Sunday, January 20, 2013
What's your number?
So, a few things have changed since the last time I blogged. I got engaged. I got married. I had a baby. Throughout all those things, I gain back all the weight I had lost and more. I know, I know, I was pregnant, but I got pregnant at a high weight. I remember the day that I went in for my induction, the nurse asked me to step on the scale. OMG. The highest number I ever saw. Easily. The worst part about it is that a week later, when I finally had the guts to step on the scale, I had only lost 10 pounds. I had an almost 9 pound baby, and had only lost 10 pounds. That was five months ago. As part of getting my life back in gear after a four month maternity leave, I decided to take advantage of a "once in a lifetime" benefit offered by my health insurance. For a $20 copay, I have access to a personal trainer, a nutritionist, a gym membership, and behavioral counseling to help me kick my butt back into gear. In order to qualify for this program, not only did I have to be obese (duh) but I also had to fill out a lot of behavioral questionnaires along with getting my PCP's permission and some bloodwork done. One of the questions I was asked was how many diets I had been on during my adult life. Hmm... I consider my adult life to start from the moment I graduated college 12 years ago. How many diets had I been on since then? Well, there was a failed attempt at Weight Watchers, a short lived attempt at Slimfast (seriously, wtf was I thinking?), my short-lived tolerance for a Six Week Body Makeover, my "divorce diet" (which was my only success, since I threw myself into eating right and exercising my heart out), my bad attempt at using Alli (seriously, if I wanted to poo myself, I didn't need assistance!), and my numerous attempts at South Beach. That's six major "diets" in twelve years. In twelve years, I had gained 60 pounds, lost 80, and gained 110 (that includes growing a fetus, but you know...) What the heck was I doing? What road was I going down? I do know that my current weight does not make me happy. I don't like going clothes shopping. I don't enjoy that I have a hard time getting up after playing with Baby K on the floor. I don't like my flabby gut that hangs over my c-section scar. Something has to change. Over the past few weeks, I've been counting calories. On Wednesday, I'm meeting with the nutritionist for the first time, and on Friday morning, I have an appointment for my first "assessment" with my personal trainer. I'm glad you're joining me on this journey again. And this time will be the last time, because I realize that I can't keep doing this to myself.