Not Shrinking

An Update and Being the Same Me

2009-04-09T17:45:00.005-04:00

The experiment is going pretty well. The first week I gained a pound and a half, the second week I stayed the same, and the third week I lost two pounds. More importantly, I'm entirely angst free. It's really nice not to be even a tiny bit stressed about my food choices. I would bet that I'm eating pretty close to the same stuff in the same amounts as I was when I was tracking. Go figure.

Saturday I'm going to visit friends and family in California. Most of them I haven't seen in over a year, which means they haven't seen me in over a year. As it is commonly spoken and written, most people would be really excited and happy anticipating the unveiling of a body 73 pounds thinner. I hear I am supposed to relish the compliments and attention and be proud of what I've achieved and whatnot. I'm actually pretty anxious about it. I haven't told anyone I'm losing weight. It's not a secret, exactly, but I feel weird about it. I have such conflicted feelings about the concept of dieting and about involving myself in the diet industry, so I don't love talking about that. I also hate how the whole world seems to be having a constant conversation about having lost weight, wanting to lose weight, regretting cookies, wanting donuts, wishing they had time to exercise, hating exercise, being virtuous for eating salad and bad for skipping the gym. I don't want to engage in that conversation and I don't know how to casually tell my father or my childhood friends that I've been losing weight for the last 13 months and that they should expect me to look pretty different. So then when they see me they'll be shocked, which just draws more attention that I don't want. I don't want to talk to everyone I see about how I lost weight or even to accept compliments if they're giving them. Each of them will only have that conversation once, but I'm having it all the time with strangers as well as friends. It makes me tired.

A few weeks ago I had lunch with an old, dear friend who is local, but whom I don't see often. I'm sure she noticed that I've lost weight -- I am aware that I look pretty wildly different, though it makes me uncomfortable -- but she managed to show no sign of it. She treated me exactly as she always has. We ate together, we took a walk, we had a conversation about our gym memberships and she just treated me like me. It was deeply comforting. That's what I want from everyone, really. I don't think my weight loss should be interesting to anyone but me. I care about losing weight. I think about what I'm eating. I want to be thinner, to look better, to buy cuter clothes. All of that is a big deal to me, but I don't want it to be a big deal to anyone else. I just want them to be with me exactly as they've always been. I wish I could send a memo ahead of me explaining that...

An Anniversary and an Experiment

2009-03-25T11:51:00.005-04:00

So as of last week, I've been doing Weight Watchers for a year. I've lost about 70 pounds, which is nice, and in an extremely unlikely event, have become a fitness nut, which is thrilling.

But I've been struggling lately. As much as I believe it's unhealthy for me to worry about food, to feel guilty about overeating, I still do. It's a stressful situation. I can tell myself that it's okay to eat what I want, that I'll still be working out, that I'll be eating healthier things later, that it's not the end of the world if I gain a pound, but I can't really turn off the other voice. The one who says I'm sabotaging my weight loss efforts when I eat cookies, that I'm still fat and look horrible, that I should be making healthier food choices.

I've always had only two rules for myself. One was that I would record my Weight Watchers points as accurately as I could. Always. It was okay to eat whatever I wanted in whatever quantity I wanted, but I had to record it. For most of the last twelve months, that has been really helpful. I actually find it comforting to write down a number after I overeat, even if the number is huge. It's just a number. I start over with daily points the next day and with weekly points the next week. I earn more points every time I work out. I haven't killed any puppies, I just ate a lot of points. No one cares but me.

Only for some reason, over the last few weeks, it's been causing a lot of anxiety. I hate that I sometimes debate over a breakfast that's one or two points higher than another or over whether or not to eat a piece of fruit because I'm thinking about how many points I have left. How ridiculous is that? Deep down, I don't believe it's ever a bad idea to eat a bunch of grapes or a bowl of oatmeal with peanut butter.

My other rule is No Angst. So when recording points, worrying about points, started to cause me angst, I had to decide which was a bigger rule. I decided No Angst. So as an experiment, I'm not recording or thinking about points. My goal is to do everything pretty much the same except without the anxiety. My exercise routine will be the same because it makes me happy, I will still go to Weight Watchers meetings and get weighed and will still weigh myself at home. I will keep eating basically as I've been eating, except without recording anything. I'm going to see what happens for about a month. If I find that I'm steadily gaining weight, I'll reassess. If my weight stays the same, I'm okay with that for now. If I lose weight, even if it's more slowly than I have been, I'll be thrilled. It's been almost a week so far and I am feeling optimistic about it. I am definitely less anxious around food and don't think I'm eating any more than I was before. I've lost a pound. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

In defense of emotional eating

2009-03-15T17:33:00.002-04:00

It seems like everywhere I look, there are articles in magazines and posts on health blogs about how to overcome emotional eating. I'd like to break away from the pack and praise emotional eating. At least for me, it serves a purpose, and it hasn't done me any harm lately.

I'd like to start by saying I am an emotional eater. I eat for comfort, I stress eat, I get lonely and crave cookies or Chinese food or ice cream and I not only have to eat exactly what I'm craving, but I have to eat too much of it. Part of the comfort comes from the feeling of being too full. I'm not saying that's a good thing. It's probably a huge factor in how I got to be overweight in the first place and that feeling of being too full is uncomfortable. I hate it. But I believe it's more important to pay attention to it than to fight it. It has been helpful for me to notice my patterns of emotional eating -- what kind of mood sets it off, what happens if I don't succumb, how does it feel when I do, etc... And I certainly try to keep it in check -- I can often find other ways to comfort myself. I can write or talk or work out and sometimes doing one of those things curbs my desire to eat a whole pizza. Sometimes going to the trouble of cooking something that's healthy and delicious and eating that will curb the desire. Part of the comfort comes from the idea of giving myself what I want -- I deserve these cookies -- if I can shift that to: I deserve this root vegetable soup, then the same purpose is served.

I've been losing weight for nearly a year now, and one of the most important things I've learned is that giving in to occasional fits of emotional over-eating does not derail me. I can eat way too much for one meal or over the course of a day or over the course of several days. It usually doesn't feel good. It usually makes me feel sluggish and guilty and fat. But it is also comfortable and familiar and on some level, it works. It provides a certain quality of comfort that nothing else does and if I deny myself the right to that comfort, I get more and more agitated. I start to resent that root vegetable soup instead of craving it. Once I've eaten the donuts (because I absolutely had to, because I wanted them and don't I deserve to have what I want? because one donut doesn't make me feel like I got what I wanted, I have to eat four and have a sugar headache...) I relax. I crave my next work-out. I crave my next salad. And I see, again and again and again over the last year, that it doesn't stop me from losing weight. It doesn't stop me from working out or eating well 90% of the time. Now, part of the comfort comes from that. From the realization, over and over, that my binge didn't make me regain 70 pounds, or even 5. It didn't take away my muscles. It didn't take away my desire to work out every day or my love of vegetables. I am comforted by not having to lose my source of comfort in order to lose weight.

What I mean when I say Love

2009-03-01T11:08:00.001-05:00

I love my body. No, seriously. I don't mean it's perfect or that I never look at myself and cringe about something -- the size of my belly or a pimple, new wrinkles, hair growing where I don't need hair -- I'm vain enough and I have plenty of room for negative body image -- I don't think anyone escapes that entirely. What I mean is, I love my body like I love my family and my dearest friends and my city and my car. They are all flawed. They all have qualities that drive me crazy and make me hate them momentarily. They are limited, which is frustrating. But the core of the relationship stays strong. Deep down in my heart, I want my body to be happy. I love that it carries me around all day. I am proud of how strong it is. I am amazed at its resiliency, its ability to heal itself. It gives me pleasure. And sometimes I am blown away by its beauty. All that makes me want to treat my body well. It makes me happy to nourish my body well, to allow it to rest, to take it out for runs and yoga classes. I am forgiving when I see an ugly side or am slowed down by its limitations. I forgive it when it causes me pain.

