My weigh-ins have been irregular, and my weight has followed suit. Up to 189, down to 186. Up to 188, down to 187.6. I'm on a bit of a plateau, I think. To shake things up, I've started paying more attention to my carb/protein/fat ratio (shifting the emphasis to lean protein). And I've upped my water intake again.
I also figured out that work is not as much work as it was before, so I'm not burning as many calories as I thought. I work as a massage therapist, and while it's still physically demanding, my body has adjusted to it like any other exercise. So I can't give myself "extra" calories to eat on days that I work. I simply have to manage my consumption better to keep from getting insanely hungry after two massages.
In other news, I fit into my size 12 jeans yesterday. I was excited, but all of the extra skin on my abdomen (aka THE FLAP) makes them look not so hot. This big band of extra skin just hangs down, and when it's stuffed into my pants it borders on a "butt in the front." I'm going to try and be brave and post some belly pictures so y'all can see what I'm talking about. Or would that be gross? We'll see...
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
To Blog, or Not To Blog?
I'm kind of horrified that it's been almost two months since my writing came to a screeching halt. I don't really remember what made me stop, other than feeling generally overwhelmed and not wanting to drag the pitiful, dessicated corpse of my personal life out into the glaring light of teh intarwebs. While I'm not any more inclined to share a lot of what's happened, I'm ready to get back on the blog-wagon.
So! Let's get started.
My weight has been fluctuating between 204 and 208. I can't seem to get below 204, but honestly I haven't been working too hard on it until this week. I started running again -- pitifully slow, but running nonetheless. I also took a yoga class for the first time in a bajillion years, and it was beyond amazing. I'm stronger than I think, and more coordinated. And I'm in love with anything that makes me feel that way.
On the food front, I decided that it's time to go back to a meat-free diet. I was a vegetarian years ago, thanks mostly to the influence of my old roommate (who I lovingly refer to as Captain Straightedge), but gave it up. I wasn't really doing it for the best reasons, and at 23 years old, I was too damn lazy to be a healthy vegetarian. You can't live on macaroni and meatless "chik'n" patties and expect to be healthy. So why go back to it now? Well, I started thinking about the healthiest people I know (mentally, physically, emotionally) and it occurred to me that the majority of them eat little to no animal products. No matter how you slice it, meat is bad for you. It's also bad for the planet, and for the animals from whom it's derived. You can argue with me if you want, but I'm not changing my mind. And I don't expect you to change yours -- your body is your body, feed it whatever you choose.
I was at the grocery store today getting a salad for lunch, and I felt a pang of sadness when I walked past the sushi case. "No sushi for ME," I thought, wah wahhhhh, pitiful pitiful. And then it dawned on me: I was letting myself be sad over a spicy tuna roll. A little fish-filled log of rice, wrapped in seaweed. Food was making me sad. FOOD!
It's just food. It's fuel for your cells. It's not love, it's not an escape, it doesn't fix anything.
IT'S JUST FOOD.
(This may seem like common sense to you, dear reader, but this is a thought that is as foreign to me as responsible journalism is to Glenn Beck.)
That one simple thought makes me feel so free, so hopeful, so ready to tackle any challenge. If I can end a 20 year dysfunctional relationship with food, I can do anything.
Oh, and speaking of things I can do? Check THIS out:
That right there? That's Crow Pose. AND I DID IT. No, the picture is not of me, and I didn't do it nearly as perfectly as this nice young lady, but I did it. I balanced my body weight on my arms, I got my feet off the ground. And it felt so, so, SO good to have physical proof of what I've been scared to believe for so long: I am strong, I can do anything, and the only real obstacles in my life are the ones I create myself, in my head.
That's the mantra. That's the code. That's how I'm getting from here to there.
So! Let's get started.
My weight has been fluctuating between 204 and 208. I can't seem to get below 204, but honestly I haven't been working too hard on it until this week. I started running again -- pitifully slow, but running nonetheless. I also took a yoga class for the first time in a bajillion years, and it was beyond amazing. I'm stronger than I think, and more coordinated. And I'm in love with anything that makes me feel that way.
