Shoo, Shoe.

I Ate New Orleans.

2005-03-28T11:13:00.000-06:00

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.

2005-03-16T11:13:00.000-06:00

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.

2005-03-07T14:20:00.000-06:00

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.

2005-03-01T09:10:00.000-06:00

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.

2005-02-17T16:19:00.000-06:00

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.

2005-02-16T09:50:00.000-06:00

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.

2005-02-08T11:36:00.000-06:00

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.

The Scene.

2005-02-02T09:22:00.000-06:00

Time: 8:00 p.m.

Activity: Watching The Amazing Race

Location: Couch

Companion(s): One (1) dog sleeping on chest. One (1) dog lying on his back next to couch enjoying a chest scratch. One (1) husband at other end of couch providing foot rub.

Refreshments: One (1) Smart Ones cheesecake

Mood: Outstanding

Some days, I just really like my life.

Mile Marker.

2005-02-01T13:38:00.000-06:00

If my Monday was any kind of indication, this week may be the best week of my life. Woo!

Yesterday, I’m at work, amid a flurry of last-minute casework (the last day of the month is always a rough one), and the phone rings. I answer. It’s my sweetie, calling to tell me he’s been asked to take on a special projects position at work and therefore will be working….wait for it…..7 – 3, Monday thru Friday.

Oh! My! Gracious! He started today. This will be the first time in about two years that we’ll be working the same schedule, the first time we’ll have the same days off! I’m beyond thrilled. One of the things I’ve felt was lacking in our marriage was the shared downtime. You know, coffee over the Sunday paper. Trips to the grocery store. Saturday afternoons working in the yard. And now we’ll have that! I’m just so happy.

In celebration, I decided to do a longer run than my usual three miles at the gym last night; I decided on four. Backstory: last summer, I regularly ran, like, 30 miles a week, usually with two 7-mile runs as my long runs (long for me. Not long for real runners, I know). But then I slacked and for the last 5 months or so, I’ve been barely running 10-12 miles a week, and rarely longer than 3 miles at a time. I’d like to get back to the occasional hour-long run, so I thought yesterday would be as good a time as any to start. So, four miles was the plan. Well, at four miles, I felt pretty good, so decided to do five. At five miles, I felt absolutely fantastic, and went for six. At six, I decided I didn’t want to hurt myself, so I stopped.

It was a great run. I remember now what I liked about longer runs. For me, at around 5 miles, it just becomes completely effortless. My breathing feels smooth, my stride is comfortable; I feel like I could go forever. It’s that feeling that makes running worth it.

Today I feel good, not tight at all anywhere, and I’m itching to run. I’ve missed this.

Birthday Boy.

2005-01-26T14:18:00.000-06:00

Today is my sweetie’s 30th birthday.

When we first started talking almost four years ago, he sent me an email in which he asked if I ever watched “human surgeries” on The Learning Channel. I decided that was a rather alarming question and didn’t email him back.

Well, a month later, I decided to give him another chance and sent him an email. He responded; he ended up not being the freak that I feared he was.

And the rest is our history.

My dear sweetness, my pretty pretty, my tall boy. You are the high point of my day every day. You make me feel loved, you make me feel secure, you make me cupcakes that are burnt on the bottom. Thank you for the foot rubs, for handling the phone calls I don’t want to handle, for making me feel pretty even in boxers, fluffy socks and a tank top.

Happy birthday, good lookin’. You may be an elderly person now, but you’re my elderly person.

One's Born Every Minute.

2005-01-26T11:12:00.000-06:00

I am a sucker for a good commercial. I mean, I get teary-eyed when that little girl folds over her peanut butter sandwich just like her dad, and if Hallmark makes a commercial, it’s a guaranteed Kleenex moment.

Recently, Champion has been running a commercial with a really fit woman doing push-ups. The point is that she’s doing these perfect, perfect push-ups for herself. Not for the rest of the world who might be looking, but for herself.

I want that. I want to do push-ups for myself. I want to be strong for me.

Oversight.

2005-01-26T08:50:00.000-06:00

Since December 2001, when I first decided to lose some of my chub, I have been counting calories. There was a brief six-week foray into Points-counting, but it didn’t last because I am a big, big cheater who cheats. Otherwise, a-calorie counting I have been. I spend part of every day with a calculator; I have the caloric values of dozens and dozens of foods memorized. I’m a calorie savant.

