Talking Fat Part 1

**This will be the first in a series of entries of highlighting weight. There is just too much to say in one entry!

Recently I stumbled across the blog of a 22 year old, who is striving to loose weight. Topping the scales at about 315 pounds, she has realized that she needs to change her life. I will admit that I respect her ability to make her struggle public, and appreciate that she has been brave enough to post pictures showing her pre-diet physique. I haven’t spent a lot of time looking over weight loss blogs; mainly because I didn’t realize that so many people chronicled their lives in this online community. Several months ago I found a blog entitled “I have bones!!” also highlighting the challenges faced by one dieter. I kind of laugh at the title, because I can empathize with it – seeing my clavicles, and being able to feel the bones in my hands and feet, after all these yeas, is somewhat of a novelty. Plus I specialized in bones…so you know…

It is ironic that I should be sitting next to my workout class instructor while I’m writing this blog (a bit of guilt materializes as I have not been present in her class for the past two weeks).

I’ve briefly mentioned by weight struggles in this blog, but have never really touched the heart and soul of the battle. Over the course of the past several months I have had numerous people stop and ask me what sort of diet I have been on – the truth is, I am not on a diet. It is not about South Beach, Atkins, Mayo Clinic, Weight Watchers, or the sundry of other fad diets that exist in this world. No, if you are substantially overweight, it is not about “dieting”. It is about changing your lifestyle. When I started this challenge, I was substantially over weight…errr…ok…I was obese.

How did I get there?

I would love to say that it was a genetic predisposition to obesity. But it’s not, and I am not entirely certain that I believe in that mentality. My parents were both overweight, but they were far from stellar examples of proper eating habits. So no, I can’t say that I have a genetic predisposition to obesity. While I have Italian and Polish ancestry (*insert ethnic jokes here*), and while the general stereotype of both cultures includes a tendency towards plumpness, I don’t use that as my excuse. Furthermore, both cultures include a heavy reliance on foods laden with starches and carbohydrates. That could potentially explain the plumpness exhibited in both. No, I can’t believe that I was genetically predisposed.

I know the evolutionary excuse for obesity: throughout human history there has been a tendency towards periods of famine. Over time, the human body adapted itself to these periods by evolving a mechanism to ensure that calories were stored for later utilization. In modern times, and in the Western World, we do not go through those periods, but are still inclined to eat like there is a possibility that famine could occur. Hence we are obese. Or something like that. No. I don’t believe that I my fat was the product of evolution, or that I am some ultra-adapted human form (and for the sake of humanity, let’s pray that I am not natural selection’s answer to evolution!)

No, I got to the point of obesity through hard work and determination. I started university in a fairly good place, health and weight-wise. I was religious about working out, and was desperate to be that thin, pretty blond in class. And then exams happened. And then I started to loath working out – if I missed a day I beat myself up incessantly (working out can be a detrimental obsession). My ex boyfriend spent a week long vacation at my house – after he left I weighed myself, and was shocked to see that in the course of 6 weeks I had gained about 20 pounds. How did that happen????? That was 1999 and it would be 9.5 years before I would step onto another scale.

I was very careful about not acknowledging my weight gain. I have done a fair bit of travelling and would decline having my pictures taken at all expense. If I couldn’t see it, it wasn’t real. I wouldn’t go to the doctor – because doctors like to weigh their patients. Gradually over time more weight packed on. It is actually quite amazing how quickly it can happen. It took no time at all to go from a size 13 to a size 26 (yep, that’s where I peaked!). Oh it helped that I had a love for beer (and copious quantities of it), junk food, pop, and foods saturated in fats, butters, etc. I loved bread. Adored donuts. There was no cut off point either. During times of stress or uncertainty I ate. It also helped that I lived in a city that seemed to pride itself in unhealthy lifestyles. Sorry Thunder Bay, but we are fat, and alarmingly so.