On the food front, I decided that it's time to go back to a meat-free diet. I was a vegetarian years ago, thanks mostly to the influence of my old roommate (who I lovingly refer to as Captain Straightedge), but gave it up. I wasn't really doing it for the best reasons, and at 23 years old, I was too damn lazy to be a healthy vegetarian. You can't live on macaroni and meatless "chik'n" patties and expect to be healthy. So why go back to it now? Well, I started thinking about the healthiest people I know (mentally, physically, emotionally) and it occurred to me that the majority of them eat little to no animal products. No matter how you slice it, meat is bad for you. It's also bad for the planet, and for the animals from whom it's derived. You can argue with me if you want, but I'm not changing my mind. And I don't expect you to change yours -- your body is your body, feed it whatever you choose.
I was at the grocery store today getting a salad for lunch, and I felt a pang of sadness when I walked past the sushi case. "No sushi for ME," I thought, wah wahhhhh, pitiful pitiful. And then it dawned on me: I was letting myself be sad over a spicy tuna roll. A little fish-filled log of rice, wrapped in seaweed. Food was making me sad. FOOD!
It's just food. It's fuel for your cells. It's not love, it's not an escape, it doesn't fix anything.
IT'S JUST FOOD.
(This may seem like common sense to you, dear reader, but this is a thought that is as foreign to me as responsible journalism is to Glenn Beck.)
That one simple thought makes me feel so free, so hopeful, so ready to tackle any challenge. If I can end a 20 year dysfunctional relationship with food, I can do anything.
Oh, and speaking of things I can do? Check THIS out:
That right there? That's Crow Pose. AND I DID IT. No, the picture is not of me, and I didn't do it nearly as perfectly as this nice young lady, but I did it. I balanced my body weight on my arms, I got my feet off the ground. And it felt so, so, SO good to have physical proof of what I've been scared to believe for so long: I am strong, I can do anything, and the only real obstacles in my life are the ones I create myself, in my head.
That's the mantra. That's the code. That's how I'm getting from here to there.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
To Err is Fattening
Remember how I said in my food post a couple of days ago that I still make bad choices from time to time? Well, I made one last night.
After a long, emotional roller-coaster day, I asked Hubs if he wanted a treat. (That's code for "I'm going to send you out to get something bad for me.") He did, and so he went, and he returned with ice cream and a Slurpee for me. The Slurpee was tiny -- and it should have been enough. I dug into the ice cream anyway. Mmmm...cookie dough.
Within two bites, I was done. It was inexpensive ice cream, the kind that's a little gritty. It was a little too sweet. It wasn't what I wanted. But I kept eating. Bite after bite, a little more, a little faster, and before I knew it I was on the verge of speed-eating the entire pint. I wasn't even tasting it, wasn't even present, if that makes any sense. I was just consuming.
Something made me snap out of it; I don't know what it was. I looked down and saw that in about five minutes (maybe less), I'd inhaled almost two-thirds of the container. Two-thirds of an 800-calorie, 40g of fat container of lousy ice cream. My heart was in my throat; the spoon was still in my hand and I could feel it wanting to dig into what was left. "Go on, you've already eaten most of it. Just finish it off!"
I didn't.
I didn't finish the pint. For a single moment, the small part of me that's strong and steely and food-resistant jumped up and said NO. I clapped the lid on the carton as fast as I could, and ran downstairs to put it in the freezer. NO MORE.
I didn't want that damn ice cream. So why did I eat it? Because I had a sort of crappy day. Because I want to work out and I can't. Because being alone for almost two weeks has made me neurotic and paranoid and slightly depressed and I wanted something, anything, to make me feel happy. Guess what? After I ate that stupid ice cream, a wormhole didn't open up and erase my crappy day. I still couldn't work out. I was still feeling neurotic and paranoid and slightly depressed. That stupid, lousy, not-worth-it ice cream didn't fix anything.
