Today is a perfect example of all that is wrong with social food pressures - The Super Bowl (dun, dun, duuuuuun...).
This annual salute to the end of the NFL season and funny commercials has ultimately become more about good tailgate food. And lots of it. In years past I have embraced this and have even gone so far as to color coordinate the snacks to match the opposing teams. But this year? I couldn't possibly care less about the teams who are playing and I'm trying to lose weight, so what's the point besides the commercials? About food. Doritos. Pizza. Pepsi. Mmmmmmm..... At least I don't drink beer, but it's still brutal.
We're a Packers/Broncos/49ers family and had hopes for all of them this year but when the 49ers were the last to fall a couple of weeks ago, all excitement and anticipation for the Super Bowl evaporated. My son, though, who has been gone the last two years serving a church mission in Mexico, wasn't having it with the thought that we wouldn't put out our usual feast to the football gods. He can get pretty much get anything he wants by saying, "Hey, remember I was gone for two years," or, "Wow, I haven't had/seen/done that for at least two years."
Even that didn't inspire me much, but in an effort to be a good mother, I asked him what foods he had to have that were absolutely essential for him to consider it Super Bowl Sunday and he came up with clam dip and chips, Little Smokies in BBQ sauce, and perhaps a BBQ. Occasionally after that he would mention something else but nothing he suggested was even remotely what one might consider a healthy food. But who could I blame? I had raised him on Cheetos as a dairy product.
As the game approached, I did try really hard to pick a team since no matter how lame the game, the TV WOULD be on. I liked the Giants because, well, I'm giant, but then Boston is my favorite city and I'm truly a patriot. But Tom Brady is married to a Brazilian supermodel - blech - and my husband and son tell me that the Patriot's coach is a cheating crook. Then again, New York's uniforms are uglier than New England's, and that's an important consideration.
In the end, I decided to go with the Giants because I decided I would allow myself to be giant during the game with all bets off on what I ate. So I bought the Smokies, made the clam dip (almost pure cream cheese - yum), and bought an extra large bag of chips. But that's all I could make myself do. I figured I was probably going to blog about the experience and I didn't really want to have to admit that I went face down in the candy bowl.
My husband picked up on my vibe and saved the day for everyone by making sure we had brats, guacamole and tortilla chips, M&M's, Cadbury eggs...I'll stop the list before I start licking my computer monitor. But (or as pertains to this - butt) he also made sure there were grilled, skinless chicken breasts, fresh pineapple cut up into bite-size pieces, and cut celery with fat-free ranch dip. I made a big pan of sugar-free orange jello with mandarin oranges (my diet drug of choice), so I pretty much ate like a queen. A queen on a diet. But a queen. At the very least, it was a meal befitting the Princess of Whales.
Do I feel deprived? Absolutely! Do I feel cheated? And how! Some things just aren't fair, and having so much great food associated with a non-holiday is almost a crime, but that's just how it is. I'm now living the quote "trade something good now for something better later" so I'm trying really hard to visualize saying hello to a flight attendant without adding, "Can I get an extender?" Or buying clothes in a "normal" store. Or maybe just even wearing the next-size-down clothes I have hanging in the closet.
Excuse me while I go have some fake ice cream on a stick for less than 100 calories. I deserve a treat. And as for the game? I still don't care. It's on right now and there have been some great commercials. The food is still surrounding me, but I'm okay. I just wish there were a Lombardi Trophy for me staying out of the candy bowl.
It really isn't fair...
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
TMI
When I was little (yes, I used to be little), I would watch my mother plan for months to prepare her lessons for Relief Society (the women's organization of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) and these always included amazing object lessons, handouts, treats and visual aids, although she stopped short of ice sculptures. I really looked forward to the day when I would be able to teach and I got that opportunity shortly after we moved to Huntsville. I was very excited when I was asked to substitute for the regular teacher one week and I couldn't wait to start working on the lesson. The topic? Abortion. Yeah, try making a fridge magnet for that one, and visual aids are NOT recommended.
I was hoping to get another chance at it, and soon after I was asked to teach the lesson for Homemaking Night, back in the day when they still called it that. The topic? Fitness and Nutrition. Really? You want the large couch potato to teach the Fitness and Nutrition lesson? I can understand my qualifications for teaching about abortion because I'm opposed to it and I've never had one. But Fitness and Nutrition? Seriously? To have me teach a lesson on fitness and nutrition is like asking Dr. Kevorkian (Google him, young 'uns) to teach CPR to the elderly. Obviously they were going with the concept that "the teacher learns more than the student" when preparing the lesson. Maybe they were subtly suggesting that I needed to lose weight and that the research I would do for the lesson would inspire me.
