deja vu all over again

I know it’s been forever since I wrote a post, but suffice it to say, I’m fat again and I’ve lived to blog about it. Let’s jump right in. The bitter pill I’m choking on right now weighs about 30 pounds and it’s been lodged in my throat for around two years. I started this blog six years ago with youthful (slight overstatement) hope and vigor. I was fat but I’d finally decided to invest the money and the time into my health and well being with a gym that offered small group personal training. I worked my tail off. I ate lean proteins and vegetables. I did countless crunches and dumbbell snatches (I love that name…he, he, he…snatch).  I had a torrid affair with my trainer that really kept me motivated (and ultimately disillusioned and utterly disappointed in the state of mankind (the ones with the penises), but that’s a story for another blog). I spent a small fortune. And ya know what? I became a slightly less chubby, super strong, bad mother fucker. When anyone needed a heavy box carried up some stairs, a jar of pickles opened, an intimidating stare at a rapist in a dark alley as I punched my fist into the palm of my hand, I was your girl.

In numbers, I went from like 175 lbs to 168 lbs. I was a tight size 10. But I couldn’t help think that, for how fucking hard I worked, I should have an enviable body. (I probably did have an enviable body to lots of people, but I guess I wanted people to approach me with awe and, I don’t know, ask me to have sex with them? I honestly don’t know what would have made me think my body was truly enviable, now that I think about it…hmmm…insecure much?) Anyway, with my desire for an enviable (fuckable?) body, combined with the self-invented narrative that my trainer would finally truly fall in love with me if I got ripped, I decided to really go for it with my diet. So I filled my days with salads and chicken and greek yogurt and cut down on the booze. But the thing that really took me over the edge was that I started to eat half a block of raw tofu in place of a normal dinner. Yup, picture me standing at the kitchen counter gnawing on a dripping block of white gelatinous goo. Hey, it kinda worked. Here are a couple of pictures of me from that summer when I finally got myself down to 160 lbs and a comfortable size 10.

I still had an ample tush and my tummy ponch never truly left residence, but I was strong and cute and I felt confident enough to gallivant around like an asshole in those pictures so…that says a lot, I think. Problem was, the pervasive thought, “10 more pounds and I’ll finally be hot!” never left my mind. Ten more pounds, size eight pants, one more mile on the treadmill – when did I become a competitor with my own fucking self? And when, dear Jesus and Baby Jesus, have I ever just been actually present in my own life and willing to accept that I am absolutely fine (even fabulous) just the way I am? Ugh…well clearly not today, Ladies and Fat Gentlemen, because today I am 30 pounds heavier than I was in those pictures above that I deemed 10 pounds too fat. (No, I am not showing you a picture of myself right now. I can’t bear it.) Suffice it to say, my boobs are like casaba melons, my ponch looks like I may be in my second trimester or that I’ve eaten a very large burrito. And worst of all, I had to break down and buy a new wardrobe in a size FOURTEEN. And I am so disappointed and pissed at myself for fucking up all of that hard work. And I kinda don’t even really know how it all happened…

Part of me thinks, give up the ghost, girl. Your hay day is over. Maybe this is just how it is now…settle into your middle aged body and your compromised dreams and just say fuck it. And in a more positive light, part of me thinks that would be the healthiest thing I could ever do for myself. To just be satisfied with who I am right now. But the reality is, it’s not just about my cuteness factor anymore. It’s about my health and aging, and high blood pressure and cancer, and higher insurance premiums, and swollen joints and getting winded on stairs. Fact is, my heavy weight, my semi-crappy diet and my lack of exercise (Oh yeah, I quit my gym because my trainer never did fall in love with me in the end. How very shocking…) is making me feel like shit. Anyway, something’s gotta give. So this is me, declaring to the world (or the five people reading this) that I am officially in the contemplation stage of change. (Which basically means I’m still sitting on my ass, but I’m thinking more seriously about it than I did yesterday or a couple of weeks ago.) Considering that I’ve been on numerous diets every year of my life since my sister declared me cute but chubby in the third grade, I would say this is roughly my 5000th go at losing weight. So, in the words of Yogi Berra, “it’s deja vu all over again.”  Zaftig girl is back, and more zaftig than ever!