I feel that I was taught for so much of my life to hate my body, to want it to be different, to fight to change it. And that never inspired me to treat it well. Loving my body right now, is what allows me to change it. If I were hating it now, or hating it as it was a year ago, in order to will it to be different at some point in the future, I wouldn't treat it with kindness. I wish that when people talked about losing weight or striving for better health, they spoke more about loving your body, loving your self, and being kind.

My mother's idea of a compliment

2009-02-13T17:19:00.003-05:00

I'm actually having my first really good day in weeks, and I promise to write positive, cheerful things here in the near future, but I'm just stopping by to record this:

I had breakfast with my mother this morning after not seeing her for several months (she's visiting from far away) and she attempted to compliment me by telling me I look like a normal person now.

Seriously. I couldn't make this shit up.

f&*%ing people

2009-02-12T17:44:00.010-05:00

I hate people sometimes.

I went to work today and there were lovely baked goods in honor of one of my lovely co-workers. I should mention that we're in the middle of a weird and stressful transition in my workplace and as a result, I am working with many people who I had never worked with before last week. Many of them I still haven't met. I picked up a scone from the box of lovely baked goods and one of the above-mentioned new co-workers -- a woman in her 70s with whom I have never spoken before -- pointed to the scone I was holding and said, "That's fattening."

May I ask, in what universe could that possibly be an appropriate thing to say?

Let's first discuss the word fattening*. All by itself it is one of my biggest pet peeves. Only as I wrote that, I realized there's nothing petty about my peevishness. It's a word that's wrong on so many levels and I take that seriously. It implies that the only thing that matters about a food's nutritional value is whether or not it will make you fat. And even by that definition, it means nothing. Any food will make you fat if you eat too much of it and no food will make you fat if you don't eat too much of it. There are no fattening foods.

But let's move on from semantics. What could she have possibly meant by saying that to me? Is she warning me not to eat it? Does she not recognize that I'm an adult and a total stranger and that what I eat is none of her business? Is she saying it because I'm fat and she thinks she's being helpful? Would she have said it if I weren't fat? Would she have said it if I were a man? Is there anyone on earth who really thinks that would be helpful rather than horribly, offensively rude? And remember: total stranger. Is she just making conversation in that way that people do about food? Even though I recognize that this is a cultural norm -- talking about what we should and shouldn't eat and how bad we're being when we eat junk -- usually that kind of statement refers to the speaker's food choices, not the food choices of the total stranger who she is addressing.

Would an appropriate response have been: "I work out six times a week and have lost seventy pounds in the last year, so thank you, but I believe I can make my own food choices?" I just went with, "Excuse me?" She repeated herself, pointing again, as if I hadn't understood which food she was referring to, as if it had been an appropriate thing to say in the first place. I walked away.

Now I am left hating a perfect stranger, which is a pretty icky feeling. The anger, combined with stress about lots of other things going on this month drove me to eat three of those big delicious scones over the course of the day. So now I feel physically icky, too.

* (an aside regarding my hatred of that word) When I was growing up, this was the only thing my mother ever said about food. Something was "fattening," and thus to be avoided or eaten in small quantities or it was "not fattening" and could be eaten freely. I never learned a damn thing about nutrition, never had a conversation about how my body needed certain types of food for nourishment and that other foods and chemicals found in junk food were bad for my body. The only bad thing food could do to me was make me fat. The only good thing it could do was not make me fat.

My trainer is a flake

2009-02-11T18:57:00.003-05:00

I think I'm in a fight with my trainer. This isn't a real problem, but it's a small annoyance in the middle of a month that is turning out to be full of small annoyances, so I'm going to go ahead and bitch about it. I've said before that I adore him. I do. He's very good at his job -- clearly knowledgeable, creative, kind. It's obvious he's thinking about me and my progress and my limitations, rather than just throwing the same stuff at me he throws at every client. Also he's good company and if he's had enough coffee, he gossips about the other trainers, which is endlessly entertaining.

But he is a flake. He is late about half the time. The other half, he texts me right before we're supposed to meet and asks to reschedule. If I get that text the day before, I'm really impressed by how organized he is that week. That's how low my standards have gotten. To his credit, he always remembers to reschedule and always says if he knows he'll be late. He usually apologizes. I know he takes his job really seriously, but I don't think he gets how irresponsible it is to be so unreliable.

The last two weeks went like this: Last Tuesday he asked me (the day before -- woohoo!) to meet at 6:00 instead of 6:30. For me that means getting up at 5:20 so I can get to the gym 10-15 minutes early to warm up. I said yes without complaint, and even though I woke up Tuesday morning with both a cold and cramps, I showed up at 5:45. He arrived at 6:10. Yesterday I left for the gym at 6:05, checking my phone for messages before heading out. I warmed up, I stretched, I waited. At 6:45 I assumed he wasn't coming and worked out on my own, listening to the horribly annoying gym music because I'd come without my ipod, expecting to be following orders. Got home to a text he'd sent at 6:10 saying he'd been out sick all week and could I do Wednesday morning instead. I'm not unsympathetic to his need to stay home sick, but 6:10? Really? I texted back that I wanted to go to my yoga class Wednesday and asked if he could try to cancel earlier in the future since by 6:10 I'm out of the house without my phone or my ipod. I don't think 30 minutes notice is too much to ask. I really don't. It's Wednesday evening now and he still hasn't responded. No offer of another day to reschedule, no apology, no argument. It's extremely uncharacteristic of him not to communicate, so I can only assume that he is either annoyed or guilty. Either way, kind of childish.

Like I said, not a big problem. In the grand scheme of things, it's not disrupting anything except the inside of my head, but I'm kind of sick of it.

The Green Microgym

2009-02-05T17:58:00.002-05:00

Of all the things I do to destroy the earth, the one I feel most guilty about is belonging to my gym. It's an environmental nightmare. When I think about the dozens of electrical cardio machines, the heat in winter and heavy-duty air-conditioning in summer, the horrible toxic cleaning products used all over the building, the hundreds of towels laundered every day, and the fact that we are all in there working so hard, expending so much human energy that goes nowhere, I feel like my head is going to explode. And I know I've read articles about people who power their homes from one exercise bike -- human energy generating electricity! -- how cool is that? They powered the Times Square new year's ball that way this year. Left a couple bikes out for anyone who walked by to ride until they filled up enough batteries to light all those little bulbs. I've been obsessing about this for months -- why don't all gyms function this way? Why don't any?

I thought maybe in California -- there must be at least one. And then I found it. It's in Portland, Oregon, which makes even more sense than California, because people can work out outside in California. In Oregon it's always drizzling. It's called The
Green Microgym and I dearly wish I could be a member. They use solar energy, have floors of recycled rubber and cork, allow members to turn on lights, fans and TVs only when using them, have double flush toilets, use non-toxic cleaning supplies, etc... And they have those bikes that generate electricity and give members cash back for time spent riding them. The owner, Adam Boesel does phone consultations for those interested in opening a green microgym or greening their existing gym. I am so impressed with him. I hope gyms will start moving in this direction. It makes so much sense -- offers all the same services as any other gym at less cost to everyone and with less damage to the planet.

Spread the word.

Do I really have to talk about this?

