Making the choice

I have to remember my own words and remember that I am not living or dying by the number on the scale. Right now, after a few days of munchies (but not binges), I know that I'm up a couple pounds. My clothes still fit me, I'm still able to run, to walk, to lift, and so….so what that the number is up a little? So what indeed. I've been on a diet since I was 8 years old. Literally since I was eight.

And so that habit, that way of thinking, that way of negative self talk is difficult to turn off. But, as the quote above says, I have to realize -- and accept -- that things will happen, shit will happen, life will happen, and I won't be able, or want to, or have to have to eat my 1300 calories, with 50% of them being protein, etc.

This upcoming week will be challenging, but again, it's about living, about making the choice to live, so yes, i will likely have a drink with a friend from Baltimore tomorrow, and maybe even again on Thursday when I have drinks with another friend.  That doesn't mean that I have to throw caution to the wind and eat or drink everything in sight, but it also doesn't mean that I can't enjoy that beer and know that I'll be back on track later in the week.

Good things this week….a great walk with a new friend/ neighbor. We have so much in common and I'm looking forward to getting to know her more. Seeing another neighbor for the first time this year and we both realized how much we missed each other. And football on Saturday and Sunday.

The Biggest Loser

I usually write when I'm down, when I'm weak, when I'm fighting to get back. None of that today. As I wrote (I think) the other day, I'm starting the year at a lower weight than I did last year (by 10+ pounds). I didn't start the year looking for the magic elixir, although I will admit that for every Marie Osmond or Oprah commercial, the thought would briefly cost my mind about trying they knew programs and then I would remember that I have my own that's quite successful, thanks.

I watched the season premiere of The Biggest Loser last night and another first. While I could empathize for sure with the contestants, it was the first time that I watched and realized that I didn't belong on that show. In years past, I would watch and think about what it would be like for me to be on the ranch, in the gym, not being able to run on the treadmill, not being able to keep up with the workouts, needing to lose 25, 50, 75 or more pounds.

[Aside: from the BMI scale, I'm probably still considered obese. Fuck the BMI scale. I will always be a curvy girl. I will never be a size 2. I will never weight 125 pounds.]

And so, knowing that realistically, I would like to lose another 10 pounds, I watched the show last night to remind myself that I don't want to get back to *that* point, that I'm in a (mentally) healthy place. At least for this week. It will always be a struggle. There are too many years of the other kind of thinking, too many years of looking for the magic diet that will work, when all along I should have been looking for something that's not a diet, but a way of life.

It's a leap year

Since I've last written, I've had several bouts of binging, but none too terrible. All seem to only last about a week, at their worst, a day or two, at their best. Each time, I am very aware of how I feel. The fullness. The stomach pains. The pounding chest. It doesn't ever really stop me the next time, but I think what it does, is help me snap back to healthier eating, awareness of what I'm eating and awareness of when I satisfied with food.

As I've written before, the binges  aren't about feeling full. They are not about real,hunger, it's the mouth hunger. I never know what's going to trigger the mouth hunger, and the subsequent binges. And even in the throes of it, or in the immediate aftermath, I sometimes never figure it out. I guess if I could, I could perhaps stop them the next time.

I'm starting the new year strong, at a lower weight than I started last year. And looking to 2016 to figure out the last five or 10 pounds -- or not -- and being satisfied, happy even, with maintaining about where I am. This weight feels comfortable, most of the time. It certainly feels manageable and maintainable, but in a world of constant dieting, of constantly trying to be thin, can I b satisfied, can I be happy here?

I don't know...but that's what I'm going to try to figure out between now and February 29. It's a bonus day and why not use it as a milestone. And so, between no and February 29, I will do some soul,searching, do some sweating, do mindful eating....and see where and what it brings me to in 58 days.

