100 Reasons Being Fat Sucks 11-20

#11 - Scarlet Fever - Steps aren't so bad when compared to a long walk or half hearted run. Your face isn't so used to all of the physical exertion and turns beet red. With little white lines running through it. Think it sounds weird? It looks even worse. And it stays that way. For a long time.

#12 - Sweatin' to the Fatties - Running, walking, shaving your legs in the shower, all causes for your sweat glands to send forth a gush of smelly liquid that renders the shower you just took useless. Basically you reek of B.O., but at least your legs are clean-shaven.

#13 - Nicki Got a Big Ol' Butt, Oh Yeah - Not just a big butt, but a butt grossly out of proportion with the rest of your body, like you're standing in front of a funhouse mirror. *BLOOP!*

#14 - Ooo Baby Baby - It's not as big as your butt, your stomach is still quite noticeable. You look like you're seven or eight months pregnant, so you try to find shirts that are long and flare out. You know, like maternity tops. Which only makes the whole pregnancy thing worse.

#15 - Paging Dr. Fixit - Surgery. You want to have breast reduction surgery, but can't justify getting that done before the ear surgery you need. But you know that with obesity comes higher risks with anethesia, so you put it off. But it's not so bad - not being able to hear out of one ear makes it easier to ignore people.

#16 - Jiggle Jiggle Jello Plop! - There are things that are supposed to move during sex, and things that aren't. When the things that aren't start bouncing around like they're on a trampoline, it kind of takes away from the moment. Especially when your mind is screaming, "OH MY GOD, WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING TO MAKE THAT MOVE LIKE THAT, STOP!!! OH MY GOD!!! STOP!!!"

#17 - Put Your Best Foot Forward - When you gain weight, you gain it everywhere. Including your feet. So those awesome suede shoes you love and wait all year to wear have to stay in the closet, looking oh so pretty, and oh so lonely. And those knee-length boots that make your mouth water? Forget it. Thanks to calves as big as, well, baby cows, and your cankles, THAT ain't gonna happen.

#18 - Well Ain't That the Sh*t - There are pills out there designed to keep your body from absorbing fat, and they work. The fat goes right through your system and out your tookas. Taking everything it can with it. At inopportune times. Without notice. When my doctor asked once if I wanted prescription diet pills, I said, "Thanks, but the idea of pooping my pants doesn't appeal to me." He said, "It depends on how desperate you are." Yeah, desperate because my undies don't just have skidmarks, they have landslides. Pass!

#19 - You CAN Take It With You - Another little warning about chairs. You know you can't fit in the stadium chairs, but know even if you can fit IN a chair with arms, doesn't mean you can get OUT of it. So when you stand up, in front of a room full of people at a candle party, you'll find you have a chair attached to your giant ass. Sure, you can sit down quickly and pray nobody noticed, but you can tell by the looks of horror, by the looks that scream, "Oh thank GOD that's not me," that everyone did.

#20 - We'll Cross That Bridge... Or Maybe Not - You can't cross your legs. You can TRY, but you won't make it past your knee. You can force it over the other leg, but it'll go sliding off like butter on a hot potato. So there's no sitting demurely anymore for you. You can cross your cankles, though. There's always your cankles.

Week 4: The Truth Hurts, and Not Just Me

Weigh In: 341.8 lbs

My boyfriend loves me.  No matter how big or how small or whatever I look like, he loves me just the same.  I know this.  He's known me both thin and fat, and he's always treated me the same.  He loves me for me, and I love him for that. He treats me like he would treat anyone else in every situation, so it's easy to forget I'm not like most people and I can't always do what most people can.

Case in point, we went to the carnival this week with a friend.  I'm not exactly comfortable on rides at the big amusement parks without a couple of Xanax, even though they're checked for safety again and again and again, for fear they'll become derailed.  I'm terrified of carnival rides.  I go on them anyway, trying to pick the least dangerous.

