won't dress me and I"ll be naked on some makeshift broken door improvised gurney and end up on Cops or some fucking reality show with my giant naked long boobs blurred out for people to laugh at.  Nope, not happening.
Finally my husband comes home and I'm half dead on the kitchen floor, freezing because the floor's cold and I keep the house at 60 degrees and I've been there for like half an hour and was in such pain I couldn't crawl back onto the living room carpet.
My husband's fat too, with a bad back, and he couldn't get me onto my feet, but eventually I managed to get onto the couch, he wrapped my foot up with an ice pack and I then crawled up the stairs to bed.  He wanted to take me to the ER.  Which is stupid.
#1 that ER sucks.  When I went a few years ago because I had a kidney stone and couldn't breathe, I was there 7 hours and they didn't even give me an ultrasound, said I was lying about my pain because I was an addict who wanted a prescription for pain meds.  Yes, me and my morbidly obese friend who was with me, we totally fit the drug addict profile.  They send me home with some kind of insulting prescription for like 3 or 4 pills. I was still in horrible pain and couldn't breathe.
#2  If he had taken me at 11 pm last night, I'd just be getting home after spending the night in a plastic chair with my leg swelling from not being elevated.
Instead, I went into my own bed all night with my foot and ankle wrapped and up on a wedge pillow.  I'm about to go to the doctor who will see me within a few minutes of arrival and if I need an x-ray or anything, she will send me to the medical imaging building where they will see me within a few minutes and I'll be home by lunchtime.
If I'm not bleeding uncontrollably, haven't hit my head or gotten knocked out, and no bones are sticking out, I'm not going to that ER.
And this really sucks for other reasons. I have to go grocery shopping and pick up one last minute thing from Walmart for Christmas day at my mom's.  I'm having some friends over on Sunday and I need to clean the house.  All of these things require two functioning legs/feet.  Even if it's just sprained, I won't be able to walk on it.
Yesterday my trainer and I were talking about me possibly trying some martial arts in 25 lbs or so and she thought I could probably start now with Tai Chi.  Another thing not happening.

The doctor played with my foot and ankle for a while but the problem is, when she said "Does this hurt?" I'd say "Yes, but even if I hadn't fallen that would hurt, because of the lympedema."  So it was pretty inconclusive what exactly I did to myself.  At the very least, it's a horrid sprain. I'm bandaged up.  I can't work out for 2 weeks, shouldn't walk, supposed to keep it up and bandaged and iced.  I have paperwork for an x-ray; if it doesn't get better by next week I have to go.  There's a possibility I cracked something, I guess.  It did make a pretty horrible noise.

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

don't take away my choices

I have learned something interesting about myself.
If you tell me, "Rosie, you can't eat French fries anymore," I will go and eat them every day. I know they are bad for me. But don't force me into not eating them.
If you stay quiet about fries, and put a plate of them in front of me, guess what? I CHOOSE not to eat them. I went out with my mom for dinner and the fries were horrible, pale and undercooked and awful. The waitress saw that I didn't eat them and asked if I wanted to substitute another side. I asked for more broccoli. She brought me a plate of perfectly cooked fries and a bowl of broccoli. I ate 2 fries and packed everything else to go. It was simple to do and I don't feel at all deprived. But if my mom had sat there and bitched about me eating fries, you bet I would have eaten every one.
I'm contrary that way.
I like to have ice cream in the freezer.  I never eat it, it goes bad and I throw it away and buy more.  But I like to know it's there so I can resist eating it. It's wasteful and crazy but it works for me.

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.

Monday, December 13, 2010

marathon tracking

I have decided to try a new thing starting January 2. I'm going to keep adding together all the miles I've run and then post every time I get to a marathon. My goal is to run 6 miles on Mondays and 5 each on Wednesdays and Fridays, with other exercise on Tuesdays and Thursday. Which means, starting on a Monday, I should reach 26 miles the following Wednesday. (I'm not worrying about the .2 in distance.)
If I can keep up with my program, that's about 40 marathons in a year. As long as my math is correct.  Which it probably isn't.
And this is all in the pool, of course.  So each marathon will burn over 4400 calories.  Which is like a pound and a half, but we all know my body doesn't work that way.

