Soviet Slim Down: An Introduction

Weight, it’s something we don’t openly talk about how we struggle with it, in most of the world. After spending a year in Georgia, my views on food, fitness, and health were changed. We, fellow teachers, talked about it a lot, almost as much as our bathroom issues. I adopted an “I don’t give a shit about what you think,” attitude. I started doing things my way and on a budget. This is an introduction to my Soviet Slim Down that I started in Georgia and am now carrying on during my vacation in Ukraine and will conical from here on out.

It started off as a joke. I was sitting in a Georgian restaurant in February 2012 with a newly formed friend, enjoying our snow day of freedom from our students, laughing about how my host parents put me on a scale a few days earlier, shocked that I weighed a whopping 107kg (236lbs). He said that they had to use the industrial scale, that they used for making Cha Cha, because I would have broken a normal one. I had known this guy for all of three weeks, barley spoken to him, but here we sat, making fun of my predicament and eating habits. For some reason I was ok with him making fun of me, anyone else I would have burst into tears and told them to fuck off. Maybe it was because we were in Georgia and had to laugh at our lives or we would have lost our minds or maybe it was because I knew in my heart that early on in our friendship that he cared and this was his way of showing it. 

I’ve always been fat, not chubby, plump, slightly overweight, or any other nicety phrase you want to throw at me. Something clicked, hard, in Georgia during my time there. I would sit in the teachers room, watching my co-workers, not so much older than me take each others blood pressure, talk about medications for controllable health conditions that were the product of unhealthy eating, and sip coffee that was mostly sugar, thinking that something had to change. It was like a PSA for what you didn’t want your health to end up as that just played over and over. One day I drew a food pyramid on the chalk board and they all started laughing at me, the silly America who thought she was teaching them something they didn’t know. They knew alright, but didn’t care, just like millions of people in America alone. I continued to bitch for a few months about how this country was making me fat, until my outspoken friend told me to shut up and stop blaming my wealthy host family with their sweets and fried chicken and take some control and loose weight. If I couldn’t do it in a country like Georgia, where every kind of produce was coming into season, that cost next to nothing, and I only worked 15 hours a week, was I really expecting that I could do it in America? Because my friend, who I love dearly, is an asshole and I am stubborn, we formed a bet. I had to loose a kilo a week or he got my prized food bag, normally a Kit-Kat, pear soda and some other horrible food, that I would eat on my journey back to my village every weekend from Tbilisi. I didn’t care if I would have to give him this food, because it didn’t matter I could have bought it in my village anyways, I wanted to win and shove it in his face.

Me on my way home to my village with a kit-kat in one hand and a pear soda in the other (Georgia March 2012)

I explained to my host family that money was on the line for me to get skinny. They laid off force feeding me, my well meaning host mother even tried to get me up at 7am to do ‘sport’ with my host brother, and my family would come running when they would hear me dragging the scale out to monitor their American daughter’s progress. Everyone in the village knew what was going on, everyone. My weight was no longer a secret. People openly commented on my figure like I was a livestock animal they were getting ready for the fair. My friend regaled our friends at dinner in the city with my struggles, making them guess my weight. No one could believe that I was above 100kg (220lbs). The odd thing was that after a while I didn’t care that people knew what my weight was. It was a fact of life that I was fat. No matter what I wear it does not hide the fact that I am not a size 2. 

The talks with my weight out in the open, not backstabbing whispers, were more productive then the years I spent as an adolescent in Weight Watchers or trying some quick weight loss diet, which clearly didn’t work in the long run. After that spring, when I went back into western culture I put on weight again, and fast. After getting down to around 100kg (220lbs) I was back up to around the 107kg (236lbs) that I had started at. it was a mix of traveling a lot, eating food that I hadn’t eating in while (years in the case of Denmark), drinking, and generally not caring until it had caught up with me yet again. 

When I got back to the States that summer I had to buy new pants and I squeezed myself into a pair of size 16 jeans that had no right to be stretched that far and have me say that they “fit.” Six weeks later when I went home to Georgia I couldn’t even get them on.

Arriving in Georgia, I was going to be living on my own, in an apartment, for an extended period of time for the first time in my life. After paying my rent I only had about $135 to last me the month on food. I quickly discovered that almost all western brands of prepackaged food wasn’t an option and local produce was cheap. I gave up on any meat I would have to cook at home and almost all forms of dairy, to avoid explosive bathroom issues that semester. I couldn’t eat out of boredom anymore, because it wasn’t in the budget, but I never went hungry. I drank water, flavored with minimal amounts of my valuable Chrystal Light, to add variety, gone were the sugary drinks, again not in the budget. 

I got myself weighed on the street by old women, and their scales who would question if 103kg (227lbs) was really something to be proud about. I had women at a bazaar flat out tell me that they didn’t have pants big enough for me. The friend that I was with, another American, asked if I was ok emotionally after having all of them basically tell me that I was too fat. I said I was use to it. They didn’t need to be any less honest. I knew that I was the one who had to change, not them. I was the one who was screwing with my health, being stupid, and staying depressed because I had decided to eat a whole cake, not just a piece.

