Sunday, November 25, 2007

I want Angelina Jolie's body...

...in 15 minutes a day. Not her real body, because she's starting to look really scrawny (though still gorgeous). But her fake body in Beowulf.

15 minutes. Not enough? I'll go 30. No, seriously, 60 minutes a day, 4-6 days a week. No pressure, because you have to have a day off now and then or it screws up your whole system. Yes? I vote yes.

60 minutes a day of exercise is a big commitment. I'm not an athlete. I don't really want to be an athlete, but I wouldn't mind looking like one. In these times, it's a pretty fun body to have, or so they say. That's what every television commercial says: hard, thin bodies are the ones that are having fun.

I've thought a lot this weekend about my decision to stop going to the gym. I don't feel guilty at all. I don't feel like a failure. I am so happy to have made that decision. I love to exercise in my own space, at my own pace. I love exercise when it's something that brings me in touch with who I am, when it reveals my own secrets to me. I like peaceful exercise. And the gym was robbing me of that experience. Everything about the gym is loud. Peace is so much better. So I feel really happy about making the right decision.

This has been a wonderful weekend. My friends Joyce, Timberli, Bryan and myself won a little over $450 on some lottery tickets. We were sitting in a local pub, ready for lame small town comedy night, scratching away...and Joyce looked at me and said "This is a $400 ticket." It was like I didn't hear it at first, it didn't completely compute. I said "Yeah, look I think this is a $50 card."

It was limbo for just a sec, and Timberli came to the table. I said "Hey, we just won $400! Well, $450!"

And the celebration commenced! I feel very lucky, and, at the end of this long busy Thanksgiving weekend, I feel thankful. For family, for friends, for good fortune and abundance. Luck is a cool, funny, mysterious thing. Four of us got a lovely piece of luck this weekend. I'm thrilled for all of us, and I think with proper appreciation for our good fortune, we will find even more good luck coming our way. And I for one am thankful.

My landlord died today. I'll miss him; he was a very good man. I've been missing him for a while, because Alzheimer's has been destroying his mind for years. Best of luck on your new journey, Mr. K.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

I Hate the Gym

Well, it's more precise to say I hate going to the gym.

I love exercise. It's part of my life now.

But going to the gym. It took entirely too much of my time. Yes, I used past tense, because I'm not going any more. It was a huge weight off my shoulders when I was home yesterday, the Friday after Thanksgiving, having blown off going to the gym, when I realized, you know what? There's nothing compelling me to go. I want to be at home. I want to do yoga and watch the cats. I want to work on a poem I'm writing as part of a friend's wedding gift. I don't have to go! So I'm not gonna go! I'm free!

Felt good.

At the end of the work day, driving 25 minutes to the gym, working out for an hour when the trainer would have loved two, driving home another half hour...I was lucky to have dinner by 7. It left me so little time in the evening for myself.

And...at the gym, you can't find your own head-space. I know that sounds like some kind of 70's hippy jargon, but it's true. Too many people, too many TVs, too much erratic energy. At home, I'm relaxed, I am in my own space, with my own voice...

I love that.

My work out is so much better when it's peaceful.

Today I rose early, did some yoga, worked with some weights, tortured my abs, had a lovely shower...went to the cool little coffee shop I frequent on Saturdays, sat in the window with my cappuccino and novel, flirted with a cute guy a little bit...ahhhhh....

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Passion vs. Obsession. Part One.

I went to Weight Watchers. Several times. That seems to be the pattern: people join, lose some weight, get frustrated, quit, join again, moan and commiserate at the meetings about all the reasons they failed and why they've come back...and I was certainly a part of that cycle. I can rattle off the names of lots of women who have done the same.

So let's see. We start out with high hopes. Obsess about fat/calories/fiber. Succeed a little bit. Then...fail.


And then we do it again. Ummm. Isn't this a faulty equation?

I've done the WW thing several times. I had my little slide rule, and like all the other women, I tried to find the most food for the least amount of points. What that leads to is eating a lot of "false food." White bread bereft of nutrition, microwave meals, etc. No matter how many times they write "HEALTHY" on that microwave meal, please, please, let's not kid ourselves. The first clue is the list of ingredients; it's a mile long! And you can't pronounce half the stuff! C'mon! Then it's microwaved--and we don't call it "nuked" for nothin' do we?!

I gave away my microwave. Sometimes use the one at work, because I must admit it's handy when you want a cup of soup, and we don't have a stove in the lunchroom.

So anyway, for me, Weight Watchers was obsession. I wasn't paying attention to my mind/body/spirit. I was just eating, with all my thoughts concentrated on how much I could eat and still stay in my points range.

I did not want to do that anymore. That's not freedom.

So...on passion. I prefer it. The better my food, the better I feel, whether I say goodbye to this last 20 pounds or not.