The problem with that then, and now, is there is too much information out there on the topic and most of it is conflicting: eggs are bad because of the cholesterol. Wait - eggs are a good source of protein. Meat is bad so be a vegetarian. Wait - meat is a good source of protein and iron and it's hard to get those things if you're a vegetarian. Milk has calcium and vitamins and is good for you. Wait - milk contains growth hormones and is bad for you. I could go on like this for a long time, but I think you get the point.
I was hoping to get another chance at it, and soon after I was asked to teach the lesson for Homemaking Night, back in the day when they still called it that. The topic? Fitness and Nutrition. Really? You want the large couch potato to teach the Fitness and Nutrition lesson? I can understand my qualifications for teaching about abortion because I'm opposed to it and I've never had one. But Fitness and Nutrition? Seriously? To have me teach a lesson on fitness and nutrition is like asking Dr. Kevorkian (Google him, young 'uns) to teach CPR to the elderly. Obviously they were going with the concept that "the teacher learns more than the student" when preparing the lesson. Maybe they were subtly suggesting that I needed to lose weight and that the research I would do for the lesson would inspire me.
The problem with that then, and now, is there is too much information out there on the topic and most of it is conflicting: eggs are bad because of the cholesterol. Wait - eggs are a good source of protein. Meat is bad so be a vegetarian. Wait - meat is a good source of protein and iron and it's hard to get those things if you're a vegetarian. Milk has calcium and vitamins and is good for you. Wait - milk contains growth hormones and is bad for you. I could go on like this for a long time, but I think you get the point.
The same can be said about exercise. Running is said to be good for cardiovascular health, but then Jim Fixx, the man who most recently popularized the sport of running, died at the age of 52 of a heart attack after running. My son ran in the Olympic marathon trials (obviously his gift did not come from me). One of the top elite runners in that race died shortly after the race started. Just yesterday I was talking to someone about swimming for exercise and they shot me down saying swimming isn't good exercise because it doesn't get your heart rate up high enough to do any good. URGH (there is a much stronger word I would like to use in the place of "urgh" but I'm trying to keep this a relatively family-friendly blog)!
So this is what I came up with for my lesson, and I had samples of all them on hand:
The Food Groups
by Princess of Whales
Meat/Protein
Pork Rinds
Cinnamon Bears
Almond Joy
Animal Crackers
Goldfish Crackers
Dairy
Anything Milk Chocolate
Milk Duds
Nutter Butters
Milky Way
Cheesy Cheetos
Fruits
Cherry Chocolates
Orange Sticks
Raspberry Truffles
Apple Fritter
Vegetables
Corn Chips
Potato Chips
Carrot Cake
Onion Rings
Breads/Carbs
ALL Breads & Carbs Are Approved
Basically, I just structured the staples of my personal diet around the guidelines set forth by whatever government agency does that sort of thing (even though I think the government needs to stay out of my diet, illustrated by the fact that they no longer use the food groups, but a food pyramid), and that was the result. The information may not have been the best, but the visual aids were delicious!
The point was to show the extreme opposite of what we instinctively know as healthy and it started a great discussion about all of the different methods and ideology that are out there. As I've said before, what works for one may not work for others and the trick is finding what works for you. Bottom line - running can be good, but not for me.
All of this was before Al Gore invented the Internet and since that time there has been a complete dump of information as to the best way be healthy (most of it involving great expense) so I'm more confused than ever. TMI. All I know is that as old as I am, and as much as I know, there's still so much I have to learn.
But more importantly, I still have so much to DO! I guess I can start by getting off of the computer...for now.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Making a Splash
I'm thinking of changing the name of this blog to "A Lap, Or So" because I have spent more time in the pool than I have on the road in the last couple of days. Water + My Knee = Bliss.
I made good on my commitment to buy a pass to the local aquatic center, despite my hesitation to pay a little money to use a public pool (where you have no idea what people have done in it) when we pay a lot of money to have a private pool in our backyard (that is pristinely maintained by my live-in pool boy). That hesitation dissipated, however, when the posted temperature on their indoor pool showed that it was 82 degrees and our outdoor pool sits at a less-than-balmy 42 degrees. Definitely worth every penny to buy a quarter-year pass rather than heat the winter water storage. The pass will take me through the end of April which is about the time of the reopening of the "Hairibbean" (named after my pool boy/husband who, while wearing only his swimsuit/Speedo, looks like he is still wearing a sweater).