 

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a series of unfortunate events

I thought the year my dad and my dog died three weeks apart was just about as shitty as you could get. But less than a year later, my fiance, who I referred to as my husband (and by common law marriage, I think he probably was), decided to call it quits on my 40th birthday. Yup. On. My. FORTIETH. Birthday. (Oh yes, that is a separate doozy of a blog post coming soon to a bitch-fest near you.) So that summer, when my mom fell and broke her leg after being chased by bees in a Steven King-esque lawn mowing accident, I really thought to myself, is this karma? Did I kick somebody’s puppy in a former life and now I’m paying the price? (And also, should I write a country song? All I need to do is move into a double wide with a couch on the lawn and start drinking copious amounts of whiskey. The latter makes me half way there…)

Anyway, I didn’t feel like sharing my personal life with anyone but my closest friends and family, and I didn’t give two shits about losing weight. So my blog fell by the wayside and it took a while, but the weight just kept on a’ comin’.  But now I’m back mother fucker. I’m back with a vengeance. Okay, that’s a wicked overstatement. But in the words of Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock, “I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

 This is Zaftig Girl’s relaunch. New look. New content. New me. Yes, I’m still kinda fat, so I still plan to regale you with stories of personal weight loss triumphs and defeats. But I’ll be adding some non-weight-loss-focused content too. In addition to a lot more swearing (I know vulgarity is no substitute for wit, but I’m tired of people-pleasing, so fuck you! Bwah, ha, ha…) there will be blogs about the very pathetic state of dating in your 40s, the joy of sweating through perimenopause, managing (or fucking up) your finances as a single woman in the city, owning a cat and being that cliche your mother worried about you becoming, your career and why it feels like the lyrics to “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton still apply to us as women in the year 2017, all the passion projects you’ve been trying to accomplish for the last 30 years that you just can’t find the time for, and more!  So stop on by for some pro-feminist, hard-drinkin’, money-scrapin’, friends in low places-girl-tribe, cat-lovin’ weight loss inspiration. If nothing else, we can share a laugh about what a bitch it is stumbling through this amazing, abundant, crazy life.

victoria’s in my ‘fridge

Oh, did I tell you I’m a super model? Just kidding. (I’m sure I really pulled the wool over your eyes there.) But I did get photographed for my gym’s advertising campaign a little before I had my spell of illness, and I totally forgot to tell you about it. You may see me on a poster kickin’ around town one of these days with my “before” and “after” pictures. I’m not super psyched about the images because I think the make-up makes me look like an aging drag queen. Or maybe I just look like an aging drag queen in real life, but I’m delusional. (Sorry aging drag queens. I do so love you.) Good news is, I don’t think I look like a sea whale, so that’s sort of nice.

smoke and mirrors
smoke and mirrors
only losers exercise in full make-up. on shoot day, i was forced to be a loser.
don’t these machines look like medieval torture devices?
i don't like this one because i look crazy in the eyes.
my mouth is saying, “happy” but my eyes are saying, “take the fucking picture already.”

So what can I say about the week thus far? Well, I posted my “pointing to the bleachers” blog on, like, a Thursday last week. So naturally how could I stick to my plan over the weekend? I am weak and I have no will power. (Super interesting link on will power, btw.) It’s like I used up all my will power in my 20s when I was depriving myself of food, and I just can’t face the idea of that pain again. Seriously, there was a point in college when I was essentially starving myself and working out in the morning and at night. I was what I now refer to as a “lollipop head.” No boobs. No butt. Just a stick with a giant head. And I was completely psycho.

Of course I am a bit wiser now, I suppose, and I understand that the whole “slow and steady wins the race” thing is more than just a fable. And I have a knowledge about food and nourishment that I didn’t have at that point in my life when I would eat gummy candies rather than a meal because they had no fat!

On another positive note, since the weekend, I’ve filled in myfitnesspal every day. (Yes, you did calculate just three short days in your head, but that’s a lot for me – GAWD!) Yesterday I went over my calorie goal when I ate some chicken noodle soup at 10 pm because I was starving. But at least I ate some relatively benign food out of hunger and not a bag of chips because I was bored. (Imagine me waving my tiny, tiny toothpick sized victory flag.) I’ve also been consistently burning 50 more calories per run on the treadmill because I’ve picked up my pace while sprinting. (I alternate between a run and a sprint every 1 1/2 minutes or so for 30 minutes, in addition to my 30 minutes of weight training.)

