For many, maybe most Americans, ten months of unusually high stress have resulted in weight gain. Maude’s personal struggle has crossed a line, and she’s not having it. The 2020 Twenty: Entry One.
January 25, 2021
I just cried a little. I’m here to make it stop. And to get back to a thing I was very focused on a year ago, but that hasn’t exactly been the theme of the last ten months: health.
But to start, I should be clear and acknowledge that I do have it. By taking strong measures others around me haven’t been so willing to take, I have thus far managed not to contract COVID. And I have an appointment tomorrow evening to get my first shot of the COVID vaccine. I have that appointment because I fall into the Phase 1B category, and I am in that category because I’m a Type 2 diabetic.
When everything shut down last March, I was within (my target) range, more than forty pounds lighter than my pre-diagnosis weight, and two dress sizes smaller.
About sixteen months ago, I finally made it to a new doctor, with a new insurance policy, after I had to dump my old primary care provider because her clinic dumped me (because they no longer wished to work with my Affordable Care Act policy), and after going without for a while, I was able to get my A1C checked. The patient’s history: my previous doctor diagnosed me prediabetic six years ago, and I had gestational diabetes a few years before that, after my weight fluctuated for years between high school and my pregnancies. Quite a ride on the scales! And on ending this particular health care lapse, I had it confirmed I had finally crossed the doorstep of Type 2 and would need to go on medication.
And I found this out right after I had lost a beloved family member to illness, a woman who, before I even knew it, had modeled for me how to be the strong single mother I’d one day have to be. I was devastated, and my first week on the new medication, with side effects, sandwiched between my family’s loss and the funeral, was rough. Among other issues I was enduring at the time, it was without a doubt the worst month of my life.
But I came out of it on a mission. Where I’d only been mostly, sometimes better than others, mindful about my prediabetic condition, I got hardcore about reversing Type 2.
What I Did
I got back on MyFitnessPal and added MapMyWalk, and I got intentionally obsessive about entering everything I ate and logging all of my walks. At the same time, I measured portions carefully, paid attention to what foods were doing me the most good and what healthy eating days looked like, I started planning out my meals, and I committed to regular walks every week: 75-minute hikes around the local lake trail whenever possible, because it was my favorite place in town and made me happy, with and in addition to the exercise. It was my happy place. I also did body weight strength training between my walks, with a 30-day squat training challenge, and daily planks. The planks were indeed inspired by Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and they did make a notable difference in my energy level. And strength training by my body weight forced me to look at that weight daily, if for no other reason than to know how much I was “lifting”. So as I entered my food and exercise diaries each night and got an actual report on how much good it was doing me, and also stepped on the scale on a regular basis to see the real time results, I only got more motivated.
By Thanksgiving I had dipped below 200 pounds (a place I hadn’t been in a long, long time), and a year ago I checked in even lighter, with an A1C that wasn’t even prediabetic level. My new doctor gave me a target weight range to shoot for, which wasn’t too far away, and told me I could stop taking the medication if I got there. So I kept going.
When everything shut down last March, I was within that range, more than forty pounds lighter than my pre-diagnosis weight, and two dress sizes smaller. Of course, I tried to keep my new eating and exercise habits contained in what was quickly turning into a whole new life. But inevitably, all the dramatic changes and the intense stress proved to be a new villain in that life. I slowly started breaking sugar rules for stress relief, weighing less often, and skipping out on exercise. And then there was, of course, the stress. I started drinking more, and when I relocated into my parents’ house, I started eating Mom’s homecooked meals (yum!). So when I did step on the scale, and when I did log my weights into my app, I started to see those numbers slowly climbing up again. And when I had my blood sugar checked again in July, that number had climbed up a bit too.
These last two months in particular (you know the ones I mean) have been especially . . . um, difficult.
As of today, although I’ve been slowly dragging myself back into the positive habits I developed a year ago, I’ve gained back twenty of the forty pounds I lost. So after shedding a few tears, I’m making an accountability move. Not only am I re-committing to my original weight loss target, which was just four pounds away from where I got, I’m telling you. And I’ll be back, to let you know how it’s going. Because no, I’m not going back to where I started. Wanna come with?
What do you think? I would like to hear from you, but you won’t find the typical Comments section here. If you have given the issue some thought or have an experience to share, please enter it here, or send your response to Maude@mauvereport.com. I would love to hear how the rest of America is doing with this in 2021.