When I walked in to purchase the pass, the entire floor of the entry was covered in small children because apparently there is an elementary school who brings their students for swim lessons after school on Mondays. After hearing their leader remind them to go to the bathroom, blow their nose and stand under the shower before entering the pool, I made a mental note not to come for a swim on Monday afternoons. I think it would be mutually scary. Instead, I decided to go back later in the evening when I could have the place to myself. What I failed to take into consideration is that the aquatic center was not built specifically for me and has, in fact, stayed in business for many years without my business, so why should I think no one else would be using it?
There are two pools at the center - a competition/diving pool, and a leisure pool (translation - big people pool and swim-diaper-to-tween pool). The competition/diving pool consists of a deep water area, and several lanes for lap swimming. I arrived for my "solo" swim to find two large groups learning to scuba dive in the deep water area and every single lap lane occupied. That left the leisure pool, which is divided into an area that has fountains, frogs, and slides and then an open area with depths starting at just over three feet and ending at just over four feet. The frog area was overrun with at least 1,000 kids (with a generous allowance for my exaggeration) - I had completely forgotten that Monday Night = Family Night and that apparently swimming is a favorite activity for this night of the week. The tween area was pretty empty, though, so I slithered into the deepest part of the water to begin my workout.
This would probably be a good time to mention that I really don't swim. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. I am extremely claustrophobic when my head goes under water, so "swimming" to me is a modified breaststroke with my head sticking out of the water. I consider myself the Princess of Whales because of my attachment to Lady Diana, but I would imagine that in the water I look more like a bloated alligator bobbing along the top of the water. This style of swimming also doesn't do well in a pool less than five feet deep, so I tried doing some water jogging but my boobage kept slapping against the water and stirring up turbulence to the point that the lifeguard kept looking over at me to make sure I was okay. I then tried doing some stretches but when I would lift my arm out of the water, I looked like I was rehearsing a solo synchronized swim or auditioning for the lead in Black Swan - The Water Adaptation. After awhile I just tried to focus on keeping all of my body parts under the water while still moving enough to consider it exercise, and if you know how buoyant fat people are, that was it's own workout. It wasn't easy, but it worked, and I was substantially more sore the day after my water workout than I usually am after a regular gym workout (sessions with personal trainer not included).
So I'll definitely be going back. Probably not on a Monday night, and I'm going to ask for a schedule of the scuba classes so I can avoid those, but I sure do like how I can move in water and completely forget that I even have knees. If I'm lucky to get in the big people pool, I might even be able to let my mind relax and think deep thoughts. I'm going to hope for that, because while I didn't freak anybody out in the kiddie pool (that I am aware of) I don't want to push my luck.
I made good on my commitment to buy a pass to the local aquatic center, despite my hesitation to pay a little money to use a public pool (where you have no idea what people have done in it) when we pay a lot of money to have a private pool in our backyard (that is pristinely maintained by my live-in pool boy). That hesitation dissipated, however, when the posted temperature on their indoor pool showed that it was 82 degrees and our outdoor pool sits at a less-than-balmy 42 degrees. Definitely worth every penny to buy a quarter-year pass rather than heat the winter water storage. The pass will take me through the end of April which is about the time of the reopening of the "Hairibbean" (named after my pool boy/husband who, while wearing only his swimsuit/Speedo, looks like he is still wearing a sweater).
When I walked in to purchase the pass, the entire floor of the entry was covered in small children because apparently there is an elementary school who brings their students for swim lessons after school on Mondays. After hearing their leader remind them to go to the bathroom, blow their nose and stand under the shower before entering the pool, I made a mental note not to come for a swim on Monday afternoons. I think it would be mutually scary. Instead, I decided to go back later in the evening when I could have the place to myself. What I failed to take into consideration is that the aquatic center was not built specifically for me and has, in fact, stayed in business for many years without my business, so why should I think no one else would be using it?
There are two pools at the center - a competition/diving pool, and a leisure pool (translation - big people pool and swim-diaper-to-tween pool). The competition/diving pool consists of a deep water area, and several lanes for lap swimming. I arrived for my "solo" swim to find two large groups learning to scuba dive in the deep water area and every single lap lane occupied. That left the leisure pool, which is divided into an area that has fountains, frogs, and slides and then an open area with depths starting at just over three feet and ending at just over four feet. The frog area was overrun with at least 1,000 kids (with a generous allowance for my exaggeration) - I had completely forgotten that Monday Night = Family Night and that apparently swimming is a favorite activity for this night of the week. The tween area was pretty empty, though, so I slithered into the deepest part of the water to begin my workout.
