At long last, Weigh-In Tuesday

It's Weigh-In Tuesday - or WIT, if you will - and I don't feel like I have any good wit to offer today.  But here I am, for the second consecutive day, writing anyway.

Now that it's day 2 of my TV fast, I'm beginning to run out of cleaning projects, so I'm going to have to get more creative.  This is exactly what the fast is designed to do - drag me kicking and screaming from my stasis.  But it's mental fists a-flyin' while I try to punch my way out of my rut.

Wanna guess what else is in a rut?   The scale.  The holiday season was tough, but I thought I got through it OK.  When I hopped back on the scale upon my return, it was up ten pounds from before I left.  That is a terrifying feeling - knowing how hard you've worked to move in one direction, and how long it took.  And seeing it reverse in a matter of days.  I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I didn't like it.

I've lost about four pounds since that weigh-in.  My progress is compounded, I'm sure, by the lack of exercise.  As I've mentioned before, I've haven't been exercising (flu, depression, flu, simultaneous surgery recovery and depression) all year with the exception of one week between the first depression and the second flu.  And I am STILL not healed enough to work out today.  It's really bugging me that it's taking so long.

Food hasn't been ideal, either.  Not terrible, but not mindful.  It's been a little too erratic -- waiting too long to eat and getting too hungry, for instance.  I'd indulge in a craving moderately, but indulge another craving the next day.  That adds up.  So although I'm down from where I was at the beginning of the year, I feel frustrated with myself.  And when I feel frustrated with myself, I talk shit about myself.

Hell, I talk shit about myself even when I feel good.  An example.  This Christmas, I had a blast playing Just Dance III with my nieces and nephews.  It was great to get moving after holiday meals, and dancing is such a playful way to connect with family.  I was kicking butt (I am seriously good at it) and after awhile, I got warm and wanted to remove my jacket.  But it meant that I'd be shaking my arms to the beat, and I know what that looks like in the mirror... I spent three days a week at Slimmons last year, watching my arms jiggle in the mirror.  And as I lost progressively more weight, the jiggling didn't get better... it got worse.  You see "before/after" pictures everywhere you turn (lately even on billboards) but you don't hear so much about the challenges of skin and sagging.  Which, with 70(-minus-twelve) pounds lost, are now my challenges.  So, as I took off my jacket, I tried to make a joke about it.  "OK, everybody.  Flying squirrel alert!"  I got some puzzled looks, so I explained that my upper arms sag, that if I jumped, I could fly like a flying squirrel.  I expect laughs.  All I got was some firm eye contact from my niece M, who pointedly asked me to cut out the negative self-talk. So wise for a thirteen-year-old.

It hit me hard.  It's true... sometimes I make jokes about myself, and it's one way I can make light of life when it's challenging.  But it's also one way I can tear myself down.  And I need to stop tearing myself down.

That's why, this week, I'm working on building myself up.  Turning off the TV and the phone.  Cooking and savoring healthy and nourishing meals. Writing, on the blog and for my portfolio. Centering. Generally turning on the creative juices.  Or trying to summon them, at least.  I still feel stifled and just plain off... but less so than last week. Little steps are still progress.

The best I've felt so far was last night, when - after a long day of laundry and showtunes - I decided to decorate a pretty shelf we mounted last fall.  I loaded it up with my Disneyland collection.  It was a creative act, and a little out of my ordinary, and it felt... satisfying. 

Thanks again, Dad, for helping us mount the shelf.

Annotated version, for the nerds.

I hope you will you do something that satisfies you today.  Something that helps you take care of you.

Holiday blues

I think the holiday blues have arrived. 

Thanksgiving has come and gone - and it's a little late to be posting about it, but today's the first day I got to it, so here it is.

My Thanksgiving was... well, it was fine, I guess.  I enjoyed spending time with our guests, my mother-in-law and our friend Alexa, especially when we watched a few episodes of the show Tom's editing. 

Our Thanksgiving table

But something our friend Josh had mentioned in class before Thanksgiving really hit home with me.  Now that I'm a recovering food addict, holiday eating is - frankly - stressful.  It used to be joyful.  It used to be one of the rare times in my life that I ate happily... or, rather, I overate happily.  Perhaps it was because I always had company.  Perhaps it was because the holiday food is always so delicious.  Perhaps the warm feelings of the holiday were mainlined into my system via food.  Perhaps because in my mother's kitchen, food was love.

Now... food is fuel.  Tasty fuel, mind you, but fuel nonetheless.  And that made my holiday eating feel kind of... empty.  It's hard to explain.

Since I was making much of our food (I covered the cranberries, the low-cal pumpkin pie, the butternut squash, the stuffing and the turkey; Tom made the root veggies, the green beans and the Brussels sprouts) I had control over what was served.  I planned fewer dishes - and smaller, less-heavy ones - than we usually make, and adjusted the recipes.  I cut down the use of butter by about 300%.  And I tasted it. 

This is everything I ate for Thanksgiving dinner, save for a piece of my low-cal pumpkin pie and a glass of sparkling cider.

I didn't have any desire to eat more than one plate of the food.  Which is healthy, I know.  But without it, I was bummed.  I missed that butter.  I missed having lots of leftovers.  Each dish fit into single-serving tupperware, with room to spare.  It was all gone by dinner the following day.  I was living that joke from Annie Hall.  "Two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of 'em says, 'Boy, the food at this place is really terrible.' The other one says, 'Yeah, I know; and such small portions.'"

Don't get me wrong.  I know the food wasn't terrible.  But it wasn't emotional.  And I missed that.  Maybe someday I'll be able to balance bringing in some positive emotion about food without going overboard.  For now, I'm just worried about how to handle the upcoming family events - starting this weekend - when I'm not in charge of the menu.

I'm a bit blue today, and I don't quite know why. 

The Santa Ana winds are blowing in, knocking out power across town - but other than the damage I do, I really enjoy them.  A rare moment of weather in Los Angeles.

Yesterday we were out in the afternoon and evening.  Tom wanted to enjoy the holiday offerings at Disneyland while he was on his hiatus, so we went around to the various Christmas-themed things (Small World Holiday, the parade and fireworks, etc.) to get in the spirit.  I had a nice time, and made food choices that were in-line with my plan.  (I did have dessert - part of a pumpkin yule log - and per Richard's recommendation, I'm allowing myself one dessert each week.)

But I saw something yesterday that I still can't shake.  We were boarding pirates with a woman in a wheelchair who reminded me of my mom.  The struggle to move her from the chair to the boat was one that was all too familiar to me.  It reminded me of recurring nightmare I have, where we're in peril and I'm unable to transport Mom to safety.

I suppose maybe I'm blue because I turned the Christmas music on - or I turned the Christmas music on because I'm blue.  Because I'm missing her.  Because Christmas really was her time of year.

There's so much to be un-blue about, though.  My friends and family.  My time with Tom this week - my life with Tom, for that matter.  My writing, both personal creative and professional freelance.  My health, and how much it's improved over the last year.  Funny thing about that word, "improved"...

Thanks to Bella of Bella on the Beach, I'm considering participating in a month-long blog carnival of sorts, called WEverb11.  And today's question is:

December 1: Choose one word.
Encapsulate the year 2011 in one word. Explain why. Imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2012 for you?

That would would be "improvement."  This year, I've improved my health, my strength, my ability to cook, the way I handle my food addiction.  I've improved my freelance career (and definitely improved my life by leaving the interactive marketing behind.)  I've improved my blog.  I've improved my creative writing.  And I've improved my overall happiness.   This is probably the year I've been most proud of.

Next year's word, I hope, is "achievement."  I'd like to continue toward the goals that I actively began seeking this year, in health, in career, in family.  And I'm hoping to be closer to achieving them next year than I am this year.  I'm certainly closer this year than last, by miles.

Or maybe the word for both years should be "care."  I'm putting so much care into my life.  I'm taking care.  And almost every day, I remind you to take care. 

That reminds me: take care of you today.

On Weigh-In Tuesday, weighing in on Cleveland's obese foster child

I'm weighing in today, with the number on the scale, and with my opinions.  Specifically, my opinions about what makes weight loss harder, what makes it easier, and how my experiences relate to the case of Cleveland's obese foster child.