Now – how could I let my body get so out of control?? Did I not notice what was happening? I think the benchmark of being obese is being able to look in the mirror and not see it. Even when photos were accidently taken of me, there was no actual registering of the problem. Plus there was the other factor: I was active. Considering I was fat, I never truly felt fat. I didn’t have the back aches, ill health, diabetes, etc. I participated in dog training. I hiked, backpacked, lifted weights, etc. I remember hiking up hill in the 100 degree heat in Guatemala with a pack strapped to my back, and being able to do it without backing down. People tell me I must feel so much better now – but the truth is, I never felt bad.

Ok so if I didn’t notice, what actually happened? I would love to say there was a warning sign that initiated the change. There wasn’t. Here is the truth – it was strictly society and vanity. First off, I started to find fatist groups on Facebook. What is a fatist? A person who hates fat people – fairly straight forward right? The Brits actually host a surprising number of these groups. Then there was the fact I had a crush on a guy who I knew would never like me if I was the size of a house (which is the absolute wrong reason to loose weight!). Let me just clear something up right now: if a guy (or a girl) couldn’t feel for you before you lost the weight, they aren’t worth your time once you have. Then there was Valerie Bertinelli (oh yes)…her comment about starting a New Year without having to worry about her weight was definitely an inspiration. Ok, and then there was the idea of turning 30 and not wanting to spend another decade trapped by my weight. And the idea of wanting to travel and not having to be stared at by cultures who are stunned by “giant North Americans”. All of these things were swirling in my head…

And then came the straw that broke the camels back…


The picture…
The one that got through….

My friends and I met at Kelsey’s one afternoon in late 2007. One of my friends was expecting a baby (rather soon), and we were celebrating the impending birth. A photo was snapped of the three of us together and there it was…I was bigger than my pregnant friend. Huh…who knew???

I enjoy talking on chat programs like MSN, Skype etc – but generally declined to share my picture. It was so much effort to snap a picture that hid the evidence of my fat. If you have been down this road, you will know – angling your head to disguise the double chin, lengthening the neck…and if all else fails – lean back and hold the camera above your head and let your fat droop back.

But there was the picture that didn’t hide it.

So with all of these things circling in my head, and the picture to top it off, I knew it was time to change. And that’s where I’ll leave it for today….

London Looming

There comes a point when you have to be honest with yourself. I have zero desire to return to London. I think I have crossed the threshold of comfort and complacency. Actually, it’s not London – it’s teaching. I have said it before, and I will say it again – if I were in a profession that I absolutely loved, it would different. But I’m not. There are so many deadweight teachers occupying the profession, that I can’t just be one more. I can still fake my enjoyment for it; there are many who can’t. I am tired of seeing those teachers, obviously miserable in their career, sticking it out because of the financial perks, benefits and vacation time. It’s not fair to the students.

Then there are the travel teachers – they drive me crazy too. It is like a whole other scale of deadweight. You know – the individuals who think they qualify as a “teacher” because they took a weekend TESOL/TEFL course. And why? For the opportunity to have bragging rights. If you want to be a teacher, go and get some formal training. Many formally trained teachers have spent ample time working in schools (in positions other than teaching) and/or volunteering. Then there was the additional commitment of teacher’s college. Afterwards there are the additional professional development obligations. If you want something to compare it to: think of the office gopher being promoted to CEO of a multinational corporation after a week of gophering. Yes, weekend teaching courses irritate me. It’s unfortunate that the international market doesn’t have higher expectations.

Along with having spent a ton of time working in schools, and a moderate amount of time volunteering, I have also taken a fair amount of Professional Development. My interest in teaching jumps back and forth, and yet I know I still have no long term aspirations to remain in the profession. Maybe I just haven’t found my niche in teaching? Maybe there is just something inherently wrong with me and commitment? Maybe I have just spent too much time listening to and observing disgruntled teachers, that my illusion has been ruined? While in London I was irritated by teachers who were miserable but in love with their daily pay rate (£) – isn’t there something more to this profession? I came home just as our provincial teaches were voicing their discontent – again. Today my cousin said to me “Well you know teachers – they don’t want to work or teach.” And no – I don’t believe that, but our continued complaints can certainly be perceived that way.
Yep, I’m ranting because I’m overtired. What am I going to do? Who knows….

