Welcome to the Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl 5th Anniversary Spectacular!
On Monday 15 January 2001, I put down my family-sized chocolate bar and hauled my hefty bulk onto a scale in Canberra. The earth gently trembled and my wacky adventures began.
I know everyone is tired of reflections after New Years, but I couldn’t let the anniversary of the world’s slowest weight loss journey go by without commemoration. Five years of relatively dedicated Lard Busting! Five years of relatively dedicated writing about it!
(And lest anyone think I am just indulgently rehashing past glories, let me assure you the fat fighting efforts continue in the present. I lost 0.7kg [1.5lb] this week and all is going nicely.)
So hereby I declare this week the official Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl 5th Anniversary Spectacular Week. Catchy, innit. First we’ll be Vaseline-ing the lens to take a fond look at the past five years. I’ll then briefly waffle about Things I Have Learned, before finishing up with a HILarious collection of photographs on Thursday.
. . .
Today it’s all about 2001.
Dedicated geeks may recall that Dietgirl actually started in October 2000 on Blogspot, when I embarked on a weight loss venture code-named This Time For Sure. But it proved to be rather half-hearted. When I didn’t see progress on the scales I gave up in a huff, and instead devoted three months to gaining more weight.
It wasn’t til I joined Weight Watchers on January 15 that I realised that my efforts may not necessarily been as crap as thought – I was so heavy that I exceeded the capacity for my normal bathroom scales by a good thirty kilos. The numbers hasn’t changed because I was well off the dial!
I will never forget that night I joined WW. Every time I read that old entry it makes me want to honk great tears. All the humiliation and anger and hopelessness come flooding back. I remember how they had to fetch the Extra Weight to hang on the clunky old fashioned scale so it would be big enough to weigh me. It took them ten minutes to find it, because they’d never needed it before. It was buried under a pile of old cookbooks in the cupboard.
Then after another ten minutes debating how you actually attached the weight, the scale now could handle all the way up to 160 kilos. So I hopped on, clang bang clash, and weighed in at… 159.2. That’s 351 pounds to the unmetrical.
Bloody hell. I remember thinking later on, how the fuck could anyone weigh so much? How did that happen?! I wasn’t just two people stapled together, I was two fat people stapled together.
But I also knew that that had to be the lowest of the low points, the only way was up; etcetera, etcetera.
In 2001 I threw myself into the Lard Busting Task with dazzling single-minded determination and dedication. Which was easy to do, as I’d become such a hermit at the peak of my lardiness that I truly had bugger all else going on in my life.
The first step was to come to terms with the massiveness of the task ahead of me. In other words, figure out how to move on from the shock that I’d become seriously obese. For years I’d simply ignored how I was too puffed to tie my shoelaces, unable to climb the stairs, yet capable of eating four McDonalds Super Sized Value Meals per week. But then I uncovered a stash of old chocolate crumbs in my desk drawer I realised, "OH RIGHT. That’s how it happened."
I was so full of optimism and focus that first year. I was a big fat weight loss MACHINE. My Monday routine was set in stone:
- Eat like a bird and pee like a motherfucker all day
- Jump on the scales Monday nights
- Race home to faithfully record weight in a little table
- Immediately report to Dietgirl HQ.
I used to loved pouring over my statistics, and calculated that if I continued in the same vein I’d be at my goal by my 25th Birthday in November 2002. Yeah! No worries mate!
My main struggle was learning how to exercise. It seemed impossible that I’d ever learn to like it. I knew it was important, but was painfully self-conscious about making such a large body do stuff.
I started out walking on a treadmill at a mighty 4.4km/h (2.7 mph) and worked my way up to 5.5km/h (3.4 mph). Eventually I got brave enough to try a fitball class, then weights, then Body Combat, then Body Pump. By years end I was truly hooked and began to realise there was more to weight loss than numbers and scales. It was also about health, toning up, getting fit. And glaring at blonde bitches skinnier than thou.
FEARS OF THE YEAR:
- That my body would never show any changes even though the scales did.
- That the scales would just stop going down because my body was MEANT to be lardy.
- That people only saw me as a nameless, faceless, shapeless blob of fat and not a person of many interests and passions.
- That no matter what I did I would never look or feel remotely "normal".
- That I was kidding myself that I was changing and I would actually be a lonely, miserable bastard forever.
TRIUMPH OF THE YEAR
- Discovering that my boobs were finally bigger than gut, and fitting into a bath again! All in the one day.
Towards the end of the year I began to get thoroughly fed up with Weight Watchers. I’d managed to lose around 40 kilos, but had gained a skerrick of confidence and self-esteem. All that exercise was making me smug and Bolshie. I wrote after a small gain:
I didn’t get upset, I didn’t cry, but I made a brief statement of justification to the WW leader and the weigh-lady, describing briefly my rigorous weight-training schedule and the subsequent "fucked-up-ness" of my performance on the scales lately…
… I was thoroughly disgusted at myself for being such a whinging git. Why the need to justify that pissy little gain to them? Why do I need to justify anything? Week after week I see people at WW get on the scale and gain and say "Oh, it’s that time of the month, wink wink," or "Those chocolate biscuits were calling my name!" or "I didn’t have time to exercise!" or whatever. Excuse after excuse. I guess I just wanted everyone to know that I AM NOT LIKE YOU PEOPLE! I bust my ass at this weight-loss caper so don’t go thinking I am gonna give up! I am not one of you! I am not making excuses!
So it was time to flee the nest. Strike out on me own! What possibly could go wrong?!
. . .
Next up: 2002 and 2003 Revisited. Are you excited? Are you trembling with anticipation? Don’t forget, the more you tremble, the more calories you’ll burn.