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My doctor put the fear of (deity/deities of choice here) in me a year ago today (August 1, 2005) about the high risk I was running of developing Type 2 diabetes. I was ready to get into an argument with him at the time (and a nasty one at that), but I actually took the time to listen to him about some stuff he'd been warning me about more than a year earlier - changing diet and adding regular exercise to the mix.

I also managed to keep the appointment he arranged the following week with a nutritionist from the local hospital - and I was glad I did! She gave me tips and dietary advice I could RELATE to, and (since the number of chins I had in recent photos told their own story) actually wanted to take - reducing portions, dropping the white refined starches and sugars where possible, and adding more actual fruits and vegetables to my diet, while keeping the meat (but choosing leaner cuts).

So, armed with this knowledge, I began my walk (literally, since that's been my most frequent exercise) back toward health, and back toward being able to face myself in the mirror.

After a month or so, I was punching new holes in my belts.

After two months, people were recognizing the changes in my face and my physique.

At three months, when I went back to my doctor, he gave me the rundown of what my efforts had given me (noticeably lower blood pressure, blood sugar, and cholesterol), and what they had cost me (29 pounds, with around 10 more lost since then - I was already back under 200 pounds and didn't realize it, since I still rarely weigh myself!)

I haven't cried at each of these little milestones, but I've wanted to... not out of pain, or mourning (although other family members' past struggles were clearly on my mind throughout), but rather crying from joy, and from the satisfaction that I lost weight that I seriously needed to lose for the maintenance of my good health, and used no surgery, gimmick products or activities to achieve that goal.

phreddd: (Default)
I'm trying to be as patient and persistent as I can be with the exercise/diet thing (and discovering new tricks for the kitchen and the market - There are these remarkable edibles called fruits and vegetables that I've just been sleeping on for the longest!). Snacking has actually become less guilt-inducing, and more frequent, since baby carrots, cantaloupes, and the occasional sugar-free candy have replaced Little Debbie (That fuckin' skank!).

Watched a DVD of "Bulworth" last night with John. To think that I underestimated Warren Beatty's talent and MAD SKILZ all those years!
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I'm a little disgusted about little things today - my health (My doctor seriously wants me to lose at least 15 pounds, figuring it will get the cholesterol, blood sugar, and other things under control. It was a depressing visit, for reasons I won't go into here, but depressing enough to send the message.) and the state of the nation (Bush did an end-around on John Bolton - he is now the US ambassador to the UN, like it or not. I don't like it one bit, for the record.) are topping the list.

In better news, I called my mom, and she said the house sale went final on July 15 (which had to make her somewhat happy). Also, John and I got a new slow-cooker last week, and we made a nice, vegetable-laced roast over the weekend.
phreddd: (Default)
We got back from a dizzying, joyous, wild week at MMF last night about 10:30. It was enough time to lose my mind, get it back, and get a fierce haircut (all gone). The vegetarian cuisine was toooo good for the effort (Not a bad bunch of meals - although I skipped a questionable-looking eggplant and cashew casserole twice on Sunday night, the second time when it was mistakenly served as dessert.), and the company I was keeping - some distinguished gentlemen I've known for at least five years in a few cases - was really good company.

I also took some steps to address some unresolved (and uncomfortable) issues from my personal and Festival histories, and I'd like to think I made some positive steps with each of those issues, and the people related to them.  Coming out of Festival, so much seems possible, and so many happy memories seem to be colliding inside my mind all at once...

The oddly ritualistic haircut I received to the reading of Dr. Seuss' "Oh, The Places You'll Go!".

The auction at which I ended up showing off items, a la Barker's Beauties.

The arguments, followed by making up, with John and a few others (lubricated with my tears, among other substances).

A "no-talent" show that took on lounge act proportions.

The pretty fireworks.

The musk of many men in a hot, humid setting.

The refreshing sounds of slightly twangy (and not-so-twangy) accents not caught up in a red-state/blue-state dichotomy.

The discovery that even a recovering hoodrat like myself can exercise hippie sensibilities and love doing so.

The reminders that I am someone much admired, and maybe I need to treat myself like it.  Ditto for the rest of you.
phreddd: (Default)
Another potluck tonight - this one for John ex-boyfriend Greg's birthday. John begged me to help him think of something "we" would bring, and I almost started laughing on the spot.

I guess that I sometimes think it's okay to leech (especially since I overcompensated by nearly tripling the dessert total at Beltane by myself), and I just wanted to not have to think about another dish (especially since the cabal decided on a Mexican theme for tonight, and I don't have enough time at this point to plan something from the office - I had to come into work today.).


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September 2017

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