 Two years ago today, I started this journey on a stage for all of you to see. It was a moment of vulnerability and a plea for accountability to save me. So many times I’d started and failed—working in secret. I knew using my platform to share my plans with all of you could possibly be the only way I wouldn’t quit.
Two years ago today, I decided the complacency I’d demonstrated for far too long needed to end as I navigated a new world of forward progress, determination. TWO YEARS. It can feel like so far in the future, but it barely seems possible two years have passed. Knowing I wanted to document my “obesiversary,” I scrolled the archives and started from the beginning. I can honestly say I barely recognized the voice in those first few entries. Not because I was any less fantastic or snarky back then! It was actually more challenging settling back into that broken brain of food compulsion and misery that really took me back. While some of the thought processes from two years ago still fill my reality, I suppose I didn’t realize I have started letting some of them go. One of the old entries that had the greatest response from readers was one I wrote called, “iTS a Control Issue” on 10/13/22. I explained the origin (in my opinion) of my constant need for control (though, arguably genetically-enhanced). I’m going to share an excerpt for context here: “When we go out to dinner, you laugh when I control where I sit. I'm calculating the route to the exit and the bathroom. Can I fit as I weave through tables? Can I fit in a booth? Will I block the servers' path if I'm seated at a table in the middle of the room? Will my shirt roll up exposing my granny panties if I have my back to the other patrons? Okay, so if that table fills with a high chair, how do I get out after we pay the bill? Will I have to ask someone to move? Will I have to "suck in" or walk sideways to sliiiiide through a space that was never meant for my 324 pounds? And within how many seconds of starting my meal will I drop my first sauce/crumb/food chunk on my tiny little chest (kidding--it's gigantic)? Will people see me wipe it off or can I be subtle? Me. Subtle. ;) You laugh when I ask for tasks to be done in a certain order. I'm trying to ensure my order of operations is nearly on autopilot. What if I look incompetent? What if I stumble through the sequence and my face flushes and then I stumble and then I'm sweating and then someone just thinks I'm stupid or lazy to go along with being fat? What if it all makes me lose credibility in an industry where I'm already proving myself everyday. "I PROMISE I know what I'm doing even if I don't look like I've ever participated in an athletic event in my life." You laugh when I ask to go to the same vacation spot every year. It was a safe space I found at 13 years old. It was the first time I could walk around in a swim suit and bare feet without a care in the world. It was the first time we didn't travel with the rest of Owensboro to PCB where I would inevitably hide in my room or avoid invites for play dates. It's a connection I made that made me forget, if even for just two weeks at a time. I know the terrain. I know the physical expectations of the trip. I know the layouts of all my favorite restaurants and acceptable dress codes. I know how to maneuver my body through the town without getting caught in a situation I can't resolve.” Since I penned those words, I’ve challenged myself to loosen the restraints of my control. I’ve traveled to Canada, explored Niagara Falls, walked the strip in Vegas, spent nine hours straight at Universal riding every ride I could, and trekked through Mammoth Cave. PROGRESS GOES BEYOND THE SCALE. I may have gotten to a point where I thought most of those issues were resolved, but just this weekend, I felt the flush of anxiety rising because I spent over 20 minutes trying to figure out my escape plan from Rash Stadium. (For the record, I hate it. The step downs from the bleachers are too steep and the distance between them too wide. And somehow they’ve managed to make it even more uncomfortable than a standard bleacher set, but moving on…) My husband saw my panic before I voiced it. I knew he was ready to go early in the 3rd, but I said I needed one more E.H. TD before I was leaving (I was also buying time to figure out how to get out). As soon as I said, “I’m going to start thinking what will be easiest, please give me a minute…” He responded, “I already did that. If you turn around behind you, you can get your feet under you there and I’ll help you stand. I’ll help you.” I argued he was wrong. That his method was no different than me standing from the floor and he’d never helped me stand from the floor, so why did he think he could do it now. I voiced two other shitty alternative routes (remember, I’m not willing to walk over someone’s lap either) and he just let me talk. E.H. got his magical 4th TD (totally worth staying for, btw) and I knew I couldn’t hold off anymore. The dogs were home alone all night and we needed to get going. So I did what he suggested. Within seconds we were walking down the steps and out of the gate. No falls. No trips. No grunting to navigate the terrain. I panicked because I went back to me from two years ago and forgot who I am today. (Ugh. Fine, I’ll admit we did it HIS way and he was ri…um, he was ri… no, I can’t say it.) Two years ago today I weighed 324 pounds. Today, I am 100 pounds down. (As of two days ago, I hit the triple digit loss) I lost 100 freaking pounds. Along the way, I’ve taken breaks from my efforts, I’ve had successful months and very slow months. I’ve taken a slower approach to work on sustainability as much as anything. After most of this journey consisting of me NOT following the recommendations I tell others, the last eight weeks have included an experiment called “Follow Your Own Advice” and man, I really am as smart as I say. 