The first ride we got on was one where you rock the car back and forth so it spins and flips and turns upside down.  I got in first and the car immediately dropped and my back was parallel to the ground.  I pictured the guys on the other side, spending the entire time facing downward towards me because they wouldn't be able to manipulate the car because of my weight.  There were no lap bars or anything else to hold them in place.  I freaked out, got out of the car, and got my tickets back.

Next, we went on The Hurricane.  That was a ride I could handle - the cars go around and lift up and fall down fairly gently.  I sat on the outside of the seat, and tried to pull the lap bar down on my legs. I had to lift my belly over the bar, and no matter how much I stretched out, I couldn't get the bar to click in place.

The man running the ride went around, came to us and said, "I don't know if you're going to be able to ride this.  I have to push the bar down, and I don't want to hurt you."  I assured him I was fine, and he was finally able to get the bar to click in place.  He told me to keep my hands on the bar in case in came loose, so I could push it back down.

The ride started spinning, slowly at first, then faster and faster.  At full speed, all of the weight of myself and my boyfriend was pinning me against the side of the car.  I was squished down by the bar and squished to the side, too.  This is SO!! MUCH!! FUN!!

I say that because I was horrified at that point.  With all the weight shifting towards the outside of the car, I felt my belly slide over first.  Separate from my body - just my belly - slid across the lap bar.  I was mortified.  I'm sure nobody saw, and nobody noticed, but I did.  And my knowing was more than enough.

We got off the ride and I was thrilled to be free of the pressure of the lap bar.  While I said it didn't hurt, it did, and it hurt like a bitch.  I started bugging the guys to go on the ferris wheel, my favorite ride.

We stood in line for a good 20-30 minutes while they loaded and unloaded people.  I made eye contact with the ride operator several times.  When it was our turn, our friend hopped up on a car, and we moved forward.  As we did, the operator moved towards us, with his hand out, blocking me, and said, "You can't get on."

I immediately knew why, and while I was disheartened, I moved to the side.  My boyfriend asked why I couldn't get on, and the operator said in a rude tone, "There are weight restrictions.  She can't ride this."  My boyfriend contested, and the exchange started to get heated.  At that point, it wasn't about me being too big for the ride, it was about the crude way the situation had been handled.  After all, he saw me in line, and got a full view of my body, yet let me stand there, waiting for my turn, without saying anything.  The operator told my boyfriend if he had a problem with it, he could take it up with management, and without telling me where he was going, he did.

We left and I realized that my weight causes issues that affect other people besides myself.  I wanted to shrink away, hoping nobody heard him turn me away, but my boyfriend wanted me to have the same respect everyone else was given.  He stood up where I couldn't, and did it because he loves me and doesn't want to see me treated that way.

That's the way life is, though.  People are scared of what they don't know, and seeing a large person makes you wonder if you could ever get that large yourself and if you'd be able to lose it if you did.  I'm scared of women heavier than me.  I'll admit it.  Every pound I gain brings me one pound closer to a weight I'll swear I'll never see.  Eventually, though, I do.  And I'm crushed more and more every time.

One of my goals in this journey is to get to a weight where I can go on rides like that with no problem, and enjoy the day at my favorite amusement park (after a couple of Xanax, of course.  After all, accidents still happen every now and then).  That's something that I've missed keenly and want back badly.

Another goal is to be the person I was when I first met my boyfriend.  Not because I think that's what he wants.  I want it.  I want people to look at me and say, "Wow!  Check her out!" and I'll be able to say, "Oops, sorry!  I'm going home with *this guy*, because he loved me when nobody else would."  Is that so wrong?  I don't think so.

In any case, treadmill update:  my boyfriend had someone come over and assemble the treadmill in the living room, only to find it's too big to fit down the hallway into the guest room.  So it needs to be taken apart and reassembled.  Again.  I'm working on that, and my foot is feeling better and better every day.  It's quite stiff from favoring it and moving as little as I possibly could for so long, but that will subside with activity.  I got a TV and DVD player off of freecycle for that room, and I definitely think we're on the road to somewhere now!

