Tag Archives: weight

1st Goal Weight Met!

I finally hit my 1st goal weight. I set 160 as my goal weight on my FitBit way back in 2013 when I first got the device. It’s crazy to think how close I was in 2014 to my goal, just 9 pounds away, when I gave up and packed the weight back on over the course of a year or so.

Today when I stepped on the scale I was really overcome with emotion, it read 160.0, a weight I just assumed I’d never be able to reach. It’s not easy losing weight, except that it’s incredibly easy if you focus on it daily. By changing the way I eat and how I view food I’ve managed to lose 42 pounds (and let’s be honest it’s likely I lost closer to 50, I really should have weighed myself that first week we started keto).

I’ve gone on the occasional walk but as far as working out I’ve done very little of it. My previous weight loss attempts always included killing myself at a gym, but not this time. It’s so much easier for me to just say no to food and wait for cheat weekends (and complain) than it was for me to do low calorie + gym. I’ve lasted at least 6 months longer doing keto than I have doing any other weight loss regimes. So, 160 is a huge SV for me and I can’t wait to get into the 150s.

But things other than the scale are prompting me to continue on keto too. NSV’s are awesome. I put on my bathing suit a few days ago and it’s actually loose. All my coats are now quite big on me, even my Fall jacket from a few months ago seems maybe too big to wear for Spring. I’d love to say I’ve always been happy about my body but the more weight I lose the more I realize I wasn’t. I kinda like looking in the mirror now, and I’m not afraid of trying on clothes. Those are really big deals; bigger even than what the scale tells me.

I know I have around 20 more pounds to lose, and even then I might want to lose more, but I can see it now. I’m going to accomplish it. I just need to do it a day at a time and keep keto-ing and keep scheduling my meals and keep having planned cheat weekends to look forward to. I’ll get there, like I’ll for real get there. It’s sorta just dawning on me now and I’m really enjoying the feeling.

Stay The Keto Course

Sometimes I think keto isn’t working. I’ve been at this nearly 10 months now and I’m down around 40 pounds but for the last 2 months I haven’t lost a damn thing. Obviously I want to blame keto because it’s the easiest thing to blame but when I really thought about it this past weekend I realized it’s not keto’s fault I’m not losing weight like I was, it’s my own fault.

Once you lose a bunch of weight it’s so easy to slip back into old habits, so even though I haven’t been cheating on keto I haven’t been giving it 100%. Too much protein and too many calories are still something I need to be thinking about daily. This week I gave up diet pop and have been logging my food on MFP. I’ve been going for walks but I’d also like to get back into some sort of fitness, I’m thinking WiiFit. Back to basics. I still have a long way to go to losing all the weight I want but I haven’t gained in 2 months and that’s pretty great. I’m going to stay the keto course and see how well I do in the coming 9 weeks as I circle in to my 1 year keto-versary!

Back! Update!

I took 5 days off of working out because I had this really bizarre flu/allergies/sinus infection/cold crop up last week. I was going to try and ignore it but Sam told me I shouldn’t push through something like that just to work out a few extra days so I didn’t. I slept. My muscles feel great. I think I forgot I really needed a rest and that 30 days of strength work outs in a row is insane. I didn’t want to take off 5 days, I was only going to take off 2 but every time I laughed I had a 15 minute coughing attack so I was pretty sure all of Jillian’s hilarious jokes were going to send me into an arrhythmia. I’m going back to the Shred tonight and will do it for the next 7 days. After that I want to go into a real routine. 1 day strength, 1 day cardio, 1 day strength, 1 day cardio, rest day.


I need to work on my diet. I don’t want to call it a diet, though, I just want to start making better choices. It’s all great and fine to work out all the time but without paying attention to the food I’m eating I’m not going to lose any amount of weight. I know I’ve lost inches, my pants are so loose right now they’re kinda falling off when I stand up, but my shirts still feel tight. In Sudbury over the weekend my Dad noticed that I’d lost weight. It’s nice to hear that everything I’m trying to do hasn’t gone completely unnoticed. I actually haven’t lost any weight at all but I guess losing inches might be better than losing weight.

