A Brief Freedom From Fat And Other Stuff

Yeah, I know. I haven't been here in a while. We'll skip the obligatory "This is why I wasn't here" stuff because I'm here now and that's what counts.


So sometimes I forget I'm fat.

No, no. Not in the "Hell yeah, everyone's looking at me because I look damn good with my four foot wide ass in these booty shorts." Trust me. I'll never be THAT girl.

Some mornings in that little dreamy spot between asleep and awake, I'm not fat. I make plans to leap out of bed, dance around the bedroom, paint my toenails, go for a run, do some shopping therapy for new dresses at Old Navy, bounce around the house and clean it... all of those things.

But when you're very overweight, those are just plans you have most of the time. You don't bounce or leap. Your knees and ankles wouldn't have it. You don't always dance around because you're tired. Cheap shopping therapy is out unless you want accessories because nothing really fits. You drag yourself out of bed and do the minimum of what you need to do because doing more can make you more tired, or hurt you.

I'm not looking for pity. Oh believe me, I realize that I've mostly done this to myself. Yeah, I do have some issues that makes weight loss really hard [let's face it, I worked out at the gym, had weekly personal training sessions, and ate right for a year and only lost 10 pounds in the altogether], but I'm not dumb enough to put all of the responsibility on a few health issues when I know very well that I sit too much and eat crap sometimes.

Today, though, I didn't think about being fat. Not really.

A few days ago, one of my Facebook friends posted a little article about magnesium deficiency. She's a registered nurse, but is "medium crunchy" in that she posts things about how to make yourself feel better naturally if possible rather than immediately going the pharmaceutical route.

I read the article. Then I read it again. A lot of it clicked with me. The insomnia, the irritability, the depression. I hadn't told anyone, but I honestly haven't been doing so great in the past few months. I haven't been sad all of the time, but I haven't been happy iether. I've mostly just been numb when I'm not angry. Then I headed to Google and on Wellness Mama's blog, she discussed it more in depth.

And I was shocked.

Out of the list of 26 symptoms that you might have if you are magnesium deficient, I had 19.

On her page, she mentioned the product Natural Calm. I skipped over to Amazon and took a look at the reviews. Out of just over 800 reviews, 600+ people gave five stars! I looked up several other review sites online for the product and the reviews were all just glowing. I really really wanted to get some! Luckily for me, our local Sprouts carries it and for $5 less than on Amazon.

I'll admit, though. I was a skeptic. I didn't think it would work. I mean, c'mon. I have all these issues! They can't be just related to me needing magnesium. A simple fix like this? No way. Nuh uh. Maybe it works for other people but it won't work for me.

But I tried it anyway. After all, why not? Then I would be able to say that I tried and it wasn't that so something else is making me crazy and sick.

I followed some of what other reviewers said to do. Just 1/4 of a teaspoon in some warm water at night. Magnesium is a laxative if taken in a bigger amount [think Milk of Magnesia] so I didn't want a big blow out or anything.

The first night I did it, I slept like a baby. I woke up and I didn't feel like I wanted to kill someone right away.

That night, I made my little mixture and went to bed. When I woke up, I didn't actively feel like death.

Last night, I took my little mixture. I had trouble falling asleep because of the coffee I'd had at 8pm but still, when I got to sleep, I slept well.

Today I was able to forget about my fat for a while. I cleaned the kitchen a bit, and the living room. I vacuumed. I cleaned out my cat's litter box and scrubbed her water dispenser and her food dish. I sang and danced all afternoon in the house. I opened all the curtains to let the sunshine in. I didn't even think about food. I felt good. I felt happy. I didn't feel like this massive, depressed, overly anxious, superfat person that I've felt like for months. I mostly felt like me again.

Of course, tonight I'm paying a bit for my little "Fat freedom." My feet hurt and my body is tired. But it's good, you know? It feels good.

I'll keep taking my Natural Calm. I'll keep seeing if there's some kind of improvement. If this was one of the fixes that I needed in my life, $20 is an awfully small price to pay for it.

And it hasn't given me the runs. So you know...there's that.

Jemima, you suck.

God, I hate the book Jemima J.

Several years ago when it came out, a friend of mine sent it to me because she said it was wonderful.  It's about an overweight girl who meets someone fabulous on the internet, decides to lose weight, and goes to see him after she gets thin.  I love chick lit and I love books about fat girls, so I was eager to read it.

The rest of this post will probably have a lot of spoilers about this ridiculous book, so if you haven't read it and you want to, probably best to skip this post.

Anyway. So Jemima Jones is portrayed as being the fattest fuck in all of England.  No one is as fat as Jemima. She's got triple chins.  She puts the ass in massive.  Her stomach is huge as hell.  She's FAAAAAAAAAAAAAT.

Naturally, she has a thin and beautiful girl friend, thin and beautiful roommates, and a huge crush on the hottest man ever.

So then she discovers the internet and chat rooms.  And, as it happens, she lies like a dummy to this guy she starts chatting with.  Hey, we've all been there!!  When it turns out that the guy she's chatting with actually is extremely fit and gorgeous as all get out, Jemima decides to join a gym.