This would probably be a good time to mention that I really don't swim. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. I am extremely claustrophobic when my head goes under water, so "swimming" to me is a modified breaststroke with my head sticking out of the water. I consider myself the Princess of Whales because of my attachment to Lady Diana, but I would imagine that in the water I look more like a bloated alligator bobbing along the top of the water. This style of swimming also doesn't do well in a pool less than five feet deep, so I tried doing some water jogging but my boobage kept slapping against the water and stirring up turbulence to the point that the lifeguard kept looking over at me to make sure I was okay. I then tried doing some stretches but when I would lift my arm out of the water, I looked like I was rehearsing a solo synchronized swim or auditioning for the lead in Black Swan - The Water Adaptation. After awhile I just tried to focus on keeping all of my body parts under the water while still moving enough to consider it exercise, and if you know how buoyant fat people are, that was it's own workout. It wasn't easy, but it worked, and I was substantially more sore the day after my water workout than I usually am after a regular gym workout (sessions with personal trainer not included).
So I'll definitely be going back. Probably not on a Monday night, and I'm going to ask for a schedule of the scuba classes so I can avoid those, but I sure do like how I can move in water and completely forget that I even have knees. If I'm lucky to get in the big people pool, I might even be able to let my mind relax and think deep thoughts. I'm going to hope for that, because while I didn't freak anybody out in the kiddie pool (that I am aware of) I don't want to push my luck.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Accountability
Today was weigh-in and apparently skinny mom should have been screaming at fat mom a little more - net gain of 3 pounds. After reevaluating the pros and cons of last week, here is the game plan for the week (as opposed to my usual gut reaction to say to he** with it) -
1) Limit carbonation to no more than 20 oz. per day to cut down on bloat.
2) Avoid onion blossoms.
3) Buy a pass to Sand Hollow Aquatic.
4) Stretch every day.
5) Cease getting rid of bad foods in the house by getting rid of them in my mouth (thank you Rodger).
6) Ramp up the biking at least one extra day this week.
7) Commit to weightwatchers.com because if Charles Barkley can do it, I can do it.
8) Work on my rebounds.
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.....
1) Limit carbonation to no more than 20 oz. per day to cut down on bloat.
2) Avoid onion blossoms.
3) Buy a pass to Sand Hollow Aquatic.
4) Stretch every day.
5) Cease getting rid of bad foods in the house by getting rid of them in my mouth (thank you Rodger).
6) Ramp up the biking at least one extra day this week.
7) Commit to weightwatchers.com because if Charles Barkley can do it, I can do it.
8) Work on my rebounds.
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.....
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Fat Mom/Skinny Mom
Back in the day when Roseanne Barr was still funny (and that was a LONG time ago so some of you may have to Google it), I watched a stand-up routine she did where she talked about the benefits of having a fat mom versus a skinny mom. To paraphrase, she asked what kind of a mom you want when you're depressed - a skinny mom who invites you to join them on a run so that it will release adrenaline in your blood and relieve your stress, or a fat mom who says, "Well, lets have pudding, Oreos and marshmallows. When you wake up from that sugar coma, it'll be a brand new week." I speak from experience that Oreos work every time.
That said, it's the sugar comas that are forcing me to rethink my parenting style. I do believe that the skinny mom solution does have it's place, but I HATE running (plus the whole knee issue). The challenge, as always, is to find the balance, and possibly an alternative adrenaline-inducing activity that doesn't involve running. Thanks to my youngest daughter's mini-crisis this past week, I was able to try out a new "trying-to-be-less-of-a-fat-mom" approach by combining elements of both philosophies.
A couple of days ago, I got a phone call from my adorable, happy, outgoing, hard-working, self-sufficient, incredibly bright daughter (these adjectives easily describe both of my daughters on earth, but I'm talking about the one who worked so hard this year we got five W2s for her). She was clearly upset by some events of the week that hadn't turned out the way she expected (hmmm...like mother, like daughter...) and it was causing her to rethink her entire life as opposed to just addressing the issues at hand (hmmm...like mother, like daughter...).
My gut reaction was to panic because the entire state of Utah lies between us and I could not do what I wanted to do most - give her a hug and some chocolate. So I ate a few (and I'm sincere when I say "a few") milk chocolate almonds on her behalf and talked her into taking a much needed nap before making any big decisions (she works full-time, goes to school while paying for all of it herself, and almost completely supports herself, so a nap seemed way more helpful than a run...).
I don't remember what life was like before cell phones and I don't ever want to go back to that time because at the very least, she was able to call me while I was at work and we got to electronically talk it out a little. That said, no amount of phone talking, texting, Facebooking, or even Skyping can compensate for some face-to-face time so I was grateful when my husband agreed that we needed to make a quick trip up there.