I did not count calories, did not count fat. What I did do, is pay attention.

I paid attention to labels, and put into action all the things that I knew in my heart and soul were true: that we have to nourish our bodies with whole foods, and indulge now and then, because life is fun, food is good, we should celebrate both together.

I pay attention to my body; I listen to it. When satisfied, I stop eating. When I'm hungry, I eat. I love to eat!

And listen, here's the part of the secret: We are set up to fail. I have read many books and articles on food and nutrition, and I have come to believe what many on the fringe have been saying: there are additives and ingredients in food that are meant to keep you from reaching satiety. There are ingredients that are put into food to ensure that you never feel full!

Is it evil? Oh yeah. Do the research. Type "high fructose corn syrup" into Google and see what you find. They type in "MSG." And food manufacturers, they are clever. They have found ways to hide the MSG! If you see "natural flavors" or "spices" on the list of ingredients, you are eating MSG (there are other ways it's hidden, too). A meal or two of that stuff probably won't kill you. But if your morning cereal contains MSG, and your microwave lunch, and your snack of low-fat chips (that probably also contain hydrogenated oils and other nasty non-foods), and your evening meal...it adds up. The ketchup on your eggs: probably loaded with sugar, HFCS, and MSG.

Think about your favorite munchie, whether it's chips or microwave popcorn, whatever. Think about sitting in front of the TV with the bag. Do you go into a sort of mindless eating stupor, where one chip just follows the other till the bag is gone? You just eat, and eat, and eat, not even tasting or enjoying the food anymore. And it's not joy, is it? It's...obsession.

How does that happen?
You don't go into that mindless stupor when eating apples.
So how does that happen?

Do the research and you'll see: the food industry wants you to eat like a pig. Don't let the industry win! We can change all that. Even Weight Watchers...do they really want you to succeed? I wonder. Because if you succeed, you don't need them.

I sure don't need them! Yay!

To be continued...

Saturday, November 10, 2007

On Fat Kids

A thin woman was expressing concern about her young daughter, who was just entering junior high. The daughter has become a little chubby, and mom doesn't know what to do about that. Should they have frank talks about nutrition? Should she try to restrict her daughter's food?

That's a start, I guess. Asking the right questions. Because here is the truth: there is nothing she can do. If her daughter wants to be fat, she will become fat. If she doesn't consciously want to become fat, she still might become fat.

Is it harder to love a fat daughter?

I mean, the girl can control that, right? She should be able to control that, shouldn't she? Should mom try to teach her control?
If she had been born without a leg, or with Down's Syndrome, or freckles, whatever, well, those things aren't controllable. But being fat, that's a choice.

So, is it harder for a thin mom to love a fat daughter? Is she disappointed? Or genuinely concerned?

And here's another thing: I wonder what that 14 year old girl's generation will think of being fat. When I was in grade school, there were maybe 3 fat kids in any class. But now, what, at least a quarter of the kids are overweight? So will it seem much more normal to them to be a little bigger/softer/rounder, or will they still worship the elusive stick?

We are starting to become obsessed with our health, as a country, I think. I'm hoping we don't become a fat nation; I'd much prefer that we become healthy and happy.

But what should mom do about her daughter?

I don't have kids, so this is a challenge for me. I have to give it more thought.

For me, my memories suggest that I was a reasonably happy child. Everyone else was far more concerned with my weight than I was. I'll have to find some pics and post them here.

To be continued.

Saturday Thoughts

t's a really good morning. After an exhausting Friday (when I dragged myself home after work, skipping out on going to the gym, forced myself to do half an hour of yoga while building a very comfortable fire to keep me warm, and having a nip of medicinal Jameson), I got a pretty good night's sleep.

At the gym first thing this morning. I like the Saturday morning work-out. At first I was alone, but the place filled up pretty quickly and I loved the buzz of people up doing something positive for themselves.

It all got my mind to wandering, and lately, more and more, my mind wanders to issues of weight and health. As we discussed in the seminar the other evening, there are so many books/theories on how to achieve lasting, harmonious, effortless weight reduction, all of them in one big contradictory heap, that it makes your stomach churn.

Run to the goodies 'cause there ain't nothin' workin' for no one. That's how it feels sometimes, for me at least. You work, and work, and work...I've maintained my weight for a couple of years now, within about 8 pounds of fluctuation. In other words, there have been times of indulgence that led to no more than eight extra temporary pounds. But there's another 20 pounds (maybe 25, but we'll see) that I really want to say a big hearty "Adios, muchacha! You've been a good friend, you've been whatever I needed you to be at the time, but now, it's time to go. I nurtured you for a long time, I kept you well fed, and parting is bittersweet but it's not sorrow, off with you know, be happy somewhere else! Don't come back now, y'hear?"