First: Hormones & The Long Haul
When I hopped on the scale last Tuesday, I was up.  By a pound.  Again.  I hadn't eaten terribly, but I still wasn't logging what I ate, and my exercise had slowed a bit.  It's very frustrating to confront my challenges again and again and again.  I try to remember that this is a life-long journey, not a race. I remind myself that so long as I'm committed to taking care of me, speed does not matter - only persistence.  It's hard not to feel frustrated.

Aware of my frustration, my mother-in-law recently pointed me to an article in the LA Times.  Apparently, a medical study found that "subjects who shed weight on a low-calorie diet were hungrier than when they started and had higher levels of hormones that tell the body to eat more, conserve energy and store away fuel as fat."  Even a year later, the subjects' appetite hormones hadn't returned to normal.  The good news is that perhaps the study will help scientists find a way to help those who've lost weight maintain their loss.  The bad news is that until then, those of us who are struggling to maintain or lose more after an initial loss... we just have to fight what our bodies are telling us, keep active, and stay on our journey as best as we can.

Second: The Team Approach
Tom's been home since last Wednesday night - for Thanksgiving plus a week of work hiatus (he goes back next Monday - and I'm reminded what a difference it makes being one of a team on this journey.  While he's working, we're still a great team... but I'm alone in making our dinners, planning our menus, doing our grocery shopping, cooking for myself.  I go to the gym alone.  To Slimmons alone.  (I see dear friends there, but it's not the same as arriving with my best friend.)  And since I'm a freelance writer, I work at home alone.

But since Wednesday, it's been much easier to do everything I was struggling to do.  We've cooked together.  We've exercised together.  We planned our meals and grocery-shopped and discussed our plans.  We've also done a lot of work together.  It supports the very first thing that Richard Simmons ever said to Tom and I.  He said, "you have to do this together, or it doesn't work."

Together with Tom, I was able to come back down a pound - even on Thanksgiving week.  Soon I hope to be back to my 70 total lost, and move on from there.  But I have to be patient with myself, and I have to be pretty vigilant, thanks to hormones that are constantly telling me I'm hungry.  I never used to feel this way.

On the Cleveland Situation
Perhaps you haven't heard yet, but there's a debate swirling around a Cleveland social worker's decision to remove a child from his parents' custody because he was obese.  The child was an honor student and involved in activities at his school, but he is now staying with foster parents.

Apparently, the state worker was trying to work with the parents, but claims that they weren't following doctors' orders.  The parents dispute that claim, that they bought him a bicycle and were working with him. 

The Cleveland Plain Dealer article includes this quote from the mother:  "Of course I love him. Of course I want him to lose weight. It's a lifestyle change, and they are trying to make it seem like I am not embracing that."

The article also states that the mother is overweight herself, and that when she "found out that other kids and a sibling might be giving her son extra food, she tried to put a stop to it."

It sounds to me like the family was torn.  I don't know the specifics of the situation aside from the story, but all I can think about is how the Team Approach helps everything.  And if a sibling - or a struggling mother - isn't doing everything they can to help their loved one (or worse, actively sabotaging them), then it's going to be that much harder for their loved one to succeed. 

One other quote from the article stuck out to me - it flashed like a blinking red light.  "Last year, the boy lost weight but in recent months began to gain it back rapidly." 

It sounds to me like the foster child from Cleveland - like the scientific study suggests - has his appetite hormones out of whack after a weight loss.  It's hard for me to control myself in this situation as an adult.  How much harder would it be for an eight-year-old?  Without his parents?  Without his friends, in a new school, with life upside-down?  I know how my eight-year-old self would have handled it. Hell, I know how my twenty-eight-year-old self would have handled it.  I'd eat.

Is it sad that an eight-year-old is over 200 pounds, and suffers from sleep apnea?  Certainly.  Does it need to be addressed?  Yes.  Are the parents responsible?  Absolutely, to the extent that they are able to control their son.

But does the child need to be removed from their custody?  I'd say no.

While he's in danger for future comorbidities from obesity, he only has apnea, and has been treated for it.  While a parent can encourage and schedule healthy eating and exercise, there is nothing they can do to stop their child from, say, buying crap at school.  Stopping at a convenience store on the way home.  Swapping their healthy apple for processed junk from friends.  I cite these three examples because they are, in fact, things I did as an overweight child.  I remember that our cafeterias had some good salads... but candy, sugary sodas and fresh-baked cookies (3 for a dollar!) were sold at our high school store. Other kids didn't have a problem resisting them... but I did.  I know there were others like me, too. 

So, what can we do?  How can we help this generation of children get healthy, and stay healthy?

For starters, while this branch of the government is removing obese children from their parents, other branches are approving french fries and pizza as vegetables.  (Not even veggie pizza, people.  Any pizza with tomato paste - a tiny fraction of what goes into a pizza's calories.)  It's Regan and ketchup all over again.  Nobody's banning food advertisements.  How many late-night tacos were born of TV commercial taunting?  Who, as a kid, didn't want to go to McDonald's to get the latest toy?  Why are we still allowing it to happen?

The answers lie even beyond the ridiculousness of school cafeterias food and marketing.  But they're not easily addressed.

It would help if there wasn't such a stigma attached to being overweight.  Shame is often a chief reason for overeating - a vicious circle I was trapped in for years.

It would help if there wasn't such a stigma around therapy.  Everyone can use guidance.  Nobody is "normal."  And it's the very thing that helped me begin to address my health.

It would help if sports - especially competitive sports - weren't jammed down every kid's throat.  I have no hand-eye coordination.  I wasn't strong.  And I was scared of every ball ever thrown at me in gym class.  I was never taught to kick the kickball.  I was tossed aside on the no-cut basketball team.  And I was forever losing every race.  The lack of positive reinforcement from teachers taught me to hate gym class.  The negative taunting from my classmates taught me to fear exercise.  So, for a long time, I didn't do it.  I didn't realize that the dancing I loved as a kid could be good exercise as an adult.  I didn't know that the swimming that made me so happy on vacation could make my every pool workout feel like a vacation.  Not every kid is a softball star... and not every kid wants to be.  Maybe parents (maybe even schools) should consider an activity program for those kids who are averse to sports.

It would help if parents who struggled with disordered eating would do everything they could to address their own habits before passing them along to their children.  And that, my friends, is what I'm doing right now.

To the kiddo from Cleveland:  I hope you find your way back to your family, and that they can be a united team to help support you.  And I hope that they, along with the others around you, can help you to learn to take good care of yourself.

And everybody reading this:  I hope that you're taking good care of you, too. 

I stopped breathing.

Last week in therapy, I stopped breathing.

I didn't even realize it.

We were talking about why I think I'm stuck here at 300 (yes, I'm back to 300.  Making it only 66 pounds lost this year.)  We were going over the things that happened when I first hit this weight.

**

It was 2001.  I had just graduated from college.  The end of most people's higher education seems to take the shape of soaring crescendo.  Mine looked like that pathetic "waaah-waaaaah" of a trumpet that signals ineptitude on a game show.  It started looking pretty shaky when my heart was broken (and I mean smashed - and I mean, for years) around semester break, but I pushed through to March for my senior thesis, directing a one-act play by Madeleine George called The Most Massive Woman Wins.  The four wonderful ladies in the cast kept me going, along with my roommate, tech director and all-around best friend, Matt.

But when that was over... well, what did I have left?  No more theater.  No love interest in my life.  No clue what to do after school ended.  And according to my senior audit, I had two more semesters of school left.  Turns out when you're in two different colleges within one big university, they sometimes require 50 extra credits of you, even when you've otherwise fulfilled all of your degree requirements.

There was no final internship or real-world job-search for me after "walking" in my cap and gown.  Instead, I spent the spring and summer in Ann Arbor.  Other than the first and only math of my college career (an advanced statistics class which my adviser mistook for an introductory class) I decided to take a full slate of film classes, because that's what sounded compelling.  (On the up-side, 50 credits of it-doesn't-matter-what-you take did point me in the right direction for my career and eventual move to Los Angeles.)

On my way into that very last final - the inappropriately non-introductory stats - I prayed to any deity that would listen: LET ME OUT OF HERE.  I wanted to get to California immediately, but I had no money.  So after I passed stats-for-not-beginners, I did what haunts the dreams of all college graduates... I moved back in with my parents.

