Emaciatrix!

I was reading a review about the upcoming film Atonement by Kyle Smith for the New York Post (http://kylesmithonline.com/?p=736) in which he refers to Keira Knightly as an Emaciatrix. His exact quote:

Emaciatrix Keira Knightley, who is getting thinner with each role and is on track to disappear entirely by 2013

The term is new to me, but seems destined to work its way into the vernacular.

She's absolutely gorgeous. Who wouldn't want to look like her? And I can practically hear all the studio execs saying "Lose weight. Get thinner. The thinner you are, the bigger star you'll become." This to a woman who had a beautiful figure to begin with. Just watch Bend It Like Beckam to see how fat she wasn't.

Is it the execs fault that we worship The Stick?

I wish I could follow her around for a day and see what she eats. Jennifer Annistion, Angelina Jolie, all of 'em. Make it a week. One week to track their food intake.

To be continued...work beckons!

20 pounds is a lot!

Sunday evening...just finished half an hour on the rebounder. I was using ten pound dumb bells, and, dayum, they're heavy!

"Wow," I thought, "I can't remember what it felt like to have an extra twenty pounds on my body, but it must have been heavy."

That extra twenty pounds was work. I only used them for ten minutes, then reverted to the five pound weights.

I don't miss that twenty pounds.

I don't miss the gym, either. Saturday morning I sat at St. Sebastian with my mug of cappuccino, perched in the window seat, reading Atonement and listening to soft conversations around me. I also worked a bit on the poem I'm writing for Cassandra's wedding. I think I'll make this a Saturday morning ritual for now, because it felt so good. And I think I'll work on my novel there.

In fact, I think it would be lovely to find a way to sit there happily many mornings, blissfully working on my novel. Hmmm...

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.

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....

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...

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.