2009-01-30T20:47:00.008-05:00

I'm afraid I do.

I don't usually get into other pieces of my life here, but it's all twisted up in body stuff, so I will. I'm single and heterosexual. I do the online dating thing. I don't particularly like it, but I don't really have other places to meet men, so it's what I do. One of the horrifying things about online dating is that you can see right there in black and white that many, many men are very specific about what you need to look like to date them. Mostly, they don't want you to be fat. Some of them want to date someone between 5" and 6" but not over 130 pounds. Do they know what 130 pounds would look like on a 6" woman. Well, obviously not, since she'd be dead. Anyway, they're not all like that and while it does hurt my feelings sometimes, I am also aware that (at every size I've been) I am like most people in the world: some people will find me attractive and some people won't. Frankly, I have no interest in dating someone who doesn't find me attractive.

Only this weird things is happening where my body is changing and I look different and I had this online profile with a picture of me (a picture I like -- wind is blowing my hair in my face and I am laughing at something my little sister is telling me and I look like myself) and it no longer represents what I look like. So I changed the picture. I posted the one I mentioned awhile back. It's a nice picture. I am laughing at my nephew. I look like myself. And I suppose I look more accurately like myself now.

A few days ago, someone wrote to me, asked if I wanted to chat, said he'd like to know more about me. I'm usually wary when they don't say anything more specific than that, but I looked at his profile and he actually sounded like someone I'd like -- we had some interests in common, he sounded like a grown-up, he sounded kind -- so I said hello, mentioned that we had the same favorite book and said, "Ask me anything." He responded by asking me out to coffee. Sure. I'm all about a face-to-face meeting. I believe you learn very little by corresponding with someone you haven't met. So we made a plan to meet tomorrow morning and he asked if I'd send him another picture, "...just to be on the safe side." I assumed he wanted to be sure he recognized me. But then I had this dilemma: I don't have another recent picture. I have a handful of pictures I've used before -- the one that shows me laughing at my sister and two or three others -- but in all of them I am somewhere between 25 and 50 pounds heavier than I am now. I look different. And apparently the way in which I look different is a big deal to a lot of men. Ugh. I am at the same time vain, wanting to send a picture of me right now, not just thinner but fitter, happier, more at ease in my skin -- I think all of those things make a difference --and I am resentful that it makes a difference. I like those older pictures. I think I look good in them. Why should I not send a picture in which I look good? In any case, I didn't have the option of another new picture, so I sent an older one. In it, I'm about 25 pounds heavier than I am now, which is about 18 pounds heavier than I was in the picture he's already seen. I refused to mention the change in my size, but I did say that I didn't have another recent picture and that this one was a few years old.

I got an email from him ten minutes later: "I've changed my mind, sorry. Good luck."

I feel so icky about the whole thing. I mean, he's being horribly rude. No one has ever done that to me before in years and years of online dating. And I find it odd that anyone could take a picture so seriously -- I've done this enough to know that people just look different in person. I never know if I'm attracted to someone until I meet him. Part of me, even though I now hate this man and would never want to date him, is still insulted and kind of hurt. I don't like to think of myself as so unattractive that I'm not worth an hour in a coffee shop. I don't like to think that someone would find me attractive now or sometime in the future when I'm thinner than I am now, but would be repelled by a photo of me taken 25 pounds ago. I absorb that. I feel shame. I hate that I can still feel that.

You Know What's Hard?

2009-01-29T19:56:00.004-05:00

Swinging a very large kettle bell for 45 minutes.

Which is how my week began. Okay, it's how my Tuesday began. My trainer is trying to teach me kettle bell swings, which is apparently an acquired skill, thus the 45 minutes of, "Okay, you're doing this part right, but you want to do this other thing differently." This was, mind you, a kettle bell two sizes bigger than the biggest one my gym owns. He brings his own. If done correctly, this is a lower body exercise. Because I'm still learning, I managed to exhaust every muscle I have. By the time I got to work Tuesday, I felt I would never be able to lift my arms again. Wednesday morning I went to power yoga (more on that another time), which felt good while I was doing it, but made my muscles more tired. Am only just now feeling mostly recovered after resting today. Damn.

I've been delinquent here. I'll catch up. This was what I could write today without doing too much thinking. Between the muscle fatigue and my world being completely covered in ice, I'm not much for thinking.

Trust

2009-01-03T10:32:00.004-05:00

My goal for this week, (because, yeah, I do kind of have goals even though I try to be mellow about them) is to not gain more than a pound. After a few days of eating with abandon, I seem to have swung back to a more moderate place yesterday, and I have been working out as much as ever. I'm going to my trainer's class this afternoon. My weight fluctuates from day to day, but I go by my Weight Watchers weigh ins on Monday evenings. Right now I'm at about the same place as last week, so if the next couple days go well, I might even lose. Every single time this happens -- I eat in a way that feels out of control for awhile and then I work my way back to a place that feels better -- I am relieved to have made it back and comforted that it hasn't really damaged my efforts to lose weight. I feel almost, almost but not quite able to trust it.

As I wrote on Thursday, I am trying to banish the voice that tells me eating a lot of crap is bad. And part of that is about the fact that it's not bad. Bacon has no ethical value attached to it. Eating bacon isn't like torturing puppies or cheating on taxes or even driving a car. Gaining weight isn't bad. Nor is being fat. I'm working on that. But I also recognize that I am trying to lose weight. I want to lose weight. It's not necessary, it's not the right thing to do, it's not me doing good. It's something I want. So the other piece of banishing The Voice is trusting that a little setback like a craving for pizza or two parties in two days at which I choose to eat delicious food, does not derail my efforts to lose weight. It doesn't put back the 65 pounds I've lost, it doesn't take away my remarkable biceps, and it doesn't mean I will be eating that way forever. And even though I've seen it happen time and time again, I apparently don't quite trust it yet because I am still feeling that relief when I make it to the other side.

Voices in my Head

2009-01-01T11:03:00.004-05:00

That said, regarding the bacon, I have been indulging in not so healthy foods a lot this week. I ate too many cookies on Monday (Trader Joe's Peppermint Joe's O's, which are entirely irresistible.) On Tuesday I ate pizza for dinner and gingerbread with whipped cream for dessert. Wednesday I ate leftover pizza for lunch and some cookies and later lasagna and all sorts of other delicious heavy things at a dinner party. It's funny to listen to my internal monologue while making decisions about what to eat. A voice says to make healthier choices and then another says to go ahead and eat what I want because thus far, that has worked out pretty well for me, has left me feeling indulged, not deprived, and then allows me to go back to healthy stuff. The first voice comes back then to say perhaps I should feel badly about what I've eaten and perhaps I should make extra healthy choices now, since yesterday didn't go so well. Voice two tells me that kind of thinking leads to feelings of obligation and guilt and that doesn't work for me. It tells me to eat bacon for breakfast because that's actually a good way to start the year. It tells me that I am happy in the grand scheme of things and that I am looking forward to my next workout. It tells me that the brunch I'm going to in a little while will offer more treats and that it will be just fine for me to eat them because after that, life goes back to normal and I'll be buying and cooking my own food and most of it will be delicious and healthy.

I love the second voice and I wish I could live without the first. I'm grateful to have come to a place that allows me to see that the first voice is unhealthy. I used to believe that the first voice was Right. I believed it had my best interest at heart and that by not listening to it, I was sabotaging myself. I know now not to listen to it, but I don't know how to make it go away. I wish I could recognize that I'm eating a lot of junk this week and truly, purely not worry about it. For now I will have to at least embrace my desire not to worry about it.

