Routine

Apparently, the desire to exercise does not come with the purchase of athletic shoes. Wouldn’t that be great? Though, I should re-state that. I “want” to exercise, but not enough to fit it in when my days get busy. I did walk on Monday – in the wind and rain, no less. But the remainder of my week was crazy busy and I didn’t think it through enough. I need to make a schedule.  Although cold, it felt good to be outside. Boys 1 and 2 ran ahead splashing in every puddle they could and chasing any poor bird that dared look for worms on the grass in the center of the track at the local middle school. I didn’t push myself too hard but I tried to keep a steady pace. When my nose was numb, I called the boys and we headed back to the car. I think this week I’ll keep it simple and just walk on my own street.

My sister has been going to the gym for over a year now. She works out most week-days and has a schedule for her day. She, and anyone that knows her well, knows when she’ll be at the gym and she doesn’t let just anything creep into that time. If someone asks her to do something, she just says, “Sorry, that’s when I go to the gym.” That’s what I need. I keep thinking, “When boy 2 enters kindergarten in the fall, I’ll have every morning (or afternoon) free to schedule as I need.”  But September? I can’t wait that long. That’s how I got into this mess – putting the good things off for too long. I would like to make my exercising about me and having the boy(s) with me makes that harder, but not impossible. I could wait for Lobster to be home, but knowing myself the way I do, waiting until the end of the day to walk is not a good idea. I’m tired and sore by dinnertime and walking will be the last thing I will want to do. Working around drop-off times for school, pre-school, volunteering, and church meetings will be tricky, but not impossible.

In one of my boys’ books, called “I Want to Be Somebody New!” by Robert Lopshire, is a story about Spot. Spot is done doing the same old thing he’s done before and changes into other animals to try them out. First, Spot changes into an elephant and asks his friends what they think. This part always makes me laugh, but at the same time cringe because I resemble their remark. They say:

“But being that big cannot be fun. Say! You must weigh at least a ton! You cannot walk up on this fence…or squeeze between these circus tents. The door of your house is now too small. You can’t get through that door at all! You can’t go here. You can’t go there. You can’t go much of anywhere! You cannot sit in your old chair. Your new rear end won’t fit in there.”

Spot eventually learns that being himself is the best of all and everyone is happy. It makes me wish I could just snap my fingers, 1 – 2 – 3 and change into something new.  But unless you are or have been big, you just don’t understand how hard some of the simple things are. Things like sitting in some chairs. My (not so) new rear end won’t fit some chairs. Showers are never a quick process. And putting on socks and shoes can be difficult. It’s embarrassing to admit that it’s hard to put on your own shoes, but the point I’m trying to make (and taking a long time getting to) is that the process of getting ready is inconvenient enough to make me not want to do it. Having well-fitting shoes helps a lot, believe me. And before I get offers to help me put on my shoes – I can do it. It sometimes just takes a while.  

If I’m ever going to make this big rear end get any smaller, I’ve got to put my shoes on my fat feet and get moving – which brings me back to my original point. I need a routine. I’ve got to know that at such and such o’clock, I will be walking and so nothing else can be scheduled then. Slipping it into my day is not working. It’s too easy to slip it right out again. A routine is not boring. It is a safety net. Just like I created the habits that got my health into this mess, I can create the habits that will make things better. 

One Foot In Front Of The Other

I was fitted for walking shoes at Gallagher Fitness Resources this week. I wouldn’t have chosen to go there on my own. I would have thought they were a bunch of fitness freaks who would judge me. I don’t typically set myself up to be embarrassed. So, I was pleasantly surprised at how welcoming and, above all, helpful Susan was. She looked at my legs and feet and the way I walked and then came back with several choices for me to try. She was incredibly patient and truly wanted me to feel good in my shoes. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have gotten shoes there (thank you, Kari!).

My typical shoe shopping experience is to go to a store with as much “self-help” as possible. I haven’t wanted a salesperson looking at my feet or legs (which are swollen, rough, and ugly) and evaluating my need. The idea of someone being grossed out by me is a something I think a lot about and I especially don’t want to come face to face with it. I think, too, to save money I have shopped at places where  the staff is not knowledgeable or experienced and so they would not be helpful even if they tried. I can see how flawed my thinking was. I may pay more for shoes, but my shoes will fit and feel good which means that I will wear them and probably exercise more.

I think I’ve forgotten how to walk right. I’ve been wearing flip flops just about exclusively for a couple of years now. They are so easy and convenient – no bending over, no tying. They fit my fat feet and they are so quick when running out the door. But with my fabulous new shoes on, I’ve noticed that I still clench my toes to hold my shoes on. I guess it will take a while to retrain myself how to walk. It’s silly, the things we do to ourselves.