Sleep deprived & Murky

As I sit here, attempting to thaw out, I realize that I am completely exhausted. I am tired of dealing with a mind that never, ever shuts off. I have trouble going to sleep at night, because my brain is in overdrive. Last night I could barely stay awake – I finally went to bed, and felt no inspiration to sleep. Finally somewhere around 4:30 I willed myself to sleep – only to wake up a couple hours later thanks to a nightmare. Sleep deprivation is giving me bad dreams that I wake up from, even more tired than when I went to bed

I’ve spent the past couple of days at Lakehead, working at the Education Fair. Recruiting teachers to go to London. I’ll admit that I have kind of enjoyed it – I think I would rather talk and recruit than actually teach. It’s nice to be able to talk to teachers who still have an idealized perspective of teaching, are clueless as to the behaviour management issues in London, and are generally naïve. It is kind of refreshing – I never had that over-exuberant teaching stage, because I had already been working in school for so long. I already knew some of the realities that a lot of NQT’s are not aware of. In some ways it was good, and in other ways it has been detrimental to my wanting to remain in teaching.

It has been two years since I was in the Faculty of Ed. and there now seems to be a better understanding about the state of education. Two years ago, we all had great plans of being hired by school boards in Ontario (and Faculties of Education will give you the impression that there are plenty of jobs out there – in space). These new teachers seem to know that teaching jobs are few and far between. I kind of joked about it at the fair yesterday; I would tell potential candidates “The great thing about a teaching degree, is that you can work anywhere in the world – except for Ontario.”

I miss Café Nero’s hot chocolate. I’m drinking Starbucks right now, and it’s not the same. That has nothing to do with anything…

Honestly I have a bucket of complaints at the moment, an things that I could go on about, but I really don’t have it in me right now.

The state of employment in Thunder Bay is becoming increasingly bad. No surprises there. I have lost the majority of my motivation regarding my thesis. Also not a huge surprise. I guess I’m feeling a little bit disillusioned with education – not teaching, but education in general. Other than teaching, I’m not sure that I have any employable skills. I had been considering grad school, but it seems like a huge commitment that doesn’t necessarily guarantee a job. I’d like a job.

Ok, I’m beating a dead horse that the moment. If you don’t mind, I need to retreat back into my murky head.

Temperature

It is -30° today. Wait...that's without the windchill added on. Environment Canada has been nice enought to post the following warning:

WIND CHILL WARNING: City of Thunder Bay Issued at 5:05 AM EST THURSDAY 15 JANUARY 2009
EXTREME WIND CHILL VALUES THIS MORNING. THIS IS A WARNING THAT EXTREME WIND CHILL CONDITIONS ARE IMMINENT OR OCCURRING IN THESE REGIONS. MONITOR WEATHER CONDITIONS..LISTEN FOR UPDATED STATEMENTS.

BITTERLY COLD ARCTIC AIR REMAINS ENTRENCHED OVER NORTHERN ONTARIO. EXTREME WIND CHILL VALUES OF MINUS 40 TO 45 ARE BEING OBSERVED ACROSS THE DISTRICT THIS MORNING. DESPITE WINDS REMAINING IN THE 15 TO 20 KM/H RANGE TODAY..WIND CHILL VALUES WILL MODERATE LATER THIS MORNING AS THE MERCURY RISES. WIND CHILL WARNINGS MAY BE REQUIRED IN SOME REGIONS AGAIN TONIGHT. ENVIRONMENT CANADA WILL CONTINUE TO MONITOR THE SITUATION AND MAKE ADJUSTMENTS AS NECESSARY.

"Bitterly cold"...that is the description. I have some better choice words - none of which should be published here.

Tomorrow it is supposed to improve though; it will be a balmy -20°.

I'm not prepared to leave the warmth of my bed. For a real kick in the balls, its 6° in London (plus not minus).

To Lay or Not To Lay in the Same Pile or a Different One

Oops…I fell off the face of the earth – or so it would seem. So…Happy New Year…hope you are enjoying yourself!
So what’s up in the world?? Economic devestation…conflicts…the occasional natural disaster…ya that pretty much sums it up. Apparently 2009 is going to resemble 2008 – seriously; if ever there were a moment to say “same sh*t, different pile”, this would be it...