And I can get pretty hard on myself about that. I think: why haven't you done it? You must be a failure, you can't reach your goal. You're weak.

So yeah. That's a great thought process for goal-achieving.

I forget sometimes to celebrate where I am. I accomplished a lot, and I'm really proud of that. It's been a profound journey for me, in ways that I am just beginning to comprehend.

It's not about restrictions. It's about becoming free. That's what I want to say to myself. You're so much more free now, isn't that fabulous? Isn't that a reason to jump for joy? And isn't it joyful that you can actually jump, maybe even in public, without being too wobbly? Instead of looking Jabba the Hut, now perhaps you look like a small, not unappealing bowl of pudding.

It's important to be gentle with ourselves. Food should be more ecstasy than agony. If we could savor every bite...if we could delight in our food, and delight in ourselves...

For I do think obesity has itself locked up in some kind of sadness. When I was really fat, I don't think I understood that. And I definitely didn't understand much about nutrition and giving your body what it needs. There are a lot of foods that I rarely eat anymore, but the funny thing is, I don't miss them much. And if I do, I eat them. Yup, sometimes I still feel guilty about it, but I'm working on that...

Happy Day!
Namaste.

Friday, November 9, 2007

Meet Asian Women!

Or not.

I was a bit dismayed by the content of the Google ads I allowed on my blog. I guess it was naive, but I thought when they promised to tailor the ads to my site content, we'd see things that, well, matter. But ads for diet pills that don't work, promises to lose 55 pounds in a month, meet Asian women (which really had me scratching my head, till my friend Timberli said it was probably because of the mention of shirataki noodles)...nope, in good conscience, I can't allow that kind of taint on the message I'm trying to get across. They're all lies, promises with no foundation, that ignore the real problems (if, in fact, the weight issues that you and I have are problems; I can only truly speak for myself on that, but I have yet to meet a fat person who is truly happy to be fat).

So. No more false advertising! Not on my blog. My weight/health journey is too important.

Last night I attended a small seminar with Charles Eisenstein, during which he spoke on his books The Yoga of Eating and Transformational Weight Loss.
Held at a lovely little tea shop, with an intimate group of people, it was a very good night. Now, Charles is a thin man who has never had weight issues, but his life's journey has been a quest for mind/body/spirit wholeness, or at least, that's my perception of him, after hearing him speak and reading some of his works. I can't presume to speak for him, and I certainly don't wish to misrepresent a man who has such a powerful message to share. But I can tell you he glows from within, has one of the warmest, most genuine smiles you'll ever see, and is a gentle, intuitive spirit on earth.

I'm exhausted this morning, not because of the travel and late night, but because my cat Boris insists on challenging me in the small hours of morning. He's twenty years old, and he has...issues. I inherited him a few years ago from ex-friends who, at the time, were going through a divorce and would no longer keep him. Boris is a big, lanky tabby, the most laid-back kitty you'd ever encounter, most of the time. But he's had some health issues, and some control issues, and 3 a.m. seems like fun to him. So does 4 a.m. and 4:20. And 4:36. And 4:52. And 5:05. You get the picture. He must be here to test my capacity for compassion. I love the little guy dearly...but somedays, he leaves me depleted...
Send him a little healing energy, if you wouldn't mind.

My point is that I'm not expressing myself well today, because my mind is foggy.
I'll write more later.

Namaste.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Clean Your Plate

What a ridiculous thing to tell a chubby girl.

"Clean your plate." Make sure you finish every bite, or you can't leave the table.

Give mom the benefit of the doubt, and assume she was trying to thwart the desire to snack later on, but...come on.

And my grandmother, on the other hand, I think she was just plain stubborn. Or she thought mom was too lax on making sure I finished every bite.

I didn't like most meats much at all when I was a kid (and when I could, I would run to the powder room across from the kitchen and spit it out), but I absolutely hated any kind of boiled meat, like that in soups, or pot pie. Just the mention of pot pie gives me the shivers and almost turns my stomach.

It kinda sounds good, doesn't it? "Pot pie." If you'd never heard it before, you might envision apples, cinnamon, sugar and sweet dough, bubbling in a deep pot, some sort of delicious concoction to serve on a winter day with warm milk or tea.

Uh-uh. Yeah, we ate it in the winter, and everyone else loved it, and there is dough in it. But it's dough slices cooked in water with boiled chicken and whatever else you can throw in the pot to make it all grey and disgusting and oily...

Ugh. And I'm eating breakfast right now. Ah well, let the memory roll on.

Once, on my birthday, Gran made me sit in front of a bowl of that crap till I ate it. It got cold and even more disgusting. Mom came home; reprieve! I didn't have to eat it, and mom chastised Gran a little bit. What sweet relief.

I've never been one to reflect too much on the past. We are the sum of our days, I suppose, but as adults we make our choices. If we allow our perceptions of the past to cripple us, if we blame circumstance for who we are, we stymie ourselves.

