salted

out loud, as i schmear softened butter across the naked side of a second cinnamon graham cracker, and lay it next to the first:

you are going to die of a heart attack, woman - long before the cancer ever gets you, so, that's lucky.

*cackle*

i mean seriously

is it ironic, or just plain hilarious, that the opening for my solo show titled "Now That I Have Your Attention" had zero

zip zilch nil

attendance? attendants?

*crickets*

on clouds, calories, and my grandfather's scale

this morning i went for my first couch-to-5k run/walk/fail in over a year.  wayyyyy over.  i say fail, even though the app told me i burnt 199 calories (262 if we include the warm-up and exclude the fact that the last three 60-second running intervals - out of eight - were ignored and i just started the cool-down early).  i shouldn't say fail...but it keeps flashing in my head like an old neon sign, "FATTY...FATTY...FATTY..."

SIGH.

according to my grandfather's scale (traditional wheel-type, which requires me wearing corrective lenses to read, because my digital gave out on me) i'm about four pounds below the weight i was when i started this blog, about two years ago. overall, isn't that technically a win?  heh.

i've bounced around. i was thirty-something pounds down...life happened, i coped with food and laziness, and here i am.

my youngest son went with me on the run - i didn't listen to music, because he's a talker, and i'll pretend like that's what contributed to my fatty fatigue. ok it's true, if i have some music to drown out the sound of my out-of-breathedness, the experience is a little better.  running down a street in our neighborhood, i said to him, don't get fat.  heading down our own street, i said, don't get fat.  "i know, mom, you already told me."

sigh.  *pant pant* sigh.

i know i can get better.  i know i can get back in shape, maybe even better shape than the last time i was "in shape".  the boyfriend and i were discussing this earlier in the week - by our next vacation, i want to be in the kind of shape where i'm comfortable doing some real hiking, not just the (lovely, wonderful) nature trail walking we do now.  i want to not have to worry about whether my knees are going to shit out on me.  i want to not have to anticipate a week(month)-long recovery for my hips.

i've been in a kind of dark, cloudy funk lately.  i know it's because i'm just laying around, giving too much room in my head to all of the crappy things going on, letting them take over instead of showing myself how beautiful life can be.  feeding them with processed bullshit instead of loving my body with natural goodness and common sense.

i have to get back on track.  i refuse to let this awesome part of my life become dimmed with mediocrity. kale and bananas for the win!

and running and yoga and hiking and love love love.

your shrink would be proud (because i don't have one) (or something like that)

"how do you eat so fast?" he asked from across the table.  his plate sat in front of him, a third full...mine was empty, except for a few swipe marks from the last scrumptious bite.  she can't do much, but the girl can cook.

(yes me)

"how do you eat so fast???"

a question no one has ever asked me.  ever.  in my whole existence.  because i, zanna, am queen of the pokey eaters.  i'm always the last one with food on her plate (yes i'm gonna eat that!) and am not sure exactly how this metamorphosis into scarfing like a scavenger came about without me noticing sooner...but it's beginning to dawn on me why.

the last several months i've been shoveling disgusting fast food grease bombs into me with some sort of hopeless desperation.  the cheesier the better.  is the bottom of the box dripping and waxy with rendered animal fat?  yes please.  and i'll be back tomorrow.  and when i get to my little parking place with my 27 minutes left, it's a feeding frenzy.  the fries i didn't really want somehow disappear.  if it's been an extra shitty day, they're dipped in mayo before the final act.  once, i dredged them in a chocolate shake.  because why the fuck not?

i always end up with a surprising number of minutes to spare.

actually, with just the right fry and just the right shake, that's really good.  try it.  just not every goddamn day, every goddamn time you want to punish yourself for whatever it is that you've done or for whatever loss you've perceived or for whatever it is you're replacing or hiding or cowering from or for whatever debt you owe that is beyond your means so you may as well spend that last seven bucks on something that very well may kill you before the next statement comes due.

and how aware am i that this shit will kill.  i mean seriously.  aside from throwing yourself headfirst into a sealed room being pounded with a mega-super-radiation ray from hell, there's not a much surer way to commit serious health kamikazi.

so i ask myself, Self, why are we punishing us?