😆 I cook often (not like meals I wanna share with a table of friends, but protein-packed, whole-food meals that are more fuel than entertainment). I pay attention to protein and water like we tell all our clients to do. I’ve nearly tripled my monthly weight loss these last two months from where I was averaging the previous six. Not because I’m eating less. Not because I increased med dosage. Not because I skipped the sweets. I didn’t do any of those things at all. I simply planned, carved 3-6 minutes to prep my food source rather than DoorDash it, and only ate junk if I was still craving it AFTER I hit my protein target. Quick FAQ I get weekly:
Thank you for coming along with me and being my accountability partners even if you didn’t know it. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for all of you who read, text, call, visit, and join the journey yourselves. Let’s keep going. Cheers, K
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 I was 11 years old the last time I read that sign. (This was way back in the 1900s, of course.) I still remember being really anxious about getting to that part of the Mammoth Cave tour without any real understanding of what the limiting parameters might be. It wasn’t my first time in the cave—I feel like that may have happened somewhere around a 4th grade field trip—but I did recall a confining, winding pathway I’d encounter and I was terribly nervous I’d humiliatingly get stuck. In hindsight, this is another one of my dramatic, intrusive thoughts, but for 6th grade me it was as real as the Mt. Dew I’d just drank. Was it possible I wouldn’t be able to navigate the passage? The park ranger read from his notes stating participants “should carefully consider their limitations” as the paths become very narrow, require crouching down, climbing hundreds of stairs, etc. and I was convinced my size was a real threat to my participation. (I made it just fine in case you were on the edge of your seats waiting to hear how that turned out. No one pointed and laughed. Nothing traumatic happened. I probably just had a mild panic attack that I couldn’t even identify that many years ago.) Recently, with the weight loss journey (oh, if I haven’t mentioned it, I’ve been on quite the journey over the last—nearly—two years), I’ve been a lot more active on our farm, a lot more productive around the house, not to mention the physicality of what I do for work. I decided it was time to try to face Mammoth again. Was I ready? This time, the fear of not surviving it was just as intense and real as it was when I was 11. Of course, now, I’m significantly larger, older, and depleted—so it made a bit more sense this round. I started doing what I do. I read tons of reviews from fat people online. I was trying to decide if it was feasible or if it was something I should put off for another few months. I decided it was time. I chose the River Styx Cave Tour. Per the website: “Following along the Historic Tour Route, this tour focuses on the unique geologic and natural history of Mammoth Cave. Including a brief side trip to the underground water level, this tour takes an in-depth look at the millions of years of formation of Mammoth Cave. This tour is ideal for visitors with a high interest in geology. Please use extra caution when visiting the river level. To access this section of the cave the tour leaves modern tour trail to uneven terrain that may be wet, muddy, and/or slick. The tour route travels next to bodies of water, some of which can be very deep depending on river levels. Viewing of this area will also be conducted with electric lanterns and not the modern lighting system on the rest of the route.” Duration: 2.5 hours Distance: 2.5 miles Total Stairs: 600+ Difficulty: Moderate Ages: 6 year and older… Right after we went to the cave’s “basement” and were sitting on benches, returning lanterns, and prepping for the last leg of the tour, I was feeling ridiculously arrogant—and skinny. The walk was so slow and the breaks for geology lessons (sorry, don’t care) were natural rests, so I started to question how this was deemed “moderate” difficulty. Then we resumed. I still had to navigate the 200 steps of Mammoth Dome—climbing straight up and feeling my lungs crying for the easy oxygen intake they craved. My legs were seriously liquifying and contemplated just completely shutting down on me. I hated my stupid idea and I felt like I was back to 324 pounds again. But I made it to that last step and started to feel accomplished. Right up until I realized I still had a steep incline for the next 15 minutes and I hated everyone again. Seriously, everyone. So anyway, I made it. It shouldn’t have been as hard as it was, but it was. I have a long way to go before I can really feel proud of my physical accomplishments, but for now—yay! I didn’t die. My hammies are tight and