Halloween

It's amazing to me how things can bother me on an unconscious level. Just like my last post from September about my due date or when I was going though IVF with my friend and didn't realize how much I needed her to be pregnant, I've been eating my feelings for the last week. I'm up seven pounds in two weeks. And I didn't know that anything was bothering me, just couldn't figure out why I couldn't get my eating under control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I worked at IC, Halloween was a big deal in my building. We had a Halloween party and trick or treating from office to office for all the kids of the people in my building. The kids were adorable as they went door to door, while we were in the middle of checking email or updating a website, and a little Dorothy or an Elmo would peak from the other side of the desk. But this also coincided with the baby plan and each year, as I would say "next year" it became less and less fun. The "next year" mantra grew fainter in my mind until finally, I would just leave work before the party, leave early, and not be around the see everyone else's kids, to see something I couldn't have.

Fast forward to my new life in Doylestown. Halloween hasn't bothered me the last few years. My first year here was hurricane Sandy; two years ago, I was newly with EB and we had dinner at Panera. (As an aside, Halloween is thee best time to eat at Panera, or probably anywhere, if you don't want to deal with kids.) Last year, I sat outside with my neighbor's, around the fire pit, drinking and handing out candy.

But this year, what I didn't see coming, what I didn't realize would hit me so hard, was my part in the community's Halloween party. As a member of the social committee in my neighborhood, I helped plan the day's festivities. And even though I thought I hate Halloween, I wanted to take part, wanted to do my part.

After an hour of putting temporary tattoos on little costumed kids, I looked around at all the moms, chatting among themselves about their kids, about school, about homework or activities, about things that moms talk about, and I realized I couldn't be there anymore. Thankfully I had sunglasses on. Don't cry, just hold it together. do. not. cry.

I managed to not cry, I took deep breaths, wiped away the tears that had been welling in my eyes, and faked it for the next hour. More adorable children. I was numb to them. I looked past them, all the while doing the math in my head...the math that is always in my head. If I hadn't had a miscarriage, I would have a six year old; if Takesha hadn't changed her mind, I would have a 3 1/2 year old.  

Would Harper have been in on the Frozen obsession? Would I have had an Elsa or an Anna? Anna...because she would have had red hair like her momma. 

Would Cooper have been a minion or Captain America?

These were the torturous thoughts going through my head, probably bubbling just below the surface all week as I ate my weight in chocolate. Today wasn't much better. I had a pep talk with myself this morning, and still, and still...I ate a packet of peanut butter cups and m&m's I had in the freezer. I ate when I wasn't really hungry, but I ate anyway.

For now, I need to just move on. To have a good Monday.

Someday, I need to figure out earlier how to be aware of what is bothering me. But now, I just need a good day.

Six years....

I wasn't me this week and I wasn't consciously aware of why. I'd open the pantry to look at the calendar or write something on it and close the door again without doing my original task. 

I ate a lot of shit. I felt like crap because I was eating like crap. And I didn't care. Panera for dinner one night, with the 99 cent bakery item, frozen yogurt the next. Popcorn at the movies tonight.

Around Thursday, I figured it out. And I just let it keep happening. I knew there was an end, I knew that this eating if my emotions would end tonight. 

Today my little girl would have turned six. I say little girl, not knowing if I carried a boy or a girl, but I always felt I lost a girl. For 43 days, I had a life growing inside if me. I saw a heart beat one week. A flickering light on the ultrasound. The next, it was bleak. Two days later, I had a D&C.

It was the only time I was pregnant. Thirteen valid tries (unsafe sex doesn't count), one pregnancy, one miscarriage. Those are my stats.

I was implanted the day before Christmas Eve, I saw the heartbeat the day of Obama's inauguration, I was due on Seotember 12.

Tomorrow I go back to normal. Tomorrow I eat my normal boring food. Tomorrow I will not weigh myself. Tomorrow.

Today, I think about a little girl I never got to know.

What its like inside my brain

Tuesday

Great weigh-in. I feel strong. I am back within the range where it could be goal, where I could fluctuate a pound here or there. 