But yesterday, I was struck by how much of my life I spend in relentless self-monitoring. How many notebooks I have filled with detailed information about whatever goes into my mouth. I can’t even keep a damn journal because I don’t have the ability to be consistent, and yet I can drag my little notebook and pen out of my purse after every meal and snack, and write it all down.

It’s worked for me and for that, I’m happy. But now that I’m (supposedly) at a weight where I could do maintenance, do I still need this constant vigilance? I’m afraid to stop counting because then I might gain weight, and once I start slipping back down the slope, I’m not sure I could stop myself.

I’d like to reconnect to my body. I’d like to trust that I know what to eat and when. I’d like to wait until my body says I’m hungry to eat something, instead of planning meals and snacks at certain times to prevent ever feeling actual hunger.

I just hate that I’ve put myself on a permanent diet. Because while I can talk a good game about “getting healthy” and “eating mindfully,” I’m lying. It’s a diet. I count calories because I don’t trust myself to eat normally, because I don’t believe I have the ability to resist “bad” choices without rigid structure and accountability.

I mentioned all this to my mom yesterday and I told her I just wanted to stop writing it all down and try trusting myself for a while. And if I gain a few pounds, so be it.

Her reply? “But you look so good now.”

Yeah.

Let Them Eat Toast.

2005-01-21T13:53:00.000-06:00

Because I go over to Snap’s house every Thursday for girl talk and yummy dinners, I rarely get to the gym on that day of the week. So, when I get home, I usually try to squeeze in some form of exercise between playing with the dogs (I just typed ‘gods’ and how damned apt is that??) and falling into bed.

Last night, I tried a Firm DVD that I’ve had for a while. I hate to admit it, but it was still wrapped in plastic. In an infomercial-induced haze back in August, I ordered up six Firm DVDs as well as that Firm Box and the Firm Sculpting Stick. And then I joined a gym and left all of that stuff unused and unloved in the workout room at home.

Every now and then when I feel like my thighs and glutes need some tough love, I drag all that stuff out. Last night was Total Body Sculpting and today I feel like I spent the evening being kicked in the inner thighs by someone wearing really pointy-toed shoes. Ow.

That said, it was still crazy fun to do. The moves were challenging and I like the pleasant achiness that I have today—it’s always satisfying to feel like you’ve been worked hard.

In other news, I just want to share my love for Subway’s new High Speed Toaster Oven. My toasty ham-and-cheddar deli sandwich at lunch was delicious. I need one of those ovens for my house, so all my meals can bask in the tasty, toasty goodness.

I’m so, so, so happy it’s Friday!

Perspective.

2005-01-20T13:48:00.000-06:00

When I was in 2nd grade, we lived for a whole year in a pop-up trailer. My parents were building our house (like, literally building, with their own hands and hammers) and, because our previous home had to be sold in order to purchase materials for the new house, we had to live somewhere cheap.

And you don’t get much cheaper than a pop-up trailer. We showered down the road at my grandparents’house (where the shower was in the laundry room and was home to more slugs than one could ever imagine—oh, the heebie jeebies!) and our running water at the pop-up? Came from a hose.

My parents slept in one end of the trailer and my sister and I in the other. Our sleeping bags were zippered together, her Care Bears on one side, my My Little Pony on the other. After a year of sleeping like this, both sleeping bags had holes worn on the inside from where our feet rubbed at night. Proof positive one isn’t meant to spend every night in a sleeping bag from Wal-Mart.

We played outside, driving nails into spare pieces of wood and fishing in the pond in the pasture behind our home and riding our bikes up and down the blacktop road until we couldn’t see our shadows anymore.

One night the wind blew very long and very hard and the pop-up shook and shook until it seemed we were about to Dorothy our way straight to Oz. So, we moved into the unfinished house and didn’t spend any more nights in a pop-up trailer in the middle of a pasture.

Sometimes when I’m feeling self-pitying and thinking about how my circumstances are standing the way of my happiness, I try to remember what it was like being the little girl who got off the bus while all the other kids watched and walked up the pop-up trailer where she lived.

Things are never so hard as I imagine. I am most blessed.

You May Be Right. I May Be Crazy.

2005-01-14T14:11:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I walk a very fine line between highly motivated and highly crazy.

I’ve been working out more than usual lately, partly because of the pact with Wings and Snap, and partly because I have been alone a lot.

