Happy Holidays are so five minutes ago

Every once in a while, something happens that... affirms my belief that my life is more positive and more enriched without organized religion in it.
I think I always loved Easter more than Christmas, when I was a kid. There was always a pretty dress and a hat, an age appropriate gift (a locket or my first lipstick) and, of course, a bright pink basket just bursting with Cadbury creme eggs, jelly beans, chocolate bunnies, all nestled on a crinkled, shiny, happy-colored nest. Before church, Mom would make a lavish breakfast of braided sweet bread and maybe an egg casserole. We would fancy up in our new finery and go to church, where there would be more treats, beautiful songs about victory and heaven, happy people in colorful ties and floral dresses. Then? Home to ravage the ham dinner Mom would spoil us with. There would be candy to eat for weeks, and maybe an easter egg hunt, and always perfect weather.
Perfect. It was always the perfect day. For us, at least. I loved it. The last few years have seen patchier Easters, but the memory of those early years is a bright one.
This year, though? I guess with age comes awareness, and with awareness come... disillusionment? I didn't think much going into it. I figured I would go to my church job, head to someone's house for dinner, and then wrap up the day with some Reese's eggs.
But Facebook reared its ugly head. As always.
The day before Easter Sunday, I was reading some posts by various people I used to attend my conservative Christian college with. They were reminiscing about the service the night before, where they stood as a congregation and shouted "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" They were sobered by the reminder of their own cupability in the nightmarish death of Jesus, and appreciated the chance to replay the moment when they, we, everybody betrayed and murdered their Savior. Good Friday. The day that will live in infamy.
I... I felt a little ill. I feel a little ill. I started crying and it took me a while to figure out why.
GUILT.
Guilt is the ugliest word in the English language. Guilt is the most powerful motivator and the most devastating weapon. And (at the risk of offending many, many people... which is nothing new for me) is the way religion has held people in thrall for many, many years.
Contrarily enough, I think that seperating myself from the... virulence of many of the ideals of religion and those who practice it virulently has helped me appreciate Jesus' message of unconditional love even more. It upsets me that this message is referenced, when convenient, but never seems to be the primary goal of widespread Christianity. It's always shuffled under evangelism, or atonement (don't tell me that's an "Old Testament" ideal and that you live under a "New Covenant" and then spend Good Friday screaming "Crucify Him". I have quite simply lost the ability to believe you.) or guilt, or apocalyptic dread. Even when it's practiced in theory it's not always practiced in actuality.
I can see more clearly now than ever before that Jesus treated everyone with kindness and respect, that he wanted everyone to be able to see people the way he did, at their most sublime... that he wanted everyone to be treated with respect and valued the way he valued them. I think that the last supper was never meant to be an elaborate ceremony with chanted words and white linens and people getting huffy about whether or not there was alcohol involved. I honestly think he was just saying that he wanted them to remember him, lovingly, and the way he was when they were together, friends, that one last night at the passover party in the upper room.
So understand my dawning horror as I realize that our agressive need for ceremony and culpability has warped this loving man's ultimate gift into an elaborate pageant in which we, sinners that we are, relive our ugliest moment and nail him to the cross again. And again. And again. 3 nails+1 time a year= 4 ever struggling with guilt (to paraphrase a sign I saw on Facebook.)
Why? WHY? Tell me why, please. (My therapist said I have anger issues. I told her that I spent 20 years being given the mixed message that Jesus loved and redeemed me but that every little misstep made me an ugly human stain.) Why must the message be cheapened? Was the beating he took not enough? Because if there are people flogging themselves on "Good Friday", it must not have been sufficient. Do we love him the way we should? No, but don't blame that on our being "fallen", blame that on the fact that any gratitude we might show him will be tainted with our self-imposed guilt and remorse. Do we celebrate Easter, or do we put on an epic pageant of emotional whiplash? "Indeed, He is risen" hasn't been news in about 2000 years. What would be "news" would be "Indeed, He is risen and instead of feeling guilty about it, I simply said, "Thanks.'"
I know that people are good people, and I know that they're worshipping in the way that seems best to them. And that their self-flagellation is not meant as ingratitude for the gift they've been given. And perhaps they find peace through guilt and remorse, and transcendence through atonement. But it hurts me to watch, and it hurts me to see people struggle through the psychological and spiritual burnout that comes from being inside the wrong church for too long. And I'm tired of being tired. And burned out. From being in the wrong church for too long.
My therapist has diagnosed me with crippling anger issues. 20+ years of church has taken its toll emotionally, psychologically, even physically- once a week, on Sunday mornings, when I'm sitting in the pew at my church job, I break out in hives and get a severe headache. Either I'm allergic to the flowers in the narthex, or I'm reacting HARD to the almost corporeal anxiety I feel every time I even think about religion. I'll be thirty in a few months, and my hope is that there will be peace in my heart and my mind and I can put the anxiety, guilt and anger behind me.
This Easter was not a jolly one, and I haven't felt happy since Good Friday. I've shut down my Facebook account (because I feel anxious about what people will say, I answer in anger, and then I feel anxious about how people will reply. I want to contribute, and I think every perspective deserves to be heard. I do. But for now, I'm closing my ears.) Someday, when I can make it through a holiday without crying from disillusionment, when I can log on to Facebook without feeling dread in the pit of my stomach, when I can look at people who reflect the values I can't respect and still love them unconditionally, when I can think about church without having a physical reaction... then maybe I'll be strong enough to face this crapsack world with grace and patience and freedom.

