Lupus Strikes Again.

Sonofabitch. I was doing GREAT last week: walking every day, eating well, gett'n stuff done around the house. Then Sunday hit, the weather changed, and BAM! lupus struck.

It's infuriating!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!

!

Seriously, all of a sudden it feels as though I was hit by a Mac truck. Tired (soooo, soooo tired), depressed, feeling utterly hopeless, headachy.

I hate being told what I can and cannot do. Especially by my own godforsaken body. Et tu, Brute?

Starting Weight: 250ish Pounds of Gorgeousness

When I first began (again) this journey towards better health, I was not what one would typically think a morbidly obese person would be like. I've always been blessed with high self-esteem (or... delusional narcissism, either way it works for me), so even at my highest weight I didn't see it. You know what I'm saying? Sure, I knew I had gained weight, but I was still figuring out the Lupus, the uterine issues, and dealing with the emotional upheaval of it all, so I gave myself a little leeway.

My weight didn't affect me the way it should have. If I were in my right mind, I should have been pissed, angry, or scared that I had allowed myself to become that unhealthy. I think over the years I'd become so p.c. that I no longer recognized what having the excess weight really meant. I had been conditioned to love people for who they were, not the color or shape of their bodies. So, in essence I ended up screwing myself over because I loved myself for who I was, warts and all.

Therein lies the problem, if you completely accept yourself for who you are right now, sometimes you don't see your flaws. I think that's how I lived for a very long time. I didn't recognize the unhealthiness of my ways - both physical and emotional. Don't get me wrong, I'm not meaning to generalize or say that you shouldn't totally accept yourself, I'm just talk'n about my experience.

<-- Take a look at this photo right here. I'm adorable, right? RIGHT?! *said with glaring eyes, one twitching slightly* My huge, sparkling personality really made up for my huge butt. I still had people giving me a lot of attention, my husband loved me unconditionally, and even though I was tired and sick, I was blessed.

There was only one friend of mine who actually said anything to me about my weight. He wasn't mean about it: he was just concerned, but when he said something it was really painful. I was pissed. How dare he? Doesn't he know what I've been going through? He has no idea how I've suffered!!

But really, I was embarrassed. He had called me out. In true Emperor's New Clothes fashion, he basically screamed out, "Dang girl, you nekkid!!!" I could no longer pretend that something wasn't wrong and that other people didn't see how big I had gotten. It still took a little longer before I did anything about it, but it got the wheels in motion.

A few weeks later, Elle and I joined Weight Watchers and started Fat Camp. We began at the end of July 2012 and I weighed in at 250.6 lbs (BMI of 44). Yeesh. From September to this February, I managed to maintain the loss through the increasing pain from my fibroids and endometriosis (was not fun). When I recovered from the hysterectomy, I began again.

What's different now is that I am starting to recognize the harm that the fat can do. It's not just "oh yuck, fat," it's really fucking up my organs and the inside of my body. Like, really. Seriously, I've got to give props to the Biggest Loser and the education that they provide on that show. When they would do the health consultations and explain how fat was hindering the body's natural state, it made an impact on me.

They talked about how obesity was similar to other horrible types of diseases and they constantly ask, "If you had cancer, wouldn't you take 2 hours a day for chemo?" Of course, the answer is yes, but most people don't see fat % as being as dangerous as cancer. In our society, we're fucking ourselves over with the shit we're putting in, on, and around our bodies and we just keep consuming.

Well, I, for one, am waking the fuck up. And I'm pissed at my ignorance.

The crappiest picture of me. Evar. Highest weight: 250 lbs.

Steel Cut Oats.

Today's adventure is all about steel cut oats. "Adventure?!" you might say. "ADFRICK'NVENTURE!!!" I would retort. For me, stepping into the kitchen is a miraculous and awe-inspiring thing. For the longest time, I've either been too tired, to sick, or too recovering-from-surgery to attempt anything other than a microwave dinner.

Luckily I have very high self esteem and don't let my inability to feed my family affect my woman-hood-ness. Damnit. With much rejoicing, though, I now have increasingly more periods of energy and have been toeing my way into that linoleum wonderland.

This morning I tried steel cut oats. First I had to spend 20 minutes searching the internet and reading about the difference between steel cut & rolled oats. I learned that they're basically the same thing except that the steel cut is less processed: the steel cut are just chopped up while the rolled are steam rolled for faster cooking time. Since my friend Elle had graciously donated a container to our home, I decided to try the steel cut.

I don't know about you, but it freaks me out when I cook anything that creates a film or light, airy, floaty bit that waives at me from the stove. That's what happened when I got to the 30 minutes of simmering. I tried to remove the excess layer, but it would stick to the side of the pot or evaporate or disappear into another dimension... I don't know. It just made me very uncomfortable. At this point I was thinking how in the world does cooking oatmeal rock me to the core?! Oh gahd... ooooh gaaahhd...

Anyhoosies, I assembled the ingredients that are all the rage when making steel cut oats: "milk", raisins, almonds, flaxseed, cinnamon, sugar. Typically I only have some stevia and soy/almondmilk, but this time I figured I'd go all out. I was, after all, a new chef... creating... exploring...

Exhibit A.

I added the ingredients with fervor. I sprinkled bits of goodness to and fro. I felt an inner sense of accomplishment that, YES I TOO CAN DO THIS! I'm not gonna lie, the cinnamon did fight with me. But as you can see here (Exhibit A), I splashed its guts all over the bowl CSI style. SCREW YOU CINNAMON!

Overall it was a great accomplishment. It was tasty, but a bit sweet. I think next time I'll take out the raisins and sugar and add just a scoach of honey.

The most interesting thing that I learned from this experience has nothing to do with oatmeal. It turns out that I have been duped by the advertising. "Sugar in the Raw" is just plain ole crappy-for-you sugar that has been sprayed with molasses.

And "raw " sugar is no better, Nonas added. "People are very susceptible to marketing. And just because something is natural doesn't mean it's particularly healthy for you," she said.
Raw sugar isn't even really raw. It's just slightly less refined, so it retains some of the molasses. But there's no real health real benefit from it. "There's no more nutritional value in raw sugar than there is in white sugar or brown sugar," Nonas said. 

The Raw Facts on Sugar, ABC News 

Sonofabitch. *sigh*

And another thing, Weight Watchers (and every other diet guru) always says that oatmeal makes you feel fuller longer and that it's supposed to hold you over forever and ever and ever. I find that that's not the case with me. I'm frick'n hungry right now. I think I may have to go back to my eggs, cheese, and Ezekiel bread slice.