Still, I can't help but wonder if little things like that didn't have their own influence on my psyche.

"Clean your plate." I cleaned a lot of plates. And I've spent the past few years un-learning that.

We live in a world of plenty. There is always food around. I don't have to worry about running out of food. So now, I don't clean my plate. I always leave a couple of bites of whatever I'm eating (unless it's a piece of fruit). It's part of the process of un-learning that I have to finish all the food I'm given. Another one of those things I learned from Paul McKenna's I Can Make You Thin.

And now, my cereal bowl is nearly empty...

Monday, November 5, 2007

What I eat. Part Two.

Anything I want.

It's true. No food is off limits. That would give the food power over me, and anyone who knows me well, knows that I don't give up my personal power. Nope. Not even to food.

As soon as I say "I'll never eat cheesy poofs again," the cheesy poofs are in control.
They become all I want. I look at them longingly in the grocery store. I read the label; oh god, how much hydrogenated fat per serving? And what are those six things I can't pronounce? Shouldn't they just be made of poof and cheese? Exactly what are natural flavorings, and how do they compare to that stuff that just doesn't seem natural at all? And can't I just have one bag? One leetle bag?

No! says the internal food nazi. No cheesy poofs for you! Only fat girls eat bags of cheesy poofs!

OK, I say to the food nazi. What if I buy the cheesy poofs from the health food store?

See...that's how it is. The food becomes obsession. If I want cheesy poofs, I have them. It's just that I don't want them much anymore. They leave me feeling...tired, bloated, sick. I ate one barbecue potato chip at work today, just to say I could. It tasted disgusting.

I know how it feels to be terrified that all that comfort food might be gone, forbidden. When your road is paved with junk, it's hard to see the beautiful yellow brick underneath. You and I, we love the junk.

I hated the idea of eating strictly healthy foods. It was a sometimes very rocky path that brought me to this point, and I'm grateful for every wobbly step.

So what do I eat, really? Oh, the things that scared me not so long ago.

Here is today's food intake:

Breakfast: smoothie (banana, a little frozen fruit, and a bunch of nutrients that don't taste so good unless disguised in a smoothie)

about 3/4 cup Ezekiel almond cereal, with a handful of raisins and a few extra nuts

snack: a delicious locally grown winesap apple. I bought a half bushel of these beauties.

Lunch: two Ezekiel tortillas topped with a couple of small tomatoes, red bell pepper, cucumber, capers, and a little vegenaise (it's a yummy mayo substitute) mixed with dijon mustard. And about an ounce of delicious organic raw cheddar cheese.

Dinner: small handful of Mary's Gone Crackers, one Qorn fake chicken pattie, and a veggie stir fry made with olive oil, onions, garlic, carrots, mushroom, and asparagus. Small handful of dates.

I don't count calories or fat, either.

To be continued...

On Magic Beans. Part One.

Pills.
We Americans love pills. Pills to make us happy. Pills to make us pee or poop. Pills to cure our lax libidos. Pills for our blood pressure. Pills to make us thin.

Right. I took a lot of those thin pills over the years in a fool's quest for a miracle. Now I do body detoxes to get the remnants of that crap out of my system.

Please introduce me to someone who has permanently reduced his or her weight by a significant amount (30 pounds or more), by taking pills.


I work as an on-air personality for a cluster of radio stations in a small Pennsylvania city. A few of my co-workers do endorsements for weight-loss pills. They are all overweight. None of them has reached goal. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, only one of those who took the pills actually worked at changing her life, incorporating exercise and a healthier outlook towards food.

And what happens when you stop taking the pills? You gain it all back, of course. Because you haven't addressed the real problems.

All those pills, for weight, blood pressure, cholesterol, etc., we should pile 'em up and burn them. They ignore the root of the problem, which lies in our food choices.

We don't want to give up the comfort of who we are, to achieve the person we want to be. But what cold comfort it can be, alone on a Saturday night with a DVD and a bag of cheesey poofs. So we want a pill to do it for us. A pill to make us thin, while we sit with the bag of cheesey poofs.

It just doesn't work. I know. I've been there. Don't waste your money on diet pills, while you complain "it's so much more expensive to eat healthy. Apples are expensive!"

One of the latest pills on the market costs about $50 for a month's supply. My sis was considering buying it.

"But, L___, it causes leakage!"

"Leakage?" she asked.

"Yeah. Poop leakage. Even the website says you should wear dark clothing and bring a change of underwear when you use its product."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

But millions of women would rather risk poop leakage, than give up those cheesey poofs. *sigh*

Here's what you and I can do today. Eat one less bite of something we love. Don't even wait till you get till the end of the bowl, if you're not ready for that challenge. Throw away one big bite before you even begin.