New Year's Bacon

2009-01-01T10:51:00.003-05:00

I began the year this morning with bacon. It seemed the thing to do. Because I want my year to have bacon in it. And also cashmere, so that's what I'm wearing. These things feel symbolic -- creating the kind of life I want, the kind of luxuries I think I deserve, in the coming year. It's nicer than resolutions. We all know that resolutions beget failure and guilt and I am so anti failure and guilt. The closest I came to a real New Year's Resolution was sometime around Rosh Hashona a couple years ago I swore never to accept another plastic bag. I have kept to it and am pleased. But there was no emotional baggage (excuse me) attached to that decision and it didn't stink of "self-improvement." We don't need to improve ourselves, we need to figure out how to live better and happier lives. For me, bacon and cashmere are part of that. So are strength training and yoga and soup with kale. So is spending time with people I love and being kind as often as I am able. So is avoiding plastic bags and other disposable things. So if I were to resolve, I would resolve to remember what makes me feel good and do it more often.

Wishing anyone out there a joyful 2009.

My Prom Dress

2008-12-27T21:22:00.004-05:00

As I write this, I'm wearing my prom dress. I find clothing sizes confusing, as they are different from brand to brand and year to year. Last March, I was wearing a size 20 or a 22. In October, I could wear 16s in most things, the smallest size I'd worn as an adult. Two or three weeks ago, I got a new winter coat. I'd been trying on Extra Larges but I was at an outlet and not everything came in every size. The one I really loved was only in Large, so I tried it on. It was a little snug, but not too, and I'm still losing weight, so I went ahead an bought it. I kind of thought it was a fluke. But this afternoon I went out to take advantage of our crumbling economy via sales at Macy's. It turns out I'm a size 14 now, or a Large in almost everything. I mean, I didn't like everything I tried on, but there wasn't anything that didn't exist in my size. It's an incredible relief and also kind of surreal. I remember that I was a 14 in high school, or maybe that 14 was a little too small for me, but it was always the biggest size -- I didn't know clothing sizes came bigger than 14. And I didn't want anything that fit me properly then anyway -- I was wearing oversize T-shirts and long flowing skirts with elastic waists. I wore men's jeans from thrift stores. So I'm not sure what size I really was and I'm not sure if a 14 then was like a 14 now. But my prom dress was made for me and right this minute, it fits perfectly.

I'm pleased to fit into it. But it's also bringing up stuff I don't want to remember about being a teenager. I thought this size, the size I am now that feels pretty comfortable, was disgusting. I thought I was so fat that everyone was ridiculing me, that no boy could possibly be attracted to me, that I couldn't try to wear flattering clothes because I would look like I wasn't ashamed of my body. And I was supposed to be ashamed of my body. It makes me sad to think that I allowed myself to feel that way, and that no one else tried to make me feel differently. A lot of it came from my mother, who was and is far too concerned with my weight. Some of it came from the usual public places -- fashion magazines, movies and TV shows that not only starred beautiful and thin actresses, but that openly ridiculed overweight women and girls. I lived in Los Angeles, where being thin is valued over almost everything. There was no other voice. I look around now and even though the actresses and models are thinner than ever and we hear about "The Obesity Epidemic" from doctors and journalists and kindergarten teachers, there is also another voice. There is a pretty loud fat acceptance movement. There are so many more places to buy decent and sometimes adorable clothes in bigger sizes -- not enough, mind you, but infinitely more than when I was a teenager. There are women of all sizes blogging about their relationships with food and their bodies. I think if I were seventeen now, or even twelve, I would be finding some of that. I would be hearing more voices, voices that encouraged me and accepted me and told me I was beautiful, I was fine, I was not alone. I wish I could give those voices to my younger self.

Not Recognizing Myself

2008-12-12T21:33:00.003-05:00

I was looking through the pictures on my sister's camera last weekend during her birthday party. I wanted to see one she had taken one of me holding my baby nephew -- he was playing with my glasses and we were both laughing. As I clicked through all the photos, I passed the one I was looking for twice because I didn't immediately recognize myself. It's true that the viewer on her camera is pretty small and also that I wasn't wearing my glasses in the photo, which changed my appearance. But mostly, I just look different. I don't look as I expect myself to look. Sometimes when I catch my reflection in a mirror by accident, I don't immediately know it's me I'm seeing. It's a pretty disconcerting experience.

There's this whole mythology of transformation connected to weight loss in our culture. The ugly duckling becoming the swan. The ubiquitous Before and After photos. We are supposed to look like a whole new person after losing a lot of weight and that's supposed to be a good thing. And I'm not saying I'm immune to that -- vanity is certainly part of the reason I want to lose weight. I'm happy with how I'm looking these days and I was less than happy with how I looked a year ago. But I don't think it's a healthy part of this process to look at pictures of myself from a year ago and marvel at how huge I was, how horrible I looked, how grateful I am not to look like that anymore, not to be that person anymore. That attitude is so prevalent in our society -- in the weight loss industry, in fashion and fitness and celebrity magazines. Part of the story of successful weight loss is: I used to be fat and disgusting and now I'm a whole new, thin and beautiful person. We are supposed to be motivated to lose weight by how much we hate our fat selves, how much we want to get rid of that part of ourselves.

I look at pictures of myself at my very heaviest and I take comfort in still being exactly the same person. If I couldn't do that -- if I needed self-hate to be part of my motivation, I would fail. If I hated my fattest self, I would have to hate my current self and my thinnest self, too, because I know they are all Me. The truth is, I think I look better, but it freaks me out a little to look different. It's disturbing to look at my reflection or my photo and not recognize myself, even if it's just for an instant. I visit a pre-school class twice a month to read stories. Some of the same kids I saw last spring are there again now. This week one little girl said to me, "Miss Jamie, you look different," and it made me kind of sad. I'm not someone else and I don't plan on being someone else when I'm done losing weight.

I'm sure I'm not the only person to lose a significant amount of weight and feel uncomfortable about looking different -- to find it creepy not to be recognized. But I never hear anyone talk about it. I wish someone would.

I Have Both a Vagina and Biceps

2008-12-12T21:15:00.003-05:00

Are you surprised?

Apparently Frederic Delavier would be. He is the author of two books I came across this week, Strength Training Anatomy and Women's Strength Training Anatomy. They are apparently quite well respected books. The book for women includes chapters on abs, back, legs, and buttocks. That's right, no arm, shoulder, or chest exercises. No information about the muscles in the upper half of our bodies. In the first book, with the big strong man on the cover, the diagrams and exercises are supposed to apply to men and women, but in the upper body chapters there are 132 images of men (both big and small) and 16 images of women, all but one of which are tiny little inset diagrams.

How fucked up is that?

Hibernation

2008-12-05T20:26:00.004-05:00

I've been thinking about bears a lot this week. I am envious of the fur coat, the full belly, and the cozy cave in which to sleep for several months. It is dark and it is cold and I want to hibernate. I believe that's a natural urge. I believe in living, eating, resting seasonally. But I have to live in the world. It's hard to balance.

I usually eat a snack around 11:30 and have lunch at 2:00. On Tuesday, I ate the snack I'd brought to work at 11:30 and then ate most of the lunch I'd brought. At 2:00, I went out and got more lunch. For dinner I ate a whole small pizza. I really needed to keep eating. The rest of the week, I've tried to plan around being a bottomless pit. I have brought extra but healthy snacks to work -- some stir-fried veggies, two apples instead of one, two bags of popcorn instead of one. My lunches have been hot, hearty food that should fill me up. It feels okay. I believe I should eat if my body is telling me to eat, and while it feels a little weird to eat so often, and to keep eating at the end of the same meal that filled me up last week, I think I've been pretty successful at not eating too much crap.