Week 3: A Loyal Companion

Weigh In:  347.4 lbs

My foot's still screwed up, so I couldn't do anything.  That, coupled with the fact I am now completely unemployed, and I was a little depressed.  I ate a pint of rice pudding in one sitting.  Not nearly as bad as my boyfriends Ben & Jerry, but not good, either.  Comfort eating is BAD, and is absolutely the hardest thing I've ever tried to overcome.

I never had an issue with eating food for comfort until I moved to Florida.  I didn't have any friends, no family close by, and I didn't know my way around the area.  Everything about my life had changed, except for one thing:  food.

Starbursts tasted the same.  I would buy a bag, not just a pack, but a bag, and eat them throughout the day.  The taste was familiar, and that comforted me.  All of the fast food joints had food that tasted the same.  The start of Comfort Eating had begun.

Sodas were stocked in the refrigerator at work for employees for free.  Sodas tasted like they did in Maryland.  I'd have a sip, associate it with something back home, and it would make me feel better.  But I would drink 3, 4, sometimes 5 sodas a day.  On really bad days, I'd have 6.  And a bag of Starbursts.  Every. Single. Day.  My clothes were starting to get a little tight and then another type of eating habit entered the picture:  Stress Eating.

When I'm under a lot of stress, I grind my teeth at night while I'm sleeping.  In Florida, I started doing it during the day.  Around the clock.  While I didn't grind them as hard awake as I did in my sleep, it was still bad.  I started craving hard food.  Something that I could break down with my teeth.  When it was all mush, I'd feel like I had accomplished something.  I craved chewy food.  Something that I had to chew for a long period of time before I swallowed it that mimicked grinding.  I had to keep my jaw moving and the easiest way to do that was to keep eating.  Then came Guilt & Binge Eating.

I didn't have a support system.  I only had my boyfriend.  He was taught his health habits by his father, who was very strict.  I "couldn't" have this, I "couldn't" eat that.  All that did was make me want it more, and since I didn't know when I'd be able to eat it again, I would eat a lot of it when I had the opportunity.

That's when I started eating whole pints of ice cream.  Starting with Haagen Daaz's limited time flavor, Bailey's Irish Cream.  I liked ice cream before, but now I craved it.  It tasted so cold and smooth, so sweet and rich.  But I couldn't get caught eating it.  I had to throw away the wrapping and packaging somewhere other than home.  I had to hide it.

Then there were things that didn't make sense.  The ex didn't want me to have to cook, so we'd go out for dinner, every night.  And as long as we were eating out, I was 'allowed' to order whatever I wanted without having to listen to him chastise me.  So I did.  I ordered the 'good' stuff.  The stuff that was rich and made me feel whole, that filled in that empty spot in my life.  Hunger and stress affect my stomach the same way, so eating felt like relaxing... until I couldn't button my pants any longer.

But that was just the start.  There's far more to come.

Week 2: Getting Off on the Wrong Foot

Weigh in:  Who knows

I didn't change my diet or start exercising.  I finally figured my foot was well enough to start exercising, though.  I was going to put the treadmill together yesterday, but *surprise!* the boyfriend brought someone over to do it for me before I could.  Good thing - it's together.  Bad thing - it won't fit down the hall so I can put it in the guest bedroom.  The console and handlebars are too wide.  Soooo, I have to take it apart, move it, then put it back together.  They get an A for effort, though!

So we were going to be off to such a great start this week, but guess what happened yesterday just HOURS after they finished setting up the treadmill!  I walked outside to get in my car, but when I got to the last step, my foot landed funny and twisted under my full weight.  My bad foot.  I shouted to the Gods, "You have GOT to be freaking KIDDING me!!!"  So, while it's not as bad as the last time I twisted it, it swelled up again and hurts like a b*tch, so I have to wear the brace and postpone the walking.  Not so happy about that.  Next week is another try...

Week 1: Starting Over... Again

Week 1:  Initial Weigh in - 350 lbs

OK, I'm exaggerating.  349.4 lbs, to be exact.  Jeez.  How did I get here?  I want to weigh 150, so that's 200 lbs I have to lose.  I suppose that doesn't matter if I can get back 'there', where I'm thin.  Or 'curvy'.  Or 'athletic'.  Or at least 'healthy'.