So I’m starting to walk tomorrow. I know that being outside in the fresh air will be so good for me. I know that being active is such an important part of a healthy lifestyle. I think I won’t feel so old, either. Most importantly, if I'm outside walking, I won't be inside feeding my face. Lobster sent me this quote from an article on Foxnews.com, written by Laurie Tarkan,

“Exercise is known to help people cope with stress by improving moods and lowering anxiety.  Studies show that physically active people are less reactive to stress than non-active people, and people who exercise cope better with stress from all aspects of their life.”

This is something I can sure use. I’m sure everyone at home will benefit from my exercising. You know the old saying, “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” 

French Fried Stress?

I think I was a little cocky in thinking that I wouldn’t have to change much to lose weight. I thought that because I have so much to lose, that at first, it would just slide right off. I have lost a little over 2 pounds in the past month. It’s not so much sliding as oozing.

I have been eating better. I eat my salad for lunch most days and my eating at night has been cut down to only a night or two a week. But, as I’ve talked about before, eating proper serving sizes is really hard for me. I know it’s about re-training myself and just doing it every day.

I was thinking about when I put my weight on. In the past 6 years I have packed on about 90 pounds – 15 pounds per year. I can’t help but notice that it coincides with my becoming a mom. I’d been waiting and praying for children for over 10 years. Fertility treatments and artificial insemination didn’t work and adopting through an agency was taking such a long time. So we were trained as foster parents, hoping to adopt and we were blessed with the placement of a beautiful 13-year-old foster daughter and then, a few months later, with the cutest not-so-little 20 month old boy. There was a definite learning curve instantly parenting a half-grown child and a toddler. When our foster daughter (a supposed permanent placement), went back to live with her birth family, the stress and sadness over her leaving was overwhelming. During the process of her family making the required changes, I felt like I had to hold a lot of it in and be outwardly supportive of her choice, although I knew it would be so hard for her there. I also had boy #1 here who needed and deserved my best love and attention.

That’s when my night eating really got going. When the house was quiet and the kids were in bed, I ate my stress in my dinner leftovers. I downed my sadness with a bowl of ice cream. And I felt better for a little while. The routine turned to habit and here I am. The worst part (other than gaining the weight) is that the stress and sadness didn’t go away. I worked through nothing. I just buried it in food. Of course, pain can lessen with time. Stress comes and goes with life. My foster daughter and I are still in touch. She has chosen a rough road for herself. I love her just as much, but it has evolved to more a friendship than parental love.

Being a parent, as much as I love it, is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Losing weight is an extremely close second. My challenge is to find a way to work out stress and other emotional situations (happening DAILY) that doesn’t involve food or taking it out on my family. Exercise is going to have to be a big part of that. I was hoping to lose more weight before I added in the exercise so I wouldn’t hurt so much, but it doesn’t look like that’s an option for me. I hope I can squeeze my poor swollen feet into my walking shoes. 

He's My Lobster!

It has been a week! Lobster went out-of-town Thursday and well, all I can say is that being a single parent is hard. My husband has travelled for most of our married life. That’s the way of a salesman. Before kids, it was kind of nice having some time to myself, eating cereal (or a bag of potato chips) for dinner with no one to complain about the meatless meal. Or cleaning the house and having it stay the way I liked it since I was the only one there.  But now that the boys are here with me, it’s almost torture being the only one to feed, clean, clothe, and entertain. It’s exhausting and I don’t really know how actual single parents do it day in and day out. I have the utmost respect for them and the many hats they have to wear. Having Lobster gone does make me really feel grateful for what he does when he’s home. So it’s been a bit of a stressful week. We’ve already determined that I don’t handle stress well. It’s a good thing we don’t have any potato chips in the house tonight.  I totally lost it earlier. Boys 1 and 2 were doing what they do best and I just lost it. You moms out there – don’t you just hate that? I guess what I hate most is the guilt that comes when it’s quiet. As I told boy 1 when I kissed him (grudgingly) good night, “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

In April, Lobster and I will have been married for 18 years. Man that makes me feel old. It just sounds like such a big number. Just a five more years, and I will have been married for as long as I was single. We met in 1993 and married in 1994. It seems like forever ago, but at the same time just yesterday.  Do you remember the TV show “Friends”? It was THE show to watch and I liked it a lot. I loved the tension between Ross and Rachel and wanted them to get together. There was an episode in 1996 when Phoebe explained to Ross that he needed to relax and know it would work out because Rachel was his lobster. If I have figured out how to do it, there should be a link to the segment somewhere on today’s post. It’s one of my favorite episodes. Anyway, since then, I’ve called my husband my lobster. It’s an amazing feeling when love works out. Especially after all the times it doesn't. I knew pretty early that Lobster and I were supposed to be together. We, like everyone else, have had our ups and downs, but I have never, ever questioned my choice to stand by his side.

