Sharing my Story: HuffPost!

Back in July, I was reading through the stories on the Healthy Living section on the Huffington Post. If you’ve never visited the site, you really should – talk about motivation!

So many people who took control of their lives and transformed their bodies through diet, exercise, and healthy mindset – how can that not inspire you?

After reading stories of young men and women that had overcome eating disorders, I realized that I shared a similar journey. While my struggles may have been for different reasons, the core nature of our issues were the same.

I’ve been very transparent with sharing my story here, on my blog, which is visited by about 2,000 people.

Why not share my story with the world?

And so I did.

You can read the full article by clicking here.

Thank you for all of your love, support, and encouragement. Being “healthy” isn’t a destination – it’s a lifelong journey.

Bon appetit, my friends!

~ Tori

Image

If only it were so easy…

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If only
telling myself “no”
were enough to
stop me.

If only
will power lasted
beyond the 12th hour.

If only
my memory weren’t so selective when sugar
is on the tongue.

If only
the self-hatred didn’t
battle
with the taste buds.

If only
it were so easy…

…today would be better.

-tori

A Boost When I Needed It

I’ve been a bit melancholy the last week or so, as I’ve found myself back in the pattern of weekend gorging and sullen Mondays of recommitment to a diet I don’t feel like being married to anymore.

My weight has plateaued at 136, a frustrating turn of events from the solid 133-134 I was holding just a few days back.

I’ve been cheating daily on the Paleo diet with Chobani yogurts (which really shouldn’t be called a “cheat,” as it’s nonfat and packed with protein) and I have a feeling this is a primary cause of my stalled progress in the weight department.

Amazingly, I’ve kept moderate control and haven’t thrown my hands up, severely binged, and then committed the unforgivable purge that I’m quick to resort to at emotional lows. I’m crestfallen, but not beaten. I can break through this slump. Right?

Today, I was given a boost that I think may be the positive encouragement I needed to crush this funk; and no, it wasn’t a compliment on my size.

Today, I attended an interdepartmental meeting featuring colleagues and leadership I only see a few times per year. Given my own weight loss successes of the last year (I’m down about 20 lbs from the same date in 2012), several people approached me to compliment me or poke fun that I’m “wasting away” and should eat some of the cupcakes I’m notorious for baking.

After niceties were exchanged and the meeting (of over 150 people) commenced, I set to focus on taking notes and absorbing information. And boy, it was a lot of information. My head’s still hurting.

During a break, a Director from another Department, whom I’m on first-name terms with but I still consider an authority figure, approached me. I couldn’t help but notice that he had lost weight (20, 30 pounds?) and that he looked great.

I was just about to open my mouth to compliment him when he leaned down and asked, “Tori, may I share a quick story with you?”

“Of course, Tim,” I offered, “please do.”

He knelt down next to me and my brain quickly ran through possible scenarios of things I might have done wrong (or right) that could have impacted his Department. Needless to say, I was both a little confused… and curious.

“Over 30 years ago, my father died at the age of 56. While he had other health issues, the cause of his death was pretty much attributed to his weight,” he started.

I sat and listened, unsure of where this was going. Was I about to be lectured on losing too much weight by a Department Head? That I was still too big and needed to be more strict?! Hmmmm. My brain rolled it over but I stayed quiet.

“He had a paunch, a bad diet, and wasn’t as healthy as he could be,” he continued. “I realized, turning 56 this year, that I was heading in the same direction. It was right about that time that I saw your article.”

Uh oh. Does this Director follow THIS blog? Crap, he thinks I’m a psychopath.

“I saw the article you posted for the (school name) blog about staying healthy as a full-time student and the blurb you wrote about the MyFitnessPal app.”

He pulled out his iPhone and loaded the application.

He had logged in for 255 straight days. The exact number of days since my article had been published.

“Your article got me thinking that I really had no idea what I was eating. I was going down the same path as my father and I was likely to experience the same health problems, and probably an early death, as he had. I had no accountability or cognizance of what I was putting into my body.”

I’m pretty sure my jaw was on the floor at this point.

He pat my shoulder. “I’ve lost almost 30 pounds (ha! I was right!) and it’s thanks to your article. I just thought you should know: you’ve changed my life.”

He gave me a hug and we joked a bit about the unhealthy snacks they had for us at the meeting, but I was mostly stunned into awed silence.

When he returned to his seat and the meeting continued, it took me a few minutes to get back into focus.

This man, a major leader and creative figure in my company, had been influenced to change his life by my words. My journey, my experience, and my time-tested tools have helped him to improve his health and rebel against a genetic predisposition.