My husband S works in the evenings, Tuesday – Saturday. I work regular ol’ daytime hours Monday – Friday. As a result, I spend four of five weeknights alone at home with the dogs. I get bored. I get restless. I get intensely interested in the contents of the refrigerator. The only way I can avoid snacking my way out of pants that fit is by distracting myself. And there’s no better distraction than exercising—it’s hard to lick an ice cream cone while doing downward facing dog.

So, I come home from the gym most evenings and cook dinner and clean up the house and then, in order to not eat Second Dinner, I hop on the treadmill and walk while watching TV, usually for an hour or two. And then sometimes, I’ll put in a yoga tape. It keeps me occupied so I don’t munch mindlessly.

However, I think this might be overdoing it. I’ve been really, really exhausted lately. I’m trying to make sure I eat enough to offset the extra exercise I’m getting, but I’m still feeling run down and tired.

But there’s also a crazy little voice in my head that says I must keep getting this much exercise. I’ve lost four pounds since increasing my activity and the crazy voice is very excited about this. For the first time in my adult life I weigh 131 and the crazy voice likes it a lot. And it’s muttering things about how cool it’d be to see 129. Or even 127.

How do you know when to stop?

And I Ran, I Ran So Far Away...

2005-01-08T08:33:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I did yoga for the first time in ages. Today my hamstrings are calling me ugly names.

I spent most of 2004 working on running. I got my times (moderately) faster and I worked on increasing my endurance so I could not die during longer runs. It was time well-spent, because I'd never thought running was something I could do. Finding out that I can made me feel like an athlete for the first time in my life.

This year I plan to keep up with my running, but I'm going to try to add back in the other forms of exercise I used to enjoy as well. I've let yoga and Pilates fall by the way side, and I can't even remember the last time I rode a bike.

Running gave my confidence in what my body can do. I'm looking forward to seeing where that confidence can take me.

Seeing Stars

2005-01-07T13:38:00.000-06:00

I’ve mentioned previously the plans my sister Snap, my cousin Wings, and I made regarding getting healthy/healthier in ’05.

We each set certain goals and, because goals are useless if you don’t have a specific way of achieving them, we each wrote a Plan. I russled up some matching notebooks and kicky pens and each day, we track our progress. Every day that you meet all the components of your plan, you get a little foil star.

Who knew of the power of foil stars?? We had our first check-in last night, and each one of us had gotten a star every day thus far. I’m so proud of us! Snap and Wings have had trouble losing weight and keeping it lost in the past, so it’s exciting to see them motivated. Previously, they both looked to me like I had answers because I was having success, but I think sharing our notebooks last night brought an important point home for them.

Losing weight isn’t the end. You don’t hit goal and then get to cruise. It’s still work. It’s still a daily struggle for me to make the good choice in the face of bad choices. It’s still a Herculean effort to drag myself into the gym and pound the treadmill when all I want to do is snuggle with Pete and watch TV. I hope the three of us doing this together will let them see that success is just in the doing. Every day that you make more good choices than bad, well, that day’s a success.

String enough of those days together, and you just may have something.

Sleet Day.

2005-01-05T16:08:00.000-06:00

It's sleeting outside and the roads are getting slick. Normally, this would be distressing for me. As I am from Oklahoma, I am ill-prepared for any weather categories other than "Hot As Blazes" or "Tornadoes! Run For The Cellar, Young'uns!"

But today, I am not distressed. Why, you ask? Because I bailed on work as soon as I heard "slick roads." I do not get paid enough nor is my work important enough to risk life and limb driving in rush hour with my fellow Oklahomans.

So, here I am at home, in fuzzy socks and comfy yoga pants, munching on roasted chick peas (the recipe is from Robyn's site and is delicious!). Sometimes I'm struck by how incredibly lucky I am.

I watched The Biggest Loser last night and again I found that I'm unable to just
sit and watch. I feel like I need to follow their examples and get up and move. So, last night, I walked on the treadmill during the show and before I knew it, I'd ticked off 7.25 miles during the 90 minutes. My knee hates me today. But the rest of me thinks I'm fabulous.

I suppose even Sleet Days are not an excuse for blowing off a workout, yet I can't get to my gym, so I'm off to have some quality time with the good ladies from The Firm. I'm sure my butt will be screaming tomorrow, but in the good way.