I love my parents.  You know I love my parents.  My parents know I love my parents.  They are terrific people.  They helped me save up money to get a car and a down payment on an apartment, and even loaned me a little extra in case the temp jobs didn't kick in right away.  Despite my mom's ill health and my quest for a career in an industry that's breakneckingly competitive at best, they even encouraged me to follow my dreams.  My dad even drove with me across country with a truck full of my belongings, toward a city thousands of miles away where no job, family, friends or even apartment awaited.   They are/were GREAT PARENTS.

But if you put a 22-year-old, who has lived on her own for four years, back in her parents' house... everybody's in for quite a shock.  Those eight months in Midland were possibly some of my darkest.  I temped as an office assistant at the Company Town's company from 8 to 5, and then I sequestered myself into my childhood bedroom between the hours of 6 and 8 to watch the first syndicated showings of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on a tiny TV.  Around 8, depending on the day, I might or might not have staggered bleary-eyed into the living room.  Or kitchen.  Definitely the kitchen. 

I was lonely.  For my friends.  For Ann Arbor, and all its Culture and its cultures, and everything it represented.  For freakin' sushi.  (Oh, timing -- Midland didn't open its first Japanese restaurant until six months after I moved to LA.)  I was lonely for my freedom.

Wonderful though my parents were, being back in their home meant being back under their rules.  There was a curfew.  There was no heading out to a bar alone, which wasn't my style anyway, but I was desperate for some socializing.  My one close friend in the area was a bride-to-be/on her honeymoon/a newlywed, and though she was lovely and kind, there's only so much wedded bliss a single bridesmaid can take.  Except for Willow and Xander - and they were fictional - I felt very, very alone.  (Side note: little did I know that my future husband felt the exact same way at the exact same time.)

So I ate.  And I ate.  I ate at the first hint of heartbreak in my senior year, ordering the first of many 2 AM deliveries of Pizza House pepperoni breadsticks and milkshakes with my roommate.  I ate during my thesis - a play set in a liposuction clinic - having baked Valentine's cupcakes for no Valentine in particular.  I ate when we found the Girl Scouts special edition Samoa ice cream. ("Please, sir, I want Samoa," we joked.) I ate sushi when I left the Ann Arbor for the last time.  I really ate in Midland.  Fast food.  Slow food.  My parents' food.  My own stash.  Sometimes all in the same night.  Brazenly, not caring who saw me.  Secretly, not wanting to share.  Not wanting to be judged.  I ate.

**

I was finishing this thought when my therapist interrupted me.  "I'm sorry, but I really have to ask you to breathe."


What?

I had been expressing all of that pent-up sadness -- and anger, my therapist tells me -- and I had no idea that I'd been hyperventilating the whole time.  I took a breath.  I tried to make it a deep one.  It seemed impossible.

**

Since my therapy session last week, the concept keeps popping up again and again in my brain.

In my life, I have gained so much weight that I now cannot breathe at night without the help of a machine.

When I binged, I binged until I could hardly breathe.  And I certainly couldn't move well without breathing well.

When I exercise, I exhale.  I breathe out emotional smoke - from the embers of suppressed anger, into which I can so rarely tap.

To fully take care of myself, I must leave enough room to breathe.  In my stomach.  In my schedule.  In my heart.

Today, I will do that by posting on this blog - because holding my words back here is holding me back.  I will do that by planning my food, preparing my food, and eating my food mindfully.  I will do that by sweating at Slimmons, focusing each breath to release of whatever it is inside of me, blocking my progress.

I hope you'll take care of you today.  And I hope you'll breathe.

Weigh-in Tuesday: What I Ate Today

Happy Tuesday, everybody. 

And like every Tuesday, it's weigh-in day.  And I'm happy.  You may be confused by this - especially since I am about to tell you that I am actually up a pound, back at 299.

But I'm happy.  About a few things, even.  I'm happy that it's not in the 300s.  I'm happy that I'm on this journey.  And I'm happy that I feel like I'm hitting my stride again.

I know - I know.  Heidi, you are up a pound.  How are you hitting your stride?

Well, I had a few challenges this weekend... mostly having to do with feeling lonely, and the ensuing depression, and as a result, eating a few larger-than-they-needed-to-be meals that I didn't cook myself.  Since Tom's now on 14-hour days, plus 9 hours each weekend day, I'm on my own a lot.  And if there's no one in my immediate vicinity to check in with, I have a harder time keeping those meals in check. 

Since Tom started working away at his current gig, I'd also been cooking a batch of food at the beginning of the week that I would dole out for lunches.  Tom is - in my opinion - the more gifted cook between us (though I'm getting better!) and when we were both working from home, he handled all of our lunches and dinners (other than my own protein, since he doesn't eat it.)  The trouble is that I get easily bored.  And lunches all year were our "special" meal - we usually made them larger and with more variety. 

But, yes - I have hit my stride again.  I did this in a few different ways:

• When I sat down to plan my food for the week, I decided I'd try to cook a different breakfast, lunch and dinner,  from Monday to Friday.  
• Putting a solid schedule together with time set aside for cooking has helped me put some structure back into my day, which was increasingly getting away from me.  
• Since I struggled with my accountability last week, I decided I'd also photograph each meal this week, and share them here.  (I'll even post brief photo entries on Saturday and Sunday to keep up my momentum.)
• My core problem - loneliness - isn't fixed by hermit-like behavior.  The more I skulk around in my own shell, the more depressed I become.  So I've been making an effort to be more social this week.  My dad and I are doing daily check-in caalls to discuss our food.  I went to a crafting day on Sunday, I had a Skype date with Rena on Monday, a picnic date with Audra today, and there's a Thursday lady-date with Patty and Alexa.  Plus three separate social occasions this upcoming weekend. 
• A byproduct of shell-skulking is negative self-talk.  It has been my natural state for a long time, and even when I feel like I've mastered it, it happens again before I can even realize I'm doing it.  I'm back to acknowledging myself when I catch negative self-talk, and curbing it as soon as I do.  Man, it helps.
• And, a never-fail pick-me-up: exercise.  I did well last week (5 workouts) and I'm planning to beat that this week.

I'm feeling happier, I'm taking more action, and I'm taking better care of me. 

Here's what I ate on Monday:

1 slice whole-grain toast, 1 tb fat-free ricotta mixed with a splash of sugar-free almond Torani, sliced nectarine.

Boiled egg.

6 oz skim milk, vitamins & meds.

Light tortilla with 4 oz grilled turkey burger with 1 Laughing Cow wedge and pickles.
1 turnip, baked - with ketchup.  1 plum.  Water.

1 small baked potato with 1 tsp Earth Balance and 2 tb TJ's fat free sour cream. (Best 15 calories ever.)

2 cups of steamed broccoli with lemon.

Not pictured: 64 oz water, 1 Sobe LifeWater Zero, 1 donut.  (Yes. Sue me.)

Calorie total for the day: 1340. With donut.


**

OK.  I'm on track.  How are you?  Anything we can talk about, to help you get there?  To help you take care of you?

KEEP BREATHING.

Yesterday I was full of fear.

Afraid that the addiction would overcome me, instead of the other way around.
Afraid that I'd gain what I lost.
Afraid I would lose what I gained.
That I wouldn't listen to myself.
That there were people listening to me.
That if I struggled, and shared that struggle, people would judge me.
That if I didn't share my struggle, I would be dishonest with others - and with myself.
That I would end up in a jail of my own creation.
That I don't have what I takes.
To beat addiction.
To stay focused.
To create beautiful things.
To build a career.
To maintain my strength.
To maintain my health, in tandem with any of those other things that I was afraid I couldn't do.

Yesterday I was full of fear.

Today I am breathing.

The big picture is terrifying.  But I need not look directly at it, searing my eyes like the sun.  I have to remember that each small step draws me closer.  All I need to do is keep my eyes on each small step.  And breathe.

Share your truth and keep breathing.
Be mindful and keep breathing.
Gather yourself and keep breathing.
Put pen to paper and keep breathing.
Get active and keep breathing.
Be still and keep breathing.
Forgive yourself and keep breathing.

I just tried art journaling for the first time.  I'm not an artist, but I am a recovering perfectionist.  I remind myself that it does not have to be perfect.  It just has to be true.