Wednesday, I never recovered from the trauma of getting out of bed. It was dark and I was comfortable and I got up anyway and went to the gym and met my trainer and spent a whole hour with him, thinking about my down comforter. I went to work thinking about my down comforter. I was ready to get into bed the minute I got home (but had to eat first, because I was also ravenous). Thursday, my alarm went off at 6:00, I got up, brushed my teeth, and got back into bed and re-set my alarm for 7:30, choosing sleep over the gym. It felt like the right thing to do. It's been about seven months now that I've gotten up early and gone to the gym five days a week. This was maybe the third time I'd skipped a work-out on a day I'd planned for one. It doesn't feel lazy -- it feels like listening to my body. As I type this, it is 8:30 on Friday evening and I am planning to get into my pajamas as soon as I'm done.

I plan to sleep in tomorrow as late as my body wants and then I plan to eat a big hearty breakfast and then I plan to go to the scary class at my gym and if I need to afterward (which I usually do) I plan to lie on the couch for the rest of the afternoon.

It's a struggle. I want to rest and I don't believe that makes me lazy. I want to eat, and I don't believe that makes me gluttonous. But I still need to keep a schedule, which doesn't allow for as much rest as I want. I still want to lose weight (or not gain, at least) and that doesn't allow for eating as much as I want. I am trying to honor it -- the urge to hibernate -- but not give in to it entirely.

Right now I'm going to bed.

The No Angst Policy

2008-11-22T13:48:00.006-05:00

I spent a good part of this morning trying to decide whether or not to go back to that gym class today. I have felt a lot better about it after talking to my trainer who assured me that it's a fucking hard class and most people who come once don't come back and that he knows I don't stop to rest because I'm lazy. I felt all validated and encouraged. And then I got a cold early in the week and thought, well, I may be well enough to work out by Saturday, but I certainly won't be up for that class. Which was a great, no angst excuse. Then the cold really never got that bad and I was pretty much entirely well by yesterday. So I had to make a decision. I went back and forth.

Running would be good.
Maybe I would even be up for a workout as hard as class, but did I really feel like being around other people?
But cross-training is really important.
But I do cross-train. In this very week there has been weight-lifting, running, and swimming -- I'm not in a rut.
But if I don't go today, maybe it'll be easier for me to chicken out of going other days.
Etc...

And then I remembered a philosophy I adhere to at work.

I'm a children's librarian and while we have plenty of rules and thou-shalt-nots in my library, we also have what we call The No Tears Policy. If a small child is panicking about something -- wants a prize she hasn't earned, absolutely must borrow this book even though he has fines -- we go ahead and break rules to avoid tears. Give her the prize, let him check out the book. No Tears is a priority, and I believe in that.

I remembered, after all my deliberating this morning, that I have a No Tears Policy for myself -- or more accurately, No Angst. That's what has kept me sane about all the decisions that affect my body. No Angst over whether or not to eat a second cupcake. No Angst over whether or not I lost weight this week. No Angst over when or how or how much I work out. And I felt so relieved. I put on my workout clothes, went to the gym, waved at my trainer, put my headphones in and ran on the treadmill for 45 minutes all by myself. I stretched for a long time afterward because stretching felt good. Plenty of workout, zero angst. Maybe I'll feel like class next week or the week after, but deciding against it today felt like the right decision.

A couple of you commented last week with similar stories of gym class fear. I hope you can get past the fear if you want to. I hope that if you want to practice yoga or go to your trainer's class even though everyone else in it appears to be in better shape than you, you manage to suck it up and do it and reap the benefits. But I hope that if you decide the angst involved isn't worth it, that you go do something else that makes you happy without feeling like that class is something you should do. You should do what works for you. We all deserve to exercise happy.

Working Out with Other People

2008-11-15T15:29:00.005-05:00

I would like to begin with the disclaimer that my trainer rocks. I adore him to no end and any complaining I am about to do is not in his direction.

He teaches this class at the gym on Saturday afternoons. It's a crazy mix of strength stuff and cardio stuff, a couple round robins of different exercises and some stuff we do all together as a group. It's unbelievably hard work. It kind of kills the rest of the day for me because all I can do is lie on the couch and marvel at how my limbs are useless. And I kind of dig that. I like the hard work and it's a good kind of fatigue. I like that it's sort of a freebie session with him -- an opportunity for me to do a workout I wouldn't do on my own.

But there are other people. I'm a friendly person, very social, almost extroverted most of the time. But there are times when I really don't want other people to exist, and while working out is one of those times. When I run on the treadmill, I take my glasses off and listen to my ipod and I'm in a bubble where no one else exists. I love that. In class, occasionally there's someone friendly who introduces herself and wants to chat. I hate that shit. I mean, I understand that for many people, that's why they take gym classes -- because it's a social experience. For me, it's an unavoidable side-effect of the free workout with my trainer. I can live with it.

More difficult is the fact that I cannot keep up. I can do most of everything. But it's damn hard. Everyone is red and sweaty and panting, but I'm the only one who occasionally just stops because, frankly, I want neither a heart attack nor an asthma attack and if I don't stop, one of the two is likely. I'm not vain, really. I don't know these people and don't care what they think about my fitness level. But it makes me feel lame. I get a lot of exercise. I run and swim and lift heavy things and take yoga classes (where, incidentally, it is encouraged to do what your body wants to do, even if the rest of the class is doing otherwise...) When I'm doing those things alone, I feel like I'm in pretty good shape. I don't care how slow I am, so long as my heart rate is up. But when I see everyone else managing to do what my body just cannot do, I feel inadequate. I feel fat. I feel like the reason I can't do shit is because I'm fat, because that's my go-to excuse or something.

I've rested and showered and rested more and eaten lunch and rested still more. My body feels good. I feel strong and also relaxed. But I'm wanting not to go to class next Saturday because it makes my brain feel lame.

Oh, Hello There!

2008-11-15T09:47:00.003-05:00

Hi.

It appears that someone is reading this. Maybe as many as four of you! I'm flattered, really. When I decided to do this it was primarily because I wanted to write about the experience of losing weight -- wanted to remember later what the emotional pieces were, since I knew they would be changing day to day. I also wanted to make myself organize those thoughts while I was thinking them. In another piece of my world, I'm a professional writer, but what I usually write is a very different animal. So this is an experiment.

I decided to experiment in the form of a blog for a couple reasons. Reason the first was to keep me writing and keep me organized. If I were writing in a notebook, I'd be more likely to write scattered, run-on sentences about my whole emotional life rather than attempting to organize thoughts specifically about my body and food issues. Of course, there are still scattered run-on sentences here. Oh well.

Reason the second is this: Over the last several years, as I've lost and gained weight and tried to make some sense of what my relationship to my body means and how I fit into the world, I have read several books about people dealing with the same stuff and I have found them to be invaluable. I grew up, and into my 20s and 30s feeling very alone with my fat. I had never talked to anyone or read anything that made me believe that others were struggling in the same ways as I was. It hadn't even occurred to me. And then, I can't remember how the first book fell in my lap, but it did, and I started reading. Books about people who started out much bigger than me and ended up much smaller. Or about people smaller than me who felt bigger, or people just my size who were comfortable there. Everyone's story was different, everyone's relationship with food and clothing and her mother was unique. But familiar. There was always something that overlapped with my own experience -- the comfort of eating too much when no one was looking, the pressure from family members, either overt or subtle, to lose weight, to be different, the shame of not fitting someplace -- into chairs or socially acceptable clothing sizes, feeling both elation and discomfort with losing weight, with inhabiting an unfamiliar body. It is comforting to recognize myself in these stories.