As I've mentioned before, my emotions have a tendency to get the best of me (something I hope and pray is tempered a bit in my children) and food is my coping mechanism, but I managed to make it through the night drowning my anxiety in some baked tortilla chips with salsa and about six pieces of fruit. Now that's progress.
Thanks to the blessing of flight benefits, we were able to jump on our trusty steed (disguised as a regional jet) and meet her for dinner the next night. We had hoped to talk things out on a long walk afterward so that I could incorporate this trip into the goal of my blog, but if you've ever been to Cache Valley in January, long walks outside are not optimum if you don't want to freeze-burn your lungs. So we talked at the restaurant where I took care to substitute my usual side selection of butter-with-a-little-baked-potato for the steamed veggies and a salad with dressing on the side. Admittedly, there was an onion blossom involved, and while I tried to avoid it entirely, I did allow myself a few bites. Baby steps.
We did discuss the possibility of "cleaning the sink" at Angie's, a local favorite (this involves two bananas, six mounds of ice cream, three different toppings, whipped cream, nuts, cherries, and a bumper sticker if you eat the whole thing) but in a show of utmost restraint (so I thought), we opted instead to just get some Aggie Blue Mint ice cream at the grocery store and take it back to the hotel.
This was all well and good until I finished the small bowl that my daughter dished out for me. This was not ice cream...this was nothing short of crack cocaine for someone who can't remember the last time she had REAL ice cream, not the fake stuff on a stick that has 100 calories or less. Thankfully, my daughter was paying attention when I grabbed the carton and started eating it right from the source. In a moment I'm not proud of, she pried the half-gallon from my cold, stiff grip while yelling, "No, Mom! Not one last cigarette!" That broke the spell.
It was then that I did the unthinkable. I drew from the playbook of the skinny mom and suggested we go to the fitness center before we hit the biggest indoor pool in Logan, conveniently located at the Holiday Inn Express (you're welcome, HIE). My daughter, who has been running regularly, was all for it and had brought her workout clothes. I hadn't packed mine because we were originally going to go for a walk and all I needed for that was my street clothes and walking shoes. This is where being a fearless fatty comes in handy because I just put on my swimsuit, my swimsuit cover-up and my walking shoes with footie socks and headed to the fitness center.
Thankfully, it was directly across the hall from our room, so I avoided subjecting the general public to that visual. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky, because the fitness center sports a wall of mirrors making it virtually impossible to avoid looking at reality. And reality at my age and weight is pretty intense in a wall-length mirror. But we did it. She ran on the treadmill (I was super impressed) while I did my best on the elliptical (in the absence of a bike). She booked through two miles but I had to stop occasionally for sips of water from the fountain because I was overheating from the cover-up I had on and I was not fearless enough to lose the cover-up and do this in just my swimsuit. Beaches and swimming pools, yes. Ellipticals with shoes and socks, no. It was a decent workout, with a BIG finish in the oh-so-awesome swimming pool where I completely forgot I even had knees. I had to admit, skinny moms do have a point.
In the end, there was a moderate adoption of both philosophies - a little bit of fried food, ice cream and chocolate, and a little bit of adrenaline-inducing exercise. Add to that a good night's sleep and a father's blessing for my daughter and we're both ready to face a new week.
There may be something to this moderation thing.
That said, it's the sugar comas that are forcing me to rethink my parenting style. I do believe that the skinny mom solution does have it's place, but I HATE running (plus the whole knee issue). The challenge, as always, is to find the balance, and possibly an alternative adrenaline-inducing activity that doesn't involve running. Thanks to my youngest daughter's mini-crisis this past week, I was able to try out a new "trying-to-be-less-of-a-fat-mom" approach by combining elements of both philosophies.
A couple of days ago, I got a phone call from my adorable, happy, outgoing, hard-working, self-sufficient, incredibly bright daughter (these adjectives easily describe both of my daughters on earth, but I'm talking about the one who worked so hard this year we got five W2s for her). She was clearly upset by some events of the week that hadn't turned out the way she expected (hmmm...like mother, like daughter...) and it was causing her to rethink her entire life as opposed to just addressing the issues at hand (hmmm...like mother, like daughter...).
My gut reaction was to panic because the entire state of Utah lies between us and I could not do what I wanted to do most - give her a hug and some chocolate. So I ate a few (and I'm sincere when I say "a few") milk chocolate almonds on her behalf and talked her into taking a much needed nap before making any big decisions (she works full-time, goes to school while paying for all of it herself, and almost completely supports herself, so a nap seemed way more helpful than a run...).