  
Food log, Tuesday September 20
Breakfast - Slice of whole grain bread with 1/2 peach and 2 tb fat free ricotta mixed with 1/4 tsp sugar-free almond syrup.  1 boiled egg.
Morning snack - 16 oz pressed vegetable juice.
Late lunch - at a combination restaurant/movie theater.  3 mini roasted portobello sliders with about a cup of chips.  Ginger chicken fresh spring roll in rice paper.  Peanut butter mousse.
Dinner - I didn't eat it.
Beverages - 64 oz water.

Food log, Wednesday September 21
Breakfast - at a buffet restaurant. Egg Beaters omelet with mushrooms and cheese. 1/2 slice french toast with tsp syrup. 1 chicken sausage. 1/2 cup hash browns. 1/2 cup apple salad.  Two pieces of pineapple.  Mini bagel with 2 oz salmon, 2 tomato slices, and tsp cream cheese.
Lunch - at a restaurant.  Seared ahi tuna chopped salad with cabbage and champagne vinaigrette.  Side order of corn bread with tb maple butter.
Snack - I bought a very large box of coconut candy.  I ate two pieces, and, disgusted with myself, threw the rest away.
Dinner - at a mini golf course. Small turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato.
Beverages - 4 ounces coconut water with pomegranate and acai, 8 ounces skim milk, 64 ounces water

It's not perfect, but it's true.

Take care of you.

I'm full.

This week has been a little bit taxing for me.

For one thing, the weather has been gross in Los Angeles.  Right at this moment, it is 93 degrees.  Tuesday the high was 98.  Yesterday, 96.  Thank heavens it's going to cool off next week, because I don't think I can handle another heat wave this year.  It makes Slimmons feel like a sauna, and I get nauseous after working out.  It makes our air conditioner cry.  Literally. The condensation is dripping all over our bathroom floor. (Yes, that's where our central AC unit is.  No, I don't know why they put it there!)  It makes me weary and cranky.

I am full up on weather.

For another thing, I seem to have lost my mojo.  I usually have such fire and passion for whatever I'm working on.  This week, I got nothin'.  I managed to clean and launder in preparation for Dad's visit, and surely, that is an undertaking when the weather is gross and your laundry is backlogged and your cat has been having accidents.  But Supper Club is two days away, and I am way behind on preparation... and yet, I can't seem to light that fire under my rump.  (It probably doesn't help that it's roasting.)  Since I'm a freelancer, I am solely responsible for my fiery rump.  Nobody else is going to light it for me.

But I'm full up on self-motivation.

Last, but not least, I am full up on food.  I don't know what it was... whether my dip below 300 pounds is somehow threatening to my subconscious status-quo... whether I was feeling drained because of the heat, and thus more emotional... or whether it was just my addiction rearing up.  But twice this week, I overate.  And I somehow did it both knowingly and unthinkingly. 

This summer, Tom and I discovered (and fell in love with) Louis CK's show, Louie, on FX.  It's not for everybody, but it's definitely for us.  After we streamed the first season on Netflix, we wanted to catch up on his various stand-up specials.  So last night we watched part of Chewed Up.

Louis is overweight, and he tells stories about his experience that are honest and side-splittingly funny.  And if you have behavioral eating problems, those stories are also painful and very, very familiar.

I'm going to embed audio of the special below... but it's definitely Not Safe For Work, and also Not Safe For Delicate Ears.  If your ears are tender, you should probably skip listening.



The line that really pierced me was:

"And [my doctor] is trying to get a handle on my eating habits. He's like, 'Dude, OK, look. How soon into a meal do you typically feel full and stop eating?'  I'm like, 'I don't stop eating when I'm full. The meal is not over when I'm full.  The meal is over when I hate myself.  That's when I stop.'"

Yep.  I've been there.  I was there not once, but twice this week.  That, my friends, is not taking care of myself.  That is leaning on my addiction as a way to punish myself.

And I am full up on punishing myself.

So how do I stop it?  I have been very good about mindful eating, and stopping at 'full' all year, so I have a pretty good routine established.  I wake up and follow that routine, and it's usually not a problem.  I'll never be a perfect.. anything.  Let alone a perfect eater.  But I want to be sure that taking care of me is always the priority.

It's been a few days since that last binge, and I haven't made a misstep since.  There's another misstep waiting in my future, but my goal is to talk it out as soon as I feel it coming on.  Calling Tom or another one of my supportive loved ones always helps me to sort out whatever emotion I'm trying to numb.  And if I'm not successful? Well, I'll be honest about it with all of you, and I'll do my best to remember not only that every day is a new day, but that every moment is a new moment.  No need to wait for tomorrow if you make one mistake today.

So I'll take care of me... and you take care of you... and we'll keep doing the best we can.

Weigh-in Tuesday thoughts on honesty

I'm still behind. And I want to get this post out of the way because I have a post that I'm genuinely excited about to write today.  This post... I don't want to write it.  But I'm going to write it.  Because one of the most important parts of my journey to better health can be described with one VERY important word:

HONESTY.

Without honesty, I might still be secretly eating.

Without honesty, I don't have to remind myself where I've been, where I want to go, and where I am on that path.

Without honesty, I could be choosing to subconsciously punish my mistakes with more mistakes.

Without honesty, others who are on their own journeys would get a flawed picture of what it's like for me to be on mine.

Without honesty, I would break the trust between myself and my loved ones.  Myself and my readers.  Myself and MYSELF.

Without honesty, I could continue on a path of not taking care of myself, because I'd be duping myself - and others - that I was.

But you know what?  I don't WANT to be on a path of not taking care of myself.

Let's get rid of the double-negatives in that sentence.

I WANT TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF.

And nothing... no stress, no projects, no passion, no work, no people, no emotion, no NOTHING... is going to get in the way of taking care of myself.

So here is the truth.  Here is my honesty.

I work really hard to lose weight.  Really, really hard.

This week, I didn't work hard enough.  I gained 3 pounds.  I did so by letting myself get wrapped up in a project I loved, and putting that project before myself.  I did so by being mindless about food.  I did not take the time to follow my plan or get to the gym or track what I ate.  And later, I let myself get down and stressed, and leaned on my addiction to get through it.

And that's not OK.

I'm having a hard time not beating myself up about it.  But that usually leads to the whole subconsciously-punishing-mistakes-with-other-mistakes thing I wrote about above.  So, instead, I'm just being honest.  And I'm picking myself up, dusting myself off, and keeping on this life-long journey of taking care of me.  I have plans, checks-and-balances, in place to help me as I work through this.  And I know I can do this.  I am fighting for me.

Weigh-in Tuesday with the Very Hungry Caterpillar and the Chairman of the Board

It's Tuesday, and like every Tuesday, I hopped on the scale this morning for my weekly weigh-in.

Unlike every Tuesday, I was a little nervous, because yesterday was a VERY HUNGRY CATERPILLAR day.

Illustration by Eric Carle

Have you ever had a Very Hungry Caterpillar day?  When you've already eaten the one red apple, the two green pears, the three purple plums, yadda yadda... and you are seriously craving "chocolate cake, ice-cream, a pickle, Swiss cheese, salami, a lollipop, cherry pie, a sausage, a cupcake, and a slice of watermelon." i.e. everything in sight.

Alas, I am not a caterpillar.  If I ate all of that yesterday, I wouldn't have turned into Beautiful Butterfly today.  I'd just have gained more weight.  And I did not want to gain more weight after last week's one-pound gain.  I worked hard all week to stay in balance, to eat mindfully and to never surpass 1500 calories (which I stayed below each day, even at a party!)  Plus, I exercised incredibly hard.  I wasn't about to undermine that whole week of work.  Except that...

I did.  I totally did want to undermine that whole week of work.  Not all of me wanted to screw it up for myself.  Not even most of me.  But one tiny part of me seriously wanted food.  And not, like, an extra couple ounces of chicken or another peach.  It wanted crap.  It kept saying "heyyyyyy. I'm huuuuungry."  "C'mon, you know you want more food."  "SCREW IT, OK, IT'S PIZZA TIME.  GIVE UP.  WE'RE EATING."  But it was just part of me.  One tiny part of me.

Let's call that tiny part "Hungry Hippo."