And yet I know that my story isn't just like any of the ones I read. And I am a writer. A writer writes. Knowing that reading someone else's story is helpful to me makes me hope that reading my story will be helpful to others. I started writing and posting my blog without ever seeking out readers. I am shy, and this is still an experiment, after all. But I am glad you are here. Welcome. Please comment and/or email me freely. I would love to hear from you.

Some of the above-mentioned books:

I'm Not The New Me by Wendy McClure
Passing for Thin by Frances Kuffel
Half-Assed by Jennette Fulda
Tales from the Scale by Erin J. Shea
The Incredible Shrinking Critic by Jami Bernard
Confessions of a Carb Queen by Susan Blech
Thin is the New Happy by Valerie Frankel

Many of these people are bloggers. I'm too lazy to create links, but I'm sure you can find them if you haven't already.

Struggling

2008-11-07T20:07:00.003-05:00

The last couple weeks have been challenging for me. Halloween is my favorite holiday and I embraced it thoroughly. I threw a party the weekend before, and though the dinner I cooked was healthy, I also made monster cupcakes and chocolate demon mice for dessert. I made cocktails. It was no big deal -- I had some of everything, but didn't feel out of control. And then there were left-over cupcakes and chocolate mice in my house for a week. I ate a cupcake every night. Still not a big deal, but I wouldn't have eaten a cupcake every night if they hadn't been there. I also neglected to go grocery shopping that week because I'd shopped for the party and had left-over real food, too. But that didn't last and I ended up buying dinner every night instead of cooking. Again, not a disaster, but several less healthy choices than I would normally have made. Halloween day came and there was candy at work. I ate a lot of candy at work. And eating candy somehow brought back old feelings of needing to eat as much as I could while no one was watching, so I ate plenty of real food, too. Then I went to someone else's dinner party and ate more candy. On Saturday, I had to work and ate more candy.

When I went to my Weight Watchers meeting on Monday, I had gained two pounds.

None of that, in and of itself, really bothers me. I feel like it's important to be able to embrace Halloween, to eat crap if it makes me happy, and to not feel guilty about it even if it doesn't make me happy. I've been losing weight steadily for seven months, so gaining two pounds one week doesn't really matter.

What scares me is that while I'm feeling that way, I don't trust that I'll get this back. This has been easy, losing weight. I'm enjoying myself, and I have no interest in getting to a place where I start worrying and feeling guilty and telling myself not to eat things I want to eat. That mindset fucks me up. I truly believe that the most valuable thing I'm doing right now is not worrying.

But it only works if I keep wanting to eat spinach and chickpea curry and go running at 6:00 every morning. If I start wanting to sit in front of the TV and eat cupcakes, it's all over. Right now I feel like I have it back. I made that curry over the weekend, as well as a vegetarian chili, cucumber salad, and roasted root vegetables. The idea was to distract myself with an abundance of yummy healthy food, and it worked. This week has been better. But it feels tenuous. I fear that I'll feel out of control again and not bounce back so quickly. I couldn't even write about it while I was wanting to eat candy constantly -- it felt like the struggle would be real if I named it, so I name it now in the past tense because that's safer.

I'm entering a place I haven't been before -- a longer period of successful weight loss, a smaller clothing size, and it feel scary and like it will be easy to lose.

More Semantics

2008-11-05T18:32:00.005-05:00

I find myself in a socially awkward situation when people say to me, "You've lost weight." I believe that they expect me to say, "Thank you." Only, is that a compliment? It's an observation, a statement of fact. If someone said, "You got a new tattoo," or, "You cut your hair," it would be unclear whether or not she approved of the change in my appearance. I would say, "Yes I did," and would not say, "Thanks," unless she expressed a positive opinion.

So I follow my belief in language, rather than the universal assumption that losing weight is an inherently good thing. I nod and say, as neutrally as I am able, "I have lost some weight." If she then says, "You look good," I smile and say, "Thank you."

Am I being petty?

"You're wasting away,"

2008-10-29T21:29:00.003-04:00

...said one of my co-workers this morning, then added, "You look great!"

Am I really supposed to take "wasting away" as a compliment? Makes it sound like I'm dying of consumption. How glamorous.

Dangerous Leaps

2008-10-04T11:07:00.001-04:00

I realize I'm making up for lost time, here. Blogging is new to me, as are the changes happening to my body, and sometimes I'm not quite up to looking either one in the face.

I've lost a little over 50 pounds, now. I weigh about 200, depending on at what hour I step on the scale. 200 was my goal for the end of October, so getting there a month ahead is a bit startling. It's not just a number -- I seem to have leapt forward all at once. I lost more than 6 pounds in two weeks. All of a sudden, none of my clothes fit. Nothing. I had to buy new bras (and I know I'm not the first to say this, but I did not sign up for losing a cup size!) I had neither time nor money to go clothes shopping, but I had to do it anyway. And people started noticing. I lost 20 and 30 and 40 pounds and pretty much no one said anything -- a couple people thought I was tan or had cut my hair or something. But in the last two weeks, everywhere I go, people are commenting on my weight loss -- my co-workers, who I've seen every day all along (including one person who never speaks to me), friends I hadn't seen in awhile, friends I see all the time. And suddenly, I feel like I'm walking around in a different body. It's not entirely comfortable. It's weird. Maybe a little scary. Weight loss is a loss. Part of me, a big 50 pound chunk of me is gone now (and where did it go? seriously, I'd like to know) and that frightens me in ways I don't entirely understand.

This week, after losing 6 pounds so quickly, I actually tried to eat a little more -- I was never starving myself. I always ate all my daily Weight Watchers points and a few more due to all the working out. I have always indulged here and there in pizza and cupcakes. But this week, I did a little more indulging. I ate heavy dinners Monday and Tuesday nights when I had friends visiting from out of town. I found myself craving heavy food on Wednesday and ate several mini-chocolate bars at work, plus lots of after dinner snacks. I was in a grumpy mood all day Friday and ordered greasy Chinese food for dinner. Now, Monday and Tuesday, I was deliberately relaxing, allowing, even urging myself to eat more because I wasn't comfortable with my rapid weight loss. But the second half of the week the indulging has felt more emotional, a little out of control. Part of me wonders if this is where I will start sabotaging myself.

Once before I lost about this much weight and stopped right here. Here as in October. Here as in 200 pounds. This might be the place I'm afraid to go past. But I do feel different this time. The few people who know I'm trying to lose weight will occasionally say that I'm working so hard. It doesn't feel like it. I hear that and it sounds wrong and I point out that I'm not doing anything I'm not happy with. I love working out. I'm happy, really, entirely happy with my food -- happy with the veggies, happy that I'm able to do pizza and cupcake just often enough, and happy that I'm not hungry. And that feels different. It's hard to sabotage something like that.

