“And then life gets in the way.” It’s a common phrase. We hear it so often, when others speak of life’s turns that seem to derail or detour their journey. We use it so often ourselves. I found myself using that just a few nights ago, when my Aunt Kathy e-mailed saying how much she had enjoyed my blog and wishing that I would write again.
I sat there quietly in the glow of my computer monitor thinking, “And then life got in my way.” I had moved from Buffalo to Independence, MO. I took a new job. I moved in with my boyfriend. I said goodbye to friends and family and said hello to a new city, new people, and new way of living. Everything was new. I was seemingly detoured in the newness.
Of course, the newness didn’t just detour my ability to sit and write about my journey; it detoured my journey itself. I will own my detour into Fat Guy behavior. For the last Three weeks since moving; starting my new life, I slipped back into my old. I exercised thrice (I say it fancy like to stress the importance of this). I drank half a soda during my first day at work. Was it the stress? Was it the freedom of nobody knowing that I had sworn off the devious delight of Dr Pepper?
I didn’t completely fall off that wagon, but I feel. I was still holding on, being dragged down my journey. Clinging on for dear life, my knuckles white, and my arms sore I swung my legs up and pulled my body back on. Yesterday I settled back into my old new life. I got re-accounted with Jillian Michaels doing level one of the 30 Day Shred. My arms and legs are very angry with me today. This didn’t stop me from stretching into some high impact cardio Yoga after work today. I am still instituting good eating habits; breaking up my meals and trying to keep with making healthy choices. Water is once again my poison of choice. “I’m back baby!” To quote George Castanza.
I may be back. I may be on that wagon again. However, I need to pay attention to this lesson. Just because life changes does not mean that my good habits have to. So often we use these changes as an excuse to fall back into bad habits. “Once I get settled I’ll start working out.” “When this big project is over I’ll eat better.” “When I take care of this problem, I’ll then focus on my health.” We’ve heard them all. A job, baby, marriage, break up, death, illness, promotion, work project, jobless, the holidays….etc. Whatever life tosses our way. We need to swing at those curve balls and not run and hide in the dugout. We came to play. Just because the game changes a little doesn’t mean we fall back.
This is something I have to remember. “And then life got in the way,” is not a reason; It’s merely an excuse. It’s an excuse for me to take the easy way out instead of dusting off my uniform and playing the game. So, “I’m back baby!”
Starting the Journey
This is how I started my journey (taken in May 2009)
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Falling off the Wagon
We all fall off the wagon. It happens to the best and worst of us. Last week I fell off that wagon. Correction, I free-fell! The food police almost had to scrape my remains up! I felt like lying there, allowing them to make that chalk line around my healthy body and allowing my fat guy to re-emerge. It feels so easy to fall and just lay there waiting for someone else to rescue me.
While I lay there letting them draw a layered shape around me, I couldn’t help but think, “Why am I laying here?” Since when is falling off the wagon fatal? Did one small milkshake spell out doom? Did a week without yoga, but lots of walking seal my fate? Did that slice of pizza sign my death warrant? No! It was a tumble from the wagon, but rather than laying there allowing the other wagons in my train to health roll over me, I needed to pull myself up. It was time to dust of those yoga pants, grab hold, and climb back on.
That’s the trick about falling off the wagon. It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s what you do after. Once we’ve slipped; not exercising, poor diet, gaining weight, not losing it…etc (However we define falling off that wagon) we tend to beat ourselves up. We lay there and give up. “I can’t do this.” “This is too hard.” “Why do I try?” This attitude isn’t going to get us anywhere. Our journey will cease or retract. We are flushing our hard work down the drain!
All these thoughts raced through my head. I sat there wallowing in my slips. It’s okay to treat yourself, but I spent a week of pure indulgence. I felt as if I was falling back into those old comfortable fat guy jeans; you know that stretchy pair that makes your butt look fat but feel comfortable to wear after gorging on a turkey dinner. I had two choices; give up or not. The old Melissa would have given up. She would have embraced the easy. It’s so much easier to grab a slice of pizza for lunch then stand there cutting fresh fruits and veggies to pack for lunch. So, would I lay there or climb back on that wagon?
I got up, dusted off my yoga pants, and grabbed a hold. My hands sweaty and worn I climbed back on, seating my self at the reins of my wagon. I like to picture myself wearing a cowgirl hat leading my wagon train of fellow former fat guys heading to our independence; our healthy lifestyles. Yesterday I went to the grocery store purchasing healthy options for lunch. Last night I stood over my kitchen counter cleaning and cutting fresh fruits and veggies. I made a lunch of peaches, strawberries, peppers, yogurt, carrots, and lean rolled up turkey. For snacks I packed banana, a single serving of protein cereal, and single serving of almonds. My two bottles of filtered water were packed. In the morning I woke up early to stretch awake with a twenty minute Yoga session. I breakfasted on glass of soy milk, glass of orange juice, sugar free oatmeal, and a piece of whole grain toast with reduced fat peanut butter. Dinner was half a grilled cheese (reduced fat Swiss on whole grain) and steamed veggies (random but yummy). I sit here with a snack of Chocolate Soy Milk. This nurtured my wounds from falling off the wagon. I fell back into my good habits.
Don’t let the stumbles destroy you. Each of us will have moments of weakness; moments where we lose grip of the reins. It’s okay. Don’t anguish in it. Beating yourself up or giving up does nothing to help you regain your grasp. Recognize that we all fall. The trick isn’t avoiding the fall; it’s what we do once we fall.
While I lay there letting them draw a layered shape around me, I couldn’t help but think, “Why am I laying here?” Since when is falling off the wagon fatal? Did one small milkshake spell out doom? Did a week without yoga, but lots of walking seal my fate? Did that slice of pizza sign my death warrant? No! It was a tumble from the wagon, but rather than laying there allowing the other wagons in my train to health roll over me, I needed to pull myself up. It was time to dust of those yoga pants, grab hold, and climb back on.
That’s the trick about falling off the wagon. It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s what you do after. Once we’ve slipped; not exercising, poor diet, gaining weight, not losing it…etc (However we define falling off that wagon) we tend to beat ourselves up. We lay there and give up. “I can’t do this.” “This is too hard.” “Why do I try?” This attitude isn’t going to get us anywhere. Our journey will cease or retract. We are flushing our hard work down the drain!
All these thoughts raced through my head. I sat there wallowing in my slips. It’s okay to treat yourself, but I spent a week of pure indulgence. I felt as if I was falling back into those old comfortable fat guy jeans; you know that stretchy pair that makes your butt look fat but feel comfortable to wear after gorging on a turkey dinner. I had two choices; give up or not. The old Melissa would have given up. She would have embraced the easy. It’s so much easier to grab a slice of pizza for lunch then stand there cutting fresh fruits and veggies to pack for lunch. So, would I lay there or climb back on that wagon?
I got up, dusted off my yoga pants, and grabbed a hold. My hands sweaty and worn I climbed back on, seating my self at the reins of my wagon. I like to picture myself wearing a cowgirl hat leading my wagon train of fellow former fat guys heading to our independence; our healthy lifestyles. Yesterday I went to the grocery store purchasing healthy options for lunch. Last night I stood over my kitchen counter cleaning and cutting fresh fruits and veggies. I made a lunch of peaches, strawberries, peppers, yogurt, carrots, and lean rolled up turkey. For snacks I packed banana, a single serving of protein cereal, and single serving of almonds. My two bottles of filtered water were packed. In the morning I woke up early to stretch awake with a twenty minute Yoga session. I breakfasted on glass of soy milk, glass of orange juice, sugar free oatmeal, and a piece of whole grain toast with reduced fat peanut butter. Dinner was half a grilled cheese (reduced fat Swiss on whole grain) and steamed veggies (random but yummy). I sit here with a snack of Chocolate Soy Milk. This nurtured my wounds from falling off the wagon. I fell back into my good habits.
Don’t let the stumbles destroy you. Each of us will have moments of weakness; moments where we lose grip of the reins. It’s okay. Don’t anguish in it. Beating yourself up or giving up does nothing to help you regain your grasp. Recognize that we all fall. The trick isn’t avoiding the fall; it’s what we do once we fall.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The Fabric of our Lives; Food
What is this power food has over us? We need it to sustain life. However, its power goes far beyond merely providing us with the fuel for our existence. It is woven into the fabric of the way we live our lives. Food is apart of what makes us, us. That seems like a bold statement. How is this potato me? Does this fried chicken express my inner feelings about me? Will this strawberry dipped in melted dark chocolate tell my inner secrets (oh, that sounds like a yummy Maya Angelou poem)?
The answer is yes. Food makes up the memories, feelings, and experiences of our lives. Think about the highest of highs and lowest of lows. Cake was at our first birthday. Soda splashed in our cups at our first High School dance. Pizza celebrated our first dorm room get together at college. Ice cream soaked up our tears after that painful break up. Chocolate soothed our stresses after our boss dropped a stack of undone reports with a 5 o’clock deadline on our desk at 3 o’clock. Wine swirled in our glasses as we toasted our wedding vows. Food was there.
Food is such apart of our lives. It plays in each moment; good and bad. Entire traditions are weaved around food. Italian. Greek. Hispanic. Jamaican. Haitian. Irish. Indian. Polish. Chinese. Nigerian. Eskimo. Whatever our background food plays a pivotal part of our cultural identity. It unites us. Those office birthday parties with stale store bought cake allows us an opportunity to commune with co-workers. It witnesses our romance blown; candle lit dinners with awkward silence at a tiny Italian bistro. It comforts us; that Ziti made for a small army bestowed on grieving family members after a death so not to focus on the mundane like cooking.
With such a powerful influence, how shall we escape it? No wonder Americans are obese. Food is everywhere. Should I run away? Should I shut myself away from food as if it were a rabid band of Zombies ready to devour me? Shall I lobby for Congress to outlaw food? No. That would be silly! Knowing that food has such a strong hold over the life I lead, I need to honor its presence while not being victimize by its grip. Food is not the enemy. It does not storm into my house in the middle of the night forcing me to eat a bag of Mint Milano cookies! I shouldn’t treat it like a criminal.
I need to recognize that the relationship I have with food, which I love, is all my doing. I am the one putting things in my mouth. I am the one ordering that slice of pizza. I am the one sitting on my couch at 9 p.m. eating a second bowl of chocolate cheerios. By examining my life; my culture, and seeing what role food has played in it I can then tweak that role. Oh food will still be there. I plan on having a piece of birthday cake and a sip of Champaign when I get married. However, I need to alter my relationship. I need to examine why I am eating this. Is it because I am hungry or am I falling into a cultural norm or bad habit? For example, do I really need dessert? Am I still hungry? Do I need it to sustain life or is it the messages sent to me through years of growing up fat? Also, who says dessert is pie, cake, or cookie? Why is it not peach, banana, or plum?
I need to accept that food is here to stay. It’s not the enemy. I need to learn how to incorporate it into my life in a healthy and moderate form. Too much of anything is not good for us. Too little of it works the same. Many times we think to lose weight equals not eating. Actually, if you eat too little you gain weight. First, your body goes into starvation mood and stores that fat. Second, you end up so hungry that you binge eat. Trust me, I have been there. I use to eat very little throughout the day thinking it would help me lose weight. I then consumed massive quantities of food. I ravaged my cupboards the minute I came home. Then I would wonder why my jeans wear too tight to button. I actually eat more now throughout the day, then when I was trying to lose weight, and have lost 83lbs in the process.
I see food as MVP in my battle of the bulge. It is the Michael Jordan of my Dream Team! I am mindful of its power and role. I now make healthier choices. I graze on it all day long to curb my appetite and fuel my metabolism-boosting workouts. By choosing fruits, veggies, lean proteins, whole grains…etc I am providing my body with the energy needed for this journey. Of course, I also incorporate a little of the naughty into my diet. I am not perfect, but mindful. I will waiver with a slice of pizza or scoop of ice cream. However, I will brush off the dirt from falling off the wagon and climb back on! This is a journey. Food is apart of my journey, just as it always has been.
The answer is yes. Food makes up the memories, feelings, and experiences of our lives. Think about the highest of highs and lowest of lows. Cake was at our first birthday. Soda splashed in our cups at our first High School dance. Pizza celebrated our first dorm room get together at college. Ice cream soaked up our tears after that painful break up. Chocolate soothed our stresses after our boss dropped a stack of undone reports with a 5 o’clock deadline on our desk at 3 o’clock. Wine swirled in our glasses as we toasted our wedding vows. Food was there.
Food is such apart of our lives. It plays in each moment; good and bad. Entire traditions are weaved around food. Italian. Greek. Hispanic. Jamaican. Haitian. Irish. Indian. Polish. Chinese. Nigerian. Eskimo. Whatever our background food plays a pivotal part of our cultural identity. It unites us. Those office birthday parties with stale store bought cake allows us an opportunity to commune with co-workers. It witnesses our romance blown; candle lit dinners with awkward silence at a tiny Italian bistro. It comforts us; that Ziti made for a small army bestowed on grieving family members after a death so not to focus on the mundane like cooking.
With such a powerful influence, how shall we escape it? No wonder Americans are obese. Food is everywhere. Should I run away? Should I shut myself away from food as if it were a rabid band of Zombies ready to devour me? Shall I lobby for Congress to outlaw food? No. That would be silly! Knowing that food has such a strong hold over the life I lead, I need to honor its presence while not being victimize by its grip. Food is not the enemy. It does not storm into my house in the middle of the night forcing me to eat a bag of Mint Milano cookies! I shouldn’t treat it like a criminal.