My excellent friend Lisa once described a way she looks at making certain decisions.  It's called "the Board of Directors."  When you are confronted with a choice - for instance, when a food addict wants to eat more than needed - you typically fight with yourself about it.  You might have all different kinds of opinions about that decision... different reasons for doing it, or not doing it.  And these different opinions - these different voices within yourself - are your very own Board of Directors.  And just like any company or government, your board will need to come to a consensus for you to take action... whether that's unanimous approval, or a forged compromise, or even dictatorship on the part of the Chairman of the Board.

Yesterday, my board of directors was pretty loud.  The Hungry Hippo was seated in a wide, plush chair at the end of the table. She was trying her darnedest to usurp the position of Chairman, so she could ignore all of the other board members' appeals and move forward with a dictatorship of overeating.  But the rest of the board was able to see right through her. 

Today, I'm back down to 301, the lowest weight I've been in many years.  Hungry Hippo's hostile takeover has been prevented, and she's got a gag order coming her way... because I'm excited about the next weigh-in being lower than the lowest weight I've been in many years.  (Excited and scared - but again, thank goodness for that board of directors.)

How about you? Do you fight with your own personal Board of Directors?  What do you do on a Hungry Caterpillar day, or when your Hungry Hippo tries to take the floor?  What ever it is, I hope it's kind to yourself, in the best possible ways.  Take care of you!

Weigh-in Tuesday... am I worth it?

I wasn't that surprised when I hopped on the scale this week and found myself up a pound.  I logged 5 solid workouts last week, and I ate really well as inspired by the market food I blogged about.  But all the good action and healthy moderation at mealtime... does NOT mean I get to indulge in desserts in between meals all weekend.

Oh, it didn't seem so bad at first.

At Tender Greens: "That rustic plum tart is made with wholesome, real ingredients. And we're celebrating Tom's new job! That's OK."

But it went on from there.

At Brite Spot: "We never come here anymore. I ate a healthy, mindful meal. And I'm avoiding the banana cream pie. It's OK to share a banana cupcake."

At a friend's birthday party: "It's her birthday. I'm not going to not eat birthday cake. And that's... ok, right?"

And then it got worse.

At a stitch-n-bitch: "Well, geez. Cream pie is haunting me. It's here. It looks good. I'll have a small slice."

Yesterday while running errands: "Oh, screw it. I've already messed up my weekly weigh-in. And Tom is not here and I'm tired and I'm hungry and I'm right outside Yummy Cupcakes. Might as well have one."

The truth is that each dessert would have fit into my plan... if I'd chosen one of them.  I should've just planned for birthday cake at the party. Or had the tart and passed on everything else.  But I didn't.

It's not the end of the world, and I'm not going to flagellate myself for overindulging.  I'm just going to take it easy on refined sugar, and work on the one response from the list above that worries the most: "Oh, screw it. I've already messed up my weekly weigh-in."

I'm going to repeat what I've said here before, for my own benefit: my healthy choices do not revolve around my weekly weigh-in. And this is, in part, why.  I don't ever want my weigh-in to be an excuse to penalize myself.  If my eating isn't perfectly balanced, I should not (and do not want to) binge as punishment.  Nor do I want to eat healthfully as punishment.  I want to eat healthfully because it makes me feel good, it helps my body feel stronger and move better. I want to eat healthfully because it makes my life better.  I want to eat healthfully because I am worth it.

So. Today I'm going to list 6 reasons I'm worth it, to help encourage me on my way.

1. I am worth it because I've come so far.
   Already in the past seven months, I've seen how taking care of my body, my mind and my spirit has led to incredible growth, physical strength, mental focus, and not least of all, happiness. I have proven to myself that this process can be filled with joy.  And it's OK for me to feel that joy.
   
2. I am worth it because I have so far to go.
   That incredible growth still has room for further - even exponential - growth.  I have lost 65 (well, 64 again as of today) pounds and yet I am still morbidly obese. Am I healthier than I've ever been? Damn straight.  Can I become healthier, more centered, stronger? Damn straight.  It's feasible.  I am capable of it.  And I want to pursue the lifelong progress of improved health.
   
3. I am worth it because I'm a good friend, a good sister, a good daughter, a good wife.
   As a compassionate person, my loved ones matter deeply to me. The way I treat my loved ones matters to me.  I want to be the best friend, sister, daughter, wife... that I can possibly be.  And the best way I can do that is to keep myself strong and healthy.  I want to be there for them.
   
4. I am worth it because I want to be a good mother someday. 
   Right now, I'm not ready yet - physically or mentally.  Before my body (may) let me be a mother, I need to physically prepare - through continual healthy progress.  And before my brain will let me be a mother, I need to mentally prepare.  I do not want to be a parent who continues the cycle of disordered eating.  I want to teach my child the joys of healthy food in moderation - and I can't do that while I'm still learning. 
   
5. I am worth it because I have stories to tell.  I have lots of stories to tell.  I have true stories to tell, here on the blog.  I have food stories to tell, through Supper Club 600.  And when it comes to fictional stories, Tom and I share a book of 130 plot ideas we've developed, for stories to tell through film, television, and novels.  I want to tell these stories, and keep telling them, for as long as I can.  And in order to do that... I need to take good care of myself.
   
6. I am worth it because I believe everyone is worth it.
   Each of us deserves happiness.  And I know we can work together to support our journeys to success.  I believe in everyone's capacity for growth - especially when hard work backs up that growth.  And I have to remind myself that I can't believe in everyone having worth... without acknowledging my own worth.  I am worth this.  So are you.

That's it for today.  Thanks for being here, even when I'm not on track full-force.  I'm an addict - to a substance that I need in order to survive - so I'll have to deal with roller coasters my whole life.  The key is to realize that I'm on that coaster, and get off as soon as I do.  So today, I'm standing outside the roller coaster photo booth, missing the sugar air-time, but feeling kind of glad to have my feet on the ground.  I'm taking care of me.  I hope you'll take care of you, too.

Zen-Makin' Sunday (a prequel to Friend-Makin' Monday)

Recently I've felt like a bit like I'm Fozzie Bear, standing onstage amidst an onslaught of rotten tomatoes.

Which is, to say, not so swell.

  

But I received some excellent advice on Thursday - to rest.  I think there's been so much going on that I have felt more and more stretched, less and less centered.  Certainly less present.  So I heeded that advice, and made sure that did things that were restful.

This is not to say that I sat around on the couch.  In fact, I did very little of that.  Rest doesn't have to involve inactivity.  It's almost more of a mindset than an action.   It may actually be more about what I didn't do, than what I did do.  I call this "zen-gathering."

I did not...

• ... stress about work or budgets.
• ... try to numb myself with food (and I'm proud to say that throughout all of the emotions or stress I've gone through lately, I have been able to keep myself from eating emotionally.)
• ... talk about myself negatively, even once, all day Sunday.  I've been a wellspring of negative self-talk lately, and that's unusual for me. I made a conscious decision to nip it in the bud, and as a result, Sunday felt so much more happy and balanced.

 
I did...

• ... work out, very hard.  That made 6 for 7 days this week (with one planned rest day) - which is my best record since surgery.  Saturday's workout was at Slimmons as usual - though it was particularly fun for us since it was movie-music themed.  Richard came dressed as Frank-N- Furter, and I couldn't resist waiting in line for a picture afterward.

If this picture had audio, you'd know that "Singin' in the Rain" was playing as Patty took it.

• ... see a movie.  We're still riding on our stored-up Arclight points, so we got to see Cowboys & Aliens for free.  I won't spoil it for anyone, but I will say that I felt modestly positive about it, and that Daniel Craig sure packs a punch.
• ... collaborate with Tom to plan out our food and work schedule for the week.
• ... spend some chill, relaxing time with friends.  As I grow older, I seem to be less of an extrovert, in the sense that I get more energy out of time alone (and with Tom) than I do from time spent with others.  But mellow time with people I enjoy always reminds me that just because I'm more introverted than I used to be, it doesn't mean I'm not an extrovert.
• ... go on our weekly food shopping trip, including Super King, Trader Joe's, and our farmer's market, which is just beginning to hit prime harvest season.