I stand in Dr. Ben's office and mindlessly eat Hershey miniatures. It's just a couple. I don't weigh in until next week. I'm good. I'll be good.

Wednesday

The scale was up almost a pound. Did I eat more chocolate than I thought yesterday? How could that happen? Why am I eating these dark chocolate kisses in my office? I know they are only like 20 calories, a few more can't really hurt. Oh my god, my parents are coming tomorrow. They'll be here for four days. We'll be eating out. I have to make cookies for my father. I had such good momentum going into Tuesday's weigh-in…why the visit now? How can I strategize this visit better?

Thursday

The scale was up again. OK, I'll make all my dad's cookies on Friday and get them out of the way. I won't eat any. We'll grill out on Friday night. I'll still eat my normal breakfast, lunches and snacks. I'll still be able to work out.

Friday

These cookies taste so good. I'm not even hungry. Why am I eating them? My mouth is hungry, watering for them. My stomach is starting to hurt. Why can't I stop eating them?

Saturday

At this point, I should just enjoy this weekend as a vacation, right? People can indulge on vacations. I'll be up a few pounds, I'll be better next week, right? No…I can't enjoy this. I'm eating "junk" food, "good" food, "yummy" food…and I can't enjoy it. I should just let myself enjoy this, it's going to happen anyway. My parents have been in the house for less than 48 hours and suddenly I've reverted to old, bad eating habits. How does that happen? They aren't even doing anything. It's just so pavlovian…I can't help myself.

Sunday

It's the last day, I can eat better tomorrow. We're going out to dinner. My mom ordered hot, soft pretzels for an appetizer. I got a burger and fries. I'm full from dinner and yet I'm eating cookies again. At this point, why the hell not? I hate myself for it. 

Monday

The scale hates me. I'm up eight pounds. I know it's not real. It's like a false positive. Eight pounds and yet I still went right to the kisses when I walked into the office. Sigh

Wednesday

I'm down four on my scale, didn't even want to look at the gym last night when I weighed in. End of day, with clothes. I couldn't have handled looking at a higher middle number. My eating still sucks, though it's better. 

I saw on Facebook that a family friend is pregnant. She already has one kid, by a different guy. She has an entry level job. Yes, I'm being judgmental. When I texted my niece about it, she said, "she is a really good mom." Sorry, I have a broken uterus, I'm not feeling very gracious about this right now.  Somehow I found myself in Dr. Ben's office, ate a couple and grabbed a couple for my bag. I suck.

Thursday

My four sisters are going on vacation together this weekend. I wasn't invited. I'm 16, 15, 14 and 9 years younger than them, but it still hurts that I wasn't included, not even considered. Somehow I feel like I'm being left out -- punished -- for my singledom as the four of them, and their husbands, vacation together. I sit in a colleagues office and eat caramel cremes and Dove dark chocolates. My sisters suck.

Friday

I had a good workout. I'm almost there. But not yet. I'm getting frozen yogurt after I go grocery shopping. I managed to skip the candy aisle.  I'm eating this because I want it. I'm making the conscious decision to eat this, not because I'm stressed, not because I'm eating my feelings, not because I haven't heard from a boy in a few days or feel over-whelmed at work. 

Saturday

I feel good. I'm strong. I'm staying on track today.

Sunday

How the fuck did the scale go up? I stayed within my calories. Yes, I had an Italian sausage at the Eagles game last night, with practically no roll. It took talent to eat a sausage link -- with practically no roll -- and not have it look phallic. Ergh…..stay on track. Stay on track.

Monday

I was down two pounds this morning, still up two from pre-parents visit. I walked by Dr. Ben's office today, without even a second glance. I stayed away from the kisses in the office. I worked out as soon as I got home. I stayed on track nutritionally 100%.

I think I can let go of the obsessing. A little bit. At least for this week.

When we will ever get over it?

I was scanning Facebook last night and saw this headline:

"Read this if You Don't Really Have an Eating Disorder, But Kind of Do."