I need to recognize that the relationship I have with food, which I love, is all my doing. I am the one putting things in my mouth. I am the one ordering that slice of pizza. I am the one sitting on my couch at 9 p.m. eating a second bowl of chocolate cheerios. By examining my life; my culture, and seeing what role food has played in it I can then tweak that role. Oh food will still be there. I plan on having a piece of birthday cake and a sip of Champaign when I get married. However, I need to alter my relationship. I need to examine why I am eating this. Is it because I am hungry or am I falling into a cultural norm or bad habit? For example, do I really need dessert? Am I still hungry? Do I need it to sustain life or is it the messages sent to me through years of growing up fat? Also, who says dessert is pie, cake, or cookie? Why is it not peach, banana, or plum?
I need to accept that food is here to stay. It’s not the enemy. I need to learn how to incorporate it into my life in a healthy and moderate form. Too much of anything is not good for us. Too little of it works the same. Many times we think to lose weight equals not eating. Actually, if you eat too little you gain weight. First, your body goes into starvation mood and stores that fat. Second, you end up so hungry that you binge eat. Trust me, I have been there. I use to eat very little throughout the day thinking it would help me lose weight. I then consumed massive quantities of food. I ravaged my cupboards the minute I came home. Then I would wonder why my jeans wear too tight to button. I actually eat more now throughout the day, then when I was trying to lose weight, and have lost 83lbs in the process.
I see food as MVP in my battle of the bulge. It is the Michael Jordan of my Dream Team! I am mindful of its power and role. I now make healthier choices. I graze on it all day long to curb my appetite and fuel my metabolism-boosting workouts. By choosing fruits, veggies, lean proteins, whole grains…etc I am providing my body with the energy needed for this journey. Of course, I also incorporate a little of the naughty into my diet. I am not perfect, but mindful. I will waiver with a slice of pizza or scoop of ice cream. However, I will brush off the dirt from falling off the wagon and climb back on! This is a journey. Food is apart of my journey, just as it always has been.
Me enjoying a little Moe's Southwest Grill
Monday, August 16, 2010
"Whistle while you work!": Enjoying Exercise?
I hate running on the treadmill. I feel like a hamster on a wheel; running and running with no destination in sight. There is nothing to inspire me to keep going. When exercising, I have found I need inspiration. Something needs to compel me to lift my butt off the couch; disturbing my meditation in front of the television watching bad reality shows after a long work day. There needs to be a carrot (or maybe a chocolate bar) waved in front of me to keep me going. I need to have meaning in my exercise.
Many of us hit the gym with a fitness fury for the first weeks of our “diet”, only to pewter out. I know I have countless times. When I was thirteen I decided I wanted to lose 40lbs over the school year. With new gym shorts, a membership to a local gym, and a resolve to lose weight I hit the gym. Each day after school I spent an hour at the gym running on the treadmill, riding the bike, lifting the weights… I sweat off the junior high stress each day. For a month I hit the gym four days a week. There was no “real” progress in my eyes. I wasn’t having fun. I wasn’t inspired. I fostered under the delusion that I would lose 40lbs in a month. As I stood on that scale in the empty gym and saw I only lost 5lbs after four weeks of hard work I became discouraged. Soon the four days slipped into three, two, one, and none. I gave up.
This was a typical pattern for me. Of course, what I didn’t realize at the time was that I was exercising for all the wrong reasons. I was doing it to lose weight. I was using the weight loss as a motivator. It was devoid of any semblance of health. At 13, 16, 20, and 24 I used the idea of losing weight, squeezing into the seemingly unattainable size 8, and fitting in with the girls others deemed pretty as my goals. None of which, despite how long or hard I ran on that treadmill, seemed to occur. So, what changed this time? Why is it that I am sticking with exercising after eleven months? How is it that I see so much more progress? What am I doing differently?
I have motivation; no, not the motivation of losing weight (although, I do enjoy that as a side effect). Health. I want to be healthy. While losing weight is apart of it, the exercising I choose to do is about keeping me active, toning my body, building strength, improving balance, centering me, stress management, and fun. After a long day of work there is nothing better than sweating away the stress. Though I am sticky and smell (I have discovered how bad I smell after an intense work out) there is a sense of relief that sweeps over me causing my body to overflow with happiness and peace. I now enjoy exercise! It brings me a smile to my face either through the activity or the sense of accomplishment.
It’s not that I have suddenly found a deep love for running on the treadmill. I hate it! No, wait, I LOATHE it. In fact, running is torture. Perhaps, I have PTSD from running that dreaded mile in under 12 minutes in high school. A feet I only accomplished once and proceeded to try to convince my medieval torturer of a PE teacher, who we dubbed Jogging Judy, that if I did it once in my high school career that I should be allowed to walk it the remainder of the four years. She didn’t agree with my logic. Whenever I am run I have images of Jogging Judy chasing me, screaming “RUN MELISSA! DON’T WALK!” I HATE running. It isn’t my idea of fun. Since I now approach exercise as a form of fun; a past time to enjoy; therefore, I look to fun activities. Running on the treadmill is not fun, so it’s been scratched off my list (don’t get me wrong I still hit it when away from home at the fitness center of the hotel I find myself in).
I have spent the last eleven months finding activities that promote fitness and fun. During my journey I discovered Yoga, Kick Boxing, and Belly Dancing. Each provides me with an opportunity to sweat, laugh, stress release, burn calories, and tone. The fun fuels my drive. With new motivation behind staying active I have gained an enjoyment that allows me to stay with the practice. Rather than being motivated my losing weight, I engage in the activity for a multitude of reasons, the most important of which is fun. By having fun I am getting more out of my work outs. As a result I work out four days a week and don’t feel like I am forcing myself into something. I feel like I am treating myself. This new motivation has brought me resolve to stick with an exercise regime for the last eleven months and hopefully much longer.
The exercise that I engage in; Yoga, Kick Boxing, and Belly Dancing (really hilarious to watch this nerdy white girl try some of those sexy hip shaking moves) has brought me an opportunity to discover much about myself. Through my practice I have learned that I am stronger than I ever thought, that I can reach farther than I ever dreamt, that I am more flexible than I ever knew, and that I can last longer than I ever hoped. These, of course, our lessons that extend beyond the Yoga mat. Without a new motivation guiding me I would never have been able to learn these lessons, because exercise would have just been something I am doing. Now it is apart of my journey; in fact it is one of the maps I use to navigate it.
I still hate the treadmill. However, I don’t hate exercising. I see the experience as an enriching part of my life. I think of the time a few weeks ago, when I was practicing Yoga in my living room. The curtains were swung open allowing the sun to shine through my patio windows. I inhaled as I swan dived to the ground, as I lowered into plank and swept up into upward dog, my head melting to the sky, I noticed my 88-year-old neighbor staring at me. I smiled thinking what a show I was giving him. As I swooped back into downward dog my eyes gazed down catching my cleavage from the bra (I tend to wear only a bra and sweatpants, when practicing Yoga at home). I really did give him a show. That experience taught me to close the curtains when working out and to laugh at myself. It’s a fun story that I wouldn’t of had, nor truly enjoyed, if I saw exercise as just something to check off my to-do list.
So, if you hate exercise then don’t do it! Jillian Michaels is gasping as I type! Don’t exercise. Have fun! Look at it as having fun. Reframe it! Find new motivation. Call it something else! Find an activity that brings you joy, while you are gaining the rewards of improving fitness levels. Swim. Bike. Play Baseball. Hike. Run (yuck, but yay for you). Power walk. Dance. Karate. Yoga! Whatever brings you the benefits of staying active, developing fitness, and providing you with the emotional enjoyment we need to sustain any practice. After all things we hate to do we often do not stick with and quickly they become what we resent. Exercise shouldn’t be resented. We need it on our life journeys. Find what works for you and sweat it out with a smile! I think of that song, “whistle, while you work.” So, smile while you sweat!
Many of us hit the gym with a fitness fury for the first weeks of our “diet”, only to pewter out. I know I have countless times. When I was thirteen I decided I wanted to lose 40lbs over the school year. With new gym shorts, a membership to a local gym, and a resolve to lose weight I hit the gym. Each day after school I spent an hour at the gym running on the treadmill, riding the bike, lifting the weights… I sweat off the junior high stress each day. For a month I hit the gym four days a week. There was no “real” progress in my eyes. I wasn’t having fun. I wasn’t inspired. I fostered under the delusion that I would lose 40lbs in a month. As I stood on that scale in the empty gym and saw I only lost 5lbs after four weeks of hard work I became discouraged. Soon the four days slipped into three, two, one, and none. I gave up.
This was a typical pattern for me. Of course, what I didn’t realize at the time was that I was exercising for all the wrong reasons. I was doing it to lose weight. I was using the weight loss as a motivator. It was devoid of any semblance of health. At 13, 16, 20, and 24 I used the idea of losing weight, squeezing into the seemingly unattainable size 8, and fitting in with the girls others deemed pretty as my goals. None of which, despite how long or hard I ran on that treadmill, seemed to occur. So, what changed this time? Why is it that I am sticking with exercising after eleven months? How is it that I see so much more progress? What am I doing differently?
I have motivation; no, not the motivation of losing weight (although, I do enjoy that as a side effect). Health. I want to be healthy. While losing weight is apart of it, the exercising I choose to do is about keeping me active, toning my body, building strength, improving balance, centering me, stress management, and fun. After a long day of work there is nothing better than sweating away the stress. Though I am sticky and smell (I have discovered how bad I smell after an intense work out) there is a sense of relief that sweeps over me causing my body to overflow with happiness and peace. I now enjoy exercise! It brings me a smile to my face either through the activity or the sense of accomplishment.
It’s not that I have suddenly found a deep love for running on the treadmill. I hate it! No, wait, I LOATHE it. In fact, running is torture. Perhaps, I have PTSD from running that dreaded mile in under 12 minutes in high school. A feet I only accomplished once and proceeded to try to convince my medieval torturer of a PE teacher, who we dubbed Jogging Judy, that if I did it once in my high school career that I should be allowed to walk it the remainder of the four years. She didn’t agree with my logic. Whenever I am run I have images of Jogging Judy chasing me, screaming “RUN MELISSA! DON’T WALK!” I HATE running. It isn’t my idea of fun. Since I now approach exercise as a form of fun; a past time to enjoy; therefore, I look to fun activities. Running on the treadmill is not fun, so it’s been scratched off my list (don’t get me wrong I still hit it when away from home at the fitness center of the hotel I find myself in).
I have spent the last eleven months finding activities that promote fitness and fun. During my journey I discovered Yoga, Kick Boxing, and Belly Dancing. Each provides me with an opportunity to sweat, laugh, stress release, burn calories, and tone. The fun fuels my drive. With new motivation behind staying active I have gained an enjoyment that allows me to stay with the practice. Rather than being motivated my losing weight, I engage in the activity for a multitude of reasons, the most important of which is fun. By having fun I am getting more out of my work outs. As a result I work out four days a week and don’t feel like I am forcing myself into something. I feel like I am treating myself. This new motivation has brought me resolve to stick with an exercise regime for the last eleven months and hopefully much longer.
The exercise that I engage in; Yoga, Kick Boxing, and Belly Dancing (really hilarious to watch this nerdy white girl try some of those sexy hip shaking moves) has brought me an opportunity to discover much about myself. Through my practice I have learned that I am stronger than I ever thought, that I can reach farther than I ever dreamt, that I am more flexible than I ever knew, and that I can last longer than I ever hoped. These, of course, our lessons that extend beyond the Yoga mat. Without a new motivation guiding me I would never have been able to learn these lessons, because exercise would have just been something I am doing. Now it is apart of my journey; in fact it is one of the maps I use to navigate it.
I still hate the treadmill. However, I don’t hate exercising. I see the experience as an enriching part of my life. I think of the time a few weeks ago, when I was practicing Yoga in my living room. The curtains were swung open allowing the sun to shine through my patio windows. I inhaled as I swan dived to the ground, as I lowered into plank and swept up into upward dog, my head melting to the sky, I noticed my 88-year-old neighbor staring at me. I smiled thinking what a show I was giving him. As I swooped back into downward dog my eyes gazed down catching my cleavage from the bra (I tend to wear only a bra and sweatpants, when practicing Yoga at home). I really did give him a show. That experience taught me to close the curtains when working out and to laugh at myself. It’s a fun story that I wouldn’t of had, nor truly enjoyed, if I saw exercise as just something to check off my to-do list.
So, if you hate exercise then don’t do it! Jillian Michaels is gasping as I type! Don’t exercise. Have fun! Look at it as having fun. Reframe it! Find new motivation. Call it something else! Find an activity that brings you joy, while you are gaining the rewards of improving fitness levels. Swim. Bike. Play Baseball. Hike. Run (yuck, but yay for you). Power walk. Dance. Karate. Yoga! Whatever brings you the benefits of staying active, developing fitness, and providing you with the emotional enjoyment we need to sustain any practice. After all things we hate to do we often do not stick with and quickly they become what we resent. Exercise shouldn’t be resented. We need it on our life journeys. Find what works for you and sweat it out with a smile! I think of that song, “whistle, while you work.” So, smile while you sweat!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
The Love of my Life
I went to Starbucks today. I adore Starbucks. I rarely go since making my life change. Every now and then I sneak in for a Grande Earl Gray. Today I felt like celebrating the week, so I partook in a Grande Soy Caramel Mochita (Yummy!). It was quiet for an early afternoon at the Starbucks around the corner from my apartment. The unusual stillness of the Starbucks allowed me an opportunity to chat it up with the Barista; an early twenty-something with soft brown hair swept up in a messy bun, chocolate pieces falling into her face. She sighed as we discussed love. It started rather innocently with her saying, “I wish I could find a guy that wasn’t so full of himself.” I made a joke generalizing my male counterparts (sorry boys). Then I followed up with the cliché, “you’ll find him, when you least expect it.” He hazel eyes squinted as she grimaced. “I know. I hated it when people said that to me and now I am one of those people,” I offered comfort.