That trip to the farmer's market - along with the nix on negative self-talk - might've been the turning point for me.  I was consistently grouchy for over a week, but that all changed when I sat down at the Farmer's Kitchen, a farm-to-table restaurant run by the market.  While we waited for breakfast to arrive, Tom and I shared a four-ounce cup of nearby Carmela Ice Cream's new flavor, Lemon & Olive Oil.

I know, I know. Ice cream for breakfast. Isn't that unhealthy? Could that be emotional eating?

Well, it would be unhealthy if it was a large serving, but it was a tiny serving.  It would be unhealthy if it were full of fillers and candy and crap, but it was organic, with natural ingredients made by an artisan company.  It would be emotional eating if I were not otherwise addressing the emotions I've been feeling, but I have been working very hard on that.  Or if I wasn't hungry (I was), if it triggered a binge (it didn't) or if I wasn't mindful.  And I was extremely mindful.

In fact, it was a very sensory experience.  I closed my eyes and let the tangy flavors linger on my tongue.  I thought about the ingredients, about the way they work together, and how it could inform my own cooking.  I talked about those ideas with Tom.  It was as mindful an experience with food as any I've had. Although though there were only a few spoonfuls of the ice cream, focusing on it mindfully made it infinitely more satisfying than any large bowl of low-quality junk food would have been.  Better than any gourmet meal that I didn't pay attention to.

That experience led to the next... and the next.  I reflected as I enjoyed my Farmer's Kitchen egg-and-squash-blossom scramble with sauteed fresh greens.  That mindfulness inspired a few of the beautiful fresh market purchases we made, which will in turn inspire some upcoming posts for Finishing the Hat.  It's surprising just how much one little thing - like a small but savored indulgence - can inspire and snowball into more and more mindfulness and creativity.... whereas mindless emotional eating can snowball into binges or other unhealthy behavior.

Do you pay attention to your meals?  Or do you multi-task, do you have to read or watch or talk while you eat?  You might consider taking some time to really think about and savor your food.  It's surprising how vibrant a meal can be when it's the center of your attention.  Take care of you today, and give it a try!

And, finally... Friend Makin' Monday: the Girly Edition! I actually helped contribute to the questions this week.

1) Do you like to shop?
I do. I find it creatively stimulating. I love looking at product design, I love discovering things I've never seen before, or new ways at looking at things. All of these things can be done at a well-curated museum... but just as easily done at a well-curated boutique. I do far more window-shopping than purchasing, and I find it just as enjoyable.

2) How often do you wear makeup?
It seems that my answer is directly correlated to how long I've known people.  If I'm comfortable with you, I'm probably not wearing much makeup, or any at all.  If I know I'm meeting you for the first time, you can bet I'm wearing some makeup (albeit natural-looking.)  I think it's a confidence thing.

3) How do you feel about nail polish?
I can't keep it on my fingernails - I'm a peeler.  So I buff the fingers and (sometimes) paint the toes (if I'm pampering myself.)

4) Do you consider yourself a feminist?
At this point in time, I think it's kind of odd that anyone would not think of themselves as a feminist. Really, at the core, feminism is about equal rights and respect for women.  Every man and woman should want that.

5) What's your biggest challenge as a woman?
I've seen gender prejudice in action in the workplace.  Heck, do you see how few women work as directors, as compared to men?  I'm not sure how you solve that problem... but I'm going to keep doing my best, and hope that people will see it.

6) Do you wear skirts and dresses? Or do you prefer something else?
I love skirts and dresses, because I think they're cute, and I generally find them more comfortable than anything else.  (Full disclosure: I'm probably wearing bike shorts underneath, which is the key to that comfort.)

7) How do you feel about high heels?
I have never, ever, EVER felt comfortable in them. Maybe it's my weight. Maybe it's just me. But give me a cute pair of strappy sandal wedges or ballet flats, and I'm happy. 

8) Do you subscribe to magazines?
Boy, howdy.  My favorite is Real Simple, though I also subscribe to Health. As a treat, I sometimes buy myself a copy of Martha Stewart Living, or her health offshoot, Whole Living.  On a plane I almost always read Entertainment Weekly.  I realized recently that if you combined all of the magazines and blogs I read, the collective mission statement would read:  "Let's host a freakin' gorgeous - yet tasty and healthy- dinner party.  And then watch a movie afterward."  Is there any wonder I came up with Supper Club 600? 

9) Do you shave your legs/wax/use depilatory/go au naturale?
I'd like to say that I shave regularly. Really, I would.  Semi-regularly is probably more like it. (Sorry about that, friends at Slimmons.  I have a husband who just doesn't care about absence or presence of leg hair.)

10) What is your favorite thing about being a woman?
I love that I can embrace my femininity, and be strong... and that in this culture, at this time, those two things don't have to be contradictory.

Friend Makin' Monday, sans unicorns and rainbows

It's a brand new day.  It's a brand new week.  And I'm still here.

It was a bit of a frenetic weekend.  Lots of cooking and prep for SC600 - which I managed not to photograph even once.  That works out OK, though, because we'll be doing a second SC600: BBQ Edition soon, and I'm really looking forward to it.  Sunday brought major exhaustion - including a brief nap that accidentally turned into a three-hour-nap.  It also brought with it some major food addiction struggles.  I was feeling emotional, and experiencing 2 or 3 out of the 4 "HALT" conditions that can lead to relapse.  I fought food cravings all day, and managed to avoid indulging by talking through my emotions, resting, and seeking out healthy food.  (Even when hungry while out late, I managed to order a turkey burger instead of something much worse.)  I did, however, eat a brownie.  I ate it mindfully, just the single-serving I bought.  I felt sated and no longer felt the need to cram every kind of everything down my gullet.  As I said to Tom earlier in the day - that craving had nothing to do with food.  It had to do with wanting not to feel emotion.

But I'm still here.  And do you know why?  The answer also happens to be the answer for today's Friend Makin' Monday question.

Was there a defining moment in which you realized that you needed to lose weight? 

Yes.  There was.  And it isn't pretty, so if you're looking for rainbows and unicorns, maybe it's best you move along to LisaFrank.com.

My defining moment was actually a defining month. May, 2009.  It was the month my mother died.

Mom suffered from an auto-immune disease called ITP - which is a complicated condition, but boils down to her immune system consuming her blood cells, which made her bleed internally unless she took steroids.  Which she did for the duration of the disease.  Which lasted for twelve years before she passed away.  Most people gain weight from a couple of days on steroids.  Can you imagine taking them for twelve years?  Unfortunately, I can, because I saw it happen.  Along with the fatigue from the disease, it caused a vibrant, warm, spitfire of a woman to disappear before my eyes.

Before all of this went down, Mom had issues with behavioral eating (which I've discussed earlier and elsewhere) - and was already morbidly obese. But everything was compounded by the steriods, not to mention being exhausted and having her joints slowly destroyed. Which led to weight gain. Which led to more exhaustion, worse joints, more weight gain, more exhaustion, worse joints, more weight gain.  An infinite cycle of it.

There were years of slowly slipping mobility.  Of my dad doing all of the housework and caring for her 24/7. There were walkers, wheelchairs, electric wheelchairs, vans with elevators, chairs with mechanisms to lift her out.  And after her fall at the end of April 2009, in the retirement home where she was so miserable, there was even a mechanical sling that lifted her from the bed to the toilet on wheels.  She couldn't move herself at all anymore.  This is when I left Los Angeles to spend what I thought would be a week in my hometown, cheering her up.

But within five days at the retirement home, she'd contracted a blood infection from the pressure sores.  Her weight pushed so hard against the surface of the bed that it wounded her.  And because of her diabetes, healing would be impossible.  She spent the rest of that month in the hospital, and I stayed for all of it.

Soon there was an around-the-clock air pressure mask, for lungs weighted down so that not enough oxygen got to them.  Significant mental confusion followed, including an extended period of hallucination that my father and I were working with the mob to have her killed. (Which sounds funny now, but was heartbreaking then.)  And eventually, there was the discovery of her congestive heart failure.  There were a few precious days of lucidity as we all said our goodbyes.  And then there was coma.

And then, there's the day I don't talk about much, or think about much, for that matter.  The morning she woke up from the coma.  They were flipping her over to try to clean her rotting wounds, when she woke up screaming from the pain.  She didn't stop, or fall asleep again, until they administered the dose of morphine that allowed her to relax long enough to die that afternoon.  And we were all there with her, horrified, watching her suffer, and then watching her slip away.

