My husband calls me a freak of nature. I know it sounds mean, but I believe him.
For almost three years now, I have been making a desperate attempt to lose weight.
I know, I know. Big deal. Everyone struggles with body image issues.
Not quite the way I do. Three years ago, I made the decision to get fit and lose weight. I want to be around to see my kids, grandkids, great-grandkids. Given my genetic predisposition for heart problems, I needed to start my fitness regimen sooner than later.
So, I went by the book and started with an easy 20 minutes a day on the eliptical. I worked my way up to 25, 30, then 35. Eventually, I was alternating between 45 minutes a day on the eliptical and walking 4.5 miles outside. Not only that, but if I stuck something in my mouth, I wrote it down and tallied the calories at the end of the day.
Unfortunately, the scale didn't budge. My muscles tightened and grew, and I figured I'd eventually start seeing the fat fall off my body. I knew my metabolism had raised because I would eat, and my stomach would growl with hunger no more than an hour later. But after 18 months of gaining muscle and not dropping any fat, my curiosity piqued about what exactly was happening.
So, I went to a doctor and had them perform a "metabolic breath test." The 10-minute test measured my calorie usage through respiration. I received a printout that told me I needed to eat . . . are you ready for this? 2,500 calories TO MAINTAIN my current weight. Have you ever eaten 2,500 calories? It's a lot. According to my notebook in which I wrote down my food consumption, I struggled to reach 1,800 calories in a day. Plus, I was burning another 350 during my workouts.
And yet -- like the zipper on so many pairs of my jeans -- the scale refused to budge. Why wasn't I losing weight?
Yeah, now you know why my husband calls me a freak of nature.
Tomorrow, I'll tell you about my visit to the lab last weekend and why I've been told NEVER to show up at the Red Cross to donate blood.