The other thing is, I don't feel so alone. I have always felt really alone with my food/body struggles. My friends are thin, and mostly have pretty healthy relationships with food and their bodies (and I'm kind of proud that I've gravitated toward people like this). My sisters are thin, as is my mother. My mother has not been helpful -- I'll write about this some other day. So whether I've been frustrated with my size or working at trying to change it, I've always felt I was in that alone. My body, my issues, nothing anyone else could help with or understand. It felt lonely, and feeling lonely makes me want to eat cookies. It was trying to get away from that loneliness that inspired me both to join Weight Watchers (which as you know I have mixed feeling about) and to hire my trainer. Going to Weight Watchers meetings is helpful. I haven't made friends, have rarely spoken to anyone outside of group discussions, but I feel them there, working on the same stuff, and that helps. And my trainer just rocks. It helps that he's all about getting me in shape, getting me stronger, and not about denying me food or making me thinner. I like focusing on strength. And I like knowing he's there. Yesterday I was at the gym on my own, not paying him for a session, and he snuck up behind me (not hard to do, as I take off my glasses and put on my headphones when I work out) and raised the incline on my treadmill. I growled at him, but kept the incline where it was and kept running. I was thinking about it all day and smiling. I realize the reason it made me so happy was because it felt like someone was watching out for me. It felt safe.

Heavy Lifting

2008-10-04T11:00:00.001-04:00

It was chilly last night. I got out my down comforter and wished the cold air wasn't coming in through the vents in my window air-conditioner. In past years, including this spring when I put it in, I have depended on my brother in law to lift it into and out of the window for me and put it into storage. This morning, I moved some furniture out of the way, lifted it out of the window with my very own muscular arms, and carried it out to the trunk of my car to put it into storage. Not only could I lift and carry it with relative ease, but I knew ahead of time that I'd be able to. It's nice to be aware of my own strength.

Recovering from a Funk

2008-08-12T09:27:00.006-04:00

I was kind of in a funk yesterday.

Sunday night I watched Olympic gymnastics and it made me want to give up -- I was just so in awe of what those bodies could do, it seemed worthless to try doing anything with my body. Then when I weighed myself yesterday morning, after being down two pounds for several days, I was back where I'd been a week earlier.

I carefully loaded up a cart of books when I arrived at work and as soon as I was done, the wheels fell off and they all landed in my lap. I was hungry and cranky all afternoon until I was weighed in at Weight Watchers.

And in the evening, I received a text from, I thought, someone who has been annoying me, so I responded kind of rudely -- we went back and forth a few times before I realized I hadn't recognized the number and it was actually someone completely cool. I texted an apology and didn't get a response.

Then this morning I woke up and read this and it helped so much there were tears involved. Sometimes the universe provides exactly what you need.

I went running outside, rather than on a treadmill, even though it was raining, and it felt amazing.

The completely cool person thought my misguided texting was hilarious.

I got to read one of my favorite subversive stories to a group of third graders.

And tomorrow morning I'm going to a yoga class.

It's good to remember that most everything, especially small annoying things, can be repaired.

Why I'm Not Watching

2008-08-08T22:08:00.003-04:00

I don't have cable. My choices of passive entertainment are limited, and sometimes, I really need passive entertainment. So I bring home a lot of TV on DVD, and am always looking for a new show. This week I tried How I Met Your Mother, which I'd been hearing and reading about, and thought might be funny. It was kind of funny. It was brainless enough that I could relax into it, and brainy enough that it actually made me laugh occasionally.

And then a few episodes in, there was a fat joke. One character finds out that her boyfriend left a bar with another woman and she doesn't care. When asked why she doesn't care she replies, "I'm not freaking out because in my mind, she's fat." Fat=Unattractive-to-All=Not a Threat.

And in the next episode, there was another one. After two heterosexual men act like a couple for most of an episode, they "break up" and later run into each other. One of them says to his friend, "Even if you don't believe it, tell me he looks fat." Because, again, Fat=Unattractive=The Worst Thing That Could Happen After a Breakup.

And in the next episode, one more. This one was so offensive, it hurts me to relate it here. One of the characters sees his assistant, an overweight woman, take out her lunch, which is a huge tupperware, containing far more food than one person could eat, including a whole chicken. He says, "Oh, awesome, you brought lunch for everyone?" and she runs away crying, and subsequently quits her job. I turned it off before that episode was over and returned the DVDs to the library.

Because three fat jokes in three episodes is a pattern. This is a show that hates fat people. Who has time for that shit?

Nurture, Not Torture

2008-08-02T09:23:00.006-04:00

Occasionally I complain that I don't get enough sleep because I get up so early. And I complain when my muscles are so sore I can't perform basic tasks like walking down stairs or washing my hair. But for the most part, I love working out. I look forward to it. Really.

So I've started to get slightly annoyed by the universal assumption that I'm torturing myself as means to some all important end.

1. When I mentioned that I go to my gym every morning to someone I'd just met, he said something like, "Well, you'll be happy when you get results." He said it pretty innocuously, but I bristled. Is his implication that I'm fat and out of shape and am spending a major portion of my free time working out so that I can fix that? He clearly assumes, (though I smiled when I told him,) that I don't want to go to the gym. Does he assume that because I'm fat? Is that just the universal assumption about exercise in our society? I decided he was too new an acquaintance to have that political argument, so I kept smiling and said, "I'm happy about it now," and let him interpret that as he chose.

2. A co-worker, with whom I've spoken about my training and early morning schedule a lot said, "You're torturing yourself so much these days."

3. Almost every article I read online or in magazines about fitness is about motivating yourself to work out or forcing yourself to work out. They are always from the point of view that you don't want to do this, but you should.

Don't get me wrong. I know I'm one of those people. I've spent most of my life in that place where I had to motivate myself to exercise because I thought I should. It was hard. Arguing with myself about whether or not to exercise was damn hard work. But even then, exercising wasn't. I always enjoyed it while I was doing it, and always felt good when it was done. It was only the thinking about it part that was hard. I like to think that if, when I was still in that place, someone had talked about working out as a joy, an indulgence, a way of pampering myself (the way people talk about going to spas or eating chocolate ice cream) I would have had an easier time with the decision.

My Sundress

2008-07-29T19:42:00.003-04:00

I always wear the same thing to my Weight Watchers meeting -- it takes away a small variable and I like to keep things as stable as possible so only my actual body weight changes. Since it got warm enough it's been a JJill linen sun-dress that I bought on eBay this spring. At my meeting last night my leader mentioned that it's getting too big for me. It's true, and pleases me to no end. But I love it and am going to wear it as often as I can while it's still summer. I'll buy smaller clothes in the fall. It's gratifying to find that my clothes are too big, and much more gratifying to find clothes that have been too small for me for over a year are now fitting perfectly. But it's also hard to give up things I love and expensive to replace them. Especially since I plan to keep needing smaller sizes.

What My Body Knows

2008-07-27T15:52:00.004-04:00

I used to do a lot of yoga. I went to a class once a week at my gym for awhile. I've been to Kripalu three times for retreats, which usually resulted in new spurts of classes when I got home, and for a while, doing yoga at home with dvds several times a week. I fell out of the habit, and then got into my new workout regime and hadn't been to a class in several months.

On Friday, I both pulled a muscle in my leg and told my trainer I wanted to be able to do push-ups, which led to a solid hour of upper body strength training. Afterward, I had to wait to take a shower because I couldn't raise my arms high enough to wash my hair. Saturday, I ached. And then I remembered yoga. I went to a class at my gym this morning and was shocked at how much more I can do now. Not only am I stronger -- Downward Dog doesn't hurt my arms, and my ankles don't scream during balancing poses (even my balance has improved a bit) -- which makes sense after two months of strength training, but I am also much more flexible. I can reach my toes in all the poses that I used to stop mid-calf. It was terribly gratifying to see the improvement, plus my muscles are all happier.

Must remember that my body likes to stretch.

Being a work in progress

2008-07-16T21:37:00.006-04:00

I'm finding it very roller coaster-y to be in the middle of losing weight. I've lost almost 35 pounds now, which is enough to feel really different. This is especially true given that I've been working out a lot and doing strength training for the first time ever. My body is different. I feel different. I spend a lot of time lying in bed at night feeling around at my muscles in places where I wasn't able to feel muscles before. It's fascinating and thrilling.