Where am I? Sipping my Americano at Starbuck, listening to the three guys sitting next to me complain about women and divorces. Thinking about life. Same sh*t, different pile. Or maybe I haven’t even gotten to the different pile yet; I might still be working on the same pile. Lululemon and snow came to Thunder Bay over Christmas. I am tired of both; designer yoga pants and icy flakes aren’t really things that peak my interest. Even so, it doesn't matter where you go in Thunder Bay, you see both in ample quantities. And its when you start to ponder Lululemon and snow that you realize you are stagnating.

Over Christmas I reacquainted myself with complacency. I am so content in my little world of familiarity – it permits me to stagnate and maintain a noncommittal life. I enjoy defying expectations – mainly the expectations of others. Defying expectations is sometimes a good thing (like for the student who is expected to earn a C and defies odds to earn an A); for me, defying expectations means doing the exact opposite of what I have the potential to do. Where I have the potential to scale Everest, I decide to shock everyone and opt to climb Mount McKay (and then give up half way) – by the way, this is a metaphor, and I will likely never actually climb Everest - or Mount McKay. I don’t know where or why I developed this quality – it’s like I woke up one day and realized that I was tired of being predictable, or grew tired of having expectations placed on me. In Banbury a friend of mine said, “L*anne…I expect that you are going to stay in England for a long time.” I heard that…and it kept going over and over in my head. Expectation…oops…can't have that. That same friend predicted that I would stay in London indefinitely.....Somewhere along the way I found safety in failing.

I came back to Thunder Bay with the full intention of going back to London. Then something bizarre happened over Christmas – I lost my desire. I would actually rather stay in Thunder Bay than ever go back. It began to occur to me that I wasn’t sure if I could put myself back through England and the upheaval. Stagnating in my complacency.

A couple of nights ago I downloaded the pilot episode of “Being Erica”, a new television show on the CBC. The main character is 32 years old, educated, and full of potential. She can’t commit to a decent job, future, man, anything…has made a series of bad decisions that have ultimately sealed her fate as a “loser”, defying the expectations of those around her. I could barely watch it – and I’m sure I don’t have to explain why. But in case you aren’t up to speed; I see myself in that character. She is given the opportunity to go back and fix the mistakes she made; I won’t get to that. I did kind of like the idea of listing all of the mistakes she made though…I could do that…where to start….ok that’s a blog entry all unto itself…

So here is where I am (outside of the physical moment). I have been offered a job with a new agency. Yes, the “dream” agency….to go back to London in a little over a week. It comes with the opportunity for housing (less stress!!)…with a more guaranteed work scheme…a six month contract….a six month contract…sh*t…commitment…I don’t do commitment. Oh yes, its inevitable; I have to commit to something; there comes a point in a person’s life that they have to face adulthood and commit to creating a financially secure future. 30 is knocking on my backdoor, and I feel that I might be at the stage where I might actually have to commit to something. I don’t commit though – I’ve been seeing a man for some time now, I don’t know how long exactly, because neither of us commit but neither of us is trying to see someone else. I just don’t commit. To anything. Seeing a contract makes me shudder…having to sign one makes me heave.

There are other issues at play here – I have to go and I hate that. I would love to make this decision free of debt, and already living in a city ripe with jobs. But when there are no other options, and your financial life is suffocating you, it becomes necessary to take the opportunities that are presented to you. And I hate it. Feeling forced to return to London is shattering me. I would love the stress free experience, but it is just not going to be that way. I made my bed, now I must lay in it.

Then you start to go back to all of those decisions that ultimately led you to this moment in your life. And to the moment that you realized you were stagnating in your comfort. And then you suffocate a little more.

I have been told, six months is not that long. And it’s not. Until you face reality and anxiety replaces the old comfort. Each day can become a struggle, and every moment becomes a lifetime. Let’s face it – its not really six months, is it? I’m in debt…there are no jobs here…it’s not just six months. Live one day at a time. That is virtually impossible, when life is looming over you. So what am I saying then? Pretty much that I’m stuck in the same sh*t, different pile. Now if you don’t mind, I must go buy some sheets for my bed; if I have to lay in it, I want 400 thread count percale.