My day has just begun, and it's nearing time to get on the air. I'll let you know what that one bite is...

Sunday, November 4, 2007

My story. Part One.

My Story. Part One.


My issues with food go back as far as I can remember.

My story begins before my memories.

My birth-mother went to a Catholic half-way house for girls in trouble, where she had me, and gave me up for adoption. It was the last I’d see her for many years.

My parents (for Jim and Frances, the couple who adopted me, will always be my actual parents) were ready to bring me home, when dad had a heart attack. It meant that I stayed in the orphanage till I was about a year old, or close to it. No one is left from my immediate family whose memories go back that far, so I can’t ask anyone to clarify the details.

I was a pretty happy child; enthusiastic, curious, bright, with two much older brothers and a younger sis, all of us adopted. Old photos show a cute, chubby little girl who almost always smiled, except when her mother made her wear dresses.

My parents did well, made a good living with the local farm and animal supply store/feed mill they owned. We lived in a big, colonial house in a small, historic Pennsylvania town.
We drank whole milk, used real butter on our white bread, didn’t concern ourselves with sugar and had no idea there were any oils besides vegetable or corn. I don’t know if that’s completely true, but I’d be willing to bet there was no olive oil in our pantry. It was a pretty typical American diet. I recall Captain Crunch or peanut butter toast for breakfast, toasted cheese sandwiches and Campbell’s tomato soup for lunch, meat and potatoes for dinner. Well-cooked veggies. Salads were iceberg lettuce.

I loved to eat. I loved junk food. My favorite part of swimming lessons at the local YMCA was the change mom gave me to buy myself a treat from the vending machines after the lesson. Hair wet, gym bag over my shoulder, I’d run up the stairs from the basement locker room to get my goody. It was almost always a packet of nip-chee crackers. You got six crackers! That would last a lot longer than a candy bar or a bag of chips. Not that any snack lasted long around me.

I was the only one in the family with a weight problem.

My dad had his second heart attack when I was six. It was December, a few weeks before Christmas when he died. I was in my first grade classroom when the call came, and the nuns told me. I remember they made me get up in front of all the classrooms and say “My daddy died today.” That might have been the beginning of my disillusionment with religion and religious leaders, a topic for another column, perhaps.

Mom took over the business. Even more processed foods crept into the household, as she had less time to prepare meals. We dined out a lot in the evenings. I never minded. I loved having beef-a-roni for lunch, visiting restaurants for dinner. I especially loved all-you-can-eat spaghetti night at the Family Cafeteria.

Somewhere around the age of eight or nine, my weight was discussed with our family physician, who put me on diet pills. Were they speed? I don’t remember, but that seemed to be the diet pill of choice in those days. That may have begun my disillusionment with the medical industry. At the time, it wasn’t me who was concerned with my weight, it was the people around me. And really, I wasn’t that big. I was chubby. But the mind-set had officially begun.

Mom got sick when I was ten. I knew she was ill, what I didn’t understand was that incurable colon cancer had invaded her body. She died just before Easter.

My oldest brother Vince became guardian for my sis and me, but we went to live with my grandmother. She taught me the sugar-rush-joy of peanut butter toast mixed with dark Karo syrup for breakfast. And wilted lettuce salads with warm bacon dressing. In fact, she always had a can of bacon fat in the fridge, which she would use to fry potatoes, eggs, even hamburgers, in her big cast iron skillet. I loved her cooking.

At fourteen I went to a Catholic private boarding school. My freshman year, Vince died while I was home on Thanksgiving break, which left my sister-in-law as guardian.

I knew I was fat. Now and then, diets would be discussed. Meetings were attended. My heart was never in them. In fact, it wasn’t until I was an adult that I ever put any effort into seriously reducing. I joined the legions of women in search for something simple that would make me thin. Something that wouldn’t take away my food. Something magical.

Was I attempting to fill some kind of void with food? Who knows? But that’s an argument that both complicates and over-simplifies things. In other words, it’s inadequate. All lives are filled with joy and pain, and we all cope differently. Does some mysterious something in our psyches dictate to us to overeat? How do we cross into that mode where we are no longer eating to satisfy and nourish, but mindlessly gorging?

If you can come up with a definitive answer…sell it.

But we can’t discount the types of foods we eat. That boxed cereal I loved as a child is bereft of any nutrients. I could eat box after box after box, and my body would never get what it needs.

To be continued….

Stuff I love!

Politically Incorrect Nutrition, by Michael Barbee
It's one of those books that helps us to wake from the Matrix, and take a good look at what we're eating.

The Yoga of Eating/Transcending Diets and Dogma to Nourish the Natural Self, by Charles Eisenstein
I don't follow all his practices, but it's a wonderful book meant to inspire you into making body/mind/spirit connections to what you eat. He has been both vegetarian and omnivore.