Whoops...

Weight- 162 (... read on.)
Food mistakes make this week- 1 (but a reeeeally big one.)
Dress sizes dropped- almost one full one (that's what I'm talking about!)
Days until I can stop counting down- 99 (gracious)
Nights when I should have worked out but didn't- 1 (I think that's totally reasonable)
Days since last update- 12 (I SUCK at this game.)
Times I regretted not measuring myself when this started- oh, thousands...

Inches are worth more than pounds. Inches are worth more than pounds. INCHES are worth MORE than POUNDS. I have to keep telling myself that.
I think the reason why I've let this poor blog nap for the last 12 DAYS is that I was unhappy with the total lack of scale movement. After the initial 4 pound loss success at the beginning, the scale has not changed in weeks. I was sad to see it. Like, really sad. In past dietary exploits, this always happens, and I often use it as an excuse to give up.
However, it's a bit different this time. Instead of relying on the scale, I've been looking in the mirror and... wow. It's really happening. My body is starting to reshape itself. My arms are wobbling less. My stomach is flatter. My back doesn't fold over itself (as much). My thighs are... still gross, but my calves, though larger than I'd like, are super shapely, and my boobs are definitely perkier. I couldn't find my measuring tape when I started this (that was such a mistake) but judging from the way my clothes are fitting, I am down almost a full dress size. And THAT, comrades, smells like victory. I honestly don't think that my pound loss goal is practical, given the amount of fat that I'm replacing with lean muscle and given the time left (99 days, yikes!) However, I'm getting leaner. LEANER. It's the most beautiful word in the world.
I'm starting back up with Chalean Extreme this week. For the remainder of the 90 days, I'm going to be focusing on muscle training AND cardio. And narrowing my calories down more. I'm eat hundreds less per day than I was before, but I can do better. All it takes is a little more dedication.
I'll probably see the scale go up in the next few weeks (building more muscle) BUT I'll also be spending more time in front of the mirror, trying on the medium/size ten clothes that are now starting to fit me. And I'll be reminding myself... inches matter more than pounds.
ARGH. I just want some pizza.

Blahg update...

I'm typing this on a unfamiliar keybord nd far too lazy t fix te mistakes, so learn to live with it or find another Fattie McBlogerton to follow!!!

Weight: 163 (muscle weight? Whateer)

ime Spent Exercising today: 90 minutes (excellent)

Food mistakes made today: 1 (bt it was peanut btter and chocolte, so...)

