I Ate New Orleans.

I’m back from the Big Easy and I’d sell my soul for another café au lait.

Things I ate, in no particular order:
·Muffaletta
·Bananas Foster Cheesecake
·Warm, Gooey Cinnamon Rolls
·Shrimp Po’boy
·Beignets
·Pecan Tart
·Quiche Lorraine
·Chocolate-Caramel Cheesecake (that tasted like a SNICKERS!)
·Jambalaya Pasta
·French Onion Soup
·Praline Mousse
·Croissant
·Crawtators
·Pizza With Crawfish Tails, Andouille Sausage, and Okra

I also drank 37 café au laits. Well, maybe not 37. But I wanted to drink 37. That was the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life. So smooth.

We had a fabulous time, but I was ready to come home. I missed my dogs and I missed my own bed and I missed getting to eat breakfast in my boxers and t-shirt.

I’ve gained a little weight since the No-Diet Decision, probably six or seven pounds, but I actually think it’s sort of sexy right now—I’m getting curvier in a good way and I’m so much calmer (more calm?) when I know I can eat if I get hungry.

I’m making an effort not to be affected by the number on the scale and it’s working about 80% of the time.

It’s all a process, isn’t it?

The Itchening.

I have poison ivy. How, you may wonder, did I get poison ivy? Can’t say, really. However, given the fact that there is only about 4 square inches of my body that isn’t rashy, I’d said I got poison ivy by angering the Lord. I fully suspect the plague of locusts to come zipping through my office at any moment and consume the plants, and then frogs will probably come out of my file cabinet.

I’m just guessing, though.

I had to get a shot and now I’m taking oral steroids and rubbing myself with various creams. And sobbing into my pillow, of course.

With a little luck (and the rest of my steroids), this will all clear up before our much-belated honeymoon trip to New Orleans next week.

In the meantime, I’ll just be over here, scratching.

Open Eyes.

I started reading The Obesity Myth by Paul Campos yesterday and I feel like I’ve been hit between the eyes.

All those years. All those years of thinking my body was flawed because it was fat. All those years of thinking my health was suffering because my BMI wasn’t below 25 and my pants-size appeared at the back of the rack (if it showed up in the store at all).

What horsespittle.

I bought into that horsespittle. I believed that I had to beat my fat into submission because it was unhealthy. I had to be lean and tight and my abs had to be visible and I had to practice acts of self-denial whenever I felt hungry because giving in to the hunger was weak. It was indicative of low willpower, that same failing of character that had made me fat to begin with.

Because, of course, being fat means you’re lazy. You eat too much. You don’t get off the couch. You’re probably sitting in front of Jerry Springer with a box of Krispy Kremes and a liter of Coke right now.

It’s all such a lie. It’s such a mean, horrible, abusive lie. And we perpetuate it whenever we feel like we have to lose weight to be beautiful or to be healthy. We feed the lie whenever we join any diet program or measure our efforts for improved ‘health’ by the size of our jeans. When we hold up our bodies, our beautiful, strong, resilient, life-giving bodies, as objects of revulsion or shame. When we grab handfuls of thigh or stomach or upper arm and despair of the thickness, the heft, that we find there.

Right now, my body is healthy. My limbs bend and move, my heart beats ceaselessly, my muscles respond immediately. I can run. I can ride a bike. I can feel my breath moving out through my fingertips as I hold the Warrior pose in yoga class. I can take my dogs for walks and play tag with my nephew and dance badly with my husband.

I just wish I’d known I could do all that when I was fat. I wouldn’t have thrown away so many years thinking I wasn’t good enough to have a splendid life.

Approaching Normal.

This whole not-dieting thing rocks.

I’m getting back in touch with my ability to recognize hunger. Since I don’t eat at appointed times anymore, I have to rely on how I feel to determine if I need to eat (I know. It’s like Eating 101. But I’d so stunted my ability to feel hunger for so long, it’s novel to feel it now!!). The result is, I’m actually eating a bit less. Learning to recognize the feeling of hunger has been pretty incredible for me. I’ve been disconnected from everything below my neck for so long, it’s eye-opening to realize that my body is quite willing and able to tell me what I need to do to be healthy. Eat when I’m hungry. Rest when I’m tired. Take a day off if I hurt. Drink when I’m thirsty. Buy new pants when I want them.

Well, maybe not that last one.