Coincidentally, I had been thinking about my eating disorder years, when I was afraid of food and wondering if I was going down the same path, even subtly. I have green seedless grapes in my fridge. I had had some at a friend's house about a month ago and they tasted so good, I wanted more. And then I put them into myFitnessPal and saw how many carbs are in them. Even in a half serving. And there the grapes sit in my fridge.

I've always had a precarious relationship with food, with my body, with exercise. I think it's something that most women do, even if they have never been perceived to have a weight issue. It's how we're wired. It's how society talks to us.

I was out with a radio rep a few weeks ago and somehow got on the topic of food, dieting, exercise... and he told me his girlfriend once told him that she thought about food all the time. And the thought I had was, "wow, I'm not the only one."

I think about food. all. the. time. When I'm dieting. When I'm not.

So when I clicked on the above article and read it, I thought immediately, I could have written this.

We know what it feels like to be incapacitated by body obsession—by food thoughts. Because we’ve long been slaves to that apex of tall, thin, white, blond perfection. That apex we’ve been climbing to since we were old enough to look in the mirror and hate what we saw—since we were old enough to be consumed by our consumption. To jitter with paranoia that people are constantly critiquing our bodies—cheapening them. Fattening them. To fiercely hold the fucked up belief that our weight and our happiness are perfectly, inversely proportional. Even if we’ve never had an eating disorder, we grew up with them.

That’s why a violent surge of panic rushes through me when my boss suggests we order pizza for dinner. I had two slices of bread with my salad at lunch—that’s plenty of carbs for today.

Most think of eating disorders as simply anorexia or bulimia -- starving or binging and purging. There are so many facets, such a spectrum of what qualifies as an eating disorder. I think, in a way, unless a woman has a healthy relationship with food and exercise (can I meet her, please?), we all have a tendency for disorder.

At my worst, in my mid-30s, I was diagnosed as an exercise bulimic. I ate about 800-1,000 calories a day and worked out to the point of having a net negative amount of calories, typically two or three hours of cardio. And I was afraid of food. My nutritionist asked me to eat an ice cream cone as my homework assignment. Not just stop and get it somewhere, but to actually have the ice cream and cones in my house.

I bought a single, serving container of ice cream and a box of cones, and literally put one tablespoon of ice cream on the cone. I can see myself -- to this day -- standing at the counter, looking at the ridiculously small amount of ice cream on the cone and not being able to lick it. And at that moment, I realized that this could be an issue.

So last night, after reading the article, I had to have a heart to heart with myself. Yes, I am afraid of the grapes in my fridge, but that didn't stop me from sitting in Dr. Ben's office yesterday and eating eight Hershey miniatures. One could say that's just another symptom of a disorder. Possibly, but like I said, until or unless I have a perfectly healthy relationship with food, there will always be some disorder.

What I validated for myself last night was…I'm allowed a cheat. Where once those Hershey miniatures in the afternoon would have turned into a handful also in my bag for later and four days of cheating, I'm done with the chocolate for awhile. 

If I really wanted the grapes, I would eat them and fit them into my day. Bananas have nearly as many carbs and I have one in my smoothie most mornings.

I'm 10 years older than I was when I was working out to excess. I don't have the energy to do that, even if I was inspired to! I like my 10 p.m. bedtime too much, and am NOT an morning exerciser.

I run. I eat healthy. Do I obsess? Yes, sometimes. But can I let go and enjoy myself for a meal? Yes, sometimes.

That, I think, is the healthiest my mind is going to be with my relationship with food.

When we will ever get over our food issues? I think this is the closest I'm going to get.

Seeing the Big Picture

I posted this assortment of pictures to Instragram the other day (I'm lauriebaseball there, too).

The scale has been stuck on -- or a more accurate term -- bobbling between -- 189.6, 190.4, 189.8, 190.6 and so I decided to break down Friday morning and try on my size 10 jeans. Just to see if I could have a positive moment on something not scale-related.

