Life in the day of a fat chick

I am a matriarch. A matriarch of the fat chick mafia. Population: Me.

I haven't always struggled with my weight. It wasn't until I was about 20 years old that I started actively collecting pounds. What can I say? I'm a pack rat.

At 22 I was fed up with myself, and dedicated myself to fitness. I lost over 60 pounds using weight watchers, and a weekly regimine of 5 workouts a week. I loved it.

Somewhere along the lines I got lazy. Those 60 pounds found me, and brought their annoying friends along with them. At least 35 friends. Ok, who am I kidding. Unwelcome, unwanted, and uninvited. The rudeness is astounding, I know. The nerve!

So I took a good long look at myself in the mirror. Front back and side to side. I look like one of those rap guys girlfriends. Oh my God, Becky. Look at her butt! It is SO BIG. That's me, right there.

So I started my new healthy lifestyle journey. I've lost 7.4 pounds as of this Monday. 4 weeks, not too bad. Especially considering TOM, the asshole, made me retain ridiculous amounts of fluid Monday. Next Monday will be great.

I still have about well, lots of weight to lose. I signed up with a new gym on May 24th, where they happily went about measureing my bust, waist, hips, upper arms, and *gasp* THUNDER THIGHS. Talk about getting up close and personal. My word. I'm looking forward to June 24th, as they'll reweigh and measure me again. I'll post the inches lost in a most gloating fashion that day. Can you stand the excitement? Me either.

So, this fat chick wakes up in the morning, and automatically starts concocting meals in her head, counting points all the way along. Hi ho, Hi ho, to the kitchen I must go. No grease or fat, forget about that, hi ho, hi ho, hi ho!

Breakfast usually consists (excuse me for a moment, I think God is wringing my ovaries out with his bare hands. My Lord, what did we women do to deserve this?) Anyway, breakfast usually consists of some sort of egg whites delight. and a side of fruit or vegetables. One of my favourites is 5 egg whites scrambled, and poured into a non stick pan. Cook it like you would an omelette and add 1 oz of shredded tex mex cheese. Remove from pan and top with a dollop of sour cream and salsa. Serve with steamed asparagus. SO GOOD.

I get to work around 9, where I promptly start grazing on 2-3 cups of fruit. Pineapple, grapes, watermelon. Eat it slow, takes until almost lunch where I have a salad of some sort. (Again, watch those points). I feel like a cow, and now I'm eating like one. Graze and greens. Ever wonder why cows are so fat? Seriously. How the hell does that happen?

Mid afternoon is often where the sabotage occurs (before I managed to be 30 days OP!). Now I curb the hunger with an apple and peanut butter, and start thinking about dinner. All I do is think about food. Not what I can't have, or rather, shouldn't have, but what I will have and cannot wait to have.

At various points throughout the day, I mumble to myself about the weight around my middle, and it keeps me going. Keeps me motivated. I still don't see the really heavy me in the mirror. But that Fat Chick Mafia Matriarch makes herself known in photographs. She screams in them. She claims she can be twice the woman in half the size. We shall see.

I'm currently striving towards the 15 pound pedicure. When I've lost 15 pound that is, I'm taking my feet for a french delight treat. Woo hoo! I'd like to be at 10% by no later than August, and I'm striving to be down around 50 come my birthday. I'll reward myself with some contact lenses.

On the upside, I'm wearing a pair of capris that I couldn't have wedged myself into in the spring, even with the aid of lube and a pry bar. Bathing in crisco was not going to help the situation. I kid you not. And that's an awful visual, I apologise for the traumatic mental diagram, but try living it folks. TRY LIVING IT.

I've been wearing a pair of cargo pants that didn't fit in the spring either, so that's another bonus. Not bad for only 7 pounds gone.

An update on the husband. He went to the gym today! He read the blog yesterday, and feared for a feathered beating, and off he went. Make sure to congratulate him, as I know he's lurky louing around. He's sneaky like that. Spy like. *cue Mission Impossible music* Hi husband!

So, that's a day in the life of this fat chick. At least half a day. Keep your eyes glued to this space. Recipes and ridiculous antecdotes are sure to be aplenty.

Tah!