I have shin splints. So, don’t mind me while I whine about it for a couple more days. I’m glad I went and I’m determined to keep trying things that make me scared. Throughout my life I’ve turned down countless invitations for outings that were intimidating because of my size. I’ve not experienced enough off the TV screen and that needs to change. What should I do next? Just remember, I do need some of these small victories to fuel my confidence for more adventure. What would you try as a little challenge to yourself? Cheers, Your favorite spelunker 😆 I’ve been known to lose the battle with my temper more than a few times over the years. A more accurate statement would highlight this short-fused, explosive response system as trademark level. I like to think I simply get frustrated with lack of critical thinking and complacency, but regardless of its root cause, it’s an issue I’ve monitored, evaluated, and often improved in my older years (eh, most of the time). Honestly, I was on such a good streak before these last several weeks, that I almost forgot what an angry asshole I can be—but here we are. Trying to work logistics with multiple players/vendors/institutions takes a level of orchestration my brain couldn’t handle. Everything starts short-circuiting, the emails get snarkier, the language gets a bit explicit, and the tantrum is locked and loaded. You hear about the broken shoe string sending you over the edge? My broken string (my minor inconvenience) was ESPN+ on Saturday afternoon. My Ole Miss Rebels were banished to streaming only, so naturally (to avoid late panic) I wanted to be sure I was set up and ready to watch in time for 6:00 kick-off. I even went as far as to watch a little Mississippi State (gross) while waiting for them to open the stream for my game—to further ensure everything was good to go. At 5:58, they finally gave me the go ahead only to say I needed to log-in. Then my password for YouTubeTV wasn’t working (even though it’s saved in Google). So then I tried via Hulu and it said my email didn’t have an account (funny, they charge my acct every month and send the receipt to that email). At this point I am screaming obscenities and throwing things in the Game Room that should 100% be embarrassing enough for me to never tell anyone about. In walks Tony trying to take over. No, husband, you don’t even know my passwords so go away. I start crying while I’m screaming (no, no—not at him—just at the TV). I’m going between my iPad, phone, and TV and throwing a fit that it’s approaching 6:07. At 6:08, I’m in. My game is on. And I rewind to the beginning because I LIKE the beginning. Tony came back to ask if everything was okay and I teared up again when I said, “I don’t know where that came from and I couldn’t control it. I’m really sorry.” ”I know.” He said. “It’s okay; you’re okay.” I am fairly (certainly) confident I’ve never apologized for something like that before that day. This gets to count as progress, I think? I also recognized that I am far from okay right now. I spend so much time trying to matter, to be good enough. I have to work on better management of this energy. I have to know I’m trying and doing all I can do and I can only accomplish so much alone and within a certain timeframe. I have to know no one else has my perspective or my goals (though, sometimes I wonder if others are hitting copy + paste on my goals 🙄) and everyone else is just out there doing what they can do—even if it doesn’t fit my preferred pace. In my efforts to get outside and get out of my head, yesterday and today I spent hours at our new “farm” where I hope to one day build (though if you want to get me started on the number of people who refuse to return phone calls or get back with you to even get the pole barn shop phase started, I can guarantee another emotional breakdown). I decided my new hobby of “farmhand” was going to be the perfect way to level my head—nothing like manual labor and exhaustion to take away the fight in a person, right? I actually did hard things (like for real, I’m not just making that up to be funny), but the anxiety stayed barely under the surface and was on my mind throughout every task. Then my husband told me to put the fence post in a different place. My spot apparently wasn’t good enough for the whole 3 minutes it was going to sit there. And I was crying behind his back as if none of the hard work had made a difference in my mood at all. I think this means I have a long way to go, but these last (nearly) two years have been all about the journey of change. Tomorrow is another chance to start again and wake up as the pleasant little gal I know I can be. 😆 **All of this to say, I just have to keep knocking down some barriers and dealing with incompetent persons in positions they don’t deserve, but the new things ahead will inevitably make it all worth it, I think.** For now, I’ll focus on this gorgeous land and not let the months of work it needs deter me from enjoying the view (because let me tell ya, I found a pic that hides all the junk at the perimeters to make this photo look better). Oh, and if you stopped in thinking we were going for a weight loss update, I’m down 96.4 pounds. Hopefully, my next post is 100. Do you have a temper, too? You trying to hold that in or are we just letting it fly? Cheers, Kalin  |
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