I’m starting to feel like a regular person. One who eats good, healthy food and has treats and exercises as a way of feeling strong and combating stress and doesn’t worry about the difference between 131 and 134 and 137, because any weight can be healthy if you’re taking care of your body.

I had a wicked headache yesterday afternoon, but went to the gym anyway. I ran four miles nd strength-trained for half an hour and then biked for another half an hour; the headache went away and I felt fantastic. Today I’m going to do a short run and then a DVD at home. The Pilates class I signed up for starts Thursday.

I think I’m starting to like exercise again.

Sweeeeet.

This weekend, I went kitchen-wild.

S loves peanut butter. Loves it. Possibly more than he loves me. And I had a new cookbook that had a recipe for a peanut butter pie. I thought, “Hey! He likes peanut butter! He likes pie! I bet he would loooooove peanut butter pie!” So, I began putting it together. While the crust was baking, I thought I’d use the time to make a batch of truffles. I whipped up the ganache and put it in the fridge to set up. I still had, like, 3 minutes until the crust was done and the oven was hot and I happened to have a few bananas that were overripe, so I threw together some banana bread. Our house smelled freakin’ fantastic. And we have way too many delicious things to eat now.

Needless to say, my husband thinks I rule.

The whole no-dieting thing is still in effect, but it’s a little scary. I’m not writing down anything, but my little brain knows when I’m eating “too much.” And it is truthfully very unnerving. I don’t want to regain weight. But I don’t want to drive myself crazy either. I don’t know how to balance the two.

Probably one way would be laying off the rampant dessert making.

No Sleep 'Til Wimbledon.

I have never excelled at sports. What's the opposite of
excelled? 'Cause that's what I do. I am clumsy,
trippy, awkward. My head seems to have a gravitational pull
and balls fly at it, bouncing off my forehead, my crown, my
orbital bones.

As a result, my feelings about sports are not positive.

Sports=pain.

Sports=bruises.

Sports=embarrassment.

So, it was with great trepidation that I went to the park
with S on Friday to learn how to play tennis. I was ready
for a racket to the face as soon as I stepped on the court.

But! It was fun!! I got pleasantly out of breath and a
little sweaty and my legs were tired and it was such fun! I
didn't think about how dorky I looked; I only thought
about how very much I liked tennis.

We played again on Monday and it was even more fun. I'm
getting better and better and S is such a patient teacher
(which was, honestly, a surprise). And it's so exciting
to have something physical to do together.

It's never too late to become an athlete, is it?

A Clean Slate.

I’m kind of over this whole weight-loss thing.

I’ve been logging food for over three years now. I’ve been writing down each minute of exercise. I’ve been weighing daily and, even though I’m embarrassed to admit it, a two-pound increase can throw me into a hole for hours.

Enough.

Before I lost weight, I liked myself a whole heck of a lot. I thought I was cute, albeit chubby, but that didn’t really define me. It was just part of me. Not my whole self.

After losing weight, all I think about is what I can and can’t eat, what exercise I need to do more of and how I can squeeze in a full 90 minutes of working out per day. I talk about weight loss, I think about weight loss, I read about weight loss, I watch programs about weight loss. It consumes me. It took single-minded focus to lose weight, but that focus has become a little too concentrated.

I want to be a regular person again. Not a dieter. Not a maintainer. Just a person who exercises because she likes how it makes her body feel and who eats when she’s hungry and doesn’t deny herself a glass of milk before bed because she doesn’t have the calories to spare. A person who looks in the mirror and doesn’t see areas to work on. A person who reads books about all kinds of issues. A person who can eat a brownie without having an accompanying internal debate about whether or not she should.

I’ve stopped writing down my food. I’ve stopped counting calories. When I find myself doing the head-math, I force myself to stop. I’ll still check out labels to make sure I’m not consuming pure crap, but I’m mostly choosing whole foods that don’t have labels, so it’s kind of a non-issue. I’m not counting out grapes anymore. I’m paying attention to portion sizes, but mostly so I don’t over peanut-butter my toast (I like a certain ratio).

I just want to feel like a normal person. I refuse to think that ‘fat’ is somehow a negative state and that it’s worth making myself into a crazy person in order to avoid it. It’s not an issue of morals or value or self-control like we’re taught. It’s just a state of being, and no one state of being is inherently better than another. I’m done making myself miserable to fit into a mold that I don’t even like.

I’m looking forward to thinking about and talking about other things.