Sam assures me if I up my water intake and start doing rest days I’ll definitely see results.

I decided against the Fitbit for right now. Partly because I feel really guilty I didn’t accomplish 30 days in a row and partly because it doesn’t sync with my Android phone yet. Once it sync’s and has all the iOs capabilities I’ll probably want to get one.

In way cooler news, I am super pumped about helping to organize my sister-in-law to be Chantale’s wedding shower in June. I have so many ideas I had to start a Pinterest board for them. I should have gone into party planning. I bet it’s not too late! We’ll see how this goes first, maybe, before I consider uprooting my pimpin’ lifestyle and going into a career that might make me less money than Arts Graduate.


Fat Shaming

I have a hard time accepting people are OK being fat, most likely because I’m not OK with it for myself. This morning I read some articles about being fat and owning it. I won’t bother linking to them as none were particularly well written, but the message was interesting enough. Own your body, being fat isn’t the worst thing in the world, don’t worry about the looks people give you in the grocery store when they see what’s in your cart. All decent enough. But while I was reading I still had this nagging feeling. I don’t want to be fat. I’m sure some people are totally cool with it and I commend them. I wish I felt right in my own skin, I don’t. But why don’t I? Why does having a couple extra pounds bother me to this degree? Why does it make me cry every couple of months? Why can’t I like what I look like? I’m really not sure. Is it because I’ve succumb to the media’s portrayal of what healthy and attractive looks like? Is it because I want to shop in the petite section of stores? Is it because I want to be stronger, fitter, more productive. Wait, for a minute there I lost myself.

The point is, I’m really not sure why I don’t want to be fat. But I really don’t want to be fat. I’ve never wanted to be fat. Do people start off thinking “I hope I weigh over 200 pounds, then I’ll feel really great about myself?” or does it just happen naturally over the years and then you talk yourself into liking how you look no matter what? I’m just not sure. All I know is that I am fat right now and I’m sad about it. Not so sad that I’m going to gain more weight, but sad enough that I started a blog and have worked out 10 days in a row.

Have I always felt “too fat”? I think so. Now, that’s not to say some days I don’t look at myself and think “Meh, you’re not that bad!” but the majority of the time I’m thinking “Stomach fat, stomach fat, stomach fat, suck it in.” As far back as grade 6 I can remembering thinking about how fat I was compared to everyone else in my class. No one has ever fat shamed me or made me feel bad about what I was eating, or how I wasn’t working out. I’ve never been called fat by anyone but myself, and only one time (after my grandmother had knee surgery to replace both knees and was really loopy on drugs) has anyone ever told me I might need to consider losing some weight. I fat shame myself more than anyone could ever fat shame me. I probably wouldn’t even notice if someone else was commenting about my weight negatively because I do it to myself so often it’s become second nature. I’ve got to stop. There is nothing wrong with how I look. I am healthy, I dress relatively well, I care about personal hygiene, I am happy. And yet. Ugh. I’m still worried that all people can see if one big fat roll. I cringe when I’m out with Dave. I wonder if people think “Why is that super fox out with that fat chick?” I hate going in to clothing stores because I know the things I would like to buy are going to have to be XL’s and the cute coats and nice pants are likely not going to be in my size at all. Fat, fat, fat.

Why is fat a dirty word? If someone were to say “Hey, do you know that blonde girl?” or “Do you know that guy, the one who smokes?” what’s the difference if they were instead refereed to as the fat, blonde girl or the fat, smoking guy? If I stop thinking fat is an insult and instead start thinking of it as just another descriptive word, will I finally stop fat shaming myself? I don’t know when being fat stopped being acceptable or when I stopped thinking being slightly overweight (another terrible term) wasn’t allowed, but I’m tired of being upset at how I see myself. I might not be thin, but there’s nothing wrong with me. This is mostly mental, I’m starting to realize. Am I still going to try and lose some weight? Yes. Am I going to stop fat shaming myself when I look in the mirror? I really hope so. I am fat. Next question?