When we met and dated and married, I was almost half my current weight. I am still that same woman in my head. It’s quite a shock every time I see a picture of myself or look in a full-length mirror because it is so different from what I think I look like. It’s embarrassing to admit that to anyone, but I think it’s important to be honest and to know the truth. I’ve been fooling myself for too long. We have to know what is before we can change it.  I have never been skinny. I am a large woman and even at my lowest weight, I was what one might call curvy. I’m ok with that. I would be totally ok with that right now. But I can’t even think about it. Even that is too far away. I need to work on small, realistic goals. Maybe I need the 12-step program. I am an addict. I know that I need to step up the accountability. I’m feeling discouraged that I’m not doing better. But, I’ve been trying to remember what my sister wrote to me in an email a week or so ago. “Don't listen to those negative thoughts in your head.  Listen to Heavenly Father.  He tells you that you are wonderful and can do hard things.”  I need to take it one day at a time – because we can try again tomorrow.

Let Them Eat Cake

I like to make cakes for my boys’ birthdays. I remember for my eighth birthday my mom made a teddy bear cake, using different sized cans to bake the body parts. It sat up and was 3-D. I loved that cake. I thought it was the coolest cake ever! I’ve tried to do that for my boys. They decide what they want their cake to be, and I figure out how to make it happen. An unfortunate side effect of a 3-D cake is that there is usually a LOT of cake left over. Now I don’t know about other kids, but mine pretty much just eat the frosting and any candy decorations. That leaves cake, lots of cake.

My youngest turned 5 this month and he wanted a bug cake. After much searching, he decided on a Bug Mountain cake. Yes, a MOUNTAIN of cake covered with crushed Oreo “dirt” with gummy bugs all over and inside. Not good timing to have a birthday when I’m starting to eat healthily. But can you just hear it? Sorry, kid. Mommy can’t control herself when there’s cake in the fridge, so no cake this year. Better luck next time! In an attempt to be good, I allowed myself one piece of cake per day. I noticed, though, that each day my piece seemed to be a bit bigger than the previous day. Finally, just to have the cake gone and no more a temptation, I ate the equivalent of probably 3 pieces - with a little half & half poured on top just to make sure it wasn’t dry. Why couldn’t I have just popped that puppy in the garbage? I could have taken some to our neighbors. There are several things that I could’ve done. But, you see, I wanted the cake. That’s what it comes down to. It’s a good thing I’ve got only two kids and they each have 1 birthday per year. I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle more. Lobster will have to buy a measly slice of cake for his birthday. For himself. By himself. Sigh.

So no cake in the house. Add that to my list of rules. Check.

The rule I think I’m following best is not eating at night. That was a big surprise. I thought that would be the hardest part. I did sneak a cheese stick and a package of fruit snacks while babysitting at my sister’s house last night (sorry - I didn’t tell you!). But for the most part, I’ve been a good girl. I lost a couple of pounds this week. I could do much better if I’d follow all of my rules. Mom was right. There is safety in following the rules. So, it’s a new week. Here’s to being a rule follower!

READ THE LABEL!

As I started this, I decided that I didn’t want to count calories and just eat lettuce. I wanted to cook one meal and eat what my family eats. I love to cook and I love good food. So, I decided that my rules are:

1. To eat salad every day for lunch

2. Eat appropriate serving sizes at my other meals

3. Not eat after the kids’ bedtime

I thought that sounded realistic and doable. But this appropriate serving size thing is KILLING me. See, for a very long time I have had extremely large portions and sometimes seconds of extremely large portions. I can see that it’s going to take more than a week to train myself. See, if I’m not stuffed, I don’t think I’ve eaten enough - which is absurd. How much better will my body feel eating smaller portions? I know I’ll feel better but somehow, I’ve got to convince my brain.

Did you know that a serving size of ice cream is a ½ cup? I mean, really – have you ever seen anyone actually put just a ½ cup of ice cream in a bowl? Well, I don’t think I have. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I haven’t. So, I did an experiment. I put an Amy-sized serving of ice cream in a bowl and then measured it. It was a little more than 1½ cups - three times the recommended serving size! One might say, “Well, there you go, there’s your problem” and I guess I would agree. Part of it is that my Lobster (my husband – I’ll tell the story another time) has these ginormous cereal bowls that he likes to use and I have taken to using them as well. A ½ cup looks like a toddler serving in the bottom of those things. But I’ll have to tell him that using those big huge bowls have contributed to my big huge #&@!.

I guess what it comes down to is READ THE LABEL! I can’t trust my brain to tell me what a serving size is, so I’m going to have to read and measure - at least at first. And another key is knowing what not to keep in the house. I can’t control myself when it comes to potato chips. If they are in the house, I must eat them. Especially if it’s Lays Balsamic Sweet Onion flavor. Oh, those are THE best. So, anyway, I just can’t buy chips. Lobster likes to take chips when he makes sandwiches for lunch, so not keeping chips in the house is inconvenient for him. (But then so is thinking there are chips in the cabinet and waking up to find that your wife ate the whole bag whilst you were peacefully snoozing the night away.) If he buys them, he has to take them to work where I won’t think about them every minute. It may seem silly, but I have to set myself up for success.