I don't remember what life was like before cell phones and I don't ever want to go back to that time because at the very least, she was able to call me while I was at work and we got to electronically talk it out a little. That said, no amount of phone talking, texting, Facebooking, or even Skyping can compensate for some face-to-face time so I was grateful when my husband agreed that we needed to make a quick trip up there.
As I've mentioned before, my emotions have a tendency to get the best of me (something I hope and pray is tempered a bit in my children) and food is my coping mechanism, but I managed to make it through the night drowning my anxiety in some baked tortilla chips with salsa and about six pieces of fruit. Now that's progress.
Thanks to the blessing of flight benefits, we were able to jump on our trusty steed (disguised as a regional jet) and meet her for dinner the next night. We had hoped to talk things out on a long walk afterward so that I could incorporate this trip into the goal of my blog, but if you've ever been to Cache Valley in January, long walks outside are not optimum if you don't want to freeze-burn your lungs. So we talked at the restaurant where I took care to substitute my usual side selection of butter-with-a-little-baked-potato for the steamed veggies and a salad with dressing on the side. Admittedly, there was an onion blossom involved, and while I tried to avoid it entirely, I did allow myself a few bites. Baby steps.
We did discuss the possibility of "cleaning the sink" at Angie's, a local favorite (this involves two bananas, six mounds of ice cream, three different toppings, whipped cream, nuts, cherries, and a bumper sticker if you eat the whole thing) but in a show of utmost restraint (so I thought), we opted instead to just get some Aggie Blue Mint ice cream at the grocery store and take it back to the hotel.
This was all well and good until I finished the small bowl that my daughter dished out for me. This was not ice cream...this was nothing short of crack cocaine for someone who can't remember the last time she had REAL ice cream, not the fake stuff on a stick that has 100 calories or less. Thankfully, my daughter was paying attention when I grabbed the carton and started eating it right from the source. In a moment I'm not proud of, she pried the half-gallon from my cold, stiff grip while yelling, "No, Mom! Not one last cigarette!" That broke the spell.
It was then that I did the unthinkable. I drew from the playbook of the skinny mom and suggested we go to the fitness center before we hit the biggest indoor pool in Logan, conveniently located at the Holiday Inn Express (you're welcome, HIE). My daughter, who has been running regularly, was all for it and had brought her workout clothes. I hadn't packed mine because we were originally going to go for a walk and all I needed for that was my street clothes and walking shoes. This is where being a fearless fatty comes in handy because I just put on my swimsuit, my swimsuit cover-up and my walking shoes with footie socks and headed to the fitness center.
Thankfully, it was directly across the hall from our room, so I avoided subjecting the general public to that visual. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky, because the fitness center sports a wall of mirrors making it virtually impossible to avoid looking at reality. And reality at my age and weight is pretty intense in a wall-length mirror. But we did it. She ran on the treadmill (I was super impressed) while I did my best on the elliptical (in the absence of a bike). She booked through two miles but I had to stop occasionally for sips of water from the fountain because I was overheating from the cover-up I had on and I was not fearless enough to lose the cover-up and do this in just my swimsuit. Beaches and swimming pools, yes. Ellipticals with shoes and socks, no. It was a decent workout, with a BIG finish in the oh-so-awesome swimming pool where I completely forgot I even had knees. I had to admit, skinny moms do have a point.
In the end, there was a moderate adoption of both philosophies - a little bit of fried food, ice cream and chocolate, and a little bit of adrenaline-inducing exercise. Add to that a good night's sleep and a father's blessing for my daughter and we're both ready to face a new week.
There may be something to this moderation thing.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
The Disorders of Eating
The overwhelming reality of this quest is starting to set in and to be honest with you, I'm feeling quite small right now (figuratively, of course...but not my figure...you get the point). The sheer number of what I am up against has overshadowed my thoughts over the last couple of days, especially now that I know so many of you are watching me with your beady little eyes (loving and supportive beady little eyes, of course, but nonetheless...).
Looking at this from a poundage standpoint, I essentially have to lose 140 of those suckers to put me at what I consider a healthy weight for a muscular me (although insurance guidelines say I have about 200 pounds to lose and that just ain't gonna happen). When you put 140 pounds into more visual terms, that's like losing the equivalent of either two supermodels, one average teenager, or twenty newborn babies. Somehow I can't see duct-taping twenty newborns to a skinny person and getting my body, but that's how it plays out.