2013-02-07 10.23.18


Dave and I have known each other for almost 4 years now. We met online in 2009 and I liked him instantly. Of course that meant I had to ignore him every chance I got because I was kinda dumb about being in like with someone at that time. One of the first conversations I can remember having with him was about weight. He had mentioned something about how he was so skinny a few years earlier and how he had recently put on weight. Even though I was working out quite frequently at this point, first picI still didn’t like to know how much I weighed, and this conversation was hitting much too close to home. I signed off MSN in the middle of him telling me about his weight stuff like a weirdo and acted like we hadn’t just been chatting pleasantly. Dave remembers this happening too, sometimes we talk about it and why I just left the convo without so much as a good-bye.

Weight bothered me. I didn’t want him to know how much I weighed and I certainly didn’t want him to see me in person. I figured the longer we talked about weight the more of a chance there would be that he would ascertain mine and we wouldn’t be friends any more. I realize this sounds kind of insane, but when you’ve been overweight nearly your entire life you develop this sort of mentality. weddingOn my POF profile I put that I had “a little something extra” in the Weight category but I still wasn’t confident this would be enough to ensure potential suitors would understand that I was a fatty. Dave and I eventually met and I was smitten. A few months later I emailed him this ridiculous letter about how neat he was and how much I wanted to like him for realsies. I was so cool about the entire thing, I bet.

We started to date and 3 years to the day we kissed, we got married. Dave gained 20 pounds in those 3 years we were together. He has never had to deal with being overweight in his life and I think he is just now starting to realize how depressing it is not to fit into your pants properly, or have your shirt come up over your stomach when you sit down. Dave has already lost the 20 relationship pounds he gained and is back to being his slim and trim self. I, on the other hand, have to work out every day and watch what I eat, probably for the rest of my life. I try not to begrudge him the success of being able to not work out and manage to lose weight just by cutting out carbs for 2 months, but the fact is I’m a bit peeved. It’s no fun when you’re the one who has to devote an hour a day to working out just so that in 1 month you can lose maybe 4 pounds.

I love my (lab) partner to bits but sometimes I worry he doesn’t really understand the kind of toll thinking about weight all day, every day takes on a person. I’m proud of his accomplishments in losing 20 pounds but seeing him step on the scale every morning, and sometimes at night, makes me wince, thinking about how much more I weigh than him. 10319_179235385551_3326832_nDave would never mention it though, he doesn’t look at me and see a short tubby chick who accidentally steps on his toes every day. Instead he looks at me like a guy in love with a girl, not worried about how she has 15 pounds on him. I know I’m going to struggle with weight until the day I die, but at least I’ll have Dave around to keep me company and make sure I never get too down about it. I found a really cool spouse. Regardless of if it takes me 2 years or 20 to lose all the weight I want, I know he’s going to be there, standing so close I literally step on his toes.

The Scale

I really f’ing hate my scale. I know that I should focus more on how clothes fit and how I feel but every morning (and some nights) I jump* on the scale and get extremely down. I’ve taken to not wearing my glasses when I weigh myself, something about not being confronted with the number until I choose to be is helpful. I know getting the weight I want off is going to be a long process. Whenever I go up in weight any amount I get so frustrated. 1/3 of a pound sets me back mentally for days. I hate knowing that somewhere in my body more weight has taken up residence and likely thinks it’s pretty cozy in there. I wonder if I gained it in my arm, my gut, my thigh? I scrutinize myself in a mirror (when I’m bold enough to even look in a mirror) wondering where that fat deposit was, well, deposited and how long it’ll take me to remove it. Being overweight means constantly avoiding looking at yourself directly. I’ve gotten really good at not walking by mirrors. It’s a weird talent I’ve picked up that I don’t particularly like having.