proof
proof

As motivation (or torture, I don’t know which) I have placed pictures of Victoria’s Secret models throughout my kitchen to remind myself that I would like to look half as good as one of those girls by this summer so I better stop hoovering the ice cream. While I believe these women set unrealistic standards of beauty for the majority of us, I gotta be honest. I wouldn’t give my left arm to look like one of them. But I would be tempted to remove a pinky toe during my deal with the devil. I mean, it might affect my balance the tiniest bit, but that toe is pretty gnarly anyway. I’m sure I wouldn’t miss it. Okey dokey – that’s all I’ve got for now. Stay tuned.

watch, tomorrow I'll drop a knife in the kitchen, cut off the damn toe, and everyone will say, "well that stupid bitch deserved it."
watch, tomorrow i’ll drop a knife in the kitchen, cut off the damn toe, and everyone will say, “well that stupid bitch deserved it.”

pointing to the bleachers

Where have I been for the last four months? Well, as a matter of fact, I was hiding under a rock. I died like three times between September and November because of a nasty case of what I like to call tuberculosis. (It was actually just bronchitis, but I sounded like I was coughing up one of Doc Holliday‘s lungs, so I proudly call it tuberculosis.) I was literally sick for eight weeks, topping off my bronchitis with a fantastic case of strep throat. During most of that time, I continued to work out. I did not, however, continue to eat properly. I fell off the wagon, then the wagon rolled over me, crushing my mouth’s ability to stop eating pie and cookies. Anyway, I don’t want to bore you with the details of the last four months of my life. I just want to get on with it.

Me and my netty pot. It's gross but it works.
me and my netty pot. it’s gross but it works. speaking of glamour…

I was reading this article in Glamour magazine the other day while getting a mani/pedi, (God, first world problems – losing weight and hanging cuticles – it’s really disgusting) and I came across something interesting by the editor-in-chief of Sassy magazine. To paraphrase, she basically said that the bravest, most interesting thing you can do is write about your challenges as they are happening and not after you’ve figured them out and can wrap them in a perfect little inspirational bow. When I first started writing this blog, that’s what I was doing. But as people actually started to read it, I started to feel like I couldn’t let them down – that I had to be this food and exercise earth mother spouting little nuggets of self-loving wisdom.

The truth is, losing weight is a messy affair and the details are ugly and uninspiring a lot of the time. And I’m not a hippy dippy earth mother who’s full of love. I’m a self-deprecating cynic. And besides, before I can start giving advice, I have to get a grip on all the emotional eating that I do. I have come to the realization that I have some serious issues with food that need to be addressed before I can have any success with weight loss. There, I fucking said it. (Oh, by the way, I’m also going to swear more because that’s actually how I talk and I’m not going to worry about offending my audience anymore. So if you don’t like swearing, well, go fuck yourself. Ha, ha, ha…) So my blog is now and forever-more going to get real.

I am a food sneaking, wine drinking, calorie underestimating, “I’ll start on Monday-ing,” yo-yo dieter. When I hop on the scale at my gym and act all, “I don’t know how this happened. I’ve been eating so well,” the truth is I’m a LIAR! I eat way too much food. I LOVE FOOD! And I don’t know how to change my ways. I really don’t know what to do. I’ve tried and failed a million times. You would think I’d give in to my fatness. I’m almost 40 anyway. My hot years are over. I should just let myself go, die and get crane lifted out of my house like that woman in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. (Although apparently, according to the attached article, she just lost 250 lbs. so maybe I should put that in my judgmental pipe and smoke it.)

But I can’t give up. As a matter of fact, I kind of want my 40s to be super hot cougar time. So, here I go again…my gym is having a weight loss competition for the next six weeks. And I’m going to be 40 in exactly 71 days. So, like Babe Ruth in the 1932 World Series, I’m boldly pointing to the centerfield bleachers. I want to lose a mere 10 pounds by March 14. If I don’t hit a homerun, I’m going to look like a jackass. But if I do, I’m going to shine like a sardonic star. Follow my pain here at zaftig girl or “friend me” on my fitness pal.com.

yeah, i ate that.
yeah, i ate that.

one day at a time

If I don’t start tracking my food, like today, all the hard work I’ve done over this past year is going to disappear. Isn’t it amazing how fast you can put on weight and how long it takes to lose it? Right now I have a muffin top. In two weeks it will be a bundt cake. Why is it so hard to get back on the wagon once you’ve fallen off? Every night I go to bed and say, “I’ll start tomorrow.” Then the morning comes and the day seems so daunting, and all I want is a nice muffin or scone or croissant. Greek yogurt does not pair well with coffee, and it certainly does not make me feel warm and cozy.

