I’ve really been trying hard…  I got in with my doc and she agreed there is something going on – metabolic or otherwise that is hindering me from seeing positive results. I am at the heaviest I have ever been while not pregnant…  I am only 5 pounds away from the heaviest I have been even while pregnant. That’s not okay. 

I am working out anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour about 5 days a week. I haven’t been devoted to my calories and carbs the entire time I’ve been going to the gym, but I can tell you this: even before I was keeping track, taking in 1500 calories was an oddity for me. My basal metabolism says I should burn between 1500 – 1550 calories awake, at rest. It stands to reason that even if I were not working out before, given my caloric intake, I should have been losing weight even before…  Carbs?  Yeah, 100 carbs is a bad day for me.  I have watched carbs since Mega Man was a fetus… Diabetes is no joke in my family, and I didn’t want to increase my chances of developing the condition. So, carbs? Yeah, can’t really blame those, or at least, not in any normal way.

So now I’m staying under 1000 calories, taking in 75-85 grams of protein (which is not easy with those caloric restrictions), and burning at least 400 calories five times per week. The problem? I am still gaining weight. I started at 155 and I am up to 165. Unacceptable.  Don’t tell me muscle weighs more than fat.  Fuck muscle. I don’t want to be muscular. I want to be thin. I don’t want to be athletic. I want to be trim. There is no “normal” reason I should have gained 10 pounds in 5-6 weeks.  None. 

So…  Now I have to wait until December to see an endocrinologist and hopefully, figure out just what in the hell is going on. And in the mean time, I’m just hoping I don’t continue to gain 2 pounds each week…  because I might not leave the house… or eat…

And before you chime in with anything all super happy and encouraging, I’ll add that I hate eating. I’ve always had issues with food…  then Celiac popped up and there was a whole new crop of food issues and control… and I deal with that every day…  Now throw in that I am staring down terms such as “prediabetic,” “impaired glucose tolerance,” “sustained high blood sugar with subsequent sudden, devastating drops,” and then don’t talk to me about food.  It’s like telling an alcoholic, “Hey, at least you can have O’Doul’s, right?”  Yeah…  I know there are foods I can eat. I don’t like most of them. I am allergic to another butt-ton. I can’t afford a lot of them, too. If I want my kids to be able to enjoy a diet free of highly-processed, refined sugar-filled, and fresh foods, that means Mama doesn’t get to spend $6 on a loaf of bread she only kind of likes so she can have a sammich every now and then.  Make my own bread, you say? Might be worth the time and effort if I actually liked the taste/texture, but since I don’t, it’s worth neither. I already spend a good 3 hours a day preparing food I either can’t eat or have to alter just so it doesn’t initiate an autoimmune response. Let’s not talk any more about ways to change or manage my diet, okay? And if I sound nasty, it’s because that’s how I feel. I don’t want rays of sunshine. I want to know why my body consistently fails. I want to know why, when I do everything right, the results still do not follow the formula.

 I hate going to the gym. I hate the stupid ARC trainer, and I *abhor* the weight training. I always feel like an idiot and I don’t enjoy it. I still go. So all of these things I don’t like or outright hate (cardio, weight training, and eating), yet I do them because they’re supposed to be good for me, and still, still, my body says, “Oh weight? Yeah, we need more of that! We don’t even know where we’re getting it from, but we’re going to hold on to it and pack on more!”  And no, my measurements are not changing, either. About 2 months ago, I measured my hips, waist, thighs, calves, and upper arms. None of them have gotten smaller. I’ve been able to get into my 8’s uncomfortably since the beginning of the year – I am no closer to being comfortable in them. 

There is *nothing* that indicates positive change. It does me no good to be able to run circles around other people at the gym when it just makes me go home and cry because, I might be able to outlast them, but they look better doing it.   So yeah, tonight when I came home after 60 minutes instead of my target 90 and I was 100 calories short of my typical routine, I broke down. I sobbed. And I’ll probably do it again before bed. With ice cream. And tomorrow, I am not counting a single fucking calorie. Food controls so much of my life that I just can’t stand the thought of writing it all down tomorrow just to have it laugh in my face when I weigh myself in the morning, pull my  jeans up, try to suck in my gut while walking at the mall, or whatever else.

Sobbing?  Round2…  Commence.

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