She laughed. We spoke for several minutes as I told her about how I found love in the last eleven months. How ironic that during this journey of self-discovery; of evolution, I fell in love. As I stood their sipping on my iced latte, I thought of the love in my life. I thought of my amazing friends. I thought of my best friend Alicia, that was always cheerleading me. I thought of my family. I thought of my grandfather who always told me how beautiful I was. I thought of my boyfriend, Liam, who loved me before I started this journey and continues to do so. I started seeing Liam right before I went on this journey. He, like my friends and family, has given me nothing but support and love.
As I left Starbucks “You’re nobody ‘til somebody loves you” started playing. I paused. The lyrics triggered so many thoughts about love, growing up as a Fat Guy, and my journey during the last eleven months. Love. Relationships. They play such a pivotal role in all of our development. They shape us. They destroy us. We hunger for them. As a plus size adolescent love appeared to be an elusive oasis in the dessert. I thirsted for it like water. I longed for a boy to see me and not the layers of flesh that hung from my skeleton. Of course, like so many that thirst for something that feels like it will never come I soon started to hate what I once desired. The idea of love felt outdated. It felt empty. I didn’t want it to play any role in my life. I wanted nothing to do with the business.
They say, “It’s better to have loved, then never to have loved at all.” What idiots. That was my perception. Love felt like an invitation for heartache. Growing up as a Fat Guy I was all too accustomed to heartache. So, at the age of sixteen I made a decision that I would have no part in it. I would not love. That was fine with me. Of course, really I was shielding myself from disappointment. After all if we expect nothing, then we are never let down.
However, my scorned adolescent logic was completely flawed. The song is, “You’re not somebody, ‘til somebody loves you.” I would argue that you’re nobody ‘til you love somebody. That somebody is you. The love I desired had nothing to do with the idea of somebody being there for me. It had everything to do with me loving myself. After all if I didn’t love myself, then who would love me? I realize this is a cliché central post, but alas it is my truth. As a teenager I didn’t love myself. I hated my body. I hated the way I looked. I hated the way I felt. I hated how others treated me. I hated being fat. I hated me. This hate caused me to treat myself poorly. I was in an abusive relationship with someone that did not love me; me.
The abuse I inflicted on myself was the unhealthy food I chose to eat. The layers of weight, inability to walk a mile without getting tired, and sweat that poured down as I climbed a flight of stairs were the bruises of my abuse. I didn’t love myself. I longed for love. I longed for something I had in my power to give all along. When I chose to live differently I was finally breaking the cycle of abuse in the most important relationship we’ll ever have; the one with ourselves. Being healthy is embracing love. Each day that I work out is like receiving a dozen roses from a lover. The healthy meals I prepare are like romantic dates. I now love myself. This journey has brought me love. Not just the love one would think. It wasn’t about a boy. It wasn’t about my friends. It wasn’t about my family. Although, I am grateful for the love and support from the people I truly care about and who care about me, the most important love I have experienced in the last eleven months is the love for me. I now love my body. I love how I feel. I love me.
She laughed. We spoke for several minutes as I told her about how I found love in the last eleven months. How ironic that during this journey of self-discovery; of evolution, I fell in love. As I stood their sipping on my iced latte, I thought of the love in my life. I thought of my amazing friends. I thought of my best friend Alicia, that was always cheerleading me. I thought of my family. I thought of my grandfather who always told me how beautiful I was. I thought of my boyfriend, Liam, who loved me before I started this journey and continues to do so. I started seeing Liam right before I went on this journey. He, like my friends and family, has given me nothing but support and love.
As I left Starbucks “You’re nobody ‘til somebody loves you” started playing. I paused. The lyrics triggered so many thoughts about love, growing up as a Fat Guy, and my journey during the last eleven months. Love. Relationships. They play such a pivotal role in all of our development. They shape us. They destroy us. We hunger for them. As a plus size adolescent love appeared to be an elusive oasis in the dessert. I thirsted for it like water. I longed for a boy to see me and not the layers of flesh that hung from my skeleton. Of course, like so many that thirst for something that feels like it will never come I soon started to hate what I once desired. The idea of love felt outdated. It felt empty. I didn’t want it to play any role in my life. I wanted nothing to do with the business.
They say, “It’s better to have loved, then never to have loved at all.” What idiots. That was my perception. Love felt like an invitation for heartache. Growing up as a Fat Guy I was all too accustomed to heartache. So, at the age of sixteen I made a decision that I would have no part in it. I would not love. That was fine with me. Of course, really I was shielding myself from disappointment. After all if we expect nothing, then we are never let down.
However, my scorned adolescent logic was completely flawed. The song is, “You’re not somebody, ‘til somebody loves you.” I would argue that you’re nobody ‘til you love somebody. That somebody is you. The love I desired had nothing to do with the idea of somebody being there for me. It had everything to do with me loving myself. After all if I didn’t love myself, then who would love me? I realize this is a cliché central post, but alas it is my truth. As a teenager I didn’t love myself. I hated my body. I hated the way I looked. I hated the way I felt. I hated how others treated me. I hated being fat. I hated me. This hate caused me to treat myself poorly. I was in an abusive relationship with someone that did not love me; me.
The abuse I inflicted on myself was the unhealthy food I chose to eat. The layers of weight, inability to walk a mile without getting tired, and sweat that poured down as I climbed a flight of stairs were the bruises of my abuse. I didn’t love myself. I longed for love. I longed for something I had in my power to give all along. When I chose to live differently I was finally breaking the cycle of abuse in the most important relationship we’ll ever have; the one with ourselves. Being healthy is embracing love. Each day that I work out is like receiving a dozen roses from a lover. The healthy meals I prepare are like romantic dates. I now love myself. This journey has brought me love. Not just the love one would think. It wasn’t about a boy. It wasn’t about my friends. It wasn’t about my family. Although, I am grateful for the love and support from the people I truly care about and who care about me, the most important love I have experienced in the last eleven months is the love for me. I now love my body. I love how I feel. I love me.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Lessons from a Fat Guy
Today my friend Meghan and I called to order a meeting of the Fat Guys Club. Our agenda; finishing the last of the chocolate peanut butter pie (in my defense it was low fat and low sugar) I made and brought in Tuesday for work. It was glorious. We laughed and enjoyed our mid-morning snack; pie. Meghan and I spend about 85 percent of our time in laughter. A majority of said laughter surrounds our discussion of our inner Fat Guys.
Our inner Fat Guys are like an old friend; completing our two-some into a four-some. They provide us with moments of guilt-free pleasure; almost decompartmentalizing our cravings. It’s as if we have Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), better known as Multiple Personality Disorder. Our inner Fat Guy sneaks out and finishes off the last of the work pie leaving us with no memory of it happening.
It feels easier, at times, to refer to my cravings or laziness being the work of someone else; my inner Fat Guy. Although, I can’t blame him for everything. After all I am that Fat Guy I speak of! It’s my hand that holds the fork shoveling in the piece of pie. It’s my eyes that grow large at the mere mention of chocolate. It’s my fingers pushing the TV remote buttons. It’s my butt resting comfortable on my cushy couch. I am that Fat Guy.
I am that Fat Guy, I speak of! I was thinking very deeply about myself as that Fat Guy after my Yoga workout today. I went for a quick twenty minute power walk to regroup and think more about my inner Fat Guy; me. As the sun warmed my bare shoulders (the joys of toning my body and losing 83lbs is how comfortable I feel in tank tops these days. Bring on the 90 degree weather! I am ready.) I thought about my Fat Guy. What have I learned from my Fat Guy? I do a lot of blaming of my Fat Guy, but does he provide me with insight on who I am? Did my years trapped in his skin teach me anything about the world I dance in?
Rather simply, “Yes.” Being that Fat Guy has made me who I am today; each lesson a different ray of sunshine causing my petals to grow towards the sky. Being Fat helped me be Melissa. Perhaps, the most important lesson I learned was to laugh at myself. Growing up heavy afforded me many an opportunity to learn not to take things so seriously. With the embarrassing moments and countless taunts from narrow-minded tubby-haters one has to learn to laugh. Laughter is the best medicine. Yes, it’s a defense mechanism, but it is also a great coping strategy.
For example, when I was in high school my over 200 pound frame jumped on my bed; it’s frame collapsing from the force of my weight thrusting on it. My friend Jenny from high school was sitting at the opposite end, her 130lb figure rose above me. I single-handedly (oh single-buttedly) turned my bed into a see-saw. The image of Jenny’s mouth dropping to the floor in shock of what just occurred was all I could see. I could have cried. I could have yelled. I could have jumped off my broke down bed, causing Jenny to fall to the floor, as I ran out in embarrassment. Instead I broke out into laughter saying, “Don’t tell anyone!” I owned the embarrassment. I embraced it. I laughed. For days later the memory of my bed breaking beneath my butt caused my lips to curve upwards. Let’s face it, it was funny. It was embarrassing, but funny. If I didn’t find the humor in what life brought me as a Fat Guy I would be a weepy Fat Guy. It wasn’t less tragic that a 16-year-old, weighing over 200lbs, broke her bed, but allowed me to cope with it all. It’s helped me learn to handle tough, unpleasant, or embarrassing situations better. It was like when kids picked on me in high school and called me “Bus with Windows.” It didn’t make it less painful, but if I allowed it to consume me then they won. By not learning to cope through laughter or whatever strategy saw me through, I allowed the negative comments or situations to hold power over me. If I had never learned this lesson and took control of how I dealt with these situations, even when losing the weight I would still be powerless. It would just be different situations and comments that would bring me down.
This was not my only lesson from being fat. I learned how to treat others through how they treated me. Being fat feels like an open invitation for judgment; that waitress that sneers when you order desert, the boy you like tell you if you only lost weight you’d be a great girlfriend, the classmate that picks you last in PE assuming you can’t cut the mustard, your grandmother telling you that you would be prettier if you lost weight…etc. We have countless examples of how others treat you, when you're fat. There treatment of me allowed me to evaluate how I wanted to be treated and how I should treat others. I hated when people told me I had a pretty face, but… I loathed the boys that judge me solely based on my waist-line. I wanted to shove that piece of pie in that waitresses face (if it didn’t taste so good, I may have). It’s the golden rule; treat others how you wish to be treated. I wanted dignity. I wanted people to see me; rather than the plump cheeks and rolling hills of my waist. As a result I try to treat people like that. I try. I am far from perfect and have made a fat joke or two at someone’s expense. It’s hard, when you grow up in a culture that completely condones hating fat. I don’t hate fat. That would mean I would hate myself. Isn’t that rather counterproductive? If being fat has taught me anything it’s to love myself. The love from others always felt conditional on my weight. I could never put those conditions on myself. So, being fat taught me to treat myself the way I wanted to be treated.
Today I convened my meeting of the Fat Guys Club and pay homage to my inner Fat Guy. My inner Fat Guy; myself. Today I remembered that he is me and has helped me grow into a Good Melissa. So, don’t look at being fat as a forgotten chapter in your life. Look for the lessons. Embrace it. Carry it with you, as I do each day with my inner Fat Guy on-board during my life journey.
Our inner Fat Guys are like an old friend; completing our two-some into a four-some. They provide us with moments of guilt-free pleasure; almost decompartmentalizing our cravings. It’s as if we have Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), better known as Multiple Personality Disorder. Our inner Fat Guy sneaks out and finishes off the last of the work pie leaving us with no memory of it happening.
It feels easier, at times, to refer to my cravings or laziness being the work of someone else; my inner Fat Guy. Although, I can’t blame him for everything. After all I am that Fat Guy I speak of! It’s my hand that holds the fork shoveling in the piece of pie. It’s my eyes that grow large at the mere mention of chocolate. It’s my fingers pushing the TV remote buttons. It’s my butt resting comfortable on my cushy couch. I am that Fat Guy.
I am that Fat Guy, I speak of! I was thinking very deeply about myself as that Fat Guy after my Yoga workout today. I went for a quick twenty minute power walk to regroup and think more about my inner Fat Guy; me. As the sun warmed my bare shoulders (the joys of toning my body and losing 83lbs is how comfortable I feel in tank tops these days. Bring on the 90 degree weather! I am ready.) I thought about my Fat Guy. What have I learned from my Fat Guy? I do a lot of blaming of my Fat Guy, but does he provide me with insight on who I am? Did my years trapped in his skin teach me anything about the world I dance in?
Rather simply, “Yes.” Being that Fat Guy has made me who I am today; each lesson a different ray of sunshine causing my petals to grow towards the sky. Being Fat helped me be Melissa. Perhaps, the most important lesson I learned was to laugh at myself. Growing up heavy afforded me many an opportunity to learn not to take things so seriously. With the embarrassing moments and countless taunts from narrow-minded tubby-haters one has to learn to laugh. Laughter is the best medicine. Yes, it’s a defense mechanism, but it is also a great coping strategy.