Days until the food guilt goes away: 114

So, I went for a really long jog through some glorious wether today... the sun beamed on my head, the birds were singing, and no one shouted harassing things out their windows at stoplights.

I did notice that the men I was running by stopped and stared at me as I blithely frolicked past. Like, hard stare. Hrd, awkwrd, serial killer stared. It was only an hour or so lter that I realized that my shirt had... evacuated waaaay down and I was bouncing like a Baywatch girl on my run. Youre welcome, men of Red Bank.

Discovered a fun trick.. made sme pasta tonight and instead of making a cream sauce, I made some frozen creamed spinach and dumped in some parmesan cheese. Instead of a thick cream sauce, it was a very light cream sauce with a big ol heap of vegetables. Yum. Couple with the chicken sauteed in wine, lemn juice ad artichokes and you have yoursef a favorful, light meal.

I;m like suer SUPR tired of trying to tye on this kyboard, so I'm going to let this post go for now. Go eat something that wont make you fat!

Absence makes the hips grow wider...

Weight- 162ish
Time spent exercising today- 60 minutes (excellent)
Things I ate that I shouldn't have: 1 (but it had peanut butter in it. That's good, right?)
Pairs of pants that will be too big soon: 2 (that's good and bad... I'm kinda broke)
Dinners that need to be ready soon because I'm starving: 1
Dinners that will be ready soon: 0 (fail)

It's been 6ish days since my last post. To be fair:
A. I had a stomach bug.
B. We had severe weather on Wednesday and Friday
C. I hate severe weather
D. I couldn't work out that much because of A, B and C

The good news? I've been pretty faithful to my calorie count (not perfectly. No no. But somewhat? Ish?) and I'm definitely starting to see the results. It wasn't that long ago that I had so much fat around my midsection that any movement resulted in aftershock ripples of fatty grossness. Today, I was jogging along and the only bounce I felt was in my heels and my ponytail... not my belly. That can never be a bad thing. Also, if I turn sideways and pinch my arm fat back, my arms look really tiny. ... That doesn't quite count as a victory, if you're going to be technical about it, but if you're going to be technical about it, you can shove off and read someone else's blog and leave me to my smug ramblings.
My clothes are starting to fit more loosely, which is kind of awesome. And pretty soon, I'll be light enough on my feet that I can purse-snatch from old ladies to pay for new clothes. My head is light and giddy with the sweet, sweet pure oxygen of forthcoming triumph! And from trying to do pushups right after running. That was a mistake.
I need to do more with my arms. I wish they would unflab themselves. Loser arms.
I'm currently cooking my big meal of the week (which I'll be eating for the next few days) which is teriyaki chicken, sauteed cabbage and carrots, and fried rice. It smells like hot asian magic in my kitchen right now...
I've been bad with the desserts. Tacky, slutty desserts. I'm like a sailor newly into port... all those bundt cakes need to do is bat their whorish eyes at me and I swarm them like a hive of rabid hyenas. Was there a mixed simile there? I'm trying to avoid the temptation, but it doesn't help when they put displays of chocolately promise in between the vegetable aisles at Bi-Lo.
I had some tornado freak-outs this last week (embarassing ones, at that) but my thought is that I burned double calories from shaking so hard, AND I didn't eat anything for most of Friday. Terror-induced fasting is still low in calories! Don't let's repeat the performance, though.
Off to stretch my weary sinews and tuck into some masterfully marinated poultry flesh. It smells divine... and the chickens deserve to know that they selflessly gave their ta-ta's to a worthy and grateful cause.

Blurgh

Weight: on the south side of 165 (hopefully not due to stomach virus)
Times exercised this week: 0
Times got off the couch yesterday: 2
People apathetic about dieting: 1 (me)

Argh. I hate being sick. I have no energy to work out, and being ill compels me to eat irresponsible things like ice cream and bread. Tomorrow is another day, right?

If food is a crutch, then call me Tiny Tim...