It may seem like common sense -- how could food fix anything? Emotional eating has been my M.O. for so long that I hardly ever question it. I suppose in some ways it's like an addiction; there is a need, a huge, screaming, demanding need and I answer it. I give it what it wants because (used to be, anyway) for however short a time, filling that need with food makes everything else disappear. For those few fleeting moments, my brain checks out, my hands and mouth do the work, and everything goes away.
I don't want to check out anymore. I want to be here. I want to be present. I want to deal with things instead of hiding behind food, and fat, and funny.
After a long, emotional roller-coaster day, I asked Hubs if he wanted a treat. (That's code for "I'm going to send you out to get something bad for me.") He did, and so he went, and he returned with ice cream and a Slurpee for me. The Slurpee was tiny -- and it should have been enough. I dug into the ice cream anyway. Mmmm...cookie dough.
Within two bites, I was done. It was inexpensive ice cream, the kind that's a little gritty. It was a little too sweet. It wasn't what I wanted. But I kept eating. Bite after bite, a little more, a little faster, and before I knew it I was on the verge of speed-eating the entire pint. I wasn't even tasting it, wasn't even present, if that makes any sense. I was just consuming.
Something made me snap out of it; I don't know what it was. I looked down and saw that in about five minutes (maybe less), I'd inhaled almost two-thirds of the container. Two-thirds of an 800-calorie, 40g of fat container of lousy ice cream. My heart was in my throat; the spoon was still in my hand and I could feel it wanting to dig into what was left. "Go on, you've already eaten most of it. Just finish it off!"
I didn't.
I didn't finish the pint. For a single moment, the small part of me that's strong and steely and food-resistant jumped up and said NO. I clapped the lid on the carton as fast as I could, and ran downstairs to put it in the freezer. NO MORE.
I didn't want that damn ice cream. So why did I eat it? Because I had a sort of crappy day. Because I want to work out and I can't. Because being alone for almost two weeks has made me neurotic and paranoid and slightly depressed and I wanted something, anything, to make me feel happy. Guess what? After I ate that stupid ice cream, a wormhole didn't open up and erase my crappy day. I still couldn't work out. I was still feeling neurotic and paranoid and slightly depressed. That stupid, lousy, not-worth-it ice cream didn't fix anything.
It may seem like common sense -- how could food fix anything? Emotional eating has been my M.O. for so long that I hardly ever question it. I suppose in some ways it's like an addiction; there is a need, a huge, screaming, demanding need and I answer it. I give it what it wants because (used to be, anyway) for however short a time, filling that need with food makes everything else disappear. For those few fleeting moments, my brain checks out, my hands and mouth do the work, and everything goes away.
I don't want to check out anymore. I want to be here. I want to be present. I want to deal with things instead of hiding behind food, and fat, and funny.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
I Can Has Foodz?
My friend Michelle, who recently started her own blog, left a comment for me here asking about my diet. As promised, I'm dedicating a whole post to food today. Her question was (in case you're too lazy to go back a post and look at the comments), essentially, what do you eat?
That question would be much easier to answer if I was on a diet -- South Beach, Atkins, Zone, whatever -- but I'm not on a diet. Diets do not work. Well, I mean, they can work in the short-term. You can live on two bowls of Special K a day and drop weight, but it won't last. Why? Because you can't eat that way for the rest of your life. It seems like such a simple concept, but it's taken me a lot of years and a lot of failed attempts to really understand it. You have to change the way you eat, your lifestyle. Even two rounds of Weight Watchers didn't drive this home for me (more about that in another post).