For example, when I was in high school my over 200 pound frame jumped on my bed; it’s frame collapsing from the force of my weight thrusting on it. My friend Jenny from high school was sitting at the opposite end, her 130lb figure rose above me. I single-handedly (oh single-buttedly) turned my bed into a see-saw. The image of Jenny’s mouth dropping to the floor in shock of what just occurred was all I could see. I could have cried. I could have yelled. I could have jumped off my broke down bed, causing Jenny to fall to the floor, as I ran out in embarrassment. Instead I broke out into laughter saying, “Don’t tell anyone!” I owned the embarrassment. I embraced it. I laughed. For days later the memory of my bed breaking beneath my butt caused my lips to curve upwards. Let’s face it, it was funny. It was embarrassing, but funny. If I didn’t find the humor in what life brought me as a Fat Guy I would be a weepy Fat Guy. It wasn’t less tragic that a 16-year-old, weighing over 200lbs, broke her bed, but allowed me to cope with it all. It’s helped me learn to handle tough, unpleasant, or embarrassing situations better. It was like when kids picked on me in high school and called me “Bus with Windows.” It didn’t make it less painful, but if I allowed it to consume me then they won. By not learning to cope through laughter or whatever strategy saw me through, I allowed the negative comments or situations to hold power over me. If I had never learned this lesson and took control of how I dealt with these situations, even when losing the weight I would still be powerless. It would just be different situations and comments that would bring me down.
This was not my only lesson from being fat. I learned how to treat others through how they treated me. Being fat feels like an open invitation for judgment; that waitress that sneers when you order desert, the boy you like tell you if you only lost weight you’d be a great girlfriend, the classmate that picks you last in PE assuming you can’t cut the mustard, your grandmother telling you that you would be prettier if you lost weight…etc. We have countless examples of how others treat you, when you're fat. There treatment of me allowed me to evaluate how I wanted to be treated and how I should treat others. I hated when people told me I had a pretty face, but… I loathed the boys that judge me solely based on my waist-line. I wanted to shove that piece of pie in that waitresses face (if it didn’t taste so good, I may have). It’s the golden rule; treat others how you wish to be treated. I wanted dignity. I wanted people to see me; rather than the plump cheeks and rolling hills of my waist. As a result I try to treat people like that. I try. I am far from perfect and have made a fat joke or two at someone’s expense. It’s hard, when you grow up in a culture that completely condones hating fat. I don’t hate fat. That would mean I would hate myself. Isn’t that rather counterproductive? If being fat has taught me anything it’s to love myself. The love from others always felt conditional on my weight. I could never put those conditions on myself. So, being fat taught me to treat myself the way I wanted to be treated.
Today I convened my meeting of the Fat Guys Club and pay homage to my inner Fat Guy. My inner Fat Guy; myself. Today I remembered that he is me and has helped me grow into a Good Melissa. So, don’t look at being fat as a forgotten chapter in your life. Look for the lessons. Embrace it. Carry it with you, as I do each day with my inner Fat Guy on-board during my life journey.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
"Does this make me look fat?" Compliments do not equal Motivation
I didn’t start my journey with anyone else in mind, except for me. Why is it then that others play such a pivotal role in this journey for me? Let’s face it I LOVE a good compliment. There isn’t anything that brightens my day more then someone saying, “You look amazing!” I get all giddy as I go to my Facebook page and see comments about how fantastic I look in newly uploaded pictures. There is an extra jump to my step after someone at work says, “Hey slim! Looking good.” It’s like a big cup of coffee, perking my spirits and resolve.
However, the opposite is true. During Christmas my mother and stepfather said, “You look great, but you might want to work on your arms.” I gasped as I gazed down at my arms. They wave like a flag; the flag of Fat Guy Land. I have long avoided sleeveless clothing or even short sleeves. My arms were covered at all times, not wanting the flag to fly. At Christmas I wore a short sleeve shirt, soon after the comment I covered my arms up feeling shameful. I focused lots of time and energy researching the best workouts to tone my arms so that they did slap back at me as I waved goodbye. Boy did I work my arms.
I have seen progress; my arms slowly (like syrup dripping out of a bottle) have started to shape into a small flag for fellow Fat Guy Land residents to salute. The moral of this story isn’t that I learned how to tone my arms. It’s that I was slipping into having this journey be influenced by others; rather than myself. I was living my life for the praise and criticism of others. Being told I looked wonderful at my mother’s wedding made me smile for days, while my father not noticing any of my change at Christmas made me frustrated. My stepdad once asked me, “Why is that so important to you?”
Why is it? I realize that growing up fat I was in my own twisted version of American’s Next Top Fat Model in which the world around me; friends, family, and others, were judging how I looked in person, on the runway (school, work, college…etc), and in photographs. My entire life had been steeped in the image cultivated by those around me. My perception of myself and my self-worth was intertwined in how others saw me.
This isn’t an earth shattering revelation. So many of us find ourselves living our journey; taking different twists in the road, based on our interaction with others. We are social creatures after all. I wouldn’t dare say that being aware of this doesn’t make me still gush when I am complimented or anguish when I am not. It will always be a part of me. However, realizing this allows me an opportunity to re-connect with my initial motivation; doing this for myself. It is about me. It is about my health. It is about how I feel. It is about how I see myself. By losing site of this I lose my true motivation. Of course, this doesn’t mean you can’t tell me how fantastic I look. After all everyone loves a little praise and flattery. It just means that I am reframing compliments as a bonus or a symptom of my overall journey. So, today as I sweated away the day in a 45 minute Yoga session I remember that this is about me.
However, the opposite is true. During Christmas my mother and stepfather said, “You look great, but you might want to work on your arms.” I gasped as I gazed down at my arms. They wave like a flag; the flag of Fat Guy Land. I have long avoided sleeveless clothing or even short sleeves. My arms were covered at all times, not wanting the flag to fly. At Christmas I wore a short sleeve shirt, soon after the comment I covered my arms up feeling shameful. I focused lots of time and energy researching the best workouts to tone my arms so that they did slap back at me as I waved goodbye. Boy did I work my arms.
I have seen progress; my arms slowly (like syrup dripping out of a bottle) have started to shape into a small flag for fellow Fat Guy Land residents to salute. The moral of this story isn’t that I learned how to tone my arms. It’s that I was slipping into having this journey be influenced by others; rather than myself. I was living my life for the praise and criticism of others. Being told I looked wonderful at my mother’s wedding made me smile for days, while my father not noticing any of my change at Christmas made me frustrated. My stepdad once asked me, “Why is that so important to you?”
Why is it? I realize that growing up fat I was in my own twisted version of American’s Next Top Fat Model in which the world around me; friends, family, and others, were judging how I looked in person, on the runway (school, work, college…etc), and in photographs. My entire life had been steeped in the image cultivated by those around me. My perception of myself and my self-worth was intertwined in how others saw me.
This isn’t an earth shattering revelation. So many of us find ourselves living our journey; taking different twists in the road, based on our interaction with others. We are social creatures after all. I wouldn’t dare say that being aware of this doesn’t make me still gush when I am complimented or anguish when I am not. It will always be a part of me. However, realizing this allows me an opportunity to re-connect with my initial motivation; doing this for myself. It is about me. It is about my health. It is about how I feel. It is about how I see myself. By losing site of this I lose my true motivation. Of course, this doesn’t mean you can’t tell me how fantastic I look. After all everyone loves a little praise and flattery. It just means that I am reframing compliments as a bonus or a symptom of my overall journey. So, today as I sweated away the day in a 45 minute Yoga session I remember that this is about me.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
"It's going to be a bumpy ride"
On any journey there is the inevitable bump in the road. It’s a bump. We may trip. We may fall. We may even skin our knee. It’s momentary. It’s not a sink hold sucking us down into the depths. There is no need to look at a bump as the end. However, we often do.
There are moments that this journey just seems so hard. There are the long plateau periods where change does not seem to take hold. There are the days that I gaze into the mirror and still see myself as 83lbs heavier, my puffy cheeks droop and chins expand as I smile. “Is that me?” I gasp. There are those days when my inner Fat Guy throws a tantrum that rivals Farucka Salt. “I want a cookie! I want a cookie now!” I can’t help but to indulge its childish temper in hopes of quieting it for a few more days. There are days that the sweat pours down, stinging my eyes, and my muscles ache as I work out and I can’t help but to collapse on the floor cursing Jillian Michaels and swearing I am done!
Those moments will come. Guess what? They’ll go away. They will come back again. They will go away. There become intervals of bumps on the road of this journey. We have to face these bumps. This road is not smooth. Road crews have not been dispensed by the Government of Healthyville to fill pot holes. Much like the jagged roads of Buffalo, NY (where I call home) this journey will be rough, so buckle up.
“It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” Bette Davis said in All about Eve. Well, I am echoing her sentiments on this journey. Although, my inner Fat Guy would much prefer to cease the journey. It’s easier to let the bumps stop us, to stop and make camp at the bumps. Let’s start a new settlement at the bump of “I ate a sleeve of Oreos.” The settlement will be easily built, but will it be fruitful? Will it last? No. Stopping on this journey should not be an option. We will be constant travelers working towards the dream of being healthy; never reaching our destination but having quite an enriching journey. The journey to health never ends.
So, when we reach those bumps on the road it is time to regroup. Learn from the bumps. How can we avoid them in the future? How can we avoid causing so much damage to ourselves the next time? Whatever we do, don’t let the bumps stop us. Our journey is far too important.
There are moments that this journey just seems so hard. There are the long plateau periods where change does not seem to take hold. There are the days that I gaze into the mirror and still see myself as 83lbs heavier, my puffy cheeks droop and chins expand as I smile. “Is that me?” I gasp. There are those days when my inner Fat Guy throws a tantrum that rivals Farucka Salt. “I want a cookie! I want a cookie now!” I can’t help but to indulge its childish temper in hopes of quieting it for a few more days. There are days that the sweat pours down, stinging my eyes, and my muscles ache as I work out and I can’t help but to collapse on the floor cursing Jillian Michaels and swearing I am done!
Those moments will come. Guess what? They’ll go away. They will come back again. They will go away. There become intervals of bumps on the road of this journey. We have to face these bumps. This road is not smooth. Road crews have not been dispensed by the Government of Healthyville to fill pot holes. Much like the jagged roads of Buffalo, NY (where I call home) this journey will be rough, so buckle up.
“It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” Bette Davis said in All about Eve. Well, I am echoing her sentiments on this journey. Although, my inner Fat Guy would much prefer to cease the journey. It’s easier to let the bumps stop us, to stop and make camp at the bumps. Let’s start a new settlement at the bump of “I ate a sleeve of Oreos.” The settlement will be easily built, but will it be fruitful? Will it last? No. Stopping on this journey should not be an option. We will be constant travelers working towards the dream of being healthy; never reaching our destination but having quite an enriching journey. The journey to health never ends.
So, when we reach those bumps on the road it is time to regroup. Learn from the bumps. How can we avoid them in the future? How can we avoid causing so much damage to ourselves the next time? Whatever we do, don’t let the bumps stop us. Our journey is far too important.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
An Ode to Cocolate: Everything in Moderation
I love chocolate. Let me restate that; I LOVE chocolate. Nothing compares to the feeling that washes over your body as your take that first bite. The waves of that sweet milky taste engulf your taste buds. I often compare most good things to the first time I tasted chocolate. It is, perhaps, the greatest of all treats.
What is this love affair we women have with chocolate? I don’t wish to generalize here, but I have very few female friends that don’t go weak kneed at the mere mention of Godiva. Chocolate has this mythical power over me. It’s pretty much the love of my life. Chocolate and my story will, no doubt, be made into a Lifetime television movie. It would not be one of those two hour trash-tastic Lifetime movies, but one of those sweeping four hour epics with Susan Lucci or one of those TV icons playing me. Chocolate will be that smoldering bad boy that I fall madly in love with, who will only bring me misery in the end. Like some many misguided lovers I will keep going back.
That is Chocolate and my story. I wish to change the ending of our romance and break the power it holds over me. Can I do it? How will I do it? Like so many I have my downfalls, that one food so hard to give up. When I first started this journey I was all about the giving up; chocolate, red meat, fried foods, soda…etc. I felt I had to give up everything for this journey. Two months into my journey I rekindled my romance with chocolate in a brief afternoon delight; a piece of my birthday cake. I vowed that if I lost twenty pounds by November 5th, my 28th birthday, I would indulge in a piece of chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting (yummers!). I lost 21 pounds by my birthday; clinching one more tryst with my old love.
There, in the work conference room in the midst of coworkers celebrating another year of Melissa, my passion for chocolate was re-awakened. For days after I longed for the sweet satisfaction of just one more night with chocolate. It was a battle I continued to fight. As the weeks passed I thought, “Why am I torturing myself?” I thought of my previous attempts to “lose weight” and how it was always about giving something up. I was giving up the joys of life. Was a long healthy life worth not tasting chocolate again?
There was the problem. That rationale of extremes to reach my goal of living healthy. I didn’t have to give up chocolate. This journey shouldn’t be about giving something up, but gaining something. To live my life healthy, I needed to incorporate the good and the “not-so-good” into my life. Moderation, not exclusion, would now be a part of my vocabulary. Chocolate is okay, in moderation. Moderation would be the key to my success on this journey. I would be able to have a piece of chocolate every now and then. Of course, I would watch serving sizes and how often I was engaging in treats each week; moderation. By learning how to control my diet, not simply deny myself, I would live a more balanced and healthy life.
While moderation was key, I also learned how to enjoy the sweets that were once my downfall in a different way. I embraced low fat frozen yogurt, sugar free ice cream, sugar free chocolate, and reduced fat treats. I learned how to bake in a healthier way. For example, I am making a homemade Chocolate Peanut Butter (double yummers) pie for work on Tuesday. However, I am tweaking the recipe by using splenda, reduce fat/natural peanut butter, lite whip cream, and reduced fat cream cheese. Of course, learning how to bake foods healthier doesn’t mean I’ll be eating a piece of pie each day this week. I still practice moderation, but feel better about the choices I am making.
