I work the night shift, and as is our unit's custom, there is a nearly constant supply of snacky food. Everybody's got their forte - there's a pie lady, a cheese-n-cracker lady, a home-baked delight lady, and a guy who brings chips. I was the donut man (body and snack). It doesn't take much to find my way to the snack area - it's right where all our charts are, for heaven's sake, just in case we'd somehow miss the incredibly obvious fact that there's food sitting around, awaiting our consumption. A cheezy cracker here, a stick of licorice there, and a "fun size" butterfinger later and I'm cursing myself for just having ingested what could have been a quart of Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby.
Please understand that I come from a long line of experienced snackers. A visit to the convenience store with some of my cousins is a masters level course in plastic-wrapped foods. Some of these field trips introduced me to Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream (mentioned previously in not one, not two, but three posts including above on this relatively fresh blog), Funions, a cornucopia of beef products, and many items so obscure even I can't recall them. (I just know they tasted good.) I even fervently followed the task of sampling any new root beers I would come across at home or when traveling. (A tip: The best tasting ones all use real cane sugar instead of syrup.)
One (of many) things is wrong with this picture. Anybody notice such items as veggies or fruits mentioned above? Nope. They're still difficult to squeeze into my frame of mind. Even at the most basic level of eating healthy, I'm in need of retraining. (I won't even get into stuff like trans fats, mono-hydrogenated whatevers, and saturated somethingorothers...)
An easy tip that was passed down to me from one of the "Big Guns" at my church basement group: Fit in one fruit or veggie at every meal. Not hard, right?
I'd like to say, "Doggone it, yes! It's hard!" But it's really not. I'm humbled to admit that. Sometimes it seems that fully committing to weight loss requires a good deal of humility. Like AA, the first step is admitting you have a problem. That can be humbling. It's also humbling to admit that my old way of life wasn't getting me where I want... correction: need to be. It can be very humbling to seek out that Higher Power (but is very, very helpful - think, "Ask, and you shall receive").
Not to mention the humility that the mirror brings. I caught another glimpse of myself in the downstairs mirror today after working out. I could swear that mirror has a bend in it, funhouse style. I haven't checked out my profile for good reason, evidently. (My love handles are truly impressive.)
On the bright side, when we went out for a skinny mocha this morning, my wife looked across the table at me and with a small sense of wonder stated, "You've lost your chin... The second one." I quickly tucked my chin down to my neck, resurrecting the lost chin so she could remember me as I was. That earned me a smack in the shoulder. A shoulder smacking never felt so good. Behind my feigned cries of pain, I was smiling.
Well, that was about three blogs in one. So, after a long intermission, back to our regularly scheduled nonsense.
Funions have nothing on me anymore. And if I don't watch it, I'll spend more time blogging than exercising. (How many calories an hour do you burn typing?)
I was out on the town on my second Daddy-Daughter Date this week. (What is it about this little lady that makes my car go to places that serve pie and/or ice cream?) I ate a sensible meal at a bagel shop then went prowling for a toy store (both per her request).
When what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a wonderful ice cream shop so near!
(Hard to beleive the holidays are over.)
I showed an unusual amount of personal restraint and ordered something other than the largest thing on the menu. (Please don't congratulate me.) Compared to what I would have ordered in the past, it looked pathetically small. Faced with the age old moral dilema for the fat man - imbibe more than I need or leave part of my portion behind - I failed to follow Sven's handy Rule of Thirds (leave one third of whatever you order at a restaurant). I honestly started to contemplate a quick trip to the garbage can after about three bites. I believe had I done that, I would have been just as satisfied and not get the result I got.
The Result: It sat like a lard bubble in my stomach, mocking me for the next hour. I've read the nutritional info on Ben & Jerry's containers I've brought home from the grocery store, usually after I've eaten a tub. In case you haven't had that deflating (or inflating?) experience before, let's just say that it's borderline obscene. (I think I wrote about B&J's before... Obsession, you say?)
I write this down as a permanent reminder to myself... DO YOUR THINKIN' BEFORE YOU EAT.