i love good food, healthy raw food, real whole good for me food.  it makes me stop feeling bad.  and no not really about being fat - everyone always says, you're not fat.  and if i were looking at me from the outside, i would probably say, no, you're not fat.

ok maybe a little, but not too terribly blimpish.  

but it's not about looking fat.  it's oh so much about how i actually physically feel.  and i feel old.  sluggish.  my knees hurt again.  the aches are back, the overall shittiness is back.  i have actually experienced heartburn again for the first time in literally years.  sometimes i think i do this to myself purposely, for the cycles, because i start to think maybe i've forgotten just how awful it really is.  surprisingly, i haven't been ill, and the previous three octobers have been devoted to ingesting antibiotics, so it seems i'm doing something right - but overall i feel like hell and i know better.

the amazing boyfriend and i love food together.  :)  we cook together, we cook for one another while the other drools with expectation, and fuck if everything isn't better with cheddar.  and bacon.  and sour cream.

EVERYDAMNTHING.

yummy.

i'd probably have been ok with just the new relationship awesomeness celebration in the kitchen thrice weekly (at least) - but the fast food got me.  and my enormous thighs.  or, my thighs enormous?  ...either way... i've gained back almost every single pound now.  holding steady at a weight i refuse to type.  it's not denial, it's embarrassment.  i was never going back to this number...never...never...

i am going through a lot of bullshit.  i am not able to write AND publish about the bullshit.  yet.  but one day, oh, one day, something something in mariah carey's voice inside my head DAMN YOU WISH YOU WERE IN HERE....

gah.  not really.

the point is, there's a lot of bullshit that makes me think, you deserve this.  take it.  take more of it. take it all and go back for seconds you dirty...

yeah.  

not as a reward.  usually.  almost always, i think, i must be punishing myself.  for putting up with the bullshit, for waiting out the bullshit, for squashing what i really want to say and do about the bullshit and for being a decent human being when in fact i really, really want to be just like all the nasty bottomfeeders shoveling out the bullshit.

and sometimes it IS a reward.  sometimes i justify it that way - you've worked hard and you're very tired and you shouldn't deny yourself that 800 calorie fat-filled coffee by-product. 

and sometimes i just don't care and am fully aware that i hate myself in this moment and i hope i die of a heart attack in the parking lot.

i mean i don't really want to die.  but at least then i wouldn't have to deal with the tidal wave of bullshit.  hey i didn't promise it wasn't gonna get morbid.

no i am not "suicidal." (i just air-quoted that in my head.)  look at me.  i'm spectacular.

besides, i have a million paintings inside me waiting patiently to get out.

the point is, somehow, somewhere not too deep down in my psyche, i don't think i deserve to live life to the fullest.  i should feel guilty for even wanting to, and certainly for trying.  and so, fill myself with self-hatred in the guise of a cheeseburger.  (one not lovingly made by The Cook Man of My Dreams, but one slapped together by an angry, toothless, gray woman in a sloppy hairnet with shattered dreams and a chapped ass.)

damn, if that image doesn't put me off the fast food sludge, nothing will...


right about now, the shrink (had i not scared them all away) would be laying down her pen, looking at her watch, and saying noncommitally, "i think we've made a real breakthrough here.  same time next week."


for the record, i've skipped dinner, but that's a whole different story.

fin.

curvy me in the mirror

as of today, the weight loss total is 38.4 pounds since the highest weight recorded in august.

38.4!!!

last night i ate an entire frozen pizza.

shut up.

with ranch sauce.
SHUT UP!!!

sigh.

the loss can only be attributed to being conscious of what i'm putting in my mouth.  i swear.  and not being COMPLETELY lazy.  yes, i do my yoga (not all the time) and i even started training for a 5k at the urging (bullying? just kidding...) of my lovely future wife (we're both mostly straight but hey) - but some weird unexplained hip pain has slowed that to a halt (because i'm still somewhat lazy).  when life is complete hell, i wrap up the hands and head to the basement to beat up the heavy bag.  none of this is as consistent as i'd like, and time management being the skill i lack the most, life jumps in the way all the time.  i'm fine with that, because i like life a lot.  ;)

i also started guided meditation around the end of last summer, thanks to another friend who took all of the scary out of it by sharing a youtube video with me.  i'm a stress eater, so that had to be part of what helped me not eat every tastykake in sight. (it's ok if you take the empty box to the register, right?)