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.

farting in the pool

My upper arms are really starting to piss me off and they've become my inspiration, as it were, to step up my fitness and reduce my eating even more.  They've gone down less than 10%  in circumference even though I've lost 25% of my starting body weight.  They are like giant deflated balloons hanging from my shoulders.  They look disgusting.  The skin on them itches and has a weird red rash.  And the worse thing is, when I am running in the pool, they make fart noises in the water.  I'm sure you've seen others make fart noises by putting their hand in their armpit?  Or make water squirt from their hands by clenching a fist at the surface of the water?  Well my upper arms do them both.  At the same time.  With every stride.  So imagine I'm running, arms pumping back and forth along my sides.  Behind me and beside me and between my upper arms and my ribs is a floating gelatinous mass of upper arm, whipsawing violently, sticking in between my arm and body so I have to do this weird motion like a chicken flapping its wings to free my loose skin.  Once free it creates little shooting squirts of water accompanied by fart-like noises every time the flaps head toward my body.  I just hope I never end up on YouTube.
I want to wake up and weigh 150 lbs and have this all behind me.  Some days I can barely get out of bed I feel so humiliated.

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.

Thursday, December 09, 2010

eat, drink & be your mind...skinny in your body

If this is true, how cool would it be? Instead of shying away from thoughts of ice cream sundaes and fried chicken and death by chocolate cake, imagine yourself thinking about them, thinking about eating them all you want...and then not having to eat them in real life.
It's actually not that crazy. There's been research (which I am too lazy to look up) about athletes who train in their mind as well as in their bodies and they get stronger. Why couldn't eating work like that? I think about eating chocolate cake but I don't eat it, therefore I have my cake and I'm thin too.

In the first experiment volunteers were asked to imagine inserting 33 coins into a laundry machine – an action that the researchers thought was similar to eating M&M's. A second group imagined inserting 30 coins and eating three M&M's; a third imagined inserting three coins and eating 30 M&M's.

After their imaginative efforts, all the participants were allowed to eat freely from a bowl of real M&M's. Those who imagined eating 30 M&M's consumed significantly fewer of the real thing than people in the other two groups, suggesting that mentally experiencing the action of eating can cause habituation to the real food.
Further experiments showed that the effect only appeared when participants thought about eating the food; repeatedly imagining the food alone did not reduce consumption.
I'm going to go think about eating an ice cream sundae.  A really big one.
overeat in mind__lose weight

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.

Wednesday, December 01, 2010

right or wrong?

A few years, I was at a local chain restaurant with a friend of mine who is also morbidly obese. We hardly ever see each other so our meals tend to be long and drawn out and we try to go when it's not really busy.
We split an appetizer and then ate our meals. We decided to split a dessert too. There were a lot of empty tables so we didn't feel like we were taking up space.
The waitress came by with the check. We said that we wanted dessert (which she hadn't offered) and she said, "You want MORE food?" and then told us she needed that table for someone else and we had to leave! We were there 90 minutes, not 9 hours! We weren't drunk, or loud, just two ladies having a conversation.
I went home and called the corporate office and complained mightily about her. I felt (still feel) it was definite discrimination against 2 fat women. Corporate send me a gift card for less than our meals cost. The waitress still works there.
I rarely get her but when I do, I never tip her. I have no idea if she remembers that she basically threw me out, but I remember.
Tonight my husband and I went to that restaurant and we got her. I told my husband not to tip her. He disagreed. He left her a small tip.
So should I "get over it" and give this woman money who once threw me out for being fat and ordering dessert? Or should I stick to my principles--this woman shouldn't be a waitress!

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.

90 lbs gone

10 lbs to go. New clothes. Plastic surgeon visit. A few pounds after that and it will be only 100 lbs to go.

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.