They were tight, but not too tight to wear in public. It was a victory. These jeans, which fit me so perfectly at 180, two years ago; these jeans, which did not fit me at all last year in the mid-180s…these jeans fit me now. Even heavier, because my body is changing back to what it once was. What it once was in a good way.

To take a step back and stop thinking about the numbers, which are literally within 10 pounds of each other, I dug out some pictures from college. That put is all in perspective.

Am I happy at 190? Seeing what I once looked like when I topped the scales at 252, I am not only happy, I'm proud of myself. I don't even know who that person is on the left in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

It will always be a struggle, I will always have to watch what I eat, and exercise will always need to be my friend, but I will never go back to where I was. And I have to recognize the level of health (not to mention happiness) -- and probably a good number of extra years -- I've given myself.

I will never be a size 2. And quite frankly I don't want to be. I am a curvy girl, with a great rack. I don't want to lose that. But I don't have to be a 22.Depending on the style, the manufacturer and the actual item, I am anywhere from a 10 to a 14, mostly landing in 12-land.

And as someone who used to wear size 22 as her regular size, 12 is just fine with me.

I visited a friend in Baltimore yesterday. And while I've seen her more recently than five years ago, I hadn't seen her kids since 2010. We recreated a picture from the last time I was there. They weren't the only ones who have changed in those five years.

I remember this period of my life. I remember that  I was at a weight I wasn't thrilled with, but I also remember thinking that I looked OK.

And then I see this and think, "oh my god."

I was on year two of fertility treatment and my body was full of hormones and drugs; my emotions were a roller coaster and I'm sure my eating mimicked them.

I posted this picture to Facebook and a former colleague wrote:

"5 years looks great on you."

Ever the self-depracating fool who can't just say thank you, I responded: "Lots of fertility drugs in 2010, lots of sweating in 2015."

She wasn't going to let me off easy. "Not to take anything away from the sweating, but inner peace has a lot to do with it too. I'm so glad to see you happy."

The lesson? The point of this post? I think I need to try to remember that the scale, the numbers, the exercise -- they can't fully define me as they have been. As Amy correctly pointed out, I look good because I'm happy, because I like where I am in my life. And while a lot of that has to do with how healthy I am, it also has to do with where I am -- what I have, what I've achieved -- in my life.

Tired legs

I did lower body tonight, which, considering we use weights for squats and lunges and kettbells for squats, it's really like a full-body workout. My legs are tired but I feel good. Cardio was :45 of a speed climb with 3:00 of recovery (also speed climb). Started walking at 4.0, running at 4.5; finished my set walking at 4.6 and running at 5.2, with a full sprint at 6.5.

I admit planned on running at all, but my legs feel good. Tomorrow will be a full run after upper body. I've got three sessions at the gym with my trainer this week and next, planning to make the most of it and kill it on the scale by August 1.

All numbers are good....scale is back under 190, just .4 up from before my surgery; I'm at 632 miles for the year, shooting for 700 by the end of July. I'm in a good rhythm.

Right now, this is the most important thing in my life...I'm the most important thing in my life.

Kicking ass....kind of

I'm proud of myself for bouncing back so quickly. Decent nutrition the past few days, kick ass workouts and a good mindset.

I set three workout goals for the weekend, even wrote them in my to do list

* 15 total miles for the weekend

* run in my treadmill, .5 consecutively (as I've said, my treadmill is much tighter than the one at the gym)

* do an upper body workout

I printed out some simple workouts and created a mini calendar on the wall outside my bedroom. I have the week planned out with my workouts, and they include circuit training and strength training at home (my Achilles heel). 

I've got a couple sessions with my trainer to make up after my surgery and vacation, so I'm hitting the gym three times this week and next.

I feel good. I enjoyed myself in Richmond, made myself enjoy every thing I out in my mouth and now I have my routine back. This is living, this is life.

And this is planking on the bottom step.