Confessions of a Pedestrian Mind.

2005-01-04T10:20:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, I believed I had more refined tastes than most of the unwashed masses. I didn’t read pop fiction; I read literature. I listened to NPR when most of my contemporaries were listening to grunge (did I just totally date myself or what?). I watched minimal TV and, when I did, I chose programs for their educational merit.

But now? Look up ‘mainstream’ in the dictionary and you’ll see my picture. I’ll be smiling and probably wearing a trucker hat. Well, maybe not the hat.

I watch reality TV. Not a little reality TV. Like, a lot. Survivor. Amazing Race. Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. I confess to even watching The Swan on one ill-fated night. I make very few respectable television choices, save Mythbusters and Arrested Development.

I read grocery-store-purchased novels. Enough said.

I really like cheese-flavored foods. It’s not necessary that they contain actual cheese. Merely tasting of cheese and being orange is sufficient for my sophisticated palate.

I want very much to like wine, but I don’t. I try it and try it and try it and I cannot develop a taste for it. But I’ll happily suck down a wine cooler like a sorority pledge.

I mostly shop at Old Navy and, as a result, I mostly look like everyone else.

I purchase and read magazines that have no substance whatsoever, and then I hide them beneath the newest copy of National Geographic.

I go to Wal-Mart weekly.

The downside of being this average is feeling like there’s nothing about you that makes you special. Like you’re just one cow in the herd.

One of my new year’s goals is to try to embrace all the things that make me who I am, not just the things I’m proud of.

Loving myself means all of me, even the goofy bits.

230.

2005-01-03T15:32:00.000-06:00

Because no new year is complete without a health-related resolution, my sister, my cousin, and I have made A Pact. We have Goals! We have Plans! We have Accountability! We have Rewards! We have Food/Exercise Journals and we have brand new pens with which to record our progress!

We are prepared. We are on track for success.

But who isn’t on January 3?

My previous weight-loss efforts were successful. I lost 50-something pounds and I haven’t gained any of it back for a couple of years now. I fluctuate in a range between 133 and 136 and, while I do believe my backside could be smaller, I can live with this weight. My body seems to like it here. Either that or years of having ‘135’ on my driver’s license when I was no such thing have convinced my body this is the Magic Number.

So, because I’m no longer as portly as I once was and because I can run several miles without dying and lift weights without collapsing, I consider myself fairly healthy.

Or I did.

Until the day the letter came.

During my last visit to the doctor’s office, I had some bloodwork done. Routine stuff. I had no concerns. And then the letter came.

My cholesterol? 230. TWO-THIRTY. That’s higher than my two-time triple-bypass uncle’s cholesterol. That’s higher than, according to my non-scientific survey, the cholesterol of any person I know. What’s that all about?

I know (from TV commercials!) that cholesterol isn’t all about one’s diet and that genetics play a part, too. And granted, my mother has high cholesterol (though lower than mine, dagnabit), so I guess it could just be partially out of my control. But it’s still a little scary to me.

So, my Plan for 2005? Do whatever I can to get that number down. I’ve been focused on the scale for so long I’d stopped paying attention to anything but losing weight. I can see that it’s now time to think about other numbers.

Oatmeal, here I come.

A New Man in My Life.

2004-12-23T19:29:00.000-06:00

Contrary to the nausea and backaches and dizziness I've been feeling the past several days, I am not great with child. That would be a Christmas Miracle! In a bad way.

But our family has grown nonetheless. We've had Wyatt the Wonder Mutt for the past four months and we love him, but he's really more my husband's dog than mine. Wyatt is big and raucous and playful and silly and the only way to get him to sit on your lap is to forcefully hold him there. And it's hard to snuggle with someone you're having to pin down. High school taught me that.

So, we decided to get me A Dog of My Own. We went to the animal shelter and there I met him. Brown eyes. Squishy feet. A body from here to yesterday and a nose that won't quit. He's a 2-year-old miniature dachshund, and he is my soul mate. His name is Pete. Or MC Petey Pete when he's feeling gangsta. Or P.T. Which stands for Prime Time! Yeah, like Deion Sanders. We're doofuses around here.

I love him with a love that dare not speak its name. He's on my lap constantly, snuggling, giving kisses, accepting kisses. We're very possibly going steady at this point.

He's actually on my lap right now, with his head resting on my wrist as I type.