I had the best pumpkin muffin and Fair Trade coffee at the original City Feed and Supply today.

I’m still struggling with the extremes of being on or off a diet. I just stopped mid-sentence because I was going to write that I don’t know how to go from dieting to making a lifestyle change. Then I laughed because I’ve TOTALLY changed my lifestyle to include exercise. And I did that by taking one step at a time, being consistent, and not beating myself up if I missed a workout. Huh. Maybe this applies to food too…

My breakfast buddy – some random totally adorable dog. He likes muffins too.

This makes me think of my friend Jessie who recently lost about 18 lbs. He and I were trapped in the car for almost three hours this weekend, taking our lives in our own hands as we drove through torrents of rain (the remnants of some tornado weather). During that time we talked about his weight loss. He’s been using MyFitnessPal (the online calorie counter) for the last few months. I’ve used this same site in the past. It’s easy to use but it obviously has not worked for me. His secret? Well, like most things, it doesn’t work if you don’t use it. He fills it in even when he’s fallen off from his plan. He fills in the Buffalo wings with bleu cheese. He fills in the Oktoberfest with the sugared rim. In other words, he looks shame in the face and he spits on it! When I “cheat,” I pretend the day did not exist. If I don’t fill it in, then the calories don’t count right? “No, no, no,” says the evil fat fairy. They count just the same, except it’s worse because you feel guilty about it to boot. Then the cycle of guilt and regret begins again. Well you know what shame? This is what I have to say to you.

Are you talkin’ to me? Are you talkin’ to me?

So, as of today, I’m going to start filling in MyFitnessPal, even though I’ve eaten like absolute crap. My goal is to fill it in everyday even when I go over my calorie limit. But for now, one day at a time. Thank you Jessie for being such a source of inspiration!

you’ve come a long way baby.

A year ago I saw a picture of a woman on Facebook who looked like an overstuffed blue sausage. I said to myself, “Geez, she looks vaguely familiar. Maybe she’s my fat, middle aged doppelganger…” Moments later I realized that that tragedy of a haircut, that terrible dress, that extra set of chins, was me. I promptly untagged myself and went into my room with a bottle of wine to cry it out.

It’s been almost a year since that fateful day when I decided I had to make a drastic change. I had to stop hiding under a layer of self-loathing and start living my life. I haven’t been perfect. I haven’t even reached my target weight. But as you can see below, something shifted.

A few weeks ago, I snapped this shot and truly realized for the first time since my journey began that my body has changed dramatically. I’m also no longer storing nuts for the winter in my cheeks.

I attribute most of this change to my program at Get in Shape for Women. I’m really starting to sound like an infomercial when I talk about this place, but it’s the best investment I’ve ever made in myself. I know some of you ladies and fat gentlemen have looked into it and it is expensive. (Although honestly, it’s about $20 per session for small group training which I think is totally reasonable. These trainers are talented!) But here’s the thing – you’re worth it. We can always come up with the money when our car breaks down so why can’t we come up with that money BEFORE our brains and our bodies break down? I am not a rich woman. I teach theatre for Christ sakes. But I make my body, my health, myself a priority. And I think you should too. Okay – I’ll get off my Oprah soapbox.

Joining Get in Shape for Women was the kick off to the “new me.”

So that “T.J. Maxx Moment” photo above just shows the physical part of my transformation. Yeah, I’ve lost about 15 pounds, around 10 inches, and I think something like 13 percent of my body fat. That’s totally awesome. I had assumed that, after a year of working out like it’s my job, I would look like a cross between Gisele Bundchen and The Incredible Hulk. But the reality is, I’m never going to look like Gisele or The Incredible Hulk because I have the legs of a Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Oh, and I friggin’ LOVE to eat. Yes, I’m going to continue this adventure, but I think what I’ve learned so far is that I need to focus less on the numbers and more on the happiness. The coolest part of this whole thing, to me anyway, is that I’ve reconnected with my inner athlete. I was such a sporty gal in high school. But somewhere along the way, I just stopped moving (unless it was to get to class or to work). I forgot that the simple act of moving brings me great joy. And I forgot  that I love to be outside! (I’m a Vermont girl. How could I possibly forget?) So below, in pictures, I’ve created a little synopsis of me plugging in, being present and really living my life for the first time in a very long time.

