Nothing Taste As Good As Thin Feels. Except Bacon.

No one ever tells you how hard it is to lose weight. Actually, people say it all the time, but I just wanted to start this post off extremely dramatic…

Ah, weight-loss post, we meet yet again. If anyone out there has been here long enough to remember the inception of the Hot Mess Life phenomenon almost 5 years ago, you know that my getting healthy/weight loss is a reoccurring topic that I love to amuse you all with. But the fact that it is a reoccurring theme is the problem. There was the “My 183 is Not Your 183” series, where I believe I ended up losing a whopping 7 pounds in my quest to fit into a bridesmaid’s dress. Then there was the “My Muffin Top Is Evil” posts where I uploaded photos of myself trying to fit into a pair of jeans riddled with thigh burn holes. Always quick with quips to make fun of my weight-loss journey, I was always willing to put myself out there, pretend to be accountable to the masses for my magical journey, only to fail and never mention it again, in fear that everyone would realize I was a failure. Nothing is more difficult than admitting you cannot do something. It’s one thing to realize this internally, with only you and the crumpled McDonald’s bag stuffed between your driver and passenger seat as witnesses. It’s another to have the whole world see you crash and burn as well. Ok, the Hot Mess Life audience is not the ENTIRE world (it’s actually 1.6E-6% of the world population, and I’m not even sure what that means), but having one person know I can’t even put a piece of bacon down and pick up a 5 lb dumbbell is embarrassing. But embarrassing is my middle name, and that’s why I write this blog! After my 30,000^th failed attempt to “get-it-together”, I am admitting I need help. And that, in itself, has been a struggle all on its own.

 During my most recent trip to the “Lady Doctor”, I was told for the umpteenth time that if I want to have babies and live to see 42, I need drop some weight, 40 pounds to be exact. Now, this is not the first time we’ve had this conversation. It was probably the 4^th time he has brought it up, and I always swore that the next time he saw me, that I would be a changed woman. And I was, I was just 10 pounds heavier each time. He mentioned that I should set up a meeting with the office’s drill sergeant nutritionist, and I would always give a “Oh yeah, sure, give me her card” speech, and never called. On this last go-around, I said it again, but actually made the commitment. This only happened because he called the nutritionist’s assistant from his office and put me on the spot. At this point, it couldn’t hurt, but she was going to be in for a big surprise. Lady, I already know the size of the chicken I’m supposed to eat, and I know broccoli is better for me that burgers. I just choose to not to eat them. So joke’s on you…

Well, the joke’s clearly on me. And it’s actually not that funny. I made an appointment, and was ready to meet my demise. Fortunately, my demise was a petite, firecracker in a lab coat with a smile. The nutritionist was awesome and gave me a no-nonsense talk about my goals and how she was going to help me in any way that she could to meet assist me in my journey. I was given the start of a plan to reverse the damage I’ve done ( along with all my fast –food restaurant cohorts), and the plan was to meet every few weeks to track my progress and move to the next phase of the plan. I was also given a list of supplements to take and a nice little bill. I was prepared with all my ammunition to bring sexy back!

 But before that could happen, I apparently needed to start a Kickstarter fund to afford all this food and additional supplements. Man, some of this stuff is expensive! One bottle of supplements was almost $100! And the sad part about it was that I needed to take 8 pills a day, so the bottle was only going to last a month! I couldn’t even cheat and stretch it out. I did a few calculations, and I figured if I stopped eating out, never put gas in my car, stole all my laundry detergent, did my own eyebrows, had a bunch of one-night stands to use other people’s WIFI for the next 6 months, I might be able to afford all the necessary tools I needed to fight this battle with fried foods and high blood pressure.

 I’m almost done with the first two-week phase of the plan, and I’m still struggling. In the last 10 days, I’ve already had a few more life revelations:

·         Whole Foods is a magical place that will make you poor in less than 20 minutes

·         I despise salmon ( it has now been added to the list of foods that I can’t even walk by in the grocery store, for the fear that I will vomit- previous list consisted solely of Moon Pies and Potato Stix)

·         Broccoli smells like farts and tastes very similar to the smell it emits

·         Quinoa is a great rice substitute, but not a suitable replacement for mashed potatoes

·         Almond butter is absolutely glorious, and it should be since it’s about $10 per jar

 I’m am not anxiously awaiting my follow-up meeting with Dr. Firecracker, as I am wondering how long it will be until she can sense the shame and struggle behind my sucked-in posture. I am wondering how long it will take her to realize that every meal I’ve eaten since then has a turkey burger base ( because I’ve refused to eat that aforementioned fish). However, I also know that I need all the help I can get at this point, and it is vital that I take her advice with a grain of salt ( sea salt, not iodized).

A person’s weight-loss struggle are just that- personal. I’m not saying I’m a noble, brave soul because I’m sharing all my failures with you, but I guess I’ve always been an oversharer ( new word alert). As Hot Mess Life gets a little serious here, I hope that anyone out there who has dealt with weight issues ( or loves someone who has) feels that it’s ok to fail. You’re going to fail many times, and it’s your determination to not give up and finally wear skinny jeans that will fuel your success. If you’re sick of eating in your car to hide from your friends, I’m here to relate and let you know I am too. If you want nothing more than to fit into all your clothes again, I’m here to tell you that you will. We both will. Honey, I’ve had two pairs of pants I purchased from Banana Republic over a year ago, still sitting in my closet because they won’t go over my muffin top (and it’s not even a regular muffin at this point, but one of those giant ones you get at Costco). But they will. I guarantee it. I’m going to keep writing about this journey until I make it to the Size 6 Mountain Top, and I hope you will join along with me.

 -KEEP IT A HOT MESS