On a lighter note, the church basement group exercise must have done something. My thighs HURT today. Yikes.
I was just reading a blog entry dated 1/10/07, and it made my blood boil a little. "Honeycoconut" clearly expresses some of the fristration I've had at family reunions, and I'm guessing it might be pretty universal.
Family dinners at Gram's house have been, for the last several years, a frequently frustrating experience. I was a 3-sport athlete in high school, but I've been heavy for 10 years now. The family never seems to be able to let that go. They mix in the "how's that diet [that I quit 4 years ago] coming" talk with scooping me up another serving of whatever-with-gravy. Combine that with the fact that several of them are rail thin, don't-buy-anything-if-it's-not-from-the-organic-co-op-and-you're-an-idiot-if-you-go-to-the-supermarket types, and it'll drive one to a second serving of pie, if only to make some sort of point. Drives my wife crazier than me. She always leaves Gram's house with a bit of a jaw-ache.
I could wax poetic for days about the weirdness of family dynamics and its acceptance/advice/shaming/passive-aggressiveness... We all know what that's like. We still don't have to like it.
I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. Tell Priya "thanks" for checking up on me.
I'm glad to say that unlike what this absense would have indicated in the past, I haven't fallen off the horse. In fact at a friend's sugguestion, I've taken the accountability factor up a notch.
Mike G. called me a week or so ago and told me about a class for guys that was getting together at a local church to talk about weight loss challenges, re-learning to eat and exercise right, and act as sounding boards for each other so we could collectively stay on task. They meet once a week, he said. Sounded great. I went to my first session last night. I was suprised to see among the middle-aged guys, a few blue-haired little old ladies sitting in the front row. I wondered if I was in the wrong room, except that it was my friend who'd met me in the hall and escorted me here. Needless to say, the "guys group" neglected to post "NO GIRLS ALLOWED" on the clubhouse door. I'm easily the youngest person in the room (excluding my friend) by 15 years and the heaviest by 50 pounds. This was not exactly meeting my expectations at first glance.
The class was orchestrated by 4 uber-fit individuals. Two chiseled guys with beastly biceps, a straw-thin marathoner type, and a slender gal who might be able to bench-press me. The first thing they made us do was stretch, then go for a short jog.
Jog.
My body doesn't jog anymore, no matter how short it is. It probably won't jog until I'm under 230 lbs. Nonetheless, I did my best impression of jogging (as I remember it). Now imagine, if you will, a fat guy (who doesn't jog) starting out at the back of the pack, and slowly but surely passing everyone over the course of about 250 metres. (When I say "short jog", I mean short jog.) There were some winded people at the finish line. (Regrettably, that included myself.) That should give you an idea about the fitness level of the group I've joined.
I'm not not saying this to denegrate the group, just that I never really imagined that I'd find myself here. I feel a little bad, too, because I don't feel like I belong in a group like this. For example, because of some exercising I'd done in the distant past, I can do a few pushups (and yes, I had to work up to that point). That was not the case for most of the class. In fact, when they were demonstrating some home-based exercises, there was a good deal of whining all 'round the room. "I've got a bad shoulder... My buttocks can't take this... Ohhh! My trick knee!" You know the kinds of complaints these were -- you can tell -- it wasn't a I-don't-think-this-is-medically-safe-show-me-another-way... It was I-don't-think-I-wanna-do-this-right-now.
My question would be: "Then why are you here?" I want to lose weight bad enough that I go to a body makeover class in a church basement. And I'll stick around because I think I can learn alot from the Uberfitites. I'm sure most of the group looks at me and thinks, "What is he doing here?" Did any of you happen to notice my grossly protruding abdomen?
Sorry. That seems a little whiney. Trying to have a sense of humor about it all. I've already decided to stick with the program. It's a good guide that will provide a planned structure for what I'm trying to accomplish... to be the Biggest Loser in the Church Basement.
I could make all sorts of excuses, stuff about old habits dying hard, leopards swapping their spots, teaching an old dog how to juggle... The truth is, I'm a weakling.