Saturday, November 3, 2007

Fat people are taking over.

You already know it's true. Americans are getting fatter and fatter. And it's really unattractive. Seriously. I've lived it. That gives me license to call it as I see it.

What happens when more Americans are fat, than average? I wonder if our values would change, if we would start to revere the plump the way we currently worship the stick. What happens to Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie? I have to admit, it would be kinda sweet to see those girls pack on some pounds, so they can be round like us. And it would probably be good for them, a relief even, to eat a little more. Have some soft curves. Generous breasts. Sweeter smiles.

But that's not the way we're going. The curves are great, they're normal. But we're going into the land of blob. Watching people hobble around in pain, or scooter through the grocery store because they can't walk to buy their cheesy poofs...these things do not bode well.

Why are we allowing this to happen? Why do we continue to make ourselves miserable?
We turn a blind eye to the truth, and continue to eat fake food, praying for a pill or potion that will make us thin, beautiful and happy. Everyone wants to sell us the illusion of health, and we keep buying it.

100 years ago, people didn't sit on their couches, mindlessly eating cheesy poofs while staring at television. Cheesy poofs are not food. They don't nourish our bodies. Convenience meals are not real food. We just want to believe it is. And the amazing thing is, once you start really enjoy good, healthy, more natural foods, you lose your desire for most of that junk. It just doesn't taste as good anymore. Now if I indulge, (and yeah, I do indulge; soon I'll write about Lost Food Weekends), I seek foods that are much better for me, and truly delicious. It's fun.

I watch what people eat very closely. It's appalling and fascinating to see what people buy in grocery stores. Carts stocked with soda pop, frozen meals, boxed rice, cheesy poofs. A couple of weeks ago my sis told me she was eating brown rice. Yay! I was so pleased, but I kept my mouth shut because I was afraid encouragement might sway her the other way, since as sisters we tend to be a little contrary to each other. A rare trip to the grocery store together revealed the truth: She was buying instant brown rice. It's about the same as white rice: pretty worthless. All the good stuff is stripped from it, leaving no nutrients for feeding your body. Ah well, she's trying...

Back to the subject. We all know better. We all feel better when we are less fat. The less fat we are, the better we feel. As much as I watch what people eat, I look for light on their faces. That inner glow that tells me they are well, generally happy, and diggin' their paths.

We can cultivate that glow by caring for ourselves. It's something I learn more about every day. It's not always easy. Sometimes I backslide. It's why I'm writing this blog. Because I know how it feels to be really fat, and this is so much better. I want more of us to be happy and healthy, and maybe some of us can find our way together.

The tide is in an interesting place right now--it could turn in the right direction. We are becoming more and more educated about this fast food nation of ours, and that's really exciting! I'm ridin' that wave, baby!

Stuff I love!

Tomato sandwiches and tea on Saturday mornings, when I don't have to work. I love being off work on Saturdays. I still get up early, do some yoga, tidy the apartment, pet the cats a little more than I can most days, listen to some good music (today I've been loving the soundtrack to Garden State), and enjoy some food I don't always have time for. I love warm tomato sandwiches, with just a little raw, organic cheese. And tea. Good imported tea. Something spicy. Sweetened with Stevia. Saturday mornings, I have the time to moisturize after my shower. Ahhh....

I love Saturdays. And today is mighty fine, writing this blog, enjoying my tea and sandwich, and looking forward to dinner with friends later. Life is good!

Namaste!

On Exercise. Part One

Without a doubt, this past week's exercise has been the hardest I have ever worked my body. I hate it. I love it. It feels wonderful. It's challenging.

I joined a gym. I was kind of tricked into it, when I was asked to join a team for one of the radio stations where I work. Silly me, I should have asked more questions. I didn't realize I was going to be part of a two-station promotional competition with a local gym, with two teams vying to lose the most weight in an eight week period. But I'm very grateful that I kept my mouth shut and blundered into this opportunity.

Our trainer is brutal. Oh, he looks like a cute little pixie, sweet, polite, soft-spoken. Patient, even. But he doesn't even have to say a word to let you know you're not working hard enough to suit him. He just gives you that steely look of incredulity, and you say "Ok, ok, I'll incline the arc machine." I told him I was getting him a whip for Christmas.

But I'm loving it, and I can't wait to see the differences it makes in my body, mind and soul. And I'll write all about it, here.

Yes, exercise is essential. I've come to realize the truth in that, and I have made peace with the fact that I will exercise for the rest of my life. I want to look and feel great, and to get those things, it's like you have to make a pact with yourself to change your life.

I started exercising in earnest three years ago. I'd read that the rebounder was a nearly perfect exercise, low impact, aerobic, easy, and I could work out while I watched TV, distracting myself from what I was actually doing. For me, it made the transition from couch potato to person-who-exercises a little easier; it cushioned the blow of leaving the old me behind. At first I could only do it for ten minutes, but I worked up to half an hour while holding free weights.