Weight: 165 (But I can see a difference, so...)
Weight loss in first week: 1.4ish. Right on track!
Calories so far today: 843
Girl Scout cookies bought: 0
Girls Scouts I've wanted to shake in my head: 3
Pants I wear regularly that are starting to get saggy: 2 (victory!)
Food mistakes committed today: 0 (so far)
Packs of peanut butter M&Ms I could have bought but didn't: 1 (a new personal best for me!)
Days until I look at least 30% more like Charlize Theron: 124.

Oh my gosh, I had no idea it was Girl Scout cookie time. Once upon a time, I was the kid in the sash hocking delicious, nutritionally derelict cookie abominations to friends, family, neighbors, and unsuspecting strangers.
Now, I am the stranger who tries not to make eye contact with the whippersnappers and attempts to sneak in while they're trying to entice others to the dark side. It helps that I never keep cash on me, and I would love to help them win merit badges and camping trips and whatever else they work towards, but I'm working towards a merit badge in not looking like a manatee, so... not today, little Suzie. Not today.
It's kinda sad that all I think about is food. Since starting this new project, I think less about brownies and more about chicken soup.... so that's good. And I think that, ultimately, I'll save quite a bit of money from this venture, as I now avoid places where I know I'll find something divine that I'll want to stuff my face with. Walmart, your days of luring me with low, low prices are numbered!
Am cooking soup- it's currently just water, garlic and chicken, but it already smells mouthwatering. I've been so hungry lately, though, that even my crappy cooking tastes like a tower of ganache-dipped cream puffs. Desperation can be a powerful tool (just go to any bar on ladies' night and you'll see.)
I didn't exercise today (and probably won't later... I'm tired and headachy and for heaven's sake, it's Sunday and who does anything but nap on Sunday?), and I kinda hate myself for it. I should be happy that even after dinner, my calorie count will be way under my goal for the day. Howevers, I now see every day that I don't go go the extra mile to burn more as a day that won't end in a pound loss, and therefore failure. I'm too hard on myself! I think it'll be easier to be less hard on myself when my jean size is in the single digits, though.
I'm so boring today. No more words.

Rethinking the Treat System...

Weight- 165 (holla) (not strictly true. Weight was taken before glurging on nachos with friends last night. I think I laughed off the extra calories, though)
Calories consumed today- who knows... 900ish?
Minutes spent despairing over money spent on groceries- 42
Things that I bought at the grocery store that I will eventually regret- 0 (That's what I'm talking about!)
Naps taken instead of jogs- 1 (um, deserved)
Days until B-Day- 125