I’m humbled.

Perhaps, though a rough journey some days, I’m in this yo-yo for a reason. Maybe, just maybe, my struggles are for a cause greater than my own.

If I can influence one person to improve their life, then I’ll endure every sweaty, muscle-burning workout. I will walk away from every slice of chocolate cake, no matter how fudgy and delicious it looks, if it helps someone else sustain their will power. I will keep fighting, forever, if I know that it’s helping just one other person throw a punch themselves.

God bless Tim. God bless his journey. God bless everyone committed to improving themselves and loving their flawed little bodies along the way.

On that note…

Bon appetit, my friends, and keep fighting.

-Tori

Games With My Head

OK, now my body (and the scale) is just playing games with me.

As you may have seen with yesterday’s post, my weight jumped up six pounds in six days, a feat of fat-lardiness that had never been experienced before. It was a glorious fatxplosion of self-hatred and jiggle when I hopped off of the scale in the morning and I carried that stress/anxiety/anger throughout most of the day.

Fatxplosion (n): Like a regular explosion, only meatier. Photo Credit: http://images.alphacoders.com/528/52831.jpg

Fatxplosion (n):

Like a regular explosion, only meatier.

Photo Credit: http://images.alphacoders.com/528/52831.jpg

Understandably, I was freaking the *bleep* out yesterday.

I ate relatively well (except for a small bowl of coconut ice cream post-gym) yesterday and expected to see nominal difference on the scale today, because that’s just how my life normally works as a yo-yo dieter.

Consumed: 1,453 (damn ice cream) Burned: 999 (couldn't round up, could it?)

Consumed: 1,453 (damn ice cream)
Burned: 999 (couldn’t round up, could it?)

This morning, I was 135.6.

Granted, it’s not the beautiful 133.8 I was last Monday, but it’s down four pounds overnight (did the pudge-fairy visit last night?) and I felt somewhat better compared to yesterday. At least last week’s week-long diet faux-pas hadn’t truly destroyed all of the my success from the month.

So that’s something.

I am getting a bit annoyed with the head-games the scale (my weight) has been playing with me lately. The ups, the downs. It’s enough to drive a girl insane! I think I may try to avoid weighing myself again until Friday so I can actually see true change versus the “tide” movements of my water weight.

Until then, bon appetit, my friends!

~ Tori

The Poem of the Yo-Yo

Mondays.

Really, that’s all that needs to be said. Anyone that has followed this blog for more than a week knows that Mondays are the day of the week that are most painful for me as a yo-yo dieter.

Ashamed of my weekend. Determined for my week. Depressed. Committed. Sad. Prepared.

An endless cycle.

WW_weight_loss_yo_Yo

I decided a poem was in order.

Because, really, how can you be depressed when something has a lovely cadence and the words rhyme? A well-constructed poem can make a eulogy sound like a nursery rhyme.

So here goes:

Victoria was a dieter,
Who counted every bite.
She tracked each tiny morsel,
And logged it all by night.
She found the time to run,
She hardly ever skipped the gym.
Every effort that she could make,
Her attempt to live life slim.
Turning down a slice of pizza,
Saying no to each cupcake.
Her will power was infallible,
Her calorie allowance wasn’t fake.
She huffed and puffed and cried,
The sweat, it always poured.
Yet her body rarely changed,
The scale, she, too,abhorred.
You’d think one day she’d adjust,
And learn to love her frame.
But an act of biased futility,
Is a handcuff just the same.
And so she’ll keep on counting,
Deprivation will be her law.
Until one day she wins the battle,
When her self-doubt does withdraw.

Hoping for a good week,

~ Tori

Spoke too soon.

I am ashamed.

So very ashamed.

Yesterday, I blogged about the fact that I had gone so many weeks without an episode, without giving into the devil inside me. I had gone six, seven weeks without binging and purging.

All I did was taunt the beast.

I don’t know why I did it. I was attending my online lecture, calm and quiet, when it started. A cookie. Then another. Then another.

While the class went on, unknowingly a witness and an accomplice to my self-destruction, I shoved it in. Cookies.

Chips. If it was edible, it was going down.

My brain screamed at me. It yelled and cursed and chastised me.

“You don’t even like cookies!”

“You are not even HUNGRY!”

“You’ve had dinner. And a snack. Now STOP.”

But my damned hands wouldn’t stop. They couldn’t. Treacherous, five-fingered harbingers of hate and lust and sloth. Just shoving away.

Oh, and my mouth!

The greedy bitch – she took it all. Happily, eagerly, little porcelain teeth gnashing with joy and ecstasy as the chocolate melted and the crumbles fell.