When an anorexic looks in the mirror, this is what she sees:
When I look in the mirror, this is what I see:
Except she has more hair.
To a non-delusional person, this would seem ridiculous. I think it's obvious that I'm delusional. I used to call myself a reverse anorexic until I Googled to see if that was an actual disorder and it turns out, according to the indisputable medical expertise of Wikipedia, it is a very real condition and I don't meet the criteria. (I also diagnosed myself as being partially bulimic - I binge, but I don't purge.) The disparity between Britney and myself is a bit skewed, but suffice it to say, I have a twisted perception of how "big" of an issue I really have.
Basically what it boils down to is that I have truly come to discover that I have an eating disorder, no less severe than Amy Winehouse (they wanna make me go to rehab but I say no, no, no), but more along the lines of Oprah Winfrey (although no one gets a car). To tell someone like me I just need to eat less is like telling an anorexic they just need to eat more, or a bulemic that they just need to hold it in. It's a bit more complex than that. But at the same time, there's no point in making it any more difficult than it needs to be.
I wish it were that easy.
Looking at this from a poundage standpoint, I essentially have to lose 140 of those suckers to put me at what I consider a healthy weight for a muscular me (although insurance guidelines say I have about 200 pounds to lose and that just ain't gonna happen). When you put 140 pounds into more visual terms, that's like losing the equivalent of either two supermodels, one average teenager, or twenty newborn babies. Somehow I can't see duct-taping twenty newborns to a skinny person and getting my body, but that's how it plays out.
When an anorexic looks in the mirror, this is what she sees:
To a non-delusional person, this would seem ridiculous. I think it's obvious that I'm delusional. I used to call myself a reverse anorexic until I Googled to see if that was an actual disorder and it turns out, according to the indisputable medical expertise of Wikipedia, it is a very real condition and I don't meet the criteria. (I also diagnosed myself as being partially bulimic - I binge, but I don't purge.) The disparity between Britney and myself is a bit skewed, but suffice it to say, I have a twisted perception of how "big" of an issue I really have.
Basically what it boils down to is that I have truly come to discover that I have an eating disorder, no less severe than Amy Winehouse (they wanna make me go to rehab but I say no, no, no), but more along the lines of Oprah Winfrey (although no one gets a car). To tell someone like me I just need to eat less is like telling an anorexic they just need to eat more, or a bulemic that they just need to hold it in. It's a bit more complex than that. But at the same time, there's no point in making it any more difficult than it needs to be.
I wish it were that easy.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Madness In My Method
This morning I got on the scale to see what it said. It said, "Get off of me."
Actually, it said that I weigh 16 pounds less than the very most I have ever weighed in my entire life (which was about three months ago). That's the number I'm starting with so that I get complete and total credit for any and all efforts I have made to this point to lose weight. I won't tell you that number, I'll just wait and let you do the math when I have lost as much weight as I would like to. Actually, maybe I'll hold a contest to see if people can guess my top number, sort of like guessing how many M&M's are in a jar. On second thought, that's probably not a very good idea. I would eat the M&M's before the contest was over.
Upon finding out that I really have to lose weight, one of the first questions people have asked me is how I plan to do it. People generally assume that because I am so large, I must have unsuccessfully tried every commercial diet, fat pill, and exercise gizmo available and that maybe now I've discovered the golden ticket. Au contraire (and don't be fooled by the French...I hate the French...). I am suspicious of every single weight loss method put out there and I have eschewed all of them (I'm delighted to use the word "eschewed" in a sentence, especially about weight loss, because it has the word "chew" in it).
Except one. Moderation.
Several years ago, after the birth of one of my many children, I approached my OB/GYN about getting a magic pill because as I told him, I had tried really hard and I wasn't losing any weight. He told me I must not be trying hard enough because he had never seen a fat person in a concentration camp. At the time, Fen-Phen was all the rage so imagine my excitement when he whipped out his prescription pad and started scribbling. This was going to be so easy! It's a good thing I read the prescription before I took it to the pharmacy, though, because this is what he had scribbled: D&C 89.
(For those of you who are not members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, D&C in this instance does not stand for the gynecological procedure "dilation and curettage." It is an abbreviation for Doctrine & Covenants, a modern-day book of scripture containing revelation from God to the prophet Joseph Smith and section 89 is a revelation regarding physical health. That confusion with the medical procedure explains why I am a long-time fanatic about referring to the book by it's full, non-abbreviated name.)
I kid you not. My MD was prescribing scripture. Quick translation - he was prescribing moderation in all things (although that phrase is not used specifically in the scripture), the only consistently successful weight-loss method he knew of as a medical professional.