thinking that starting this blog has had a hand in the weight loss as well, only because it's not all in my head anymore.  some people even subscribed, which is always an ego boost, and it seems the larger the ego, the smaller the pants size?  no?  heh...

anyway.  yesterday the loss was marked at 34 pounds.  i have no idea where another 4.4 went, especially in light of that delicious pepperoni thin crust pizza, except that i had a cup and a half of chai in the morning and peed ALL DAY LONG...

the thing about having an hourglass figure is, you're curvy.  (duh)  so, even at the teeniest ever, you're never rail-thin.  and if you let yourself, you'll look in the mirror at those round hips and round thighs and round arms and enormous tits, and think, i. am. fat.

111 pounds, kids, and i thought i was the size of a house.

i'm shooting for a healthier weight now (not that i'm doing a lot about it, but it does seem to be going in that direction and i'm not arguing!), and more than that, just, healthy.

says the girl who chowed down on god knows how many calories and fat grams at 6pm last night...

;)

trivius maximus

the other day at work we had a trivia contest.  they released a video of several associates doing exercises in the office, and asked that we guess how many calories the group burned.  i spit out a number, a co-worker looked at me like i was nuts and suggested about 200 calories higher.  we each submitted our answer.

today they announced the winner.  my answer was 20 calories below the actual calculated amount.

my formerly skeptical co-worker was surprised.

"hey, recovered anorexic over here," was all i had to offer.

my name is zombie anorexia and i am a beautiful whale.

(just read the first post here, and loved that sentence, and decided it totally deserved to be said again.)
(also, just want to point out that most of the time, i do not actually feel like the fat girl who needs to make food confessions.  when i'm not writing here, i feel mostly normal.  it's when something like *this* comes up, that suddenly i freak out and have a crazy urge to have my BMI measured and enlist in some sort of insane boot camp for fatties.)

somehow, in the months since some time this past summer, i've lost over twenty pounds.  it fluctuates (and i check the scale too often), but considering, it's pretty awesome.

i'm still fat.

i stress eat.

and lately, baby, have i been stressed.  (hence the fluctuation.)

i hate talking about it, especially when the stressor isn't present, and when it is, i can't really talk about it...  sometimes i do, but mostly i just sputter and seethe.  and eat carbs.  crunchy ones.  and fast food, even though i hate it while i eat it.  (it's a little like angry sex:  i fucking LOATHE you, but it feels so GOOOOD....) there are distinct phases:  the i have no choice phase.  the i have a choice but fuck it i deserve something greasy and smothered in fake cheese sauce phase.  the holy shit how could you treat yourself this way, get a salad! phase, the WHY THE HELL didn't you pack your lunch phase, and the fuck it, i've wasted so much time arguing with my fat cells that i really do have no choice now phase.

looks like i'm planning a trip to a sunny, sandy spot in the near future.  i got the ok for time off today.  my first thought - oh my god my thighs.

thought #2 - it's ok, you can cover them.

thought #3 - oh my god my arms.

i'm all good until my twisted psyche shines a spotlight on my pasty white wobblies.

i have good intentions.  i do get (some) exercise.  i do eat really good for you food, and i enjoy it.  i don't chart anything because i get totally anal, and it awakens my inner anorexic.  (she's in there now, saying, shut up you fat bitch, you could stand a little anorexia.)

i am so exhausted (from the stress, mainly) that it takes all i have to make a trip to the store between work and home.  ridiculous.  i know the signs, i usually overcome the inner objections and just power through.  some nights all i can do is come home, wah wah wah you don't want to hear it.

the point is, you can know all the right answers, and still do something else.

i'm fat, and the popular thing to say now is, deal with it.  get over it.

i'm not sure that's the healthiest attitude to have, but i guess it's whatever works, whatever really makes you happy, for however long it lasts.

for now, i'm thinking i'll take serious advantage of the upcoming kidless weekend, do some cleansing physically and spiritually, go buy those running shoes i keep promising myself (and a sarong), and start applying some sunless tanning lotion on the down low.  except now i've told you about it, so, it's not...it's not really down low.  whatthehellever, it's a service to the retinas of anyone else on the beach.  zombie anorexia is a humanitarian, who knew!

*sigh*
it'll be fun.
wish me luck :)