It lasted maybe five minutes. A package of cookies. A bag of tortilla chips. Gobbled up. Devoured. Inhaled with barely a breath between bites.

The lecture continued.

How were they to know the sin I had just committed?

My stomach flipped and the bile rose in my throat.

What had I done? What could I do?

I excused myself as quickly as I could from the closing banter of my class, shoving my laptop away and rushing to the only salvation, the only punishment and recourse available to me: the drugstore.

I had no other option.

Of course, ipecac syrup was out. Why have places stopped carrying this god-send for the bulimics? Perhaps they realize that their product is never used with the right intentions and that they’re encouraging (and enabling) people to continue this self-destructive habit. Well played, pharmaceutical companies, well played. I’ll just find another way.

I had to settle on the old favorite: laxatives.

Would 15 pills be enough? I’ll buy the 90 count, just in case.

In the darkness of my car, no one to witness (or mock or judge), I popped them, washed down by sugar free Gatorade [as if it mattered anymore] and prayed it would hurt as much as I wanted it to. Please be painful. Please let the memory of this pain last long enough that it prevents a future binge. Please let this be the last time I go through this.

I’m not religious, but prayers filled the car like music fills the church. Please, God, please.

When I got home, I told my husband I had a sour stomach (not a lie) and he felt guilty that it might have been the dinner he brought me. The thoughtful, healthy dinner he dropped off that served as an appetizer to my binge.

Ashamed to tell him the truth, I let him believe that.

“Perhaps the chicken was bad?” I offered.

I’m a terrible human being.

The pills kicked in around 4am, the pain in my abdomen so violent that my half-asleep brain was convinced that a murderer was stabbing me, unrelentingly, eager to rip the very intestines from my body.

Purge, purge, purge.

Three hours, off and on.

Step on the scale… down.

Down, down, down.

No… don’t let that smile creep on your face as the numbers drop. You’re sick. Sicko. Look what you did to yourself. Look what you’re doing. Look what you’ve done.

I couldn’t go to work today, my stomach in shreds, my head aching. I’ve done this to myself.

WHY?

I’m ashamed. So very ashamed.

~ Tori

A Mini Success

It dawned on me today that I’ve gone almost seven weeks without a severe binge/breakdown.

Yes, I’ve had several “bad days” where I’ve consumed FAR more than I should, but I haven’t totally lost control.

Yes, I’ve had a few days where I popped a diuretic or a laxative – but not an entire package.

[I’m ashamed to say I’ve done that before. It’s RIDICULOUSLY painful. And God forbid you sneeze.]

While I’m still upset on a daily basis regarding my weight, my size, my shape, and my overall fitness, I haven’t succumbed to the monster inside me that begs for my weakness.

But I’ve thought about it.

God, I think about it all the time.

I imagine what would happen if I did it. I play through the steps in my mind.

  • Four Bloat-less pills for maximize water loss.
  • At least 9 Correctols to ensure the cramping and pain is sufficient to punish me for my binge and powerful enough to eject everything not nailed down from my intestines.
  • Two caffeine pills to ensure I can’t sit still. If you’re moving, you’re burning calories.
  • A Bronkaid to kill my appetite for the future.

Pop all of them, back to back, and chase it with as much water as I can hold. Fight the gag reflex as my body responds in a Pavlovian fashion, always aware of the pain I’m trying to induce and fighting against me. Body versus mind, mind versus body.

The memory of pain isn’t enough to convince the mind that it isn’t worth it.

The mind wins.

You don’t have to be a pharmacist to know the concoction above is horrible, if not potentially fatal, and yet I will admit I’ve done it before and will likely do it again.

Today, though, is a mini success. I’ve made it at least seven weeks. I pray for seven more, then seven more after that, and seven, and seven, and seven again for all eternity.

But for now, I’ll accept today. Today is a good day.

~ Tori

Mondays

Ah, here we go again.

Another Monday.

Yet another re-commitment to my diet. To a better lifestyle. To everything that is good and wholesome and caring for my body.

My weight jumped back up today, which I can only attribute to the massive dinner I had Saturday night at Kobe’s. Soy sauce, noodles, and rice – OH MY!

Good God, they give you a ton of food there. Despite spending 90 minutes on the elliptical and 15 mins running fartleks on the treadmill that afternoon, I couldn’t cancel out the massive amount of calories I consumed in one sitting.

Why is it SO easy to consume 2,500 calories and yet SO hard to burn it back off?

It’s unfair that I can take thousands of calories into my body in just minutes but it takes HOURS of vigorous exercise to burn them back off.