I wonder what state I would have to move to in order to enter a civil union with my new fella...

I am the Cheesecake.

2004-12-12T13:12:00.000-06:00

No matter how much really solid planning I do in advance of a party, I am powerless in front of tiny foods.

Yesterday was a friend's baby shower. I ate a sensible breakfast and a balanced lunch in preparation for the party at 2. I didn't want to be starved when faced with a table filled with treats.

Yet as soon as I saw tiny little cheesecakes and tiny little quiches, all bets were off. I can't resist wee foods. Miniature chocolate bars, tiny desserts, bitty little appetizers--ahhh. I love them all.

So, I ate a lot more yesterday than I intended, but I'm taking it in stride. It was one indulgence in a week of healthy choices.

I'm back in the saddle today and l'm looking forward to another good week. I'm glad I'm learning not to beat myself up for slips.

In other news: Tonight is the finale of Survivor. I am a-quiver with glee!

And now I'm off to do laundry and bake some banana bread and soak up what remains of my weekend!

Doctor, doctor, give me the news.

2004-12-06T15:03:00.000-06:00

What's the best birthday gift a girl can give to herself?

A Pap smear! Woo!

I had my annual "well woman" exam this morning and why I accepted an appointment on my birthday is beyond me. I might have been addled that day. But, because the appointments generally take a while (my doctor, she's not so prompt), I took the whole day off from work. So, I've been able to spend my birthday running errands and getting some things done that I hadn't had time for.

I had a very short list of things to discuss with my doctor, and during the 49 minutes I sat alone in the exam room reading a publication devoted to asthma (a condition I happily do not have), I talked myself out of bringing them up. Then I talked myself back into bringing up one of them, if for no other reason than I didn't want to catch heck from my mother for not addressing it.

I've been having a lot of anxiety lately. I've always been pretty anxious and had little bouts of depression and in my late teens and early twenties, I had panic attacks. Those lessened over time, but lately, I've been feeling like I'm on the verge of them again. And as anyone who has had panic attacks can tell you, just remembering those feelings is enough to shake you to the tips of your toes. So, I talked to the doctor about it, I answered her questions honestly (which is really hard to do because I don't like to admit to some of the thoughts and feelings I've had), and she decided that I would benefit from some pharmacological help. I generally eschew medications unless absolutely necessary, but she seemed convinced that I could greatly benefit from taking something. And honestly, the idea of feeling not keyed up and not nervous and not blue all the time? Thrills me. So, I accepted the month's worth of Lexapro® and scheduled another visit in a month. She's also recommending counseling so I can get some tools to help me cope, but because of an insurance switch January 1, we're going to address that on the next visit. So, for now, I'll be medicated. We'll see how it goes.

I'm kind of nervous (Ha! Shocking!) about taking something like this, I am also happy to think that maybe I don't have to live life the way I have been. That maybe I can rejoin the world and not hide out so much.

And now I'm off to research side effects. As long as there's no oily discharge (best pharmaceutical side effect of all time!) in my future, I can probably live with most anything.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

2004-12-05T23:24:00.000-06:00

I really had no idea this much time had passed since I’d updated. I have lots of excuses: killer cold, big changes at work, holiday events. But the real truth is, I haven’t had much to say. I appear to be in maintenance, which is probably a level of Hell that Dante forgot to describe. I didn’t plan to be in maintenance at this weight. I planned it for about 5 pounds less than I am now, but my body seems to have stopped here and I’m not willing to invest the extra exercise it’d take to get the scale to move. I do more and eat less, I weigh 135. I eat more and do less, I weigh 135. This must be where my body feels happy and safe, so this is where I’ll maintain.

But maintenance? Crazy boring. Frustrating. No excitement from small scale victories, no sudden change in pant size that leaves you walking on air. Just day in and day out of the same careful eating and exercise that you realize it’s How Life Must Always Be. At least when I was still losing, the work had a recognizable reward. It’s hard to stay motivated when the only reward is not getting chubby again.

So, here I’ve been. Walking my narrow little path of healthy food choices and running miles on the treadmill and hefting weights and lolling around on exercise balls endlessly. It’s monotonous, but I’m trying to remember to be grateful that I’m where I am. That I’m able to walk the narrow little path without too much difficulty. That this lifestyle has become a habit.

That’s something, I guess.