As well, there are also substitutes for our cravings. I enjoy treats like a bowl of Chocolate Cheerios (if you LOVE chocolate these are, perhaps, the BEST weapon in squashing those midnight sweet cravings) in the evening. There is always Chocolate Soy Milk in my fridge to down a quick glass, when craving a little chocolate satisfaction. Sometimes I melt some sugar free dark chocolate and dip strawberries or raspberries. Healthier treats that quiet my inner Fat Guys lust for chocolate.
I have learned to work with my cravings. While Chocolate still remains the love of my life (my poor boyfriend probably fears finds me curled up with a Hersey Bar in bed), I recognize that a diet steady in it will lead me to some not-so-pleasant consequences like diabetes and lots of expensive dental work. So, I chose moderation. Everything has its place. It’s okay to have a small piece of that birthday cake at work. Serving sizes, moderation, and foods that play the role of substitutes can help you with a rich life without having to give up anything on this journey.
What is this love affair we women have with chocolate? I don’t wish to generalize here, but I have very few female friends that don’t go weak kneed at the mere mention of Godiva. Chocolate has this mythical power over me. It’s pretty much the love of my life. Chocolate and my story will, no doubt, be made into a Lifetime television movie. It would not be one of those two hour trash-tastic Lifetime movies, but one of those sweeping four hour epics with Susan Lucci or one of those TV icons playing me. Chocolate will be that smoldering bad boy that I fall madly in love with, who will only bring me misery in the end. Like some many misguided lovers I will keep going back.
That is Chocolate and my story. I wish to change the ending of our romance and break the power it holds over me. Can I do it? How will I do it? Like so many I have my downfalls, that one food so hard to give up. When I first started this journey I was all about the giving up; chocolate, red meat, fried foods, soda…etc. I felt I had to give up everything for this journey. Two months into my journey I rekindled my romance with chocolate in a brief afternoon delight; a piece of my birthday cake. I vowed that if I lost twenty pounds by November 5th, my 28th birthday, I would indulge in a piece of chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting (yummers!). I lost 21 pounds by my birthday; clinching one more tryst with my old love.
There, in the work conference room in the midst of coworkers celebrating another year of Melissa, my passion for chocolate was re-awakened. For days after I longed for the sweet satisfaction of just one more night with chocolate. It was a battle I continued to fight. As the weeks passed I thought, “Why am I torturing myself?” I thought of my previous attempts to “lose weight” and how it was always about giving something up. I was giving up the joys of life. Was a long healthy life worth not tasting chocolate again?
There was the problem. That rationale of extremes to reach my goal of living healthy. I didn’t have to give up chocolate. This journey shouldn’t be about giving something up, but gaining something. To live my life healthy, I needed to incorporate the good and the “not-so-good” into my life. Moderation, not exclusion, would now be a part of my vocabulary. Chocolate is okay, in moderation. Moderation would be the key to my success on this journey. I would be able to have a piece of chocolate every now and then. Of course, I would watch serving sizes and how often I was engaging in treats each week; moderation. By learning how to control my diet, not simply deny myself, I would live a more balanced and healthy life.
While moderation was key, I also learned how to enjoy the sweets that were once my downfall in a different way. I embraced low fat frozen yogurt, sugar free ice cream, sugar free chocolate, and reduced fat treats. I learned how to bake in a healthier way. For example, I am making a homemade Chocolate Peanut Butter (double yummers) pie for work on Tuesday. However, I am tweaking the recipe by using splenda, reduce fat/natural peanut butter, lite whip cream, and reduced fat cream cheese. Of course, learning how to bake foods healthier doesn’t mean I’ll be eating a piece of pie each day this week. I still practice moderation, but feel better about the choices I am making.
(A piece of Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie)
As well, there are also substitutes for our cravings. I enjoy treats like a bowl of Chocolate Cheerios (if you LOVE chocolate these are, perhaps, the BEST weapon in squashing those midnight sweet cravings) in the evening. There is always Chocolate Soy Milk in my fridge to down a quick glass, when craving a little chocolate satisfaction. Sometimes I melt some sugar free dark chocolate and dip strawberries or raspberries. Healthier treats that quiet my inner Fat Guys lust for chocolate.
I have learned to work with my cravings. While Chocolate still remains the love of my life (my poor boyfriend probably fears finds me curled up with a Hersey Bar in bed), I recognize that a diet steady in it will lead me to some not-so-pleasant consequences like diabetes and lots of expensive dental work. So, I chose moderation. Everything has its place. It’s okay to have a small piece of that birthday cake at work. Serving sizes, moderation, and foods that play the role of substitutes can help you with a rich life without having to give up anything on this journey.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Go me!: Measuring Success
How do we measure success in our battle with the bulge? Many of us place so much importance on THAT scale. It looms in our bathroom, staring us down as we step out of the shower each morning. We see its spiteful glare sneaking up behind us as we brush our teeth in the mirror. The doom and gloom music underwrites the scene as we inch closer to it. Our feet step gently, as if we are somehow tricking it into measuring a smaller amount than we actually are. Our eyes are clamped shut as the numbers spin. We inhale loudly and look down. The numbers spell out “failure” or “success.”
Is this really a fair way to measure the distance we have traveled on this journey? Should the pounds be our road marks? I would argue, “No.” This, of course, took me a long time to embrace. Each time I tried to lose weight I measured my success by the scale. If I lost no weight, I failed. If I gained, I failed. If I lost only a pound, I failed. My skewed perception of success was causing me to overlook the small victories and, therefore, ultimately fail. Like so many I would simply give up saying, “I can’t do it. I’ll never be thin.”
There were multiple issues with my rationale of success. First, I needed to reframe why I was on this journey. If it was only about losing pounds and not improving my health, it would take a long time to reach any level of satisfaction in my journey. I would become discouraged and frustrated; in fact that was my pattern from previous attempts. Rather than focusing on losing weight as my goal I made it a symptom of my ultimate goal; being healthy. By focusing on the larger goal at hand I could measure my success differently allowing for the process to encourage rather than frustrate.
With my new goal of being healthy, not losing weight, I was able to map my journey by different landmarks. I was able to celebrate the small victories; each a new adventure on this journey. This morning I was engaging in a cardio and strength/resistance training workout. I completed the entire 45 minutes without stopping. I was able to do five regular badass military style push-ups before dropping to my knees, reverting back to the old school beginner style. Sweat pouring down I couldn’t help, but give myself a big pat on the back (in fact if I could gave myself a high-five I so would have)! I was a rock star this morning and owned it!
By reframing how I look at success I am encouraging my journey. The stops on the road allow me to have a more rich experience. I am adventurer! Here are some of the landmarks that I have celebrated in the last eleven months of my journey:
1. Getting into Warrior Three (Google it and you’ll be totally impressed) position for a total of ten seconds before falling out during a Yoga routine.
2. Buying clothes at the Gap, Old Navy, NY and Company, and other non-Plus Size chains. For a girl that only had the options of Plus Size Stores like Lane Bryant it’s fun to be able to buy jeans in any store a the mall. Well, almost any store. There are still those that are a little too tight to fit around these baby making hips (everyone tells me I have great birthing hips, which makes me feel like a piece of livestock. I suppose that’s why I channel my bovine brothers so much).
3. Running for ten straight minutes on the treadmill without stopping! I did this in Dallas at a fitness center in the hotel I was in for a conference. I was in such a giddy mood that I screamed “I rock!” causing my sweaty fitness center comrades to gaze at the crazy woman doing a happy dance as she bounced off the treadmill (I need to remember to contain my excitement in public).
4. Learning to cook a healthy homemade baked macaroni and cheese for my boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. It was delicious and taught me that I can make even the most comforting of unhealthy goodness into a mouth-watering healthy helping of yumminess.
5. Having a friend from high school walk up to me during my high school reunion in June and say, “Everyone else got fat and you got smaller! Way to go!” It was a crude drunken compliment, but nonetheless a tiny victory for the girl that was called “bus with windows” in high school.
6. Walking up to the 5th floor from my first floor office without breaking a sweat or gasping for air.
7. Smiling as I look in the mirror each morning, knowing I am doing something for myself. As a social work I spend my days working for others. Much of my life has been about others. I think as women we are raised to be caregivers, it’s how we’re socialized. I celebrate this truly selfish and wonderful thing I am doing strictly for myself. This is all about me and nobody else. Spending each day doing something truly pampering that will allow me to live a long enriched life is a victory that should not be ignored.
Celebrate those tiny victories. Reframe how you measure success. Don’t be a slave to the scale. Make it a part of the process, but not he sole judge. It’s Simon, but make sure you through in a little of Randy, Cara, Paula, and Ellen (whoever is judging that show these days)! Most of all make sure to find one victory each day. The seemingly mundane can guide your journey for a long time. Today I did five regular badass military style push-ups. Go me!
Is this really a fair way to measure the distance we have traveled on this journey? Should the pounds be our road marks? I would argue, “No.” This, of course, took me a long time to embrace. Each time I tried to lose weight I measured my success by the scale. If I lost no weight, I failed. If I gained, I failed. If I lost only a pound, I failed. My skewed perception of success was causing me to overlook the small victories and, therefore, ultimately fail. Like so many I would simply give up saying, “I can’t do it. I’ll never be thin.”
There were multiple issues with my rationale of success. First, I needed to reframe why I was on this journey. If it was only about losing pounds and not improving my health, it would take a long time to reach any level of satisfaction in my journey. I would become discouraged and frustrated; in fact that was my pattern from previous attempts. Rather than focusing on losing weight as my goal I made it a symptom of my ultimate goal; being healthy. By focusing on the larger goal at hand I could measure my success differently allowing for the process to encourage rather than frustrate.
With my new goal of being healthy, not losing weight, I was able to map my journey by different landmarks. I was able to celebrate the small victories; each a new adventure on this journey. This morning I was engaging in a cardio and strength/resistance training workout. I completed the entire 45 minutes without stopping. I was able to do five regular badass military style push-ups before dropping to my knees, reverting back to the old school beginner style. Sweat pouring down I couldn’t help, but give myself a big pat on the back (in fact if I could gave myself a high-five I so would have)! I was a rock star this morning and owned it!
By reframing how I look at success I am encouraging my journey. The stops on the road allow me to have a more rich experience. I am adventurer! Here are some of the landmarks that I have celebrated in the last eleven months of my journey:
1. Getting into Warrior Three (Google it and you’ll be totally impressed) position for a total of ten seconds before falling out during a Yoga routine.
2. Buying clothes at the Gap, Old Navy, NY and Company, and other non-Plus Size chains. For a girl that only had the options of Plus Size Stores like Lane Bryant it’s fun to be able to buy jeans in any store a the mall. Well, almost any store. There are still those that are a little too tight to fit around these baby making hips (everyone tells me I have great birthing hips, which makes me feel like a piece of livestock. I suppose that’s why I channel my bovine brothers so much).
3. Running for ten straight minutes on the treadmill without stopping! I did this in Dallas at a fitness center in the hotel I was in for a conference. I was in such a giddy mood that I screamed “I rock!” causing my sweaty fitness center comrades to gaze at the crazy woman doing a happy dance as she bounced off the treadmill (I need to remember to contain my excitement in public).
4. Learning to cook a healthy homemade baked macaroni and cheese for my boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. It was delicious and taught me that I can make even the most comforting of unhealthy goodness into a mouth-watering healthy helping of yumminess.
5. Having a friend from high school walk up to me during my high school reunion in June and say, “Everyone else got fat and you got smaller! Way to go!” It was a crude drunken compliment, but nonetheless a tiny victory for the girl that was called “bus with windows” in high school.
6. Walking up to the 5th floor from my first floor office without breaking a sweat or gasping for air.
7. Smiling as I look in the mirror each morning, knowing I am doing something for myself. As a social work I spend my days working for others. Much of my life has been about others. I think as women we are raised to be caregivers, it’s how we’re socialized. I celebrate this truly selfish and wonderful thing I am doing strictly for myself. This is all about me and nobody else. Spending each day doing something truly pampering that will allow me to live a long enriched life is a victory that should not be ignored.
Celebrate those tiny victories. Reframe how you measure success. Don’t be a slave to the scale. Make it a part of the process, but not he sole judge. It’s Simon, but make sure you through in a little of Randy, Cara, Paula, and Ellen (whoever is judging that show these days)! Most of all make sure to find one victory each day. The seemingly mundane can guide your journey for a long time. Today I did five regular badass military style push-ups. Go me!
Yay Me: being my OWN cheerleader.
Friday, August 6, 2010
September 19th, 2009: RIP Fat Guy Melissa
On September 19th I changed my life; on, perhaps, one of the most mundane dates. There was nothing life altering or significant about September 19th until I choose it to be the last day of my old life. It was a sunny September Saturday (ooohh alteration!). My grandfather and mom came to visit. We went to lunch at Fuddruckers. There my Fat Guy indulged in a juicy 1/4lbs burger with melted cheddar cheese, steak fries dipped in ketchup, and two large glasses of Dr. Pepper (my favorite soda).
In Fuddruckers I ate my last meal as the Fat Guy Melissa. That day I spent telling my papa and mom my plan. They smiled and wished me all the best. They helped me prepare for my journey; buying healthy groceries and some work out DVDs. With a few last words of encouragement they dropped me off at my apartment; driving away and leaving me to start my journey.