The rebounder is a great little health investment. It's inexpensive, a good exercise, and an easy way to get in a half hour work out. I'll probably always have one around.

Yoga always mystified me. It still does. But I've noticed a lot of people who do yoga have beautiful, lithe bodies, and faces that glow. So this summer I decided to try kundalini yoga. I love the way it makes me feel, but it didn't make a big impact on changing my body after three months. I'm still doing it on the days I don't go to the gym, because there are other benefits to yoga.

Exercise...to be continued...

What I eat. Part One.

Let me begin by saying: it's ME saying these things! Me, the former fat girl, eating, loving and preferring healthy foods! It's like a miracle. No, it's not like a miracle, it is a miracle. I'm so grateful that I found something inside myself that led me down this new path, because it's a much better place to be. And I plan to keep going, because I love this path.

Let's face it, it wasn't fruits and veggies and whole grains that made me fat. Last night, I ate a few yummy dates to satisfy a sweet tooth. Not chocolate--dates! And since my friend T and I semi-accidentally splurged at work yesterday, I had shirataki noodles for dinner (these, too, are a miracle; more on them in a bit).

What I eat has changed a lot since the beginning of this Odyssey. I hate being this sort of cliche, but yes, I had been on the diet merry-go-round for many years, trying lots of different programs, jumping into the path of every magic bullet I could find. And yeah, they all worked, briefly.

Some programs are absolutely ridiculous, like the cabbage soup diet. Please introduce me to someone who permanently said goodbye to more than thirty pounds by eating cabbage soup.

I love food. I love to eat. But my tastes have changed, and now, I love good foods more than junk food. They make me feel good, nourished, satisfied. Sure, I still eat french fries now and then. But I always split the order with a friend, and we make sure we never finish all the fries.

Oh, speaking of fries, here's a TIP: Destroy the food! When out to eat at a restaurant, once you have eaten enough to satisfy yourself, destroy the food! Put your napkin on your entree plate, or put your salad plate on top of what is left of your dinner. Otherwise, you might say "Oh, I'm full!" and ignore the food for a minute or two, but then you'll pick at it. So do what my friends and I do: Destroy the food!

That's kind of a foreign idea, isn't it, to destroy the food? When you're fat, you want all the food, and second helpings. You never, ever destroy food. You eat it till it's gone, and your belly is half sick. Does that feel good? No. Everything about it is painful. The need, the want, the feeling of being out of control. And of course, the after-effects: the tight pants, the larger sizes. It's a horrible cycle. It occurs to me that fat people must be very brave, because it's a very scary ride. And stayed on that ride for many, many years.

I have a new life now and I plan to continue discovering the new me.

What I eat...to be continued...

Stuff I love!
Shirataki noodles--a miracle. They are a substitute for pasta--with nearly no calories. Yeah, no calories. There are two types: those made with and those made without tofu. The tofu version have a few calories, I think it's 20 per serving, with two servings per bag. Isn't that fabulous? You can eat a whole bag of something, two servings, for 40 calories! And they have fiber, too!

You can find the tofu version in grocery stores with a natural foods section. They're in the fridge near the cheese. The other version has to be ordered online. A simple google search should get you to a site.

Drawbacks? They're not for everyone. Packed in water, they're a little mushy, like very well done pasta. They also have a slightly fishy odor when they first come out of the package. Rinse them well, then boil them for just a minute. Dry fry them for a minute to remove excess water, then top them with whatever sauce you like.

Friday, November 2, 2007

Do men look you in the eyes?

People treat you differently when you are fat.
They treat you much better when you are not fat.
Is this fair? Of course not. But we live in a physical world, and we all react to appearances, fair or not.

I've talked to women who were very angry that men talked to them differently after they'd reshaped their bodies. They resented it, saying they were still the same person inside.

I say no way, you are not the same person. You are the person that overcame the burden of being overweight, you are the person who persevered, you are the person who now loves to shop and feels comfortable in well cut jeans and cute tops, you are NOT THE SAME PERSON.

Certainly, I am a new person. I have a confidence in myself that I never had before, and let me tell you, I was never a blushing wallflower of a person. I delight in the way men react to me now. They look me in the eyes when they talk to me. They flirt. Flirting is fun. Wouldn't you love to experience flirting?

I started this blog for a lot of reasons. I have so many thoughts and opinions about changing my life and saying goodbye to too much weight, that I just had to get them out. And if I can encourage anyone else to change his or her life...well, that would be wonderful. But mostly, I thought it would be cathartic to face myself, and share this part of myself with others. I was in denial for so long. My perspective of myself was so wrongly skewed. I thought I looked...ok. I wasn't that fat, right? I could still buy clothes. I still had friends. But then my body started to betray me...