Every visit back home to my Georgian village to see my family that fall, I was greeted by them telling me that I was still getting skinny slowly, but surly. They had faith that their America could do it, even if they couldn’t. My host mum set my goal weight at 85kg (187.3lbs). She had no past background history on me, she hadn’t seen the struggles. She was blissfully unaware and thought that I had never thought about loosing weight before. There was something refreshing about this and her blind faith that I could do this. When I came back from a summer away, she blamed my weight gain on America.

When I left Georgia, I got myself weighed on the street by an old woman for the last time in December and I was back down to 100kg (220lbs) after an extremely inactive semester. When I landed back in the States food was over processed and I felt like a freak for complaining. I struggled with eating what my family ate and what I ate. Not a lot was matching up. My mother started calling me her vegan daughter, I still didn’t trust meat and dairy for the fear of toilet explosions. I again had to battle against that American stereotypes of weight and how it was talked about. A few weeks ago my boss spoke with me, right before I felt for Ukraine that when I got back from Georgia I was the “tiny,” the smallest he had ever seen me and then again I put a little back on, but slowly it was coming off again. He spoke honestly about my plans and goals, nothing was hushed. I talked numbers. I don’t know where I want to end up, because I can’t remember the last time I was ever this skinny. Yesterday I got myself weighed on the streets of Lviv by an old woman and I was at 90kg (198.5lbs). I got off the scale and went on my way to the market to buy some more produce and didn’t think much of it until this morning. My license that I have had since I was 18, that says 200lbs (90.7kg) is no longer a lie and for the first time has even come close to being true. I don’t want a medal or a party. I just want to keep going on with my journey, slowly chipping away enjoying throwing out old clothes, because they are too big. Most of all I can’t wait to see my friend from Georgia further down the road, healthier, and being able to say, “I told you I could do it, you ass!”

Breakdown of the numbers:

Fall 2009: 

February 2012: 107kg (236lbs)

June 2012: 100kg (220lbs)

August 2012: 108kg (238lbs)

December 2012: 100kg (220lbs)

May 2012: 90kg (198.5lbs)

February 2012: Barley squeezing into a size 18 in Gap

May 2012: Comfortably a size 14 in Gap 

Break down in photos:

January 2012 (Georgia)

June 2012 (Armenia)

November 2012 (Ukraine)

May 2013 (Ukraine)

Pro Tips for Surviving a Long Journey

I’m not sure how many of you kind folks reading this will be aware of any of my current travel adventures so I’ll fill you in. I left for Lviv, Ukraine on May 20th and will arrive back in the States on July 10th, unless there is some unforeseen delay, like the National Ballet of Ukraine offers me the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker and I have to stay and train, or I get really drunk one night in Lviv and somehow wonder in Chernobyl and get attacked by a radio active bear. But as both of those are highly unlike as I would settle for no less then the Bolshoi Ballet company in Moscow  or the fact that I never drink we should have nothing to worry about, preventing me to make it back to the States. 

What I would like to talk about today is how I’m getting to Ukraine without loosing my mind and without loosing a bunch of cash. To get to Lviv I had to wake up at 1am Maine time (MET for short) on Monday May 20th, to be showered, make sure everything was packed, and make it to the airport in time for my 6am flight. My first flight would take me from Portland International Jetport, to JFK where I would arrive a little after 7am MET (Maine time, trying to keep it simple so you don’t have to do time zone math) My next flight from JFK to Moscow didn’t leave until 2:20pm MET. Upon flying into Moscow around midnight MET, I didn’t catch my next flight to Kiev, Ukraine for a few hours after that. When I got to Kiev it was 4am MET on Tuesday the 21st. I then had to wait around another 4 hours for my train to Lviv which won’t get me there until about 5:30pm MET. Over all about 36 hours of pure travel, in planes, trains, and automobiles, with a whole lot of time to kill. 

-Hydrate. I cannot emphasize this enough. A few days before your flight, especially if it’s a long one, up the water intake and cut back on everything else. Don’t drink the booze before or during a flight, I know it’s free sometimes, but seriously just go out to a bar when you get where ever you are going and find a man to buy you a free drink. You’ll feel so much better emotionally and physically with this strategy. Day of flight continue to drink stupid amounts of water. If you don’t want to pay for water in an airport, like myself, take an empty bottle with you through security and fill it up after. Try to say no to or at least limit soda and juice intake. The carbonation from soda can leave you bloated and the juice is a lot of sugar. I’ve also been told that you shouldn’t have caffein on flight days, but I’m not a doctor and I normally drink about three to five cups of coffee a day so for me cutting it out completely would leave a non-functioning me. Keep drinking water after you land, but make sure to check out the bathroom situation before hand. I once found myself trapped on an Italian train with no working bathrooms for 2 hours after downing 1.5 liters of water. I hated life. Drink water, you get the point.