It’s funny to look back; almost eleven months ago. My life started a new as the sun slowly dipped into the horizon. The next morning, September 20th, I awoke to a new world; a new life. That life included a lot of changes. People often ask me, “What’s your secret?” I wish I had a secret weapon in battling the bulge. If I did I could walk into the Department of Education and hand them a big back of cash to repay my student loans. The only secret to my success over the last eleven months is that I am doing everything we all already know to do. We have the secret already. The problem is embracing that secret and doing what we know we must do to be healthy. To honor those that have asked here is what I have been doing:
Cooking Health: We all know what we should be eating. Talk to your doctor or a dietician. Whole grains, fruits, veggies, lean proteins (fish, chicken, turkey, beans, and nuts) make up some of the foods we should incorporate into our diet. Of course, it’s not just what we eat but how we prepare our foods. I have made an art out of taking my favorite foods and making them healthy. Like tacos. Nothing better than some yummy tacos! They are fun, yummy, and simple. Making healthy tacos is too. I use low sodium fresh ground turkey with low sodium taco seasoning. I add fresh veggies and low fat cheese on top of a whole grain taco (hard or soft) and BAM you have healthy tacos. Eating healthy does not mean losing your favorite foods, just preparing them in a different way! I promise to share some of my healthy recipes in future posts!
Replacing Snacks: So long to junk food. Sigh. My inner Fat Guy still weeps at the sight of me packing up all my unhealthy snacks and sending them to a new home. I sometimes picture my inner Fat Guy chasing a car as a can of BBQ Pringles looks from the back seat, the trademark smile turned downward as my inner Fat Guy huffs down the street in agony at the lost of his true love; junk food. How would my inner Fat Guy survive this torture? Would he rebel sneaking away to the grocery store in the darkness of night for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s? I did and do worry about this. Of course, every now and then my inner Fat Guy does sneak off (not going to pretend I am not tempted). I try to replace those sinfully seductive snacks with healthy versions that still elicit the same response, “Yummy…..” For example, Chocolate Cheerios. I love Chocolate. No, I LOVE CHOCOLATE. It is, perhaps, the greatest taste one can have in their mouth. However, too much is NOT good. All in moderation. To suffice my desire for something sweet I have a bowl of Chocolate Cheerios as a snack. It works. It really works. I trick my inner Fat Guy in thinking he’s getting what he desires, but really I am feeding him something healthy. I do the same when he graves something crunchy; carrots, whole grain reduced fat crackers, grapes…etc.
Reading Food Labels: It’s important to know what you are consuming. Just because the label says weight watchers or low fat, doesn’t mean it’s healthy. I spend at least an extra twenty minutes in the grocery store now due to reading labels. Seemingly annoying and a time suck, but the best decision I have made. Those extra twenty minutes reading labels will, hopefully, help me save the hours spent waiting in a doctor’s office or money spent on medications to manage obese related illnesses.
Moderation: Everything in moderation. I can let my inner Fat Guy out every now and then to play with some of his old friends; a slice of pizza or a half a piece of birthday cake. No matter what food I am consuming, healthy or not-so-healthy, I am aware of serving sizes. I am aware that having an entire box of reduced fat whole grain crackers might be worse then eating three French fries. I measure out food. As I pack my lunch for work I am counting each cracker, piece of fruit, veggie, rolled up lunch meat…etc.
Plan Meals: To the annoyance of friends and family I am a planner. This works well for my life change. To stay healthy, one has to plan. I plan my meals. My food intake for the day is planned out. By planning ahead I avoid acts of desperation like grabbing a slice of pizza from the cafeteria at work or ordering Chinese after work. My snacks and lunch are packed in my work bag to avoid moments like those. I come home to food to be cooked for dinner already out or in the fridge. Sometimes I go as far as to get out what I’ll need to cook the food (pots, pans, cutting board…etc) already sitting on the counter. What a motivator to see my plan staring me down as I walk into the kitchen. No choice, but to face the plan and carry through.
Grazing throughout the day: It’s funny, because my brother called me Moo-lissa growing up. However, I am evoking the spirit of the cow in my life change. I am grazing all day. It keeps my metabolism running high and wards off hunger. When you are hungry you go for what’s quick and satisfying; like the contents of the vending machine down the hall from my office. To avoid this I keep a stash of healthy snacks like fruits, nuts, yogurt, rolled up lean lunch meat, granola…etc as my weapon of choice. My meals are broken up and stretched out through the day much like my bovine brothers.
Drinking A Lot of Cold Water: Our bodies want to maintain homeostasis (oh no, 10th grade Biology rears its ugly head!). When we consume cold water it lowers our body temperature. Reacting to the temperature change our body burn calories to heat the body back to the desire temp. Yep, simply by drinking cold water you are burning calories. Who knew? I now consume lots and lots of cold water throughout the day. Be green, though. Invest in a water bottle and a Brita filter. It’s better for the environment and saves you money on buying bottled water; thrifty and green! I am saving green, by being green (whoa, that might be the nerdiest statement I have said in the last 24-hours).
Only drinking water with my meals: Zero calories. Enough said.
Exercise: Run, walk, swim, jump, dance…etc. Whatever works for you! Find an exercise you like and stick with it. I exercise four to five times a week. Cardio and strength training are key. They help you burn fat and build lean muscles. Although, you’re not going to stick with it unless you find something fun. Enough exercise. Find things that are enjoyable. Join a dance class. Power walk with friends. Take water aerobics. Whatever allows you to enjoy exercising. For me, it was the practice of Yoga. I found such peace in the practice. Play around. Try different exercises. Also, motivate yourself. I yell back at the instructor on the DVD and tell them, “I hate you and I am going to finish!” Probably, has my neighbors wondering about my sanity, but it works for me! Work out at home, at the gym, with friends, or alone. Just exercise. It’s so important for your mind, body, and soul.
Kicking Soda to the curb: I was an addict. I have banned it from my life. For a while I thought I was going to have to go to support group meetings or soda rehab. I have been soda-free for eleven months. A struggle each day. Back in May I was at a baseball game and the vendor kept screaming, “Ice Cold Pepsi!” He stood in front of me, soda in soda. The condensation dripped down the bottle to his fingers. My eyes grew large. “Its only one. It’s only five dollars,” my inner Fat Guy said. I waged a battle that day and continue to do so.
Supportive Friends and Family: No body changes alone. Support cannot be underestimated. This is a lifelong journey. Involved those around you. They will provide you with the support, encouragement, and guidance to stay on your journey. I am very lucky. I have wonderful friends and family that have held me up during my journey. Friends that I can e-mail, call, or text when I am having a Fat Guy moment. Family that allowed me to change our Thanksgiving traditions and make a healthy meal in solidarity of our journey.
Accountability: Tell everyone! Don’t be a secret life changer. Share your story and journey. This will help keep you on track. If we tell nobody, then nobody will hold us accountable. Of course, we want to hold ourselves accountable and should; however, we are often motivated by others. We’re social creatures. Use that! Nothing motivates us more than saving face. Surround yourself with people that will hold you accountable and help you maintain the changes you make.
These are not earth shattering revelations; however, they are effective. They have helped me lose 83lbs over the last eleven months. It seems like a simple list. It is and it isn’t. Nothing about making change is easy. If it was then there would be no need for those hundreds of TV Shows, Articles, or Books dedicated to this subject. This is what worked for me; kicking it old school! No gimmicks here.
In Fuddruckers I ate my last meal as the Fat Guy Melissa. That day I spent telling my papa and mom my plan. They smiled and wished me all the best. They helped me prepare for my journey; buying healthy groceries and some work out DVDs. With a few last words of encouragement they dropped me off at my apartment; driving away and leaving me to start my journey.
It’s funny to look back; almost eleven months ago. My life started a new as the sun slowly dipped into the horizon. The next morning, September 20th, I awoke to a new world; a new life. That life included a lot of changes. People often ask me, “What’s your secret?” I wish I had a secret weapon in battling the bulge. If I did I could walk into the Department of Education and hand them a big back of cash to repay my student loans. The only secret to my success over the last eleven months is that I am doing everything we all already know to do. We have the secret already. The problem is embracing that secret and doing what we know we must do to be healthy. To honor those that have asked here is what I have been doing:
Cooking Health: We all know what we should be eating. Talk to your doctor or a dietician. Whole grains, fruits, veggies, lean proteins (fish, chicken, turkey, beans, and nuts) make up some of the foods we should incorporate into our diet. Of course, it’s not just what we eat but how we prepare our foods. I have made an art out of taking my favorite foods and making them healthy. Like tacos. Nothing better than some yummy tacos! They are fun, yummy, and simple. Making healthy tacos is too. I use low sodium fresh ground turkey with low sodium taco seasoning. I add fresh veggies and low fat cheese on top of a whole grain taco (hard or soft) and BAM you have healthy tacos. Eating healthy does not mean losing your favorite foods, just preparing them in a different way! I promise to share some of my healthy recipes in future posts!
Replacing Snacks: So long to junk food. Sigh. My inner Fat Guy still weeps at the sight of me packing up all my unhealthy snacks and sending them to a new home. I sometimes picture my inner Fat Guy chasing a car as a can of BBQ Pringles looks from the back seat, the trademark smile turned downward as my inner Fat Guy huffs down the street in agony at the lost of his true love; junk food. How would my inner Fat Guy survive this torture? Would he rebel sneaking away to the grocery store in the darkness of night for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s? I did and do worry about this. Of course, every now and then my inner Fat Guy does sneak off (not going to pretend I am not tempted). I try to replace those sinfully seductive snacks with healthy versions that still elicit the same response, “Yummy…..” For example, Chocolate Cheerios. I love Chocolate. No, I LOVE CHOCOLATE. It is, perhaps, the greatest taste one can have in their mouth. However, too much is NOT good. All in moderation. To suffice my desire for something sweet I have a bowl of Chocolate Cheerios as a snack. It works. It really works. I trick my inner Fat Guy in thinking he’s getting what he desires, but really I am feeding him something healthy. I do the same when he graves something crunchy; carrots, whole grain reduced fat crackers, grapes…etc.
Reading Food Labels: It’s important to know what you are consuming. Just because the label says weight watchers or low fat, doesn’t mean it’s healthy. I spend at least an extra twenty minutes in the grocery store now due to reading labels. Seemingly annoying and a time suck, but the best decision I have made. Those extra twenty minutes reading labels will, hopefully, help me save the hours spent waiting in a doctor’s office or money spent on medications to manage obese related illnesses.
Moderation: Everything in moderation. I can let my inner Fat Guy out every now and then to play with some of his old friends; a slice of pizza or a half a piece of birthday cake. No matter what food I am consuming, healthy or not-so-healthy, I am aware of serving sizes. I am aware that having an entire box of reduced fat whole grain crackers might be worse then eating three French fries. I measure out food. As I pack my lunch for work I am counting each cracker, piece of fruit, veggie, rolled up lunch meat…etc.
Plan Meals: To the annoyance of friends and family I am a planner. This works well for my life change. To stay healthy, one has to plan. I plan my meals. My food intake for the day is planned out. By planning ahead I avoid acts of desperation like grabbing a slice of pizza from the cafeteria at work or ordering Chinese after work. My snacks and lunch are packed in my work bag to avoid moments like those. I come home to food to be cooked for dinner already out or in the fridge. Sometimes I go as far as to get out what I’ll need to cook the food (pots, pans, cutting board…etc) already sitting on the counter. What a motivator to see my plan staring me down as I walk into the kitchen. No choice, but to face the plan and carry through.
Grazing throughout the day: It’s funny, because my brother called me Moo-lissa growing up. However, I am evoking the spirit of the cow in my life change. I am grazing all day. It keeps my metabolism running high and wards off hunger. When you are hungry you go for what’s quick and satisfying; like the contents of the vending machine down the hall from my office. To avoid this I keep a stash of healthy snacks like fruits, nuts, yogurt, rolled up lean lunch meat, granola…etc as my weapon of choice. My meals are broken up and stretched out through the day much like my bovine brothers.
Drinking A Lot of Cold Water: Our bodies want to maintain homeostasis (oh no, 10th grade Biology rears its ugly head!). When we consume cold water it lowers our body temperature. Reacting to the temperature change our body burn calories to heat the body back to the desire temp. Yep, simply by drinking cold water you are burning calories. Who knew? I now consume lots and lots of cold water throughout the day. Be green, though. Invest in a water bottle and a Brita filter. It’s better for the environment and saves you money on buying bottled water; thrifty and green! I am saving green, by being green (whoa, that might be the nerdiest statement I have said in the last 24-hours).
Only drinking water with my meals: Zero calories. Enough said.
Exercise: Run, walk, swim, jump, dance…etc. Whatever works for you! Find an exercise you like and stick with it. I exercise four to five times a week. Cardio and strength training are key. They help you burn fat and build lean muscles. Although, you’re not going to stick with it unless you find something fun. Enough exercise. Find things that are enjoyable. Join a dance class. Power walk with friends. Take water aerobics. Whatever allows you to enjoy exercising. For me, it was the practice of Yoga. I found such peace in the practice. Play around. Try different exercises. Also, motivate yourself. I yell back at the instructor on the DVD and tell them, “I hate you and I am going to finish!” Probably, has my neighbors wondering about my sanity, but it works for me! Work out at home, at the gym, with friends, or alone. Just exercise. It’s so important for your mind, body, and soul.
Kicking Soda to the curb: I was an addict. I have banned it from my life. For a while I thought I was going to have to go to support group meetings or soda rehab. I have been soda-free for eleven months. A struggle each day. Back in May I was at a baseball game and the vendor kept screaming, “Ice Cold Pepsi!” He stood in front of me, soda in soda. The condensation dripped down the bottle to his fingers. My eyes grew large. “Its only one. It’s only five dollars,” my inner Fat Guy said. I waged a battle that day and continue to do so.