All in all, it was a good week with a few setbacks. One was my youngest’s birthday cake, but we can talk about that later. As you can see, I’ve included a picture of myself with today’s post. I don’t love doing it, but it’s necessary. I also took measurements of my body so I can better track any loss. Not fun, but again, necessary. I know it’s not pleasant to look at, but just be glad I’ve got clothes on!

This Fat Lady's Song

They say it’s not over until the Fat Lady sings. Well, this fat lady has been leading an unhealthy lifestyle. I have been sedentary. I eat too much. I don’t eat enough fruits and vegetables, even though vegetables are really some of my favorite foods. I know how to eat healthily, in fact, I like healthy food. I know how to exercise. I know what I need to do to be a healthy person. In theory, I want to BE a healthy person. I can even picture myself looking svelte on the tennis court or playing in the pool with my boys. The problem comes when I need to act. See this much of me didn’t happen overnight. Yes, my family history includes several big boys and girls. Yes, I’ve “struggled” with my weight since childhood. Yes, I have a relationship with food. I love it and it LOOOOOVES me. I use it to soothe hurt feelings, ease the end of a stressful day. I get a fix from food. It’s not just fuel for me and therein lays the problem. I have carefully created this body over decades and even trained my husband how to help me. Even knowing what to do, DOING it is my downfall. And my body has been a willing participant, until recently. See, other than being obese (boy, is that a hard word to write!), my body has been healthy. Cholesterol, blood pressure, blood sugar levels, etc. have tested normal – until recently.

Early last year my blood sugar tested borderline high. No big deal. We’ll keep an eye on it. Then my period (sorry guys – men can skip this paragraph if needed) started going more wonky than normal. It’s never been tremendously predictable, but last year my cycle was a monthly study of extremes. Last February, I went to the Emergency Room because I was losing a lot of blood. Eventually, I was referred to a specialist and a biopsy showed pre-cancerous cells in my uterus. A few months, a D&C and an IUD insertion later, we’ve got it in check. But what did the doctor tell me? “LOSE WEIGHT.” More fat cells in the body make it produce more estrogen which can cause cancer. CANCER.

I know each of us has been touched by cancer in some way – someone we love or loved diagnosed with cancer. Maybe we’ve lost our loved ones. In my case, it was my father. My daddy died in 2003. Now, the word CANCER hit me with a big club. It should have scared me straight. But even being faced with such a scary reality, the food was there to soothe my fear. My carefully crafted habit of eating through my emotions is protecting itself. What will I do if my way to cope with fear, stress, feelings of inadequacy, even happiness is stripped away? The thought of that sent me to the cabinet looking for potato chips or mustard and onion pretzel pieces. So I’ve thought a lot about it. I’ve tried to rally the troops into doing what I know is right. Yet still, every night after my boys are asleep, I sit on the couch usually with a snack or dinner leftovers in my hands.

So last night, in my usual post bed-time-scramble corner of the couch, this fat lady munched away on honey mustard and onion pretzel pieces. I was not hungry. I, in fact, was overly full from one too many tacos at dinnertime. I was thinking about this body that, although I have chosen it, it’s not what I want. I thought about my sore knee and poor foot that gets abused daily by the weight put upon them. I thought about how if one of my sons ran out into the path of an oncoming car, or simply ran away from me playing tag; I would not be able to catch him. I thought about how much I miss my dad and imagined my boys having to feel that way being so young. I thought about my husband and how he loves me and would probably enjoy a wife with more energy or with curves actually in the right places. I thought about how good it would be to not worry about the lecture from my doctor at an appointment. How good it would be to look good in clothes and choose clothes that way – not choosing something just because it fits. How wonderful it would be to just not be exhausted all the time.

This fat lady also thought about accountability. Or actually, I thought about the fact that I give myself none. Which after taking the long scenic path, takes us back to my original thought. They say The Fat Lady sings at the end, right? So, this is this Fat Lady’s time to sing - my time to sing to the end of my obesity. I was going to write that it’s the end of my making wrong choices, but I’m pretty darn sure that I’ll be making plenty of those. I warn you that it will most likely be a very long song. I have a whole lot more than just a few pounds to lose. Writing this blog is one of the ways I’m going to hold myself accountable for my lifestyle choices. My writing will be published for the whole world to read, if they so wished. The chance that just anyone could read this and make comments and maybe insult me or be disappointed is one way I’m keeping myself in check.

So keep your fingers crossed for me and wish me luck (and a strong will). Until next week…