Ukraine Train Toilet

-Food. Pack a food bag. This is the one thing you will never regret over packing. For this epic journey my bag consisted of three apples, three bananas, a sandwich bag of strawberry and another one of grapes, and another of raw almonds. I also somehow managed to get fresh almond butter through TSA. All very healthy foods, because I knew that airplane food isn’t that healthy (still ate some of it. They gave massive chunks of cheese and walnuts out as PART of a snack. Massive shout out to Transaero airlines and their food that exceeded my expectations!) Also while waiting in multiple airports or train stations, I didn’t want to have to pay to $2 for that, same banana I could have packed myself and a hungry me isn’t a happy me. Also ditch Burger King or some place like that before you fly. No one and I mean no one wants to get the shits on international flight with a limited amount of bathrooms and limited times you can use them. (Yes, I always think and talk about the bathrooms.)

My travel companion and our airport picnic

You can always pick up local food once you land.

-Sleep. Try to sleep at the time you would be on at your destination on travel day.  This can be tricky. I’m a big fan of popping a sleeping pill on the flight over the Atlantic and drooling all over myself and my newly aquatinted seat mate. Sometimes, even this isn’t fool proof. Mine knocked me out for about 2 hours and than I slept badly on and off after that. I’m going to blame it on the fact that we were flying far north, over Iceland, Norway, Sweden and such, so the sun never set for the whole trip.  Also, don’t beat yourself up over not concurring jet lag in the first day. I’m not a master. I will say that for the first part of your day, no matter how shitty you are feeling get a small americano into you and be exposed to natural light. If you don’t drink coffee, forget I said that. 

Coffee, the elixir of life!

Iceland, way later then the sun should be up

-Planing your journey in the best way for you. I could have spent another few hundred dollars and have flown directly to Lviv, but in my never ending quest to save money and my love of Ukrainian trains I chose not to. All my friends in Lviv think I am crazy for insisting on this path of travel, but thankfully my best friend has stopped fighting me on this, still thinks I’m crazy, but ended up booking probably the perfect ticket for me. He threw out the idea of the fast train, which limits luggage (I have way to much as always) and the fact that it doesn’t have beds. The beds are a key factor, as I will be traveling from 3:20pm Lviv time till a little after midnight. I needed the option to be able to lay down, and have been dozing on and off for the past 4 hours of my ride. He also smartly bumped me up to second class where I could get a cabin with a closing door, to block noise, a bottom bed and when he booked my ticket I was the only one staying in my room, so it’s been me sitting around in my leggings and a tank top, drooling on my pillow, and eating out of my food bag without anyone watching. This upgrade was only about $5 more and so worth it. I also have the potential to get some awesome cabin mates who will, most likely feed me if they ever appear.

-Staying fresh. On journeys like this it can be hard. My hair has turned into a grease ball, so I’ve given up on that front. I did pack an extra change of cloths in my carry on. From America to Moscow I had sport leggings on with a tank top, sweatshirt and sneakers. As soon as I hit Moscow I changed into a black maxi dress with a jean jacket, and nice flip flops. It was a new day, so time for a new outfit and one that was more socially expectable. You don’t go out looking like a slob in Europe. The key to the second outfit is something that looks more dressed up, but still feels like cozy clothes and are easy to move in. I also like to look like the local population as much as I can, which backfired and people kept speaking to me in Russian and Ukrainian and asking me for directions.  

-Keeping entertained. I travel with my laptop and iPhone, for electronics, both of which on long journeys will die, no matter how hard I try to charge them when I find an available outlet. I limit myself to just music and audiobooks on my iPhone. I know the audiobooks can sound a little nerdy, but I like to be able to close my eyes and listen to a story I either already know well or something that is easy to fallow. Most public libraries have e-libraries that you can download audio books and e-books for free for a set amount of time. Since my electronics always die I try to take one paperback (less weight than a hardcover) with me that isn’t too taxing to read. There is nothing worse then lacking sleep and trying to get through As I Lay Dying by Faulkner. My brain implodes and I want to cry because of how stupid I feel. Trash magazines are also a decent investment, especially if you can find a fellow traveler to swap with. 

The best possible entertainment source is to find someone to flirt with. Here is my logic, you are in transit, you will never have to see or talk to this person again if you really don’t want to. I lucked out, or my airline was trying to play match maker, on my flight from NYC to Moscow and ended up sitting next to a guy a few years older then me  and decently attractive looking. Our introduction was me telling him that he was in my window seat and to get up and move, now this could have made for an awkward flight, but I started small talk and by the end of the flight we were talking about things that I can’t write here because my parents read this blog. (E-mail me if you want to know the details.)

Even better then finding someone to flirt with is when they find you. When I was transferring terminals in JFK, dragging my 2 fifty pound suitcases and a guy commented on how much I had with me. He continued to tell me about his work and how he traveled every week. We got on to the topic of iphones and how they make life so easy and I admitted that I will hate to go without it in Ukraine and as we parted ways, he handed me his card and told me to e-mail him about my travels if I ever found wifi. Sneaky, sneaky man, but admire his delivery. A for effort! He may get a consolation e-mail.

I think I’ve covered all the bases, but feel free to add your own tips on how not to die on massively long journeys. I am going to drool more on my train pillow and hope for the best! 

Waiting...