Supportive Friends and Family: No body changes alone. Support cannot be underestimated. This is a lifelong journey. Involved those around you. They will provide you with the support, encouragement, and guidance to stay on your journey. I am very lucky. I have wonderful friends and family that have held me up during my journey. Friends that I can e-mail, call, or text when I am having a Fat Guy moment. Family that allowed me to change our Thanksgiving traditions and make a healthy meal in solidarity of our journey.
Accountability: Tell everyone! Don’t be a secret life changer. Share your story and journey. This will help keep you on track. If we tell nobody, then nobody will hold us accountable. Of course, we want to hold ourselves accountable and should; however, we are often motivated by others. We’re social creatures. Use that! Nothing motivates us more than saving face. Surround yourself with people that will hold you accountable and help you maintain the changes you make.
These are not earth shattering revelations; however, they are effective. They have helped me lose 83lbs over the last eleven months. It seems like a simple list. It is and it isn’t. Nothing about making change is easy. If it was then there would be no need for those hundreds of TV Shows, Articles, or Books dedicated to this subject. This is what worked for me; kicking it old school! No gimmicks here.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A Good Melissa
Twenty-seven-years old and 290lbs; what made me do it? What finally made me commit to being healthy. It started with a baby. Not mine! My nephew. In July 2009 my sister-in-law gave birth to my nephew Finn.
I remember walking into that giant hospital room. He was tiny, soft, and pink. He lay quietly in my arms swaddled in a blaket, those little eyes shut ever so tight not ready to see the world before him. I counted each finger; each toe. I inhaled the newness of his smell. He was perfect. My pudgy arms carried his weightless body through the room, slowly sitting in a chair. As I gazed at him images of chasing him around the yard, splashing with him in the pool, reading books with him…all that being an aunt meant danced in my head. I wanted to be there for him. I wanted to be the best Aunt Melissa I could be. That meant I needed to be there. I needed to be there.
As we drove away from the hospital I sat quietly in the backseat. My grandfather; diabetic, on dialysis, and oxygen 24/7, sat in the front talking about how great it would be to live to see Finn’s first birthday (happy to report he has). Suddenly, the idea of death entered my brain. My grandfather was a member of the Fat Guys Club; in my eyes he was president. His southern cooking of biscuit and gravy (“yummy,” says my inner Fat Guy) fueled my breakfast meals for my entire life. At seventy-seven-years-old he stood as a cautionary tale for me; a life of living unhealthy. He was alive; medication, insulin, dialysis for four hours a day three days a week, oxygen, and strict diet kept him that way. Is that how I wanted to be there for my nephew? It would kind of hard to chase him around the yard hooked to an oxygen tank. I love my grandfather. I am happy he’s here. I wish, though, he was healthier (as I am sure he does).
If I was going to be a Good Aunt Melissa, I must first be a Good Melissa. A Good Melissa was a Healthy Melissa. During the rest of that summer I thought about that. I thought about what I needed to do and what it would take to be a Good Melissa; a Melissa healthy, happy, and embracing the potential life ahead of her. It was time to make a choice and stick by that choice.
Like so many I have tried to lose the weight. I would work out, but not change diet. I would change diet for a month. I would do both and get frustrated that the weight wasn’t coming off as quickly as I wanted it to. I would tell everyone I was doing it, but sneak cookies into my room or drink soda when nobody was looking. These were all the traps I fell into, when “trying” to lose weight.
How did I do it this time? How did I finally resolve to do it? I had motivation, but that wasn’t it alone. I had always been motivated to lose weight. That was the problem. It was always about losing something, not gaining something. To finally change I needed to change the way I looked at change. It’s not a diet. It’s not weight loss. It’s my life. It was about embracing a new way of living. By focusing on living, not losing, I would finally commit and win! It was about gaining the strength, knowledge, and ability to transform into a Good Melissa.
I believe if we focus on losing, then we will lose. It needs to be about transformation; about evolving into a healthier you. By doing this it will all fall into place. I never say, “I am on a diet,” because diets end. When diets end, those habits and their nasty cottage-cheese thigh consequences return. So, my goal is to change my life. It’s the only way I’ll save it. I am not on a diet. I am simply living my life to be a Good Melissa.
I remember walking into that giant hospital room. He was tiny, soft, and pink. He lay quietly in my arms swaddled in a blaket, those little eyes shut ever so tight not ready to see the world before him. I counted each finger; each toe. I inhaled the newness of his smell. He was perfect. My pudgy arms carried his weightless body through the room, slowly sitting in a chair. As I gazed at him images of chasing him around the yard, splashing with him in the pool, reading books with him…all that being an aunt meant danced in my head. I wanted to be there for him. I wanted to be the best Aunt Melissa I could be. That meant I needed to be there. I needed to be there.
As we drove away from the hospital I sat quietly in the backseat. My grandfather; diabetic, on dialysis, and oxygen 24/7, sat in the front talking about how great it would be to live to see Finn’s first birthday (happy to report he has). Suddenly, the idea of death entered my brain. My grandfather was a member of the Fat Guys Club; in my eyes he was president. His southern cooking of biscuit and gravy (“yummy,” says my inner Fat Guy) fueled my breakfast meals for my entire life. At seventy-seven-years-old he stood as a cautionary tale for me; a life of living unhealthy. He was alive; medication, insulin, dialysis for four hours a day three days a week, oxygen, and strict diet kept him that way. Is that how I wanted to be there for my nephew? It would kind of hard to chase him around the yard hooked to an oxygen tank. I love my grandfather. I am happy he’s here. I wish, though, he was healthier (as I am sure he does).
If I was going to be a Good Aunt Melissa, I must first be a Good Melissa. A Good Melissa was a Healthy Melissa. During the rest of that summer I thought about that. I thought about what I needed to do and what it would take to be a Good Melissa; a Melissa healthy, happy, and embracing the potential life ahead of her. It was time to make a choice and stick by that choice.
Like so many I have tried to lose the weight. I would work out, but not change diet. I would change diet for a month. I would do both and get frustrated that the weight wasn’t coming off as quickly as I wanted it to. I would tell everyone I was doing it, but sneak cookies into my room or drink soda when nobody was looking. These were all the traps I fell into, when “trying” to lose weight.
How did I do it this time? How did I finally resolve to do it? I had motivation, but that wasn’t it alone. I had always been motivated to lose weight. That was the problem. It was always about losing something, not gaining something. To finally change I needed to change the way I looked at change. It’s not a diet. It’s not weight loss. It’s my life. It was about embracing a new way of living. By focusing on living, not losing, I would finally commit and win! It was about gaining the strength, knowledge, and ability to transform into a Good Melissa.
I believe if we focus on losing, then we will lose. It needs to be about transformation; about evolving into a healthier you. By doing this it will all fall into place. I never say, “I am on a diet,” because diets end. When diets end, those habits and their nasty cottage-cheese thigh consequences return. So, my goal is to change my life. It’s the only way I’ll save it. I am not on a diet. I am simply living my life to be a Good Melissa.
This was me on the day my nephew was born in July 2009
The Fat Guys Club: Proud Member for 27 Years
I am a child of my generation; the generation of fast food and mass consumption of media including television, the internet, and social networking sites. I am a proud member of Generation Y with its Starbucks cup in hand I update my Facebook Status on my mobile phone. I am also a proud member of “The Fat Guys Club.” I discovered the “Fat Guys Club,” during my graduate education. No, it was not an extracurricular organization fighting for the rights of the underprivileged plump coed; such as larger desks that accommodate full figured freshman (seriously something they might want to look into). It was merely an episode of “Family Guy.” Yes, that show with the king of all Fat Guys; Peter Griffin.
Peter Griffin, the beloved hapless father figure of Seth McFarland’s cult classic turned ratings rock star, is, perhaps, the best example of the “Fat Guys Club” culture that Americans have embraced. In the episode Peter has no idea that he is, indeed, a Fat Guy. In fact, he is in great shock when he learns the truth turning to his wife asking if she knew he was a, “Fat Guy.” In order to deal with this knowledge Peter bans together with other Fat Guys to start the “Fat Guys Club.” In a rather humorous scene we see Peter and the members of the “Fat Guys Club” crowding into the Griffin’s living-room for their first meeting; all oblivious to what they look like but blissfully happy in their new found brotherhood.
As I look back at myself watching that episode and laughing at the silly plot line I had no idea that, like Peter, I was completely unaware that I too was a member of the “Fat Guys Club.” After all I weight nearly 300 pounds and was not 30 (not that weighing 300 pounds at any age is particularly healthy). I stress my age, because it is indicative of my culture, my development into a Fat Guy.
I use Fat Guy to describe the part of me that is so strongly entrenched in who I am as someone that is overweight and struggling to lose weight for my health. Who is this Fat Guy? This Fat Guy is that voice in my head that wants to have a bowl of ice cream at 8 o’clock at night. It’s the laziness I feel after work, when I should be working out or going for a walk and all I want to do is sit on the couch playing on Facebook or watching television. It’s the hand that dials for a pizza rather than chopping up veggies for a nice salad for dinner. It’s the pair of eyes that doesn’t see the rolls protruding from the tight 2XL t-shirt that I am wearing. It is that inner part of me that does not, will not, see that I am fat, yet does everything to keep me there. It’s my behaviors that are endangering my health.
Where did those behaviors come from? As I stated in the previous post; I come from a fat family. Nearly every member of my family is overweight or engages in Fat Guy behavior. Even my brother, who weighs 170 and is 6’1” engages in Fat Guy behaviors; not exercising and eating deep fried goodness, salty snacks, and indulging in his sweet tooth with ho’s ho’s and sweet tarts (and if they mention of those food items made you go “mmmm” you maybe a fat guy). His waste line may not announce that he is a Fat Guy; however, the diabetes, high cholesterol, and high blood pressure awaiting his future self; if continuing these habits, will certify him as an official member of the “Fat Guys Club.”
We come to our Fat Guy habits rather honestly. We were raised by Fat Guys, who taught us the language and customs of their culture. Here are some of the lessons I learned in Fat Guys Academy (aka my childhood).
Finish Your Plate: I think we have all heard that statement during our childhood. Even when I was full I was told to finish my plate, especially if I wanted the prize of desert. To this day I still feel the compulsion to finish my plate, even when my stomach is screaming out, “STOP!” My mother would fill up one of her big plates with all the fixings on the dinner table; always large helpings. I would sit there ‘til I finished eating. This conditioning took hold and is something I still struggle with today.
“Cheer up, let’s get an ice cream”: The number one way to cheer up any tearful toddler is through the bribery of ice cream. In fact I can testify that it will work for most adult women! Dangle a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby in front of me and you have a happy camper for the next hour. I remember food being the ultimate soother of any depressive state. I have a vivid member of breaking my two toes at the age of five and getting hit by a baseball at a softball game all in the same day. It was not a good day. My dad, trying to cheer me up, got me a chocolate bar from the emergency room vending machine; not it was a Mr. Goodbar (Chocolate with Nuts is the best way to my heart). Nineteen years later my mother is driving me home from the emergency room after I fell in the garage spraining my foot and drives thru McDonalds so I could get some nuggets to cheer me up after dealing with the pain and chaos of the emergency room. From an early age I learned that food would help me feel better; even for a fleeting moment. That instant gratification would wipe away the tears from physical or emotional pain. It is why so many women gain weight after a break up or we grain weight during a stressful time in our lives; food equals happiness. The sweet tastes stir something deep inside us taking us to a place were everything is sweet. Also, there is scientific proof that certain foods release hormones in our bodies that simulate happiness and other emotions; aiding in our craving of those foods in order to maintain that mental state. That’s why many individuals with mood disorders such as depression and anxiety crave foods high in sugar and fat.
“I put Pepsi in her bottle and sat her in front of the television”: This was actually parenting advice my mother gave to my sister-in-law when discussing my nephew. I could see my sister-in-law’s eyes nearly jump out of her sockets at the notion of giving her child, not even twelve months, soda. As I think about it this is where my soda addiction came from. I would drink as many as four sodas a day. In the morning I would drink a 20oz bottle and than have another for lunch; not to mention what I would pound away after coming home and eating dinner. Once again I came by this addiction honestly. It was something very common in my household; have a soda with dinner or lunch. In fact, my parents would bring the 24 pack of soda from the store with different flavors; orange, root beer, grape, cola, and ginger ale, just for my brother and myself. We would divide up our soda spoils, each claimer victor of their favorite flavor!
TGIF on ABC: Much of the bonding done with my family was centered on the television. We were a sedentary people; as are most Fat Guy Clans. Besides the rigorous sport of channel surfing, we did little outdoor activities. We even had a television in our trailer, when we went camping. As a child the most common phrase was, “Go upstairs and watch TV.” It became a running joke in my family; even today. This doesn’t mean I didn’t ride bikes, swim, or play games outside. I did that. However, much of the family bonding was done while sitting around the television at night. A lot of this had to do with my family having to work. My mother and grandma worked nights at a local factory, my father (before he left when I was 15) worked all day construction, and my grandfather drove truck. They worked hard. They were tired. The last thing anyone wants to do after a long day is run around with two children. It was more relaxing to sit together and watch “Full House” or “Family Matters” on TGIF (classic for all my children of the 80’s/early 90’s). Although, running around with us may have been a better choice; helping both their and our health.