And then sometimes I look in the mirror and remember that I'm still really fat. I'm not self-depricating here. I weigh 219 pounds, which makes me obese according to BMI charts and abnormally huge according to the fashion industry. I still have 80 or so pounds to lose. Mostly I'm not in a rush. This is a good pace -- I'm losing an average of two pounds a week, which is plenty. But it's hard to place myself. It's hard to feel where I am now while I am still and constantly changing (and of course, not changing -- I continue to be Me, which is a comfort and a delight as well as a frustration).

Kicking Ass

2008-07-10T11:22:00.004-04:00

Back in the late 90's/early 00's, when I was watching too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I decided I really wanted to be able to kick ass. So I signed up for a Tae Kwon Do class and went three times before I gave up. My main problem was that my sense of balance is so poor, I couldn't stand on one foot long enough to kick. I was also generally out of shape, it was winter, and dragging myself to a fitness class after work in the snow was just not convenient enough for me at the time.

Now I get up way too early in the morning and work out at my neighborhood gym, sometimes with a personal trainer. He tortures me with balance work, which I was not expecting. I stand on one foot on a squishy foam mat and do odd things with hand-weights. And slowly, my balance is improving. And then last week, not even knowing about my Buffy/Kicking Ass/Balance fiasco, he asked if I wanted to learn to box.

Um, yes.

So today I got to put on big vinyl gloves and punch in his direction until my arms stopped working. It was damn hard work and really fun. I think I'm really going to enjoy it. Someday, I may even be able to kick someone's ass. You know, someone much smaller than me and evil enough to deserve it.

I've become one of those people

2008-07-01T18:34:00.004-04:00

I get up at 5:45 most mornings and go to the gym. And I love it. It's what makes me want to get out of bed. Seriously. Being motivated to exercise is kind of unfamiliar to me. I have never been entirely sedentary -- I love to walk; I have been swimming and practicing yoga sporadically for years; I even took up running a couple years ago and went so far as to participate in a 5K (miserably, and very slowly). But even though I enjoyed all those activities, it was always a chore to make myself do them. I would shoot for three or four days a week and spend all day in discussion with myself about whether or not this was a work-out day. I liked the exercise but hated deciding to do it.

Weight Watchers does this Pavlovian thing where you can trade activity points for food points. So I started out walking a little more than I used to so I could have another snack. It somehow evolved into me going to the gym five mornings a week and hiring a personal trainer. Go figure.

The turning point was the difference between five days a week and three. At three, I had to fight with myself about doing it. At five, it's part of my routine, and my body is so used to it that I feel antsy when I'm not moving. I also remember how good I feel after working out so I go to the gym as a treat -- the way I might have eaten ice cream as a treat several months ago. Seriously, I hate myself a little bit for saying this shit -- who can stand the person who says, "No really, working out is a comfort just like pizza is?" But I seem to be becoming that person.

I have more energy. I stress less about what I eat because I know I'm working some of it off (though I don't eat a lot more -- I don't trade in my points very often). And I seem to be getting in better shape, which is oddly more gratifying than losing weight. This week on the treadmill I noticed that when I do intervals of running and walking, my running intervals are faster and longer and my heart rate doesn't go up as high.

I hope I don't somehow fall out of this habit. More than anything I fear my own ability to stop doing what's good for me.

Supporting the Diet Industry

2008-06-29T10:07:00.009-04:00

I have a serious problem with the diet industry. I believe they're making gazillions of dollars by making people (mostly women) feel bad about themselves. I also believe they're setting people up to fail so that they'll come back and spend even more money. I hate the success stories that are all about how disgusting someone looked before and how she's a whole different person now. I hate how the success stories always state in teeny tiny print that those results are not typical. I hate to give my money to companies that do shit like that.

And yet. I joined Weight Watchers. There are some things I hate about it -- most notably the politics of the industry -- and also some things that are really working for me. I'm trying my best to use what tools are helpful and still do my own thing.
What I like:

Getting weighed, officially, once a week
My leader (more on him later)
The online tools (looking up foods, calculating points from my recipes, etc...)
Counting Points (isn't that freaky -- I thought I would hate this, but I don't. More on that, too)
It inspired me to get more exercise, which has changed my life more than losing weight is.

What I don't like:

That I'm supporting the evil diet industry
That the food they sell is total processed crap in small portions and they pretend it's good for you because it's low in "Points"
Most of the other leaders I've encountered
The "success stories" that make people sound like they were disgusting losers before they joined Weight Watchers

What makes me feel like I made the right decision to join is that I ended up with my leader instead of someone else. My leader is gay, Jewish, in his 50's, entirely un-perky. He tells stories about his mother hiding food from him when he was a child. He never uses catch-phrases. He rarely gets to the Weight Watchers assigned weekly topics. I adore him. I wish he was my friend.

The first leader I encountered had been working for Weight Watchers full time for about thirty years. She was drinking the sugar-free Kool Aid, big time. In discussing how to deal with celebrations -- your own birthday, for instance -- she pulled out a Weight Watchers cookbook and pointed to a chocolate cake recipe. She asked us to guess why a slice was only, I don't remember how many points -- 2? 3? I was thinking, less sugar? whole wheat flour? eggless? The answer was: a serving size is approximately two bites. So she's trying to sell a cookbook based on its serving sizes. Fucked up. I drove across town to get away from her.

Once my leader (across town, and completely worth the drive) missed a meeting and our substitute made me want to play corporate bingo. She kept saying "your weight loss journey" and smiling too big. She said that at the end of the summer "there should be less of us." I walked out.

Another time he was gone, our substitute handed out plastic sun-visors.

I got really lucky.

And so, I let them charge me every month so that I can go to meetings and be weighed and count Points on my computer. Did I sell out?

Stats, a mission statement, and a piece of history

2008-06-28T14:25:00.007-04:00

When I hear someone else's story about being fat, losing weight, gaining weight, I want stats, so I'll start with stats. I'm 36, 5'4", and currently 224 pounds. At my heaviest, (most recently in March of this year) I was 253 pounds. Once, several years ago, my size 24 jeans were getting too small for me. Right now I usually wear an 18.

After a lifetime of being fat and several years of losing and gaining weight with a lot of ambivalence, I am now losing again, and trying not to get smaller in the process. On this blog, I'll be trying to work out my ambivalence.

A good place to start is the incident that inspired my blog's name. About twelve years ago, I had a brief medical scare (all is and was well, so I'll not go into details) which was traumatic in and of itself, and which led to an appointment with an endocrinologist who, (winning the award for worst doctor ever) poked at me, answered no questions, and then said, "There should be less of you."

Afterward, I managed to not go to any doctor for three or four years and to gain probably fifty pounds. As someone who has always been overweight, I have always felt self-conscious about how much space I take up, but I have never, in my most insecure moments believed there should be less of me. Me is good. Fat, maybe is bad. Maybe there should be less fat. But in one brusque, offhand prescription, this overpaid asshole defined me as my fat and told me not to exist.

When I've lost weight in the past few years, usually stalling at about 200-215 pounds, I have struggled with the fact that by intentionally losing weight, intentionally changing my body, I am somehow admitting that my body (and thus me) is and has always been wrong. That pisses me off to no end. It makes the process of losing weight all about hating myself, which I don't.

So I am here, losing weight again and trying to figure out how to keep going, how to enjoy my body right now, as it is changing, rather than feeling that it's a bad thing I need to fix or get rid of.