I say 'healthy' like that because even at my weight, I don't have a lot of medical problems.  Blood pressure's fine, no diabetes, liver's fine (ok, maybe that's the booze talking, but it's fine).  The last time I went to my ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat Dr), he gave me a rash of crap over my weight and told me I had to do a sleep study.  He said, "The acid reflux?  That won't do you in.  The sleep apnea?  That will do you in."  So I did the study.

Months went by after my 3 nights of torture, and I hadn't heard from the doctor.  I called and I have mild sleep apnea.  No need to see the Doc.  I'm healthy THERE, too.  HA!!

I laugh and point when someone says my weight is making me unhealthy and I test otherwise.  I throw it in their face that my body can handle it, but it's wearing me down.

I was walking down my aunt's steps, behind my grandmother, and heard the creaking of the stairs.  Old stairs, and both of us are larger women  That'll do it, right?  When I was leaving the house and walked down the concrete step, I heard the same noise.  Concrete doesn't squeak.  It was my knees.  They were singing out, or groaning, rather, that I was putting all that weight on one of them, for however short a period of time, and they didn't like it.

So that brings us back here, yet again.  I am going to try and lose weight.  Again.  I have a plan.  I have an arsenal.  This time will be different.  I tell myself that every time, but I'm going to try again.  And that's what really counts, right?

100 Reasons Being Fat Sucks 1-10

I think I'll rerun this as well as put some new ones up, since it helps to remind me why I want to lose weight.

In no particular order:

#1 - Monster Boobs and the Fight for Freedom - Yeah, you'd think you'd like big boobs and all, but when you wear a button front shirt, your boobs try to bust out of your shirt like pre-pubescent girls at a New Kids concert fighting to get through security. It's a blast when a button pops off at your nephew's t-ball game and you're trying in vain to hold the shirt together, knowing the whole time the parents of the other kids are thinking, "Hussy."

#2 - Stair-Stepping and Popping Knees - For your knees, going down stairs is like going down on a drunk frat boy - you think it's never going to end and you're wondering if it's even worth it.

#3 - Boy Scouts and Thunder Thighs - Your thighs rub together everywhere you walk. You try to pick 'quiet' fabrics, but even those have their issues. I'm waiting for the day I'm wearing cords and I start a fire right under my crotch.

#4 - Match and Match Alike - Fat girls aren't allowed to have matching bra and panty sets. Sometimes you can fake something, but even then it's almost impossible to match it to an outfit. It seriously compromises your ability to obtain some sexy times since we all know guys are all worried about whether or not you match.

#5 - Cankles - You say they're a side effect of medication, but they're really pockets of fat that slid down from your ass cheeks.

#6 - Exes and Shoe Racks - You're shopping, then notice an ex over in the men's department. You quickly hide behind the shoe racks and spy on him, huddled over and peeking through the shelves until he leaves, because you can't let him see you fat.

#7 - Don't Take Me Out to the Ballgame - Even though nobody's scoring and everybody's striking out, sitting on the edge of the seat just means you're excited about the game - not that your fat ass won't fit in it. Which is doesn't.

#8 - Take My Breath Away - Think going down stairs is bad? Try going up a flight. Your lungs won't be able to thank you. They won't be able to do anything.

#9 - Weight of the World on Your Shoulders - Trenches. You have them on your shoulders. Dips, where the fat and tissue has been pulled down constantly from bra straps. Holding up those puppies isn't an easy task, even though you buy the bras with the wide straps. It distributes the weight in some form, but more than that just gives you a wider trench. Bowling balls probably weigh less.

#10 - Giving Them the Slip - If you're lucky, you'll be larger than the largest bras they carry in the stores. You can go to a specialty place, but you won't be able to find anything cute. More like harnesses in white and beige. So instead, you buy these nifty little 'extenders' you put on the bra to make the bust size wider. Only it screws up where the straps fall, and they keep sliding off your shoulders. It may look good on the vixens on the cover of romance novels, but not so much on a Big Girl.