So in February I’m not going to step on the scale. I’ll write down my measurements and my weight on January 31st and on March 1st I’ll take them all again to see how I did. I’m not holding my breath, but I’m also not going to shackle my mood to the number on a scale.

scale(I’d be thrilled with this #)

*Because I’m trying to shatter the thing.

foooooooooooood :(

I read somewhere that losing weight is 30% working out and 70% watching what you eat. I really fucking hope that’s incorrect. Most days I work out so I can eat whatever I want and not feel guilty about it. Let’s work backwards and take a snapshot of What Steph Ate In The Last 7 Days:

  • Monday I ate a pulled pork slider and 3 pieces of home made bread.
  • Sunday I ate pork Hamburger Helper and 1 piece of cheesecake.
  • Saturday I ate cheesecake, spring rolls, pasta and a weird lobster/avocado salad that was kinda gross.
  • Friday I ate basically a whole cherry cheesecake and imitation KD.
  • Thursday I ate Indian buffet, French onion soup and chicken parm with gnocchi.
  • Wednesday I ate pizza, rice balls and 1 piece of KFC chicken.
  • Tuesday I ate a Philly cheesesteak sandwich and a chicken shawarma.

Looking at this written out makes me want to run and hide. This snapshot is a pretty accurate example of how maybe I don’t exactly have the best relationship with food. Growing up Italian is a blessing and a curse. My grandmother sure could cook and boy, I sure could eat. She would make soup pretty much daily and you could always count on finding spinach pizza, risotto, fish or pasta in her fridge. There were always fresh cold cuts and buns to make a sandwich with, and I was never told No. Food is a really big comfort for me. It reminds me of all those times in all those family kitchens that I don’t get any more.

My grandmother has been in a nursing home for many years now and hasn’t been able to cook in quite some time. When I eat a really good pasta fagioli soup I feel close to her, as weird as that sounds. When I eat a toasted cold cut sandwich with potato chips on the side, I feel close to Ron, my step-dad. When I eat deer sausage, I feel close to my Dad. When I eat a really good dessert, I feel close to my Mom. Since I moved to Mississauga and away from my family 2 years ago I think I’ve accidentally used food as a way to stay connected. Whether subconsciously or not, my Mom and I ask each other what we ate every day. I never thought anything of this until Dave told me it was a bizarre practice. What did it matter what we ate? I’m really not sure, but now whenever someone brings up food I’m a bit more cautious about the topic. Do I think my family inadvertently plumped me up? No. Do I think I should have been more responsible and not focused primarily on what I was going to eat next? Yes. Am I trying to make good decisions now? I don’t really know. Some weeks I’m really great, and some weeks, as evidenced by last week, I’m really crummy at making good decisions.

Food is a constant struggle for me, and likely always will be. My Pinterest has basically 2 boards: Food and Crafts. And let me tell you, Crafts was a pretty recent addition. Being more aware of what I’m eating is really the only way I’m going to be able to change how I view food and part of me really doesn’t want to let go how food shapes my mood but I figure the only way I’m going to actually hit my goal of losing at least 50 pounds is if I change how I eat and why I’m eating it. Dave always says “Food is just fuel, you use it to be able to do other things.” But Dave didn’t grow up in an Italian household and he’s never had a really great cacciatore, so while I’ll never cut out breads and pastas and cheese entirely I can at least try to be more aware of what food is supposed to be and how to take it one day, and meal, at a time.

me and nan (Me and Nana, 2012) ital food (Yum.)