I don't count calories, fat grams, fiber, or "points." Much to Smith's chagrin, I also don't keep a food journal anymore (I should probably start again, though). So, Michelle, there really isn't a magical menu I can type out for you. I try to eat mostly lean protein and vegetables, fresh fruit, lots of water. Here's a few essentials that I always try to have on hand:
Chicken breasts
Plain oatmeal
Salad (get the bagged stuff -- it's cheaper and already washed & cut up)
Greek yogurt (plain -- add fruit to sweeten it)
Whole wheat or multi-grain pasta
Pasta sauce
Frozen broccoli (cheaper than fresh & lasts longer)
Bananas (for smoothies)
Lara bars (or Clif bars, or PowerBars -- for snacks)
Avocados (for guacamole or to add to salads)
Tomatoes
Fresh fruit
Canned soup (low fat/low sodium type)
That's pretty much it. I don't buy a lot of processed or pre-packaged food. I do not buy junk food. If it's not in the house, I can't eat it. I've tried to set up my pantry and freezer so that I can throw a healthy meal together without a whole lot of thought or advanced planning.
My eating habits aren't perfect, and I don't know if they ever will be. All I can do is make the best choices possible at each meal. And if I make a bad choice (yes, it happens) I have to accept the consequences and move on. I still eat crap from time to time, but I eat it far less frequently and recently I'm enjoying it less every time. My body doesn't like junk anymore, and it is always sure to remind me of it whenever I eat something I shouldn't.
That question would be much easier to answer if I was on a diet -- South Beach, Atkins, Zone, whatever -- but I'm not on a diet. Diets do not work. Well, I mean, they can work in the short-term. You can live on two bowls of Special K a day and drop weight, but it won't last. Why? Because you can't eat that way for the rest of your life. It seems like such a simple concept, but it's taken me a lot of years and a lot of failed attempts to really understand it. You have to change the way you eat, your lifestyle. Even two rounds of Weight Watchers didn't drive this home for me (more about that in another post).
I don't count calories, fat grams, fiber, or "points." Much to Smith's chagrin, I also don't keep a food journal anymore (I should probably start again, though). So, Michelle, there really isn't a magical menu I can type out for you. I try to eat mostly lean protein and vegetables, fresh fruit, lots of water. Here's a few essentials that I always try to have on hand:
Chicken breasts
Plain oatmeal
Salad (get the bagged stuff -- it's cheaper and already washed & cut up)
Greek yogurt (plain -- add fruit to sweeten it)
Whole wheat or multi-grain pasta
Pasta sauce
Frozen broccoli (cheaper than fresh & lasts longer)
Bananas (for smoothies)
Lara bars (or Clif bars, or PowerBars -- for snacks)
Avocados (for guacamole or to add to salads)
Tomatoes
Fresh fruit
Canned soup (low fat/low sodium type)
That's pretty much it. I don't buy a lot of processed or pre-packaged food. I do not buy junk food. If it's not in the house, I can't eat it. I've tried to set up my pantry and freezer so that I can throw a healthy meal together without a whole lot of thought or advanced planning.
My eating habits aren't perfect, and I don't know if they ever will be. All I can do is make the best choices possible at each meal. And if I make a bad choice (yes, it happens) I have to accept the consequences and move on. I still eat crap from time to time, but I eat it far less frequently and recently I'm enjoying it less every time. My body doesn't like junk anymore, and it is always sure to remind me of it whenever I eat something I shouldn't.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Disabling Cookies
At my request, Hubs brought home some Pepperidge Farm cookies on Tuesday night. My two favorite kinds: Milanos and Brussels (I've got a thing for Europe, what can I say?). After dinner, I put two of each cookie on a paper towel and nibbled them as I cleared the table and played with Kid. The strangest thing happened while I ate them:
I REALIZED THEY WEREN'T VERY GOOD.
This realization gets its own line, and capitalization why? Because I love cookies. ALL cookies. But especially Pepperidge Farm cookies. I used to wait until they were on sale and buy bag after bag of them, stashing them everywhere, eating an entire package at a time. I would go into a cookie trance: hand to bag, hand to mouth, hand back in bag. I even tried to hide how many of them I was eating by crumpling up the empty paper cup thingies and using them to prop up the last cookie in the bag. (My idea was that if somebody peeked in the bag, they'd see that cookie and think it was the last one in the first layer of cookies.) When I started getting in shape for the nine millionth time, I issued a self-imposed ban on these little buggers. No more! I said to myself. Not in this house! NO COOKIES!