Sure, deep down, I knew how fat I was. I wanted to be thin, but I wanted to eat. My dear friend FK always tell me that change comes with saying goodbye, that some things have to go. That you can't always keep what you have, to get what you want. No longer could I sit around with the cheesy puffs, wondering why I wasn't thin. Physics won't allow it.

So this is the place to write about what I did, what I'm doing, and how I've changed and will continue to change. It's an awesome journey, and I love it!

And you will too. I want everyone to take that first step, even if it hurts...I want us all to be healthy and happy.

Stuff I love!

Paul McKenna. I mentioned in my first post that I used his bood/CD combo as an aid. It's called I Can Make You Thin. He's a British hypnotist, and somehow, he reached me. In the early days, I listened to that CD every day. I still listen a couple of days a week. It helped me to recognize when I was satisfied, and to stop eating. I developed new food habits, and approached the process with new eyes. If anyone knows Paul McKenna, please tell him I'd like to give him a hug some day!

The Fat Girl At My Back

She's four and a half years and 130 pounds ago. But she's there. I've slowed her to a crawl, but given the right fuel (too many cheesy puffs, perhaps), she'd gain speed easily. Fat is fast. Fast and long.

How did I go from a size 24/26 to a 10/12? Eat less and exercise, the old fashioned way. No pills, no surgery. But beyond that, eat well and exercise. This is the place where I will share all my thoughts, opinions, and how I did it.

I'm still about 20 pounds from my goal. And through this journey that has led to the new, revitalized me, I learned so much. I have so many thoughts to share on being fat, and on changing one's life. It's so important to be healthy. Fat isn't happy. I know a lot of people say "I'm comfortable with my weight." Yeah, right. That is the ultimate cop-out. No one is happy to be fat. Nope. Not buying it. I'm not saying everyone wants to look like Kate Moss (nor should they), but we all want to look good in jeans, shop in regular stores, wear clothes that come in single-digit sizes with no X's.

Yes, I am saying that fat people aren't happy, and as a former fat person, I think my opinion holds, um, weight.

And by the way, I prefer not to use phrases like "lost weight." That makes it sound like I might find it again! I also don't care to call myself a loser, in any context. So through this blog, I'll find other ways to refer to the new me.

Oh I prayed for the magic pill, the book, the simple exercise that would make me thin and fit, while crying in my cheesy puffs. I'd spent all my life in some stage of chubby-to-fat, blaming it on hypothyroidism, consoling myself with that back-handed compliment that I sometimes received: "you have such a pretty face." I convinced myself that I didn't look that bad.

But I did look bad, and started to feel it, too. Wandering through the Metropolitan Museum of Art with my niece, I couldn’t walk long without knee pain that required frequent stops. I started to experience numbness in my outer, upper thighs now and then. My weight was changing from a cosmetic problem to the sort of issue that would result in deteriorating health. Something had to be done. It was one thing to be young and fat...but to become old and fat, with limited mobility; the prospect was terrifying.

I found my miracle: "I Can Make You Thin" by Paul McKenna, a book with an accompanying hypnosis CD. Tentatively, I began listening to it and practicing some of the book's tips ( such as: put your utensils down between every bite, which is now a habit for me). I learned to judge when I was satisfied and stop, not eat till I became stuffed. This book/CD combo is only available in the U.K., but can be bought inexpensively on ebay.

The weight began to drop, and everything about me became lighter. My life, my perspective, my moods, my body; everything improved. I am, happily, a completely different woman. Shopping for clothes is now a joy, and far fewer photos of me end up in the trash bin. Sometimes I look at old photos and wonder who that woman was, and why I let her stay so unhappy for so long.


My life is completely revitalized. I've renewed my efforts to rid myself of another 20 pounds, and some days maintaining is more challenging than others. But it’s not a fight; for me, I’ve fallen in love with a new way of living. I love me more than ever before, and that’s a wonderful feeling.

Welcome to my journey! Namaste!


Stuff I love!

As I chronicle my life and its weight issues, I'll include some stuff here and there that I love. These are not paid endorsements, but hey, if someone wants to pay me for writing about things I already love, then let's chat!

Ezekiel Bread Unless I'm out to eat, this is the only bread I eat. Whole sprouted grains...mmmm. No preservatives, either. You'll find it in the freezer in the natural foods section of your grocery store. Then you'll have to keep it in the fridge, that's how deliciously natural it is. We all know how bad white bread is for us, so just purge it. Get rid of it. 79 cents for a loaf of bread that takes weeks and weeks to rot? C'mon, you know that's not really food. It doesn't nourish your body. Even if something says "whole wheat," that does not necessarily make it healthy. More ranting on that in future posts. Ezekiel also makes a mighty fine tortilla, and I love their cereals, too. Yum!
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