"Why do you say that?", you ask. Well, here's the sordid tale:
I went out to eat with my young daughter to, of all places, Bakers Square, a place where temptation knows no bounds. I ordered a tuna melt with the fruit instead of fries. A pretty good start soon to be followed by a forgettable finish. Unfortunately, our server is a friend. It's not bad that she's a friend (that's quite nice, in fact), it's just that she has on occasion (this being one of them) slipped us a couple of pie slices, "on me".
Is one seriously supposed to push away a gift? Especially if that gift is pecany / cheese-cakey / french silk masterpiece? I have yet to develop that kind of resolve regarding my weight loss. A faint "bright spot": I did have only half a slice, however. (In the interest of full disclosure, she only brought me a half-slice... at my request.) And right now, though I still feel the heavy pie piece pushing up on my diaphragm, I don't feel all that guilty about it.
So, let's take a moment to restate the obvious. Pie isn't exactly diet food material, even if it's got fruits or nuts. Will this cause me to fall off track for losing weight like crazy? In the short term, yeah. (Realistically speaking, the "like crazy" part isn't all that likely anyway.) Will this completely derail my desire and deflate my efforts to lose some extra pounds? In the past, maybe. I could easily toss up my hands and say that I screwed up and what's the point and here we go again blah blah blah... I think I can safely say that's not gonna happen this time.
This belly of mine is sort of akin to a labor of love. I think of the time and resources that went into its construction and I ponder the possibilities. Grabbing a wad of love-handle I say, "This should have been a trip to England." Turning sideways to look in the mirror, I'm reminded that if my wallet hadn't been opened so much at the drive-thru window, I might have had a decent down-payment on a better car to drive past said drive-thru window. But since sour grapes don't taste very good...
(If you're not into gratuitous blogger mental nudity, then close your eyes for a paragraph or so.)
I was in the shower today, feeling pretty good about the first three days of exercise in a LOOOOONG time. I was quite proud of me. I feel better, more awake, and have a small sense of accomplishment for at least temporarily conquering a sizeable roadblock in my quest to get fit: I'm lazy. Then the sense of well-being took a punch to the gut. A rather sizable gut at that. I'm not sure what I expected to see when surveying the landscape, but I was hoping for something different. Alas, I still had to reposition to see my old friends, The Toes.
Seriously now, what was I thinking?! That after 3 days of exercise and dieting I'd see some results? Why, at that moment, did it not seem totally crazy? (Maybe I'd better start eating some brain food.) I'm still at a loss as to why I would have that hope or expectation, but for a moment it was totally real, and for a while afterward, I experienced real disappointment. This, too, I know is silly, but it's been a reality in many failed weight-loss expeditions before.
So here's the rub: What can one do to stave off disappointment and unrealistic expectations, keeping one's eyes focused daily on loooooong term goals?
First off, thanks Sven, for your technical expertise.
I'm writing this blog entry hungry. I'm only a few days into this exercise and already my body and mind are constantly skirmishing over the pros and cons of sticking to the program. They even swap sides sometimes, which I find terribly confusing. Right now, it's late, I'm tired/bored/blogging and there's a big bag of pistachio nuts calling my name from the kitchen. I'm assuming and hoping that with time, one can get "over the hump" and the impulsive behaviors and thoughts can be brought under stricter management. The problem right now is, I really LIKE pistachios, potato chips, ice cream, and block cheese (the list could go on and on and on...), all of which is a mere few steps away. I should (and will) just go to bed.
I did have some ice cream today. This is not a remarkable occurance. What was remarkable: Thanks to ExtraPounds.com's blessing/curse known as the food log, I knew I'd have to find out the nutritional value of what I was eating. I figured the easy way of calculating my caloric content was to scoop me up one serving and just go with it.
Serving size: 1/2 Cup.