I do my best to remember my mother as she was before all of this. A force of life to be reckoned with.  Quickest with a joke - with the least appropriate joke for the occasion, in fact.  Passionate about family, about celebrating, about understanding and communicating with her loved ones.  And those memories make me happy.

But the memory of her dying?  I have to return to it now and again.  It keeps me on my weight loss journey.  Because although it was an auto-immune disease that compounded her health, it was her weight that made that disease so much more difficult to bear.  Someday, somehow, I will die, too.  And when I do, I do not want my weight to make that experience worse than it needs to be.

__


Thank you for being here with me today, everyone.  This isn't an easy story to share.  I work so hard to make my journey to better health one that is filled with joy.  I firmly believe that one can find so much to love and live for while one is losing weight, even within that very process.  And I promise that I will continue to share my discoveries about the joy of healthy living here, day by day.  But some days, I have to remember what set me on this path.  I just wish my Mom didn't have to die for it to happen.

Please.   Please take care of you.  And tell your loved ones how much they mean to you.

Weigh-in Tuesday, with a post-op update, and a plateau revelation

It's nice to be upright again!  I'm almost finished with the no-exercise post-surgery ruling, and I can't wait to get back to my usual sweatin' self.  It's interesting... before this year, I would have in no way considered regular exercise to be "myself."  But now, going a full week without activity has meant that I've gone a little cabin-feverish inside my body. 

Also a little cabin-feverish inside my cabin! Er, condo. I've been out twice in the last week, and that is simply not enough! I must be getting acclimated to all this regulated weekly adventure that I've been doing for the blog.  I am positively itchy to do, like, five things on my list of future Adventure Wednesdays... all in a row.  But my body's not quite up to that yet.

The surgery itself went well. I'd never been under general anesthesia before, and I was a bit anxious beforehand.  But anecdotes from friends helped me relax, and the medical staff was very helpful at the hospital.  As they put the mask on me, the sweet Latino male nurse said "drift off to a tropical island." And then the dashing French anesthesiologist said "screw the island, go to Paris!" That's the last thing I remember.  Recovery has been OK - I had more problems with the painkiller side effects than anything else.  How anyone can use Vicodin recreationally... it's beyond me!

Food during recovery proved a big challenge.  I take responsibility for my own choices, but I think that it was harder to make good choices while: A - in pain.  You know my reaction to strong emotion? It's the same as my reaction to strong pain.  B - under painkillers.  It's a bit like making decisions while under the influence of alcohol... harder to stick to what you'd usually choose.  Part of the reason why I don't drink often or to excess.  And C - having gone almost 24 hours without eating.  The old addiction adage, "HALT," exists for a reason.  And it's tough to make good choices about food when you're incredibly hungry.  But after a few days of completely mindless eating (not, to say, horrible food - just not thinking through choices) my body spoke louder than my addiction, and it was back to business as usual.  When you're off your schedule, out of your norm, it's a challenge to make the decision to eat well.  But once you make the decision, the eating well is... cake!  (Heh. Weird use of that expression.  I really mean, eating well isn't so difficult.)

After all of this not-mindfulness and can't-exerciseness, I wasn't surprised to see that my weight hasn't budged from last week.  I seem to officially be on a plateau.  And it's not just this week.  This whole month has been a slowdown.  And after some thoughtful consideration... I think I might know why.  It's not that I had surgery - although that surely affected things.  It's not that I haven't been as careful with logging my calories or exercising as much - though both are true, they are just symptoms.

It's that I'm scared.

I know, I know, that sounds crazy.  The last six months have changed my life.  I'm stronger, more active, capable of doing much more, and addressing disordered eating behavior.  Nothing but good has come from taking care of myself.

But I've reached a weight range that is my lowest since graduating college ten years ago.  Very few of the people active in my life (basically just my family and my childhood friends) have seen me much thinner than I am right now. I was always overweight, but around the time I graduated from college, I put on a lot of weight in reaction to a few challenges I faced.  I'm beginning to think it was "protection" weight - a barrier between me and those challenges.

So I'm going to have a little conversation with myself... it's going to be kind of obvious, but bear with me.  I think my subconscious needs to hear it.

Self.  Hey, self.  You have been kicking so much ass.  I'm so proud of you.  But I'm noticing that you're slowing down a little... and I don't think you consciously mean to do it.  So I want you to hear a few things.


One.  The people who love you, love you regardless of your size.  So what if some of them have never known you to be smaller than you are?  You aren't a different person.  They will not love you any more if you weigh less (and will not prove what you might secretly fear: that you're less loveable if you weigh more.)  They will not love you any less if you weigh less.  You are you, and they love you.  And you love you, so for heaven's sake, take care of you.


Two.  The struggles and challenges you faced so long ago?  They're long-past.  You've long-succeeded.  And you have the wisdom and strength gained from those experiences that will help you prevent them in the future.  No weight separates you from that wisdom and strength.  No weight can protect you from future struggles and challenges.  But you know what weight can do?  Prevent you from fully-realized health.  

Perhaps, together, we can look at these next weeks and pounds as the release of any toxicity that you still hold.  As we let go of 300, we can let go of the past, live in the present, and work toward the future.  Because you are worth it, self.  You are absolutely worth it.

OK.  That's it for today.  I'll be back tomorrow with a new adventure... and today, I'll take care of myself the best ways I can.  I hope you'll take care of you, too.

Weigh-In Tuesday... with a tale of three whoops-es.

It's a "whoops" weigh-in today for a couple of reasons. 

Whoops #1: yesterday was the fourth of July.  I ate healthfully and well all day, until we went to our party.  It was kind of a perfect storm for me.

• I was missing my family. My programming says "eat, eat, eat when you're lonely."
• I was surrounded by delicious food.   My programming says "eat, eat, eat when there's food in front of you."
• It was a holiday AND a party.  My programming says "eat, eat, eat at parties and on holidays."  
• I was getting anxious about my surgery (which was finally scheduled, and then recently moved forward to TOMORROW.)  And my programming says "eat, eat, eat, when you're emotional."
• And I forgot to eat dinner before going to the party.  For me, the healthy meal beforehand is the biggest preventative for bad party eating.

So, yeah, I ate at the party.  Not terribly, I just ate about 600 calories more than I usually do.  (Which takes me to the perfectly-acceptable-for-maintenance 2000 total.)  I enjoyed the food I ate, so I'm not upset or regretful about the party eating - I'm just being open about the challenges I face when my behavioral issues rear their ugly heads.

Whoops #2:  after the lovely party that I enjoyed thoroughly, I started to get even more anxious about my surgery. And I couldn't fall asleep.  And after being up so late, I found myself... feeling hungry again.  I fall asleep early so late-night eating isn't usually a problem for me.   In this situation, if I was struggling with making a healthier choice, I should have woken up one of the very supportive resources who were sleeping upstairs.  Tom and Rena have been and continue to be great companions on my journey to good health and balance, and I am sure that neither of them would have been upset to wake up and help me talk through it.  But, I didn't.  I ate an ounce of turkey and a Laughing Cow wedge, and drank a couple ounces of milk.  Not the least healthy choices, but not anything my body actually needed.  And eating late at night affects the scale in the morning more than eating that same food earlier in the day.

Whoops #3: before I could weigh in today, I ate breakfast.  I didn't do this to consciously sabotage my weigh-in this morning... but I wouldn't put it past my subconscious mind.  I always weigh in the exact same way each Tuesday: after restroom, before breakfast.  It's the easiest way to get a clear picture of my actual progress week to week (not affected by whatever I have or haven't passed, what I have or haven't eaten.)  Now that window for today has slipped, by so whatever I weigh, it's going to be heavier than what it should be.

Regardless of all of this information, the bottom line here is that I have or need no excuses for my weigh-in today; it is what it is, and I take responsibility for it.  I'm currently up by 2 pounds from last week. 

It'll be a weird weigh-in next week, too.  Surgery tomorrow, followed by no exercise for a week.  I'm going to work with Tom and Richard to lower my calorie count a little to help accommodate for the lack of exercise, but I don't want to stress about it.  I want to be kind to my body and take care of myself, physically and emotionally.  And if I do that, I don't need to worry about numbers - good health will follow, and that is what matters most.