I'm a Lumberjack and I'm Okay.

2004-10-18T18:54:00.000-05:00

My breakfasts have become quite hearty these days. Up until a few months ago I typically ate oatmeal or cereal with fruit for breakfast. It was speedy, it tasted good, it didn't involve a lot of clean-up. Which, sadly, accounted for 90% of my food expectations.

But then I realized I was getting awfully hungry awfully early in the morning. I'd eat breakfast at 6:30 or so, and by 8, my stomach would be growling and I'd be considering the nutritional value of a linty mint I'd found in my purse.

So, I instituted a new breakfast. Instead of cereal, I'd have scrambled egg substitute and a piece of toast. Feeling daring one day, I added in soy sausage. A week later, inspiration struck, and the fantastical giant breakfast burrito was born: a glorious mix of scrambled egg substitute, soy sausage, green pepper, mushrooms, and assorted other available veggies all rolled up in a tortilla and smothered in salsa. Yum. And did I mention, yum?

However, a girl cannot live by breakfast burritos alone, even if they are the Best Breakfast Burritos Ever. So, I've been experimenting with new combinations of breakfast foods. Sausage and raisin toast. Eggs and cereal. Oatmeal and eggs. Cereal with fruit and a side of sausage. The combinations are endless. Well, not really, but my math skills aren't great.

This morning when I sat down to breakfast, I realized how far I'd come from a bowl of cereal. On my plate: scrambled egg substitute with mushrooms and green peppers, two links of soy sausage, a half a banana, and a whole grain waffle with blueberries. All of this was accompanied by a cup of coffee and a glass of milk. Somehow, breakfast has become my largest meal of the day.

Now if only someone else would wash all those dishes.

Fake It 'Til You Make It.

2004-10-14T16:52:00.000-05:00

Things around Casa de Shoe have been a little bit tense lately. The husband and I had a long summer of major decisions. We got married, we bought a house, we impulsively brought Wyatt the Wonder Mutt home from the local animal shelter. We changed our lives in a lot of ways and only now, as things are settling in and slowing down, have we had time to appreciate the incredible amount of responsibility we’ve given ourselves.

It’s silly, really. We’re adults; responsibility is supposed to happen, right? But it’s still a little bit of a shock when you find yourself sitting at a desk, writing a check for your mortgage, signing it with your new last name that you still write so badly you’re quite sure someone will accuse you of forging it, while your weird little half-breed dog sneaks out the dog door with your underwear. Again.

Because of the stress of Major Life Changes, I and my taller half have both been a little pointy around the edges. Conversations have been strained, eyes have been surreptitiously rolled, and the merits of a marriage in which you live in separate houses have been considered.

In desperation, I decided to embrace the advice of my mother, the “Fake it ‘til you make it” strategy. Or as my sister says, “You can get glad in the same pants you can get sad in.” I’ve forced a positive attitude about all things home-related. I’ve smiled when I wanted to frown, I’ve laughed when I wanted to grumble, I’ve practiced kindness when pettiness was my first impulse

And I’ll be damned if it’s not working. Because I’m acting happier, I feel happier. And because I seem happier, the husband seems happier. Our house has once again become a really lovely place to be.

But don’t tell my mom. I’ll never hear the end of it.

Thoughts on Food.

2004-10-13T15:31:00.000-05:00

I’m thinking about food today.

Granted, I think about foods most days. It’s all part of being accountable about what I eat. But today, I’m mostly thinking about food as a vessel for memories.

When I was a child, my mother would make this snack for us that was chunky peanut butter mixed with Griffin’s syrup (Griffin’s is the Best Syrup Ever) and spread thickly on whole wheat toast. It had approximately a kabillion calories and set on your stomach like a stone, but when I want comfort, I want peanut-butter-and-syrup toast. Whenever I eat it, I am taken back to the kitchen of my childhood. I hear the clink of the knife on the edge of the little glass bowl, feel the rough serrated edge against my tongue as I lick the knife clean. It takes me home.

I’m lucky. I don’t really have any food issues. I don’t eat to numb some internal pain; I don’t binge. My weight problems were more of a result of convenience eating and lack of exercise.

However, I do love to eat for memories. I eat pizza because sitting in Pizza Hut when it’s dark outside, seeing my reflection in the glass and tasting tomato sauce and cheese, takes me back to every vacation I had as a child. We only ate pizza at Pizza Hut when we were Going Somewhere. And those memories are so sweet I evoke them whenever I can by sliding into a booth and ordering a Supreme on hand-tossed crust.