I don’t recap these lessons to lay blame on my family. They came to their behaviors honestly. Of course, once I understand how I became Fat I must then undergo a new lesson; become un-fat. For clarification when I use the phrase to become un-fat, I don’t mean being skinny. I mean being healthy. I mean breaking those thought and behavior patterns indicative of my Fat Guy Culture. So, here I go! The first step is resigning my membership in the "Fat Guys Club." It was, perhaps, the hardest thing to do, after twenty seven years of membership I have spent the last eleven months out of the club. Although, every now and then I slip in with the secret handshake...etc. All of which I will share with you on this journey.
Peter Griffin, the beloved hapless father figure of Seth McFarland’s cult classic turned ratings rock star, is, perhaps, the best example of the “Fat Guys Club” culture that Americans have embraced. In the episode Peter has no idea that he is, indeed, a Fat Guy. In fact, he is in great shock when he learns the truth turning to his wife asking if she knew he was a, “Fat Guy.” In order to deal with this knowledge Peter bans together with other Fat Guys to start the “Fat Guys Club.” In a rather humorous scene we see Peter and the members of the “Fat Guys Club” crowding into the Griffin’s living-room for their first meeting; all oblivious to what they look like but blissfully happy in their new found brotherhood.
As I look back at myself watching that episode and laughing at the silly plot line I had no idea that, like Peter, I was completely unaware that I too was a member of the “Fat Guys Club.” After all I weight nearly 300 pounds and was not 30 (not that weighing 300 pounds at any age is particularly healthy). I stress my age, because it is indicative of my culture, my development into a Fat Guy.
I use Fat Guy to describe the part of me that is so strongly entrenched in who I am as someone that is overweight and struggling to lose weight for my health. Who is this Fat Guy? This Fat Guy is that voice in my head that wants to have a bowl of ice cream at 8 o’clock at night. It’s the laziness I feel after work, when I should be working out or going for a walk and all I want to do is sit on the couch playing on Facebook or watching television. It’s the hand that dials for a pizza rather than chopping up veggies for a nice salad for dinner. It’s the pair of eyes that doesn’t see the rolls protruding from the tight 2XL t-shirt that I am wearing. It is that inner part of me that does not, will not, see that I am fat, yet does everything to keep me there. It’s my behaviors that are endangering my health.
Where did those behaviors come from? As I stated in the previous post; I come from a fat family. Nearly every member of my family is overweight or engages in Fat Guy behavior. Even my brother, who weighs 170 and is 6’1” engages in Fat Guy behaviors; not exercising and eating deep fried goodness, salty snacks, and indulging in his sweet tooth with ho’s ho’s and sweet tarts (and if they mention of those food items made you go “mmmm” you maybe a fat guy). His waste line may not announce that he is a Fat Guy; however, the diabetes, high cholesterol, and high blood pressure awaiting his future self; if continuing these habits, will certify him as an official member of the “Fat Guys Club.”
We come to our Fat Guy habits rather honestly. We were raised by Fat Guys, who taught us the language and customs of their culture. Here are some of the lessons I learned in Fat Guys Academy (aka my childhood).
Finish Your Plate: I think we have all heard that statement during our childhood. Even when I was full I was told to finish my plate, especially if I wanted the prize of desert. To this day I still feel the compulsion to finish my plate, even when my stomach is screaming out, “STOP!” My mother would fill up one of her big plates with all the fixings on the dinner table; always large helpings. I would sit there ‘til I finished eating. This conditioning took hold and is something I still struggle with today.
“Cheer up, let’s get an ice cream”: The number one way to cheer up any tearful toddler is through the bribery of ice cream. In fact I can testify that it will work for most adult women! Dangle a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby in front of me and you have a happy camper for the next hour. I remember food being the ultimate soother of any depressive state. I have a vivid member of breaking my two toes at the age of five and getting hit by a baseball at a softball game all in the same day. It was not a good day. My dad, trying to cheer me up, got me a chocolate bar from the emergency room vending machine; not it was a Mr. Goodbar (Chocolate with Nuts is the best way to my heart). Nineteen years later my mother is driving me home from the emergency room after I fell in the garage spraining my foot and drives thru McDonalds so I could get some nuggets to cheer me up after dealing with the pain and chaos of the emergency room. From an early age I learned that food would help me feel better; even for a fleeting moment. That instant gratification would wipe away the tears from physical or emotional pain. It is why so many women gain weight after a break up or we grain weight during a stressful time in our lives; food equals happiness. The sweet tastes stir something deep inside us taking us to a place were everything is sweet. Also, there is scientific proof that certain foods release hormones in our bodies that simulate happiness and other emotions; aiding in our craving of those foods in order to maintain that mental state. That’s why many individuals with mood disorders such as depression and anxiety crave foods high in sugar and fat.
“I put Pepsi in her bottle and sat her in front of the television”: This was actually parenting advice my mother gave to my sister-in-law when discussing my nephew. I could see my sister-in-law’s eyes nearly jump out of her sockets at the notion of giving her child, not even twelve months, soda. As I think about it this is where my soda addiction came from. I would drink as many as four sodas a day. In the morning I would drink a 20oz bottle and than have another for lunch; not to mention what I would pound away after coming home and eating dinner. Once again I came by this addiction honestly. It was something very common in my household; have a soda with dinner or lunch. In fact, my parents would bring the 24 pack of soda from the store with different flavors; orange, root beer, grape, cola, and ginger ale, just for my brother and myself. We would divide up our soda spoils, each claimer victor of their favorite flavor!
TGIF on ABC: Much of the bonding done with my family was centered on the television. We were a sedentary people; as are most Fat Guy Clans. Besides the rigorous sport of channel surfing, we did little outdoor activities. We even had a television in our trailer, when we went camping. As a child the most common phrase was, “Go upstairs and watch TV.” It became a running joke in my family; even today. This doesn’t mean I didn’t ride bikes, swim, or play games outside. I did that. However, much of the family bonding was done while sitting around the television at night. A lot of this had to do with my family having to work. My mother and grandma worked nights at a local factory, my father (before he left when I was 15) worked all day construction, and my grandfather drove truck. They worked hard. They were tired. The last thing anyone wants to do after a long day is run around with two children. It was more relaxing to sit together and watch “Full House” or “Family Matters” on TGIF (classic for all my children of the 80’s/early 90’s). Although, running around with us may have been a better choice; helping both their and our health.
I don’t recap these lessons to lay blame on my family. They came to their behaviors honestly. Of course, once I understand how I became Fat I must then undergo a new lesson; become un-fat. For clarification when I use the phrase to become un-fat, I don’t mean being skinny. I mean being healthy. I mean breaking those thought and behavior patterns indicative of my Fat Guy Culture. So, here I go! The first step is resigning my membership in the "Fat Guys Club." It was, perhaps, the hardest thing to do, after twenty seven years of membership I have spent the last eleven months out of the club. Although, every now and then I slip in with the secret handshake...etc. All of which I will share with you on this journey.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I am a Fat Chick: Introducing Battle of the Bulge
I am fat. Yes, I am saying that out loud; well, technically in print. It’s something most women; most people, don’t admit to themselves let alone to others. It was something I never thought I would admit to myself. I still remember the day I finally looked in the mirror and said, “I am fat.” It was only eight months ago. Eight months ago I finally faced my real mirror image.
It was a mirror image I had avoided for twenty seven years. Mirrors were not my friends. Scales were not my friends. I avoided the scale like a plague. I only stepped on the scale during medical appointments, when I knew that the nurse and the doctor would shake their head as they lectured me on the need to lose weight. I would listen and smile. I would say, “Yes, you are right. I am trying.” Often I give this whole story of eating more salad and working out. I would leave the medical appointment in a new found desire to lose weight. Two weeks later I would find myself crunching into my favorite BBQ Pringles.
How did I get there? How did I get to weight 280 pounds at the age of twenty seven? I grew up fat. My mother; fat. My grandmother; fat. Some of my female cousins; fat. My aunts; fat. This isn’t a slam on them. It was my life; my family. I grew up in a family that was and is fat; therefore, I didn’t have to look in the mirror. Fat was all around me. It was what I grew up with. I grew up to be fat and fat I was. By the age of thirteen I weighed 200 pounds. At the age of twenty seven I weight 290 pounds. For someone my age and height I should weigh 140 pounds; therefore I weighed two of the ideal Melissa’s. Two!
How did I get to be two Melissa’s? Well, as I said before I grew up in a fat family. Food was everywhere; the good and the bad. A smidge of a piece of cake was twice the size someone would serve you in a coffee shop. A bowl of ice cream every night during the 8 o’clock television watching hour was typical. Spending a Saturday curled up in front of the television watching a Lifetime movie marathon was not rare. Going out as a family met eating, not going for a walk. Food and poor exercise habits were everywhere.
I have many memories of my grandmother, over 200 pounds herself, telling me that if I would only lose 50 pounds. If only. I can remember her sitting there kicked back in the lazy boy watching television, drinking a soda, and eating chips. She felt if I was thinner I would be happy. I would date. I would have more friends. I would be pretty. She used to say all the time, “You’re a pretty girl, but if only you would lose weight…” It’s a common phrase heard by chubby teenaged girls throughout the US.
However, my grandmother’s inspiring speeches did nothing to jump me into“get thin” frenzy. How could it? When everything I had been taught through growing up fat said otherwise. After all this was the same woman who would bring me home a chocolate bar from the grocery store, drive thru a fast food chain, or encourage me to order desert. Her heart was in the right place; however, she was fat. She taught me to be fat. I sometimes have the fantasy of my grandmother finding a box of donuts under my bed in high school and shouting, "Where did you learn to do this?" (much like that anti-drug commercial from the 90's). I would point, "I learned it from watching you!"
I think that’s the mirror image that we as Americans need to face. We are fat. We grew up in fat families. We were taught to be fat. Yes, there is scientific evidence that there is a “fat” gene. However, how much is nature and how much is nurture? I would argue, from an unproven standpoint, that nurture has a great deal to do with being fat. Look at your fat friends. Look at yourself. Notice how fat people’s families look. It isn’t just genetics, folks. It’s how families raise their children. There is a fat epidemic. Let’s look in the mirror and see the “real image.” We are fat. I am fat.
What does that mean? What does it mean to be a fat person? What is it like living as a fat person? A person in denial? A fat person that finally sees who they really are. A fat person that is leaving that identity behind? This is what I am going to explore in this blog. I hope you’ll take the journey with me. Mostly, I hope you discover your own journey as a fat person. This blog isn’t meant to be critical. It’s meant to be honest. Let’s start. I am a fat person.
It was a mirror image I had avoided for twenty seven years. Mirrors were not my friends. Scales were not my friends. I avoided the scale like a plague. I only stepped on the scale during medical appointments, when I knew that the nurse and the doctor would shake their head as they lectured me on the need to lose weight. I would listen and smile. I would say, “Yes, you are right. I am trying.” Often I give this whole story of eating more salad and working out. I would leave the medical appointment in a new found desire to lose weight. Two weeks later I would find myself crunching into my favorite BBQ Pringles.
How did I get there? How did I get to weight 280 pounds at the age of twenty seven? I grew up fat. My mother; fat. My grandmother; fat. Some of my female cousins; fat. My aunts; fat. This isn’t a slam on them. It was my life; my family. I grew up in a family that was and is fat; therefore, I didn’t have to look in the mirror. Fat was all around me. It was what I grew up with. I grew up to be fat and fat I was. By the age of thirteen I weighed 200 pounds. At the age of twenty seven I weight 290 pounds. For someone my age and height I should weigh 140 pounds; therefore I weighed two of the ideal Melissa’s. Two!
How did I get to be two Melissa’s? Well, as I said before I grew up in a fat family. Food was everywhere; the good and the bad. A smidge of a piece of cake was twice the size someone would serve you in a coffee shop. A bowl of ice cream every night during the 8 o’clock television watching hour was typical. Spending a Saturday curled up in front of the television watching a Lifetime movie marathon was not rare. Going out as a family met eating, not going for a walk. Food and poor exercise habits were everywhere.
I have many memories of my grandmother, over 200 pounds herself, telling me that if I would only lose 50 pounds. If only. I can remember her sitting there kicked back in the lazy boy watching television, drinking a soda, and eating chips. She felt if I was thinner I would be happy. I would date. I would have more friends. I would be pretty. She used to say all the time, “You’re a pretty girl, but if only you would lose weight…” It’s a common phrase heard by chubby teenaged girls throughout the US.
However, my grandmother’s inspiring speeches did nothing to jump me into“get thin” frenzy. How could it? When everything I had been taught through growing up fat said otherwise. After all this was the same woman who would bring me home a chocolate bar from the grocery store, drive thru a fast food chain, or encourage me to order desert. Her heart was in the right place; however, she was fat. She taught me to be fat. I sometimes have the fantasy of my grandmother finding a box of donuts under my bed in high school and shouting, "Where did you learn to do this?" (much like that anti-drug commercial from the 90's). I would point, "I learned it from watching you!"
I think that’s the mirror image that we as Americans need to face. We are fat. We grew up in fat families. We were taught to be fat. Yes, there is scientific evidence that there is a “fat” gene. However, how much is nature and how much is nurture? I would argue, from an unproven standpoint, that nurture has a great deal to do with being fat. Look at your fat friends. Look at yourself. Notice how fat people’s families look. It isn’t just genetics, folks. It’s how families raise their children. There is a fat epidemic. Let’s look in the mirror and see the “real image.” We are fat. I am fat.
What does that mean? What does it mean to be a fat person? What is it like living as a fat person? A person in denial? A fat person that finally sees who they really are. A fat person that is leaving that identity behind? This is what I am going to explore in this blog. I hope you’ll take the journey with me. Mostly, I hope you discover your own journey as a fat person. This blog isn’t meant to be critical. It’s meant to be honest. Let’s start. I am a fat person.
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