I caved on Tuesday and asked Hubs to bring them home because I'm struggling with serious sugar cravings right now, mostly because I'm taking pain medication. As I've mentioned before, every time I go on heavy-duty pain meds (i.e. Percocet), I end up with insane, mind-bending sugar cravings that can only be eased by eating, well, SUGAR. My theory is that because the pain meds slow down my digestive system, my food is being digested/absorbed much slower than usual. And then I think my body kind of panics and says, "THERE'S NO FOOD IN HERE! SEND SOMETHING QUICK!" and makes me berserk for the easiest, quickest energy source (sugar). I've been keeping the Sugar Monster at bay by eating fruit and sucking on the occasional LifeSaver -- although quite frankly after the hospital I'm sick of those things -- but on Tuesday it was just out of control.
So there we are...another food obsession seems to have bitten the proverbial dust. I'm feeling a weird combination of relief, pride, and sadness. Relief, because really? Who wants to be a slave to a cookie? Pride because I can now see those cookies anywhere and know they're not the boss of me anymore. But why sadness?
I'm a little sad I suppose because who I am is changing (has changed). So much of my identity is based on me being the chubby, nerdy best friend, the funny fat girl, all of those stereotypes. But I don't want to be that anymore. I don't feel like I am that as much as I was even a year ago. And that leads me to the question, "Who am I NOW?" Or, more importantly, "Who do I want to be?" The answers to those questions aren't totally clear just yet. I know I have a lot of changing left to do, both internally and externally. I know that one's identity is never really set or fixed; it's always in flux, and that's okay.
Who do I want to be?
I REALIZED THEY WEREN'T VERY GOOD.
This realization gets its own line, and capitalization why? Because I love cookies. ALL cookies. But especially Pepperidge Farm cookies. I used to wait until they were on sale and buy bag after bag of them, stashing them everywhere, eating an entire package at a time. I would go into a cookie trance: hand to bag, hand to mouth, hand back in bag. I even tried to hide how many of them I was eating by crumpling up the empty paper cup thingies and using them to prop up the last cookie in the bag. (My idea was that if somebody peeked in the bag, they'd see that cookie and think it was the last one in the first layer of cookies.) When I started getting in shape for the nine millionth time, I issued a self-imposed ban on these little buggers. No more! I said to myself. Not in this house! NO COOKIES!
I caved on Tuesday and asked Hubs to bring them home because I'm struggling with serious sugar cravings right now, mostly because I'm taking pain medication. As I've mentioned before, every time I go on heavy-duty pain meds (i.e. Percocet), I end up with insane, mind-bending sugar cravings that can only be eased by eating, well, SUGAR. My theory is that because the pain meds slow down my digestive system, my food is being digested/absorbed much slower than usual. And then I think my body kind of panics and says, "THERE'S NO FOOD IN HERE! SEND SOMETHING QUICK!" and makes me berserk for the easiest, quickest energy source (sugar). I've been keeping the Sugar Monster at bay by eating fruit and sucking on the occasional LifeSaver -- although quite frankly after the hospital I'm sick of those things -- but on Tuesday it was just out of control.
So there we are...another food obsession seems to have bitten the proverbial dust. I'm feeling a weird combination of relief, pride, and sadness. Relief, because really? Who wants to be a slave to a cookie? Pride because I can now see those cookies anywhere and know they're not the boss of me anymore. But why sadness?
I'm a little sad I suppose because who I am is changing (has changed). So much of my identity is based on me being the chubby, nerdy best friend, the funny fat girl, all of those stereotypes. But I don't want to be that anymore. I don't feel like I am that as much as I was even a year ago. And that leads me to the question, "Who am I NOW?" Or, more importantly, "Who do I want to be?" The answers to those questions aren't totally clear just yet. I know I have a lot of changing left to do, both internally and externally. I know that one's identity is never really set or fixed; it's always in flux, and that's okay.
Who do I want to be?
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