I eat Cheetos because they make me four years old again. My sister and I would secret away the best parts of our lunch, the thick wedges of Colby cheese and the Cheetos, in our napkins and smuggle them off to our bedroom. There we would sit on the green shag carpet and spread our orange feast out on a small embroidered pillow and eat until our fingers were stained. Even though we were pulling nothing over on our mother, something about the illicit thrill of eating in our bedroom made those Cheetos taste amazing.

A bowl of potato soup and I’m a freshman in high school again. Too embarrassed to eat lunch in the cafeteria and risk getting food stuck in my braces, I lost weight unintentionally and didn’t notice until my grandmother pointed out that my pants were cinched all hobo-like by my belt. She made me a big pot of potato soup, thick with onions and bacon and cream, and required me to come by every day after school and eat. Potato soup was love.

Warm apple pie with ice cream takes me to Frenchie’s, a small diner in Tincup, Colorado, where after days of sleeping in a rainy tent in the mountains I sat, let the central heat seep into my cold toes and ate pie for breakfast. Nothing since has ever tasted that good.

Sometimes I force myself to deny the pleasures of food. I eat things for nourishment, but not for joy. But that’s sucks. I’m not doing that anymore.

I’m going to try enjoying eating again.

Three weeks until a nosty fright?

2004-10-12T17:18:00.000-05:00

I haven’t updated in a while because I haven’t had anything to say worth saying. Wah! Poor me! (If there’s anything more charming than self-pity, I don’t know what it could be. Unless it’s self-pity with a British accent. Because that’s always So Sexy.)

The weather has been dreary and rainy and gray and I’ve had to break out a sweater. As a result of these strange October days, my activity outside of work and the gym has been limited to snuggling the The Big Chair dressed in layers of flannel with cup after cup of coffee. I’m hibernating. Even the husband knows not to bother me, lest I rise from the chair, cranky and hungry and tearful (the least popular of the Dwarfs, you know).

I love fall. Really, I do. I love wet leaves underfoot and wind that takes my breath and the sharp tanginess of the air heavy with damp and decay. Love it. I love tiny Halloween candies and pumpkins on doorsteps. I love caramel apples and cookouts and the fact that it’s dark by 7:30. However, it always takes me a bit of time to shift gears from summer. To get my autumn on.

I think I just need more apple cider in my diet.

The one in which Megan needs professional help.

2004-10-05T18:34:00.000-05:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about my weight loss habits lately and I don’t really like what I’m seeing. I’m so mean to myself so much of the time. My actions are guided by guilt, not by health. I avoid situations where I’ll be challenged by food, I pay penance for “bad” eating with extra exercise, I monitor myself in terms of my setbacks. I don’t celebrate victories, but I sure as hell punish defeats.

Before I lost weight, I had pretty solid body image. I knew I was chubbier than I should be, but I also knew my body was pretty darn useful. It got me where I needed to go, it did what I asked of it, it made me feel pretty in saucy outfits. I didn’t love it, but I didn’t hate it. It was just where I lived and all the things that really mattered were internal.

But now. Ahh, now. Now I study myself with a critical eye. I weigh myself daily. Well, honestly, it’s like thrice daily. I push myself hard. If 30 minutes of exercise is good, 60 is better. If five times a week is good, seven is better. If 1,800 calories a day is reasonable, 1,400 is what I allow myself. I tick miles off on the treadmill, not because I love running, but because it’s the biggest caloric bang for my buck.

I know this is nuts. I know it’s obsessive and I know it’s the fast train to Crazy Town.

Losing weight and getting in shape has been the single hardest thing I’ve ever done and it required a pretty single-minded focus for a long time in order to break the bad habits I’d created. But what do I do now that the focus no longer serves me well, but makes me insane? When do I get a breather? When can I think about something else?

Decisions about my health should not be guided by fear and guilt. And nor should my definition of “health” be tied to the size of my jeans.

I’ve gotta get this figured out.

Aftermath.

2004-10-03T19:20:00.000-05:00

I ate so very much yesterday. Well, it wasn't really that alarming a quantity of food--just a rather enormous variety. As expected, the chocolate-dipped cheesecake on a stick was the high point of my fair experience. Well, that and the racing pigs. But when aren't racing pigs the high point of any experience?