Thanks to my three closest blogger pals, this will actually be my last post for the week.  Alexa, David and Kenlie will be visiting Finishing the Hat with guest posts for Wednesday, Thursday and Friday respectively.  I'm so excited for you to hear more from them, and hopefully for you to check out their lovely blogs too.  And I'm grateful to have all three of them in my life.  I hope you will show them some love while they're visiting!

I'm going to go and have a mindful day, gathering some zen and taking care of me.  And while I'm gone this week... please, take care of you, too.  I'll be back soon!

Suck it, Yoda.

It's Tuesday, which usually means a trip to the scale and a weigh-in report here.  But since I've been flu-y, I don't want that number to be artificially low.  So I'm skipping the weigh-in this week and hopefully once my body is more recovered next week, the number won't be out of whack either.

During Tom's fever-induced naptime this weekend, I happened to stumble upon a Star Wars marathon on TV.  So I listened to The Empire Strikes Back while doing some photo editing.  And as Yoda schooled an impatient Luke on Dagobah, I found myself getting pretty pissed off.

Let's be clear.  I love Star Wars - and have ever since my brother introduced them to me one at a time, on his trips home from college.  And boy howdy did I respond.  I was a pretty nerdy kid.  For my eleventh birthday, my hair was done up in the Return of the Jedi double braid crown.  The first essay I ever typed on a computer (around the same time) began with "I know everything there is to know about X-Wing Flyers." Yoda is my favorite character, other than my schoolgirl crush on Luke. (Don't be surprised that it's not Han. I also prefer Raoul over Erik, Riley over Spike, and young X over young Magneto. Though it's impossible not to prefer Rhett over Ashley.)

Anyway... as I listened to Yoda's fatalistic platitudes on Sunday, I found myself thinking he was full of crap.

Wrong, you are.  Full of the force, am I.  Filled with crap, I am not.

Wrong again, Yoda.

Here's the thing.  You ask Luke to lift a whole ship out of a mud-laden swamp with just his mind.  You say...

"Do or do not.  There is no try."

It has, in fact, become one of the most popular quotes to come from the movie. (Next to... that one.  You know the one.  "Scruffy-looking nerf herder.")  And, like Yoda, it is full of crap.

Now, I'm not saying Luke can't do it.  You and I both know he can.  But Luke needs practice.  And what's another way to say that?  He's trying.

My first day working out at Slimmons - my first minute, actually - I was struggling.  The aerobics was kicking my ass, and I wasn't sure I was going to make it through all 90 minutes.  And, in fact, I didn't.  Within 20 minutes, my heart was pounding so hard that I felt nauseous.  I had to do the rest of the workout sitting.  I was humiliated.  The road ahead of me seemed not just challenging but completely impossible.

But Richard, and the kind people at Slimmons, encouraged me.  So I came back to the next class, and I sat down before I felt nauseous.  I kept attending.  The more I worked, the longer I could make it before needing to sit down.  And within a month, I made it through all 90 minutes.

On the journey to better health, you'll face all kinds of challenges.  You won't be able to do everything you want to do, right away, so try to be patient with yourself.  Sometimes you'll be your own challenge, and a food choice or a missed workout you regret will make you want to throw it all away - because you've been told all your life that you're supposed to be perfect.

Well, no one is perfect.  And all we can do is take that regret and transform it to wisdom.  NO DAY is a lost day, if you don't let it be lost.  If you missed your workout after work, can you talk a walk with your family after dinner?  If you overate at lunch, try thinking about it, talking about it, and letting it go.

There's too much pressure on us (from ourselves, mostly) to perform perfectly at everything from moment one.  The ensuing shame and fear will only make it that much harder to try and keep trying.  Remind yourself that you're not perfect, and then take a moment to be mindful.  You don't have to wait until tomorrow.  You don't have to wait at all.  Every minute is a new minute for you to take care of yourself.  And taking care of yourself takes practice.

You say "there is no try"?  Well, suck it, Yoda.  I say...

Try or try not.  But there is no do without try.

It's Weigh-In Tuesday, and I am not ashamed.

This weekend, I admitted to the lovely Alexa (from The Curvy Nerd) that for the last week or so, I'd been feeling kind of disconnected from talking about the weight loss here at Finishing the Hat.  We both have similar feelings about acceptance and shame when it comes to food: when we make choices that aren't ideal, the last thing we should be doing is flagellating ourselves.

When I am hard on myself for my choices, I find myself wanting to self-medicate (or punish) with more food, not less.  When I own what I eat, when I refuse shame, then it's not hard for me to see the very next choice as an opportunity to nourish instead of punish.  For me, shame leads to disordered eating (or the temptation of disordered eating.) Acceptance leads to moderation and genuine nourishment.

I told Alexa that, following a few generally-too-caloric days last week, I decided not to talk much about it here.  That malignant voice of shame was bubbling up inside of me, using words like "bad" and "stupid," even as I was working on patience and acceptance.  So I figured I'd put some distance between me and the choices I made, in order to fully embrace acceptance and stave off the shame.  And you know what? It helped.

So today I'm sharing a few choices I struggled with recently.  I'm feeling proud that despite which challenges I bested (and which challenges bested me), I'm still making great strides.

• Over Memorial Day, we spent 24 consecutive hours at a two-day barbecue, during which I had about three drinks, three ribs, three cookies, and three chocolate/peanut butter/bacon truffles (plus a grilled sausage and a chocolate Zinger.)   I also made some nourishing choices. We brought fresh market fruit, which I enjoyed in moderation.  I snacked mostly on grilled veg and crunchy veg.  I had a slice of scrumptious veg-filled and parmesan-laced frittata.  We grilled some fruit which I enjoyed with a touch of vanilla ice cream.  Sure, we could have skipped the party or attended for a shorter time.  Sure, I could have brought my own food.  But I am not ashamed that I didn't. And I'm not ashamed about what I ate.  I had a lovely time with friends, I didn't agonize over the food, and when I found myself feeling less energetic for the few days after the party, I remembered how much I appreciate the kinds of food I typically eat, in the amounts I typically eat them. 

• At Disneyland two days after the party, I found myself surrounded again by food that was less than ideal for me.  There are healthy options available at the park, and we were able to seek them out, although my portion sizes were larger than usual.  After you've been walking around in the sun for a few hours, it's awfully hard not to eat everything on your plate.  But the real challenge for me was walking past sweet treat after sweet treat.  On our way out, we were walking through the stores to avoid the parade crowd.  Right through the candy and ice cream shops.  I stood between the two (with a foot in each as though I was at the Four Corners monument) and thought long and hard about whether I wanted to eat something.  Finally, Tom told me outright, "you don't really want this."  And I knew he was right, so I stomped out of the store, and out of the park, like I was angry at him or at the world.  I wasn't.  I was angry at my food addiction.  But over the last week, I've tried to be patient with myself about it.  So my portions were a little too big.  I struggled with making a healthy choice, and I'm not ashamed.

• In preparation for our dinner party on Saturday, I tried a new flavor for Cake Pop Quest.  I'll have the recipe for you tomorrow, but I've already told my friends that if they want this flavor again, they will have to make it.  Not because it was bad... but because it was so good, I don't think I could keep them in my house.  So far, I've had one or two of each of the pop attempts, and that's that.  But this new flavor?  As I mixed the frosting into the cake crumbs, I realized I made a little too much of it. And before I realized what I was doing, that little-too-much frosting was gone.  Yep, I ate it.  It was delicious.  And that's when I knew: coconut cake pops?  Not for me.  Too tempting to make, unless I'm able enjoy them in moderation.  And I'm not ashamed to say so.

These are the challenges, folks.  Sometimes they bite me in the ass. Sometimes I bite them in the ass.  But what matters is that every day, I commit myself to this life-long process of taking good care of myself.

And that commitment pays off.  The scale this morning?  It's down another 3.2, bringing my total to...

55 pounds lost. 

Thanks to all of you for your support.  It is much easier to do this, knowing you're here.  I hope that you'll take good care of yourselves today, and that you won't be hard on yourselves despite your mistakes.  We all make them.  And we shouldn't be ashamed.