So no magic pills. Fen-Phen was later proved to damage heart muscle and I have been especially suspicious of every other method besides moderation since that time. I did consider HCG, but it is a pregnancy hormone, after all, and with my luck, the shots would have made me pregnant.
My current doctor recommended lap-band surgery but there are several things that keep me from doing that: 1) expense (that kind of money will buy a LOT of chocolate); 2) fear of surgery and the possible complications; 3) I know too many people who have gained all their weight back after the surgery so if it isn't a permanent fix, I don't really want it; and 4) (and this is probably the most compelling reason for me) it would make me ineligible to be a People Magazine cover story in their annual "Half Their Size" issue. It could happen...
Please understand that I am not knocking anybody for whatever method they may choose to achieve and maintain a healthy weight. Everybody is different and different things work for different people. I just know what does and doesn't work for me so while I appreciate all of the love that has been expressed to me by way of offers of the best way to go about this, my issues go far deeper and I'm hoping that as I remember how I got to where I am, I'll figure out the best way to get to where I need to be.
In the past, if I had told my father I had lost 16 pounds, he would have replied, "Look behind you, you'll find it." And if he were still here I would tell him, "That's exactly what I'm trying to do, Dad. Put those pounds behind me."
Actually, it said that I weigh 16 pounds less than the very most I have ever weighed in my entire life (which was about three months ago). That's the number I'm starting with so that I get complete and total credit for any and all efforts I have made to this point to lose weight. I won't tell you that number, I'll just wait and let you do the math when I have lost as much weight as I would like to. Actually, maybe I'll hold a contest to see if people can guess my top number, sort of like guessing how many M&M's are in a jar. On second thought, that's probably not a very good idea. I would eat the M&M's before the contest was over.
Upon finding out that I really have to lose weight, one of the first questions people have asked me is how I plan to do it. People generally assume that because I am so large, I must have unsuccessfully tried every commercial diet, fat pill, and exercise gizmo available and that maybe now I've discovered the golden ticket. Au contraire (and don't be fooled by the French...I hate the French...). I am suspicious of every single weight loss method put out there and I have eschewed all of them (I'm delighted to use the word "eschewed" in a sentence, especially about weight loss, because it has the word "chew" in it).
Except one. Moderation.
Several years ago, after the birth of one of my many children, I approached my OB/GYN about getting a magic pill because as I told him, I had tried really hard and I wasn't losing any weight. He told me I must not be trying hard enough because he had never seen a fat person in a concentration camp. At the time, Fen-Phen was all the rage so imagine my excitement when he whipped out his prescription pad and started scribbling. This was going to be so easy! It's a good thing I read the prescription before I took it to the pharmacy, though, because this is what he had scribbled: D&C 89.
(For those of you who are not members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, D&C in this instance does not stand for the gynecological procedure "dilation and curettage." It is an abbreviation for Doctrine & Covenants, a modern-day book of scripture containing revelation from God to the prophet Joseph Smith and section 89 is a revelation regarding physical health. That confusion with the medical procedure explains why I am a long-time fanatic about referring to the book by it's full, non-abbreviated name.)
I kid you not. My MD was prescribing scripture. Quick translation - he was prescribing moderation in all things (although that phrase is not used specifically in the scripture), the only consistently successful weight-loss method he knew of as a medical professional.
So no magic pills. Fen-Phen was later proved to damage heart muscle and I have been especially suspicious of every other method besides moderation since that time. I did consider HCG, but it is a pregnancy hormone, after all, and with my luck, the shots would have made me pregnant.
My current doctor recommended lap-band surgery but there are several things that keep me from doing that: 1) expense (that kind of money will buy a LOT of chocolate); 2) fear of surgery and the possible complications; 3) I know too many people who have gained all their weight back after the surgery so if it isn't a permanent fix, I don't really want it; and 4) (and this is probably the most compelling reason for me) it would make me ineligible to be a People Magazine cover story in their annual "Half Their Size" issue. It could happen...
Please understand that I am not knocking anybody for whatever method they may choose to achieve and maintain a healthy weight. Everybody is different and different things work for different people. I just know what does and doesn't work for me so while I appreciate all of the love that has been expressed to me by way of offers of the best way to go about this, my issues go far deeper and I'm hoping that as I remember how I got to where I am, I'll figure out the best way to get to where I need to be.
In the past, if I had told my father I had lost 16 pounds, he would have replied, "Look behind you, you'll find it." And if he were still here I would tell him, "That's exactly what I'm trying to do, Dad. Put those pounds behind me."
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