Today has been a lovely, leisurely Sunday. I grocery-shopped early this morning and finally found oranges that were worthy of purchasing. Breakfast was a rather lame bowl of cereal, but lunch was a yummy scrambled egg (substitute), (soy) sausage, green pepper and mushroom wrap. With lots of salsa. I eat entirely too much salsa.

Dinner will likely be leftovers because on Sundays? Megan doesn't cook. Nor does she do dishes, so that sort of precludes the ol' husband from cooking, either.

Right now I'm very, very hungry, which I attribute in part to the fact I ate an awful lot yesterday which gave my greedy appetite the wrong idea and in part to the fact I baked some brownie cookies this afternoon and they're cooling on a rack in the kitchen. They're out of a healthy cookbook and only 55 calories each, but that doesn't matter if you want to eat 10 of them.

Not really looking forward to returning to work tomorrow. I'd be an excellent stay-at-home mother if I wasn't required to have children as part of the deal.

Fair!

2004-10-02T10:39:00.000-05:00

So, I'm going to the state fair today. The theme of the fair this year? "Pig Out." And I likely will.

Cheesecake on a stick. Shrimp on a stick. Fried Twinkies on a (are you with me here?) stick.

What is a girl supposed to do?

It sucks...

2004-10-01T17:10:00.000-05:00

...to have to eat an apple when you really want a Moon Pie.

At least the apple will make me feel less like I need to marry my cousin.

The Obligatory "All About Me" Post

2004-10-01T11:30:00.000-05:00

There’s a picture of me at age 3 that I keep on my desk at home. It’s slightly out-of-focus, giving it a soft, Barbara-Walters-interview kind of look. My hair is strawberry blonde, sticking out from my head in twists and cowlicks. I’m shirtless, my hands on my hips. My chin is lifted, defiant, and my hazel eyes carry all the wisdom of my three years.

I love that picture. I strive to be like that little girl. Sometimes, I think I’m almost there.

I grew up in rural nowhere, with a midsized city close enough by that I fancied myself more cosmopolitan than most in my state. I was a smart kid with minimal social skills, giant glasses, and hair that my mom fixed until I was 12, which achieved an overall effect of a young-looking geriatric.

I read a lot and wrote bad poetry and thought words could change the world. In high school, I joined everything and stayed involved and learned that smart wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I graduated from high school, went off to college. And then to a different college. And then to a different one. I finally graduated and decided that even if words could change the world, my words probably wouldn’t. So, I took a job in social services and four years later, I’m still doing it.

Most days I like my job. Some days I feel like I genuinely make a difference, some days I feel like I’m a punching bag for people who feel trapped by their lives. And some days I get to see people bring The Crazy right into our office. I’ve been groped by a strange woman who offered to show me the bruise on her ass. I’ve had a homeless guy offer to feel my head because he’s a “phrenology expert.” I’ve had a little boy who lives in a car draw me a picture of his “house” and I’ve had a two-year-old girl hug my legs and leave snot smeared across my pants. Good times.

I got married a few months ago to a tall man who is steady and stable and even and puts up with my mood swings with nary a reaction. He’s also kind of sloppy and forgets important dates and if I walk into the guest room one more time and see his underwear on the floor, it’s very likely I’ll throw them away. But nobody’s perfect.

A couple of years ago I realized I’d gained a lot of weight. So, for the first time ever, I decided to try watching what I ate and exercising. I lost 50+ pounds over the next couple of years and now I exercise a lot and eat a lot less and most of the time I feel good about the changes. But it remains the hardest thing I’ve ever done and every day it stays hard. I’ve come to accept though, that “hard’ can’t be an excuse for not doing something.

So, that’s the general framework. Any questions?

What is up with my pants?

2004-10-01T10:40:00.000-05:00

My pants fit weird today. They're tight in places that are usually quite comfy. It's disconcerting and makes me feel lumpy and bulging and strange.

I recently started a much more consistent strength-training program and I blame the new muscles for making the pants-stretching lumps.

Hee. Pants-stretching lumps.

I know to just ride this one out, to wait until things start to smooth out or flatten out or stay curvy but just in a more attractive manner. Patience is a virtue that weight loss teaches in spades.

And so I'll wait. But these pants may not get worn again until they make me feel prettier.