A 1/2 cup of ice cream?! Are you kidding me?! I'm used to eating closer to a PINT! One half-cup of Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby has OVER 50% of your total daily sat. fat! (Yes, it DOES taste like it, too.) Ugh. This ain't gonna be easy. Finished off my paltry single serving in about 4 spoonfuls. I "compromised", aka "got weak", and had another serving. I'm taking baby steps. Yes, you just witnessed a bold justification of a poor choice.
My young daughter asked me yesterday if I was exercising more to "make your belly smaller... 'cause you've got a BIG BELLY!" Yes, and thank you, dear. I love her painfully good-natured honesty.
The clothes-rack, er, exercise machine got dusted off and utilized for its intended purpose for the first time in... heck... I can't remember how long. It had been at least since September. I powered up the MP3 player, cued up some jazzed-up music, and pumped away for 30 minutes. I couldn't use much of the machine's built-in resistance without having my heart rate shoot skyward. I tried to ignore the ding to my pride. I'm shocked. It felt good. I still feel good several hours later. (I'm writing this as a reminder to myself for later... when I start to hang clothes on the machine again...)
Of course, I celebrated the victory over my lethargic ways by hitting the Golden Arches Drive Thru on the way to work... AFTER eating a semi-healthy meal! How's this for sobering: I doubled my caloric intake for the day with 2 sandwiches wrapped in paper. In the immortal words of That 70's Show's resident sage Red Foreman, "DUMB-A@@!!"
I knew better, and I knew that I knew better when I forked over that stupid $2.13. Live and hopefully learn.
After one day on extrapounds.com, I believe I've isolated my biggest issue: I love food, and I'm not a discriminating eater, either. With the exception of brussels sprouts and water chestnuts, if it's on the plate or available on the "dollar menu" at the drive-thru, it's as good as gone. My parents instilled in all us kids that a clean plate was a virtue and to leave food was a character flaw. Second helpings were a blessing from above. Getting the up-size is always encouraged because "it's all about the value". Somehow my baby-boomer folks instilled us with depression-era eating philosophy. In this age of plenty (and plenty of ME), changes must be made.
The biggest boon of this website I can see (after one day of surfin' around) will be the ever-painful food log. I just completed my first food log entry for the day. Wow. This wasn't even a big eating day for me, and I'm WAY over the limit. Yikes. After adding in my activity log, I had an eye-opening revelation: 3200 calories in... 170 calories out. No good.
Another bonus: A lovely blogger from Mumbai, India already sent me a post of welcome and, not wanting to waste any time, set right in asking my game plan. So, to Priva (and anyone else who's made it this far in this post): Thanks for the welcome! You asked about my game plan. I, too, have that rock-like metabolism. (Thank you to my family tree.) I intend to increase my activity (I've got an expensive piece of exercise machinery I bought myself LAST YEAR), and start to pay attention to the "fuel" that I'm putting in the bod. It really IS that simple, isn't it?!
I am heartened to see now in black and white where my biggest problem lies and now am enabled to do something about it. So, this in a nutshell is my plan of action: 1) Pay attention to what goes in... 2) Start sweating off some of these extra pounds.
I like the blog, too. I've never journaled before, and I think this will be an interesting exercise... pun intended.
So I'm lamenting with my sis about how, thanks to the resumption of a strict sedentary lifestyle and blissful holiday gorging, I'm rapidly reapproaching my all-time high body weight. (My fat pants are getting tight again, and I managed to break a buddy's camp chair whilst sitting 'round the campfire this fall -- ten pounds ago.) Needless to say, some changes need to be made.
So my sis clicks me in the direction of this website. It's intriguing. Intriguing enough to make me fantasize about getting back on the shoe-rack-formerly-known-as-exercise-equipment in the basement. Anything this powerful has got to be worth some investigation.
I'm not promising anything like a total-body transformation (though, that would be nice), but I sure would like to get back to a place where I'm able to do some of the things I used to enjoy, ie: physical activity of any kind. I'd like my entire family (including the aforementioned sis) to be inspired. I want my wife and child to be proud of me and to be able to harrass me about my clothing choices until I'm past 70. That is, in a nutshell, why I'm here.
This could be an interesting journey. Let's just hope this ain't the last entry...