Seriously, was this God’s practical joke on the human race? Make food delicious, readily available, and chock full of calories and then make it ridiculously hard to expend enough energy to burn it off? Then, to top it off, introduce a society that glorifies thinness and collarbones and you’ve got a bona fide eating disorder on your hands.

Grrrrrrrrrr.

Sorry, I’m in a bad mood today. I’m just tired of the fact that I work out EXTREMELY hard and then sabotage my own success by pigging out. I love food too much – but it doesn’t love me back.

There once was a lady name Tori,
Who, with food, she had quite the love story,
They got in a fight –
And try as she might,
She couldn’t kick its ass out the door-y.

[A bit of a forced rhyme, but you get what I’m feeling here.]

Tired of the yo-yo,

~ Tori

 

Renewal Monday

You guessed it. It’s Sunday night.

That means I’m in the deep, dark trenches of remorse. Remorse for a weekend weeks of bad eating, weeks of sub par workouts, and weeks of mistreatment to my body as a whole.

My postings on here have been minimal the last few weeks, primarily because my commitment to any diet/exercise regime, despite solid inspiration, was basically non-existent.

As a result, the scale is reporting a number so high, it’s too painful for me to post. A number that I haven’t seen in almost a year. An increase of almost 12 pounds since October 2012, which is horrifying to me.

In the course of a few weeks, I undid the hard work of nearly eight months of intense dieting and exercise.

Funny how that works.

I’ve decided it’s time to put my money where my mouth is. Since setting goals only works for me when financial loss is on the line, this seems to be the only reasonable option for me. Don’t believe me? The ONLY reason I stuck with my diet through April was because I didn’t want to purchase a second bridesmaid’s dress if I couldn’t fit into the first one.

The same went for my girlfriend’s wedding the year before. I always manage to follow through on my goals when it involves the purchase of another $200 dress.

So, I just downloaded GymPact to my iPhone.

gympact

I’ve committed to 5 workouts per week. I’ve set the stakes at $2.50 earned for workouts completed, $5 per workout missed. So I have the potential to make $12.50 per week or lose up to $25. If these stakes aren’t enough to keep me going, I’ll up the ante to $10 per missed workout. Whatever it takes.

The next few days, I’m going to try and cleanse, especially from this weekend, and focus on just fresh veggies and lean meat – no sugars, no processed foods, minimal salt. I hope to post a weight update by midweek – assuming I’ll have flushed the superfluous weight – and just praying that it’s not as painful as it was this evening. Yikes.

Wish me luck!

~ Tori

Independence Day

It’s been over 200 years since America declared its independence from their distant British ruler. Over two centuries since America and its colonies established itself as a force to be reckoned with on a global scale. For 237 years, the United States has stood for freedom, for acceptance, and for refuge for those suffering.

Suffering from persecution, prejudice, or the restriction of their basic human rights? You’ve found sanctuary here.

It seems fitting, then, that I found myself reflecting on my personal struggles with weight and body image during the festivities of the 4th of July celebration.

For years, I’ve been a slave to the scale.

You can't see it, but imagine a ball and chain locking me to this damn thing.

You can’t see it, but imagine a ball and chain locking me to this damn thing.

I’ve allowed it to dictate my mood, control even my most basic decisions, and play the role of judge and jury over the value of my life.

I’ve talked about it here extensively in the past, but the scale in my bathroom is both one of my most prized possessions – as well as one of the most malignant items in my house.

A good weigh-in means a day of happiness, of celebration, of pride.

A bad weigh-in means a day of guilt, of self-inflicted punishment, of shame.

You know, I’m getting really tired of the oppressive dictatorship of my scale.

While I can’t directly compare it to the British control over the American colonies, I can relate to the feeling that it’s not quite FAIR that this scale – which is not involved in my exercise, my diet, or any other element of my health – is able to have so much control over me. Sort of feels like taxation without representation, you know?

That’s just not right.

So, with that thought in mind, and a healthy dose of American pride coursing through my veins thanks to the fireworks yesterday, I’ve decided to declare my independence from the scale.

While I’m not sure I have the strength or fortitude of our founding fathers to make it a PERMANENT division in our relationship, I do plan to secede from the scale for as long as possible. A few days. A week. Maybe I can make it until the end of July, who knows.

Regardless, I’m declaring today – July 5th, 2013 – my personal Independence Day from the scale. Much like the British, I anticipate a bit of retaliation from the little metal and glass piece of evil… but I’ll fight that battle when I have to. In the meantime, I’m going to savor my liberty for as long as possible.

Bon appetit, my friends, and happy Independence Day [from the scale] to all!

~ Tori