Awesome. No matter what the catalyst is, getting healthy is NEVER a problem.

But here's where the book loses me.  No, not just loses me.  Makes me angry!

Jemima goes into the gym for her assessment with a trainer. He says he needs to weigh her. Okay, okay...I'm with you so far.  This actually happens.  Jemima is sad about getting on the scale. Hey, been there, too.  And then the weight pops up on the scale.

204 pounds.

Yes, I wrote that right.

Jemima Jones, the fattest thing in all of England, is 204 pounds.

A little bit later we discover that she's 5'7 in height.  I went over to My Body Gallery and popped in those measurements.  Do you know what a woman who is 5'7 and 205 pounds looks like?

Get the fuck out of town.

So Jemima basically starves herself, works out a lot, and gets to 120 pounds in a few months.  She flies off to meet the gorgeous Brad, who conveniently owns a gym, falls in love with him, and then gets fucked over when it turns out that he actually likes fat girls.  Then the guy she had originally had a crush on sees her thin and falls in love with her.

Well then.

This book would have been so so much better had  Jemima like, you know, actually BEEN fat.  Or if her first crush had loved her despite her weight and had been too shy to tell her.  Or if she'd just been happy enough to get fit despite all these men.

I hate this book.

Gym Talk

I'm sitting here this morning enjoying a nice plate of bacon and eggs.

Okay, that's kind of a lie.  I'm sitting here, after eating a piece of pan dulce, eating a plate of lower sodium turkey bacon and one scrambled egg because I need to get in some protein so I can go to the gym and not fall apart after 15 minutes on the elliptical from a sugar crash.

Turkey bacon makes me a little angry.  I know it means well, but it's not real bacon and it never will be.  Any time I eat it, I think about that scene from the last Harry Potter movie.

Not that I'm calling Snape turkey bacon, because Snape is awesome, but let's face it - he was no Dumbledore in terms of being a great headmaster.

I've yet to see a difference on the scale regarding my weight.  I don't even see a difference in my body.  This makes the Crazy Eating Disordered Girl in me a little nuts.  I mean, it's natural to want to see SOME progress.  The only thing I can say is that I don't look quite as bloated but that's subjective.

The logical part of me knows that it's going to take some time.  I know that I'm supposed to be putting on some muscle because I kind of don't have any.  No, really.  I have so much body fat on me, I cannot use the fat counter thing at the gym.  It doesn't register.

Basically, I'm veal.

I know that in a month, I'm sure to start seeing a bit of a change in my body.  The weight is sure to start dropping and things will be okay, but I'm part of The Biggest Loser crowd.  I want to see a 30 pound loss in the first week.  I know that isn't right, I know that their circumstances are much different than my own less than an hour workouts and free access to double cream cheese are.  They work out 4-5 hours a day and are on a restricted diet and have 'round the clock care.  Physically, I do what I can and then listen to SOMEONE complaining that there's nothing to eat for the rest of the day.  30 pounds in one week?  Not happening for this girl.

But I feel different.  I don't feel like dying when I walk across a parking lot into a store anymore.  I don't hunt for the absolute closest parking space. [Actually, more on that in a minute.]  I can get up from my chair without struggling too much.  I feel good.  Not great or anything, but a lot better than I felt when I walked into the gym for the first time.  I know my diet still needs tweaking, but it's the exercise that has really made all the difference.  I truly believe that.

Can I talk about the dumb tramps that go to my gym, though?

For the most part, everyone I've really met there has been helpful and supportive and genuinely kind.  It's a place that I enjoy going to.  But there are 3 types of women who go there that I want to punch in the face:

1.  The Juice Bar Bunnies.

My gym has a nice little juice bar. You can get smoothies and fruit and water, stuff like that.  But there are always a few women who seem to only come for the juice.  I've yet to see them do more than 10-15 minutes on the elliptical before they're down there sucking on a straw.  Honey, let me tell you - if this is all you're after, head down the road about half a mile and hit up Jamba Juice.  You can walk around the parking lot if you're so inclined.

2. The Pretty Princesses.


Why are you at the gym in full makeup with your hair done?  You're there to sweat, not pick up a man.  Scrub off your mascara before your sweat makes it bleed into your eyes, scrape your hair back into a ponytail, and WORK OUT.  I know you probably didn't just come from work being that I usually am there at 10 in the morning.  Also? Stop taking up entire benches in the locker room with all your equipment while you sit and text.  Some of us just want to put our purse up so we can do our thing. [Most of these women are Juice Bar Bunnies, too.]

3. The "Oh God, I Have To Do WHAT?" Wenches.


These women drive me nuts.  They're outside hiding behind their cars smoking a cigarette before coming into the gym.  They flit from machine to machine, not really breaking a sweat on any of them.  They drive around the parking lot multiple times because they're looking for the closest parking space they can get.  It's a gym! Walk a little further! AND STOP GETTING IN MY WAY.

I really should stop sitting here complaining about stuff and get off my own ass and go to the gym.  Plus, my boyfriend woke up early, disturbed my quiet, and now I need to go work off some of my irritation.