This is the first time I left the gym and exercised outside (this spring) with my husband and my friend Nancy hiking at Blue Hill.
Then Nancy and I decided to run a  5K obstacle course while being chased by zombies. We survived with our brains intact.
This summer I started riding my jalopy of a bike to and from work everyday adding an extra 30 – 40 minutes of cardio five days per week! Look at those pit stains!
While parasailing isn’t exactly exercise, it is darned outdoorsy. I mostly like this pic because my leg muscles look so lovely.
This summer on vacation with my momma, my bubba was still hanging on for dear life. But as you can see, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I’m not going to let some extra dough ruin my fun!
I did Baptiste Yoga even before I started at GISFW. But it was always a little (read excruciatingly) painful. I would have rather stuck my finger in a light socket than do downward dog. Last week I struck an eagle pose for Aaron at home after my class (the pic Nancy took of me was too foggy to see thanks to all the sweat in the room). Now, (my name is Pollyanna) I get more relief from this than from a massage.
What’s really cool is that I’m having a positive effect on the people I love. My husband (notoriously an exercise avoider) has taken up kayaking. There we are on Lake Sadawga in Vermont.
And today I just spontaneously bought a weighted hula hoop! It’s great for your core and just plain fun!

In short, for all its trials and tribulations, this year, in addition to losing weight, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned about acceptance, growth, perseverance, faith, and let’s be real, about how, if I eat muffins for breakfast, I might as well just glue them to my hips. So thanks for reading peeps. You are my inspiration. I’m ready for the next chapter. I hope you are too!

operation skinny bitch II – back with a vengeance.

About two months ago my trainer Jess came to me with a compelling offer. She told me that Get in Shape for Women (my gym for a little less than a year) was starting a new marketing campaign showing the progress real women at the gym have made since joining by utilizing before and after photos. She asked if I would be one of four women to participate in this “Client Transformation” campaign, and I accepted. This means that on August 11, I will be at a professional photo shoot sucking in my gut so hard I will likely pass out.

For about a week in June I was positively gung-ho about losing weight for the big day, navigating the food world like I was in a museum – look, but don’t touch. I ate vegetables and fruit and little four ounce pieces of fish. I ran for miles every day. I was perfect! But by week two, I was an art thief, smashing and grabbing everything in my path. Nobody’s perfect. Deprivation doesn’t work. But I never learn.

Two weeks ago I decided to jump-start my weight loss by drinking protein shakes for breakfast and for lunch, with two tiny snacks in between and a sensible dinner. (Writing this just now, I realize that sentence was almost verbatim the words used in the Slim Fast ads. Sad.) After a week of that agony, I lost .8 lbs. No, that is not a misprint. That is, in fact, a period before the 8. Less than a friggin’ pound.

Last week, I came down with a vicious stomach virus that lasted for three days. While it was utterly disgusting and incredibly painful, I took a sick pleasure in the thought that my mad dashes to the bathroom, followed by the dilemma of figuring out which end was more urgent to get on the toilet, would result in a svelte, rather emaciated version of myself. (Ladies and fat gentlemen, you know what I’m talking about.) But today, as I triumphantly stepped on the scale, I discovered that I had lost a mere .2 lbs. What kind of cruel world doesn’t reward dry heaving with weight loss?

Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned that, in addition to my brutal workouts at the gym, I’ve been riding my bike to work everyday and I’ve been running with the Emerald Necklace Running Club. What the F is it going to take for me to lose this weight? If my husband drank protein shakes, came down with the stomach flu, and did just one of his 15 minute walking “workouts,” he’d either be hospitalized for anorexia or dead. And he would look fantastic.

So I’ve got three weeks and I’m desperado. I weigh 164.2 lbs. Two months ago I wanted to be down to 150 by the photo shoot. Now I’ll take 160. But I’m starting to think that may be a pie in the sky fantasy. Mmmm…pie…

So what do I do? It doesn’t appear that I’ve fallen into a fat vortex, so there may still be hope. Ladies and fat gentlemen and skinny people too, I need your help! What am I doing wrong? I’m a little sailboat being tossed about in the sea. Throw me a lifeline and I’ll try not to drag your ship down with my fat ass. Looking forward to your insights. Thanks a million.

Look at my skinny sister Teresa Betit! If I didn’t love her so much, I’d slap her across the face. She joined my gym and she says it’s the best thing she’s ever done for herself. I feel the same.

strong

As many of you know, my Dad passed away last month so I’ve had a doozy of a time keeping the train on the tracks in general, much less maintaining my weight loss plan. But at this point, putting the challenge of losing weight in the same sentence as the pain of watching someone die of cancer seems a bit absurd. Nothing gives you a little perspective like the death of someone you love.