Day 3:
Fun times with old college buddies last night. I served myself a carefully portioned plate of chips, meat, beans, etc. And then another one. And another one. I'm such a food whore. We got into an intense discussion regarding crock pots and chicken verde soup. I finally realized how ancient I was getting when a joyful reunion with friends turned into a discourse about black beans and the nutritional benefits of flax.
I feel, as always, resentful about the money I have to spend on necessary items... gas, groceries. I suppose if I stopped eating and walked everywhere, I'd lose the weight a hella lot faster. I would also probably be a little bit dead or a lotta bit post-Auschwitz.
I am proud to say that I managed to make it through my weekly grocery store assault with minimum casualties. What made it into my cart? Broccoli, black beans, salsa, gross protein crap. What made it into my cart only to be put back? The most delicious looking berry cobbler thing. I know I looked like a bipolar squirrel, hoarding for the winter and then suffering from buyer's remorse.... I would pick up the delectable-looking dessert, fondle it a bit, then put it back into the freezer. Later, passing the aisle, I would ninja back to the freezer case, take it back out, and put it in my cart, then meander away, whistling a merry tune and trying not to look guilty. But I felt guilty. So very guilty. So back to the frozen foods went I, and the berrylicious tart of sin would get shoved back into ice cold purgatory. Not possessing infinite self-control resources, and after a last desperate cycle of longing, retrieving and retracting, I left the store before the yum overrode the common sense.
Here's my issue... I'm like a golden retriever: I will be more than happy to retrieve any stick, perform any trick or accomplish any mundane task as long as there's a treat waiting for me on the other side. Where I get into trouble? Every day features tasks I find myself wanting to bribe my lazier side into accomplishing- laundry, dishes, aerobics, getting up in the morning, putting my shoes in the closet, filling my tank with gasoline, moving... and my treats generally involve food (especially cupcakes. Oh, YUM). One fairly common offender is the cheeseburger... there's nothing more glorious than surviving another week and then celebrating by sinking my teeth into a warm, rare, juicy cheeseburger topped with cheese and bacon, with a sizzling basket of freshly-cooked fries and some Red Robin campfire sauce to dip the whole obscene occasion in (I know that was grammatically inaccurate, but "into which to dip the whole obscene occasion" seemed cumbersome. Also, it always takes me 4+ tries to spell "occasion" correctly). 1600 calories later, I've treated myself into a half a pound of body fat. Mother Nature is an ice cold bitch, people, and I hope that wherever she is, she has morbid obesity, type 2 diabetes, and decaying teeth. And menstrual cramps... but that's not this story.
My new concept is to renovate my treat system for... future rather than immediate satisfaction. That cupcake is oh so very, very, very good, and sinking my teeth into the rich sweet frosting into the flavorful cake below (hopefully with a crunch of nuts or a burst of fruit or a decadent drizzle of chocolate ganache) is a sensation which transcends all human glory and...
NO! REWRITE! Ahem (needed a moment) the cupcake is good, but enough of them and I'm going to look like 50 pounds of christmas ham shoved into a 25 pound sack of lard. So, instead of tasty treats, I'm going to make looking hot in a pair of size 8 skinny jeans my new treat. (Isn't it sad that my thinness goal would be someone else's idea of morbid obesity? In print, size 8 doesn't look that fantastic. Oi.) From now on, I'm going to visualize being able to wear a short skirt without my thighs rubbing grotesquely together instead of nachos smothered in queso sauce. I'm going to picture a swimsuit season free of embarrassment, hip fat overhang and necessary cover-ups instead of stuffed crust pizza smothered in cheese and sausage.
And I'm pretty sure every time I institute this treat system, I'm going to be AS ANGRY AS I AM RIGHT NOW. A. that food is tasty, B. that eating it makes me feel like an orca, and C. that naturally skinny people seem to eat enough for four grown men and a buffalo and never gain so much as a bloated toe.
UGH. Well, off to eat some broccoli. And fantasize about finding whomever it was who discovered fat and beating them to death with a carrot stick.

20x30, Day 1

Now that we've waded through the impossibly long introduction, let's just jump right into day 1:

Days until the end of this goat rodeo of fat burnage- 127

Weight- 165

Calories- 1625

Minutes spent exercising- 65

Muscles that may never function normally again- anything south of the knees

Chances I'll wear heels tomorrow- <10%

Alcoholic beverages- 0 (but the night is young)

I'm tired of typing, so I'll make this quick. Stayed the course mostlyish today, but it's just day 1. I would have put my measurements and body fat %, but I can't find my frickin tape measure, and searching for it would involve moving my poor, sore calves.

So, more tomorrow. Happy day one!

20x30, ridiculously long and overstated intro...

I have a confession: I don’t like the way I look.

In a few short months, I will bid my twenties a… fond?
farewell, squeeze my eyes shut, and swan dive into the yawning abyss of my
third full decade on this soggy blue capsule that we call our home planet. My
life thus far has had its blessings, and its curses. There have been scary
times, and moments of joy. There have been nights of crippling loneliness, and
afternoons of rib-bruising snickers with loved ones. There have been moments
when I’ve contemplating harvesting my internal organs for money, and weeks
spent in luxurious splendor in some exotic, unpronounceable location. There’s
been humiliation, exhilaration, exasperation, perspiration, mitigation,
capitulation, and… well, utter confusion. There are times when I’ve looked
forward to the next moment, and moments when I’ve wanted to take a long drive
off a very short bridge. One thing always remained the same, however, whether
the ships had come in or had gone belly up and floundered like my dead goldfish
as it swirled down the toilet to an inauspicious burial at sea….