Weight (Loss) – Maybe Too Honest of a Post for Day 2

I stepped on the scale this morning for the first time in a few weeks. While I haven’t gained in the short time I stopped eating well, I haven’t lost either. I’m really great at starting something and then not following through. I can probably recite in chronological order all the times I’ve lost a whole bunch of weight only to give up at some point and gain it all back. I was the kid who played soccer for 8 years but you’d never have known it to look at me. My parents wanted me to be more active so they enrolled me year after year in soccer, and then spent the whole summer begging me to go to the games. I spent most of my time standing at the back of the team, hoping no one would notice I hadn’t played. Not only was I terrible but my team was really fucking great.  When I moved out of my parents house I had 7 championship trophies to throw out. How embarrassing is that? If you had seen those trophies you’d have thought I must have been a star athlete, but you’d have been wrong.

It’s not that I was terrible at being active, I was just terrible at wanting to be active. I really love swimming, and I’m pretty good at it. But you’d never catch me trying out for a swim team. Have you ever been really smelly at something while everyone around you is really awesome at it? Trust me, it doesn’t exactly inspire you to try harder, it just inspires you to crouch down lower in the back of the group.  I have this really vivid memory of being in goal once and the ball came to me and I made a save. The guy on defence had to run back and tell me to kick it up the field because I was in shock that I hadn’t let the ball in. Kicking it back seemed like such a funny joke to me. You want me to kick the ball I literally just caught? Haven’t I done enough?! What more do these people want from me! So I stood for what seemed like an eternity, trying to muster up the courage to kick a dumb ball the correct direction. Eventually I booted it and the guy on defence yelled “Nice!” I’ve always appreciated how much he tried to make me feel like I had really contributed that day, but looking back I can’t help but wonder if he was incredibly frustrated and shouting “Nice” was not his way of instilling confidence but instead his way of proclaiming “Nice, she didn’t screw up, whew.” Either way I’m scarred from that brief sports moment when all eyes were on me (and my weight). But I digress.

Circa 2005 I had just ended a really long relationship and was feeling pretty down. I tipped the scale at an embarrassing 217 pounds. I didn’t look good, I didn’t feel good. The last gift I had received from my ex a few weeks before our break up was a membership to the gym (which I had asked for). So I started to go. I went every day before work and started to see some progress. A few months in I stepped on the scale again and was pleasantly surprised that I had lost 17 pounds for my effort. I had a long way to go but seeing results was such a great feeling. For the next few years I would fluctuate between 172 and 194, terrified to go back into the 200’s. When I met my husband I was in really good shape and I was eating practically nothing. I was never hungry. But being in a relationship means dinners and dinners and breakfasts and lunches and more dinners. And I packed on the weight again over the first 2 years of our relationship. In 2011 I started to do something about my weight (again) and was seeing a lot of progress (again). Over 3 months I lost 20 pounds and was really beginning to feel great in clothes. Then I all but gave up when I hit a road block and for the subsequent year gained back the 20 pounds I had worked so hard to take off. At the end of 2012 my husband decided he wanted to do something about his weight, he had gained the “happiness weight” as well and was not used to being “fat.” We watched what we ate for 2 months and he got back down to what we were pre-dating while I managed to take off 10 pounds.

I started this blog because this is normally where I would have given up and slowly over a year gained the weight back again. I’m tired of losing/gaining/crying and then losing/gaining/crying. The thing that makes this time (hopefully) different is that I’ve admitted to myself that I am overweight and that it isn’t a bad thing, not necessarily. I have been dealing with weight my entire life. The way to stay accountable is not with a scale or having someone tell me not to eat something while it’s in my hands, it’s by documenting what works and what doesn’t work. I’m going to eat some really great terrible meals. I’m going to have days where I don’t work out and instead lay around, watching Vampire Diaries for 12 hours. I’m going to feel really bad about myself, and I bet I’m even going to cry sometimes. But I’m also going to remember that I can change if I want to. I can go to the gym if I want to. I can eat salad if I want to. It’s about balance. Without the days where I feel absolutely miserable, I won’t have the days where I feel absolutely wonderful. I know this sounds so self-help-y, but maybe all I need to do is help myself.

I’m never going to be the kind of active where I join a soccer team, but maybe I can be the kind of active that every once in a while I can look in the mirror, say “Nice!” and really mean it.