But here I am, still alive. So do I give up my “petty” goal of a muffin top-less midsection for a more lofty one like becoming a Zen Buddhist or saving the whales? Ummm…somehow that just sounds less fun than thinking and writing about myself. (Just kidding – sort of.) And I’d like to think that maybe this blog is inspiring other fat asses to stop stuffing their pie holes. So maybe I am helping to save the whales after all! (Thanks, I’ll be here all night…)

But in all seriousness…

When I spoke at my Dad’s funeral, I told the story of how I recently ran up this crazy steep hill in my hometown on a sweltering day, and all I wanted to do was give up and go home. But this thought ran through my head: You’re Roy and Ann Betit’s daughter, and you don’t quit. Those two fought the fight of the century to beat that disease, so even if I’m just a diluted version of them, I’ve got the moxie to keep fighting to reach my goals. And to be honest, I don’t think losing weight and putting focus on my health and fitness is petty at all. In fact, I realize more than ever that I’ve been given this amazing gift of a strong body that runs and jumps and hugs and lives. So I better honor it by taking good care of it.

My Dad, Roy Betit, and my great nephew, Daniel Roy Betit.

operation skinny bitch

It’s less than a month until July 4th and I STILL haven’t reached my goal. I’ve accepted that I’m not going to be at my high school weight, but GOD! Look at the picture. You’d think that since I’ve been working out like it’s my job, I’d be a little thinner than this. But it’s the food. I just can’t stop stuffing my face. Late last night, after a crappy day of having my car towed, I was feeling sorry for myself. So I drove up to Centre Street, and like a woman possessed, I was transported into Charlie Chan’s. (Despite my constant eating, I never go to these kind of skeeve holes.) But once there, I ordered a Pu Pu Platter for one. It came in a grease soaked brown paper bag, and once opened, a sea of deep fried, not goodness, but nastiness, tumbled out. I was repulsed. (And I also had a fleeting thought about an article I read in the Metro about Chinese restaurants that were busted for serving cat, which pretty much sealed the deal.) So I threw the “food” in the trash, went home and went to bed.

I know I’m supposed to love myself, but all I can see are my fat thighs and my saggy boobs.

I’ve had enough of the extremes. I’m either eating clean or I’m eating dirty. And when I say I’m like a woman possessed, I’m kind of not joking. Something comes over me and my rational mind shuts off. (Does this happen to you? I’m so curious about how other people are triggered to eat…let me know.) I forget about the bikini and the jeans and I just think of the immediate gratification. I want the bad feelings to go away, and for a brief moment, the food usually comforts me. Soon after, my stomach is full, but the emptiness is still there. Throughout this process, I’ve realized what an emotional eater I am. I’m kind of shocked at how often I eat because I feel sad, and even more shocked at how often I feel sad. I’ve got to change my thought patterns. I’ve got to start embracing the positive and feeling gratitude for all the good things in my life. So, despite the cold and the rain which usually brings me down, I’m going to try to be positive. (I know a life coach would tell me not to “try” just “do” but geez Louise, that’s the best I can do for today.)

Do I look skinnier from the side?

So now it’s time to take this yo-yoing, and I guess that’s really what it is, out of my dieting repertoire. Tonight I take a trip to Whole Foods to kick off Operation Skinny Bitch, and I’d like you to join me. Your mission, ladies and fat gentlemen, if you choose to accept it, is to first track your food intake online. Go to www.myfitnesspal.com and become a member. (It’s free!) Once there, click on “find members” in the tool bar. Type in my user name “christyannbetit” and add me as a friend. We can see each others progress, encourage each other, and have some accountability. Second, go weigh in, take your measurements, and take a picture of yourself (preferably in a bathing suit) so you’ll have many ways of measuring your progress. I know it’s scary, but once you check under the bed, the monster‘s usually not there. And if he is, pull him out into the light, and I bet he won’t be nearly as frightening as you thought. Third, comment about your challenges and your triumphs on my blog. I’ll be asking you how you’re doing, and I’m hoping you’ll be open and honest about your process because it will help everyone involved. Finally, give yourself a pat on the back. You’ll be taking the first step toward greater confidence and a greater sense of control. Once we’ve reached our one month goal, maybe we can get together and celebrate (with water and a celery stick – he, he)! Now GO because this blog will self destruct in 5 seconds.

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