People, there was always a whole lot of food.

My parents always made sure we had plenty of nutritious food
to eat. One time, at a restaurant, when a young mother handed me a baby bottle
and asked me to put more coke in it (when I got back from getting her kid more
ranch for the chicken tenders and fries, thanks), I was suddenly filled with
warm, fuzzy gratitude to my parents for always making sure we had enough to
eat, and ensuring that what we were eating was nutritious. In fact, the times
we protested the food (because what 8 year old enjoys eating broccoli
casserole?) and refused to eat it… well, that’s when Mom got the steel in her
chin and the glinty hellcat look in her eye, and no matter how long the hunger
strike lasted, she never backed down. And we sat there at the table, until we
finally broke out of boredom or shame, and we ate our vegetables, and we went
on with our evening. And MAN, do I appreciate that now. I also appreciate that when
my parents pulled us out of public school, we were, from that moment forward,
compelled to make our own lunches. It wasn’t laziness on my parents’ part, oh
no… it was home economics class, and no one who has ever tasted anything my
brother has baked, sautéed or deconstructed could ever second guess that
decision.

As I got older, we travelled more and more, and our tastes
broadened. I was taught to appreciate steak, and pasta, and Cornish game hens,
and to at least try the foods I wouldn’t have ordered, given the choice
(although I never even tried with the haggis, I won’t lie to you). I was taught
to experiment, and to take risks, and to never order chicken nuggets when there
was something new to try. And, I was training horses at the time, so I could eat
every exciting bite and not reeeeally worry about the ramifications.
And then, there was college, and the dream was over.
Suddenly, there was no sleep, and there was MacDonalds, and
every morning meant a new opportunity to stuff myself with biscuits and gravy.
First there was one, then two, then three, and there was sweet tea at every
meal, and there was no time for exercise. Freshman 15? PLEASE. Try the freshman
45. And it didn’t end there.

By the time I was 24, I looked like the Stay Puft
Marshmallow Man, and eventually, I had enough and lost 60ish pounds. And then I
gained some of it back. Then I lost some… and gained it back. In the game of
fat, I was a loser and a winner.

And then, suddenly, I was 29. I was living a cycle of
glutiny and famine, of praise for inches lost and shame over back bulge. And
one day, it hit me...

I don’t like the way I look.

Why do I live with it? Why do I allow myself to fail,
knowing that I’ll subject myself to the same snide, self-degrading comments I
always snark when I feel fat? Why do I look at every window I pass, hoping I’ll
see a pudgy profile so I can make a horrible face, which I will also see? Why
do I ask loved ones if I look fat, hoping they’ll say yes so I can punish
myself even more?

Welp, the cycle ends here. I have 19 weeks until I turn 30,
and I want to make every last minute count, which is why today? I kick off
20x30… in which I attempt in my last, grasping moments of twentydom to shed 20
pounds of fat ass and stride triumphantly (and with thighs that don’t rub
together) into the next era of my life.
My rules for engagement:
1. No crash diets.
2. No substance assistance (pills, etc)
3. Exercise daily. BUT NO GYMS! (Sore subject.)
4. No pizza or cupcakes. Fight the true enemy.
5. No buying of clothes until the weight is lost.
6. Daily weigh-ins and blog updates.
7. Lose the traditional evening cocktail.
8. No whining about being hungry,
9. AND NO GIVING UP!

I’m sticking with the simplest diet on earth. One pound of
fat= 3600 calories. To lose one pound of fat, you have to burn 3,600 calories
that you don’t put back in. Easy, right? I’ll have to expend about 570ish extra
calories a day.

I believe in a woman’s right to choose… not to look like
Flossie the Heifer. And this is where you come in- because the only thing more
miserable than being on a diet is having to read about someone else’s
experiences while on one! Thanks for sharing this journey with me. I only hope
that one day, you can look at me and say, “Wow, Liz… you look like you lost a
toddler.” The journey is long… and I’m dragging you along with me. Because that
burns extra calories too.