Journey2Fitness

My Son's Embarrassment

Well, it finally happened. My dear son, the light of my life, at 7, cut me to the quick last night.

I have been having trouble lately putting him to bed - more than usual. His energy level has been off the charts, whether due to growth hormones, the crisp weather, impending Christmas, or a combination of all, I don’t know. Often the easiest course is for me to lie in his bed, calming and quieting him, until he drops off. Last night after the stories were read, I tried that, but he wouldn’t stop chattering and acting out, so after a warning, I went next door to my own bed and shut the door.

After a couple of minutes, I heard his stealthy footsteps in the hallway, followed by the rustle of paper as he tried to slip a note under the door. I told him to come in and just give me the note. He handed me the crumpled paper, tears slipping wordless down his cheeks. The note read:

Dear Mom – I love you and I louk up to you.

I couldn’t resist his tearstreaked face, and invited him to snuggle with me, as long as he remained quiet and let me sleep. After a couple of minutes, he ventured softly:

“Mom? I don’t like it when you come to my school. I’d prefer you didn’t come there.”

“Why is that, honey-bunny?”

(Whispered) “Because you’re F-A-T.”

I sighed. This isn’t the first time he’s made this particular observation. We’ve had discussions in the past about it. Yes, I know I’m fat. I’d prefer you didn’t talk to me about it. I’m aware of it, am working on it to the best of my ability. You know I go to Weight Watchers, try to stick to my diet, get exercise. Lots of my family are fat; it comes easily to us. You’re lucky you’re slender; you take after Daddy. I’m not so lucky. I don’t eat as much as Daddy does, but for me, my food turns to fat easily. I do what I can about it. It hurts my feelings for you to tease or taunt me about it.

After quite a few minutes, I said, “I’m sorry you find it embarrassing that I’m fat. But having a fat mother isn’t the worst thing. I’m a good deal for you as a Mom. I’m smart – probably one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet. I can do lots of things; I’ve written two books, I’ve been in a triathlon, I’ve started a successful business, I understand computers, I can make web sites and design things. I love you, and I spend a lot of my time with you, worrying about you, looking after you. Someday you’ll realize you have a great mom, better than most of the moms at school, skinny or fat.” I hugged him, and then turned over and went to sleep.

But the pain of his comments shocks me. I can understand his feelings, of course. I myself had a fat Mom. I don’t remember worrying much about her appearance, but my mortification at her outrageous loudness, and her tendency to strike up conversations with complete strangers in the grocery store is quite fresh in my mind. There’s so much emphasis on beauty, youth, appearance, it’s inevitable that I’ll be measured by that yardstick, in his eyes, and in the eyes of his peers.

I discourage him from bragging, from discussing what things we have, how much money we have. I know kids use whatever is at hand to determine pecking order. And this is my weak point, of course I’m going to be attacked here.

I wish I could say this motivates me to make a big pot of Garden Vegetable Soup and live off of it all week. Or go for a run. But it doesn’t. It makes me want to cry, give up, turn in my Weight Watchers buyout card and get some drive-thru. But I won’t, because I really do want to be slim, healthy, and around for the little ingrate for many years to come.

So I’ll continue on my journey to fitness. Someday Matt will be proud of me, not because I’m slim and pretty, but because this fitness struggle is so hard for me, but I keep at it. No matter what anybody thinks or says about me.

Core and Carbs

I'm going on a trip next week, which will be a good test of how far I've really come.

I have been noticing that food has less hold on me than it used to. When I get into the car, my thoughts don't automatically run to "Ooh! I could drive through somewhere. Do I have cash? What could I get?" Cookies are one of my "red light" foods, and I've been buying Greg reduced-fat gingersnaps, fig bars and even those chewy, Mother's Iced Molasses cookies. They didn't sing seductively to me from the pantry.

Is this the payoff of Core, I've finally broken the back of my carb addiction? I didn't think of myself as addicted to carbs, but now that I look back, things are sure different now.

I still notice a definite surge of carb cravings around my "time of the month" but have mostly been holding it off with hot tea with Splenda and soymilk, or a piece of cheese, or my "fake cheesecake" - cottage cheese, splenda, vanilla, pears and wheat germ. Or a cup of sugar-free, fat-free cocoa and some 94% fat-free popcorn.

Ham the Turkey - my talisman for the Thanksgiving Challenge issued on the Weight Watchers message boards - has two more feathers as of this morning, for a total of nine. Almost halfway to the 20 pounds I've been shooting for.

We've been passing around a virus in the family, or dealing with allergies - I'm not sure which. Self-pity definitely makes the dieting harder, as does just plain feeling bad, being more in need of comfort. But I haven't given in and bought a half-gallon of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla. That's a victory of its own.

I've noticed that I'm no longer as driven to shop. The grocery store has lost its magic luster, and the mall, Stein Mart - even Target - don't beckon as they used to.

It feels good. A little weird, actually. I've been struggling for so long, feeling in control without having to expend a lot of energy seems shaky, untrustable. I want this to be the new baseline, the new reality. That means I have to keep doing what I'm doing. Journaling. Exercising in the mornings. Staying strictly on Core. Going to meetings.

And eventually, I'll feel right about trusting myself.

Comfort Food

I've been battling a cold or other upper respiratory thing for two weeks now, and it's given me a new appreciation for the power of food to comfort me.

Being sick is actually an appetite suppressant, so on the whole, I'm eating less. But that feverish stomach feeling will finally get to me, and I want bread, real bread, to calm it, act as ballast in the tank.

I've been working on a brochure that included m&ms in the artwork (I'm not making this up). For three days the m&ms sat around in a cup. Did you know that a flatbed scanner will melt m&ms, or at least cause them to leak cocoa butter? Did you know that m&ms aren't perfectly round/spheroids, but are all slightly imperfect?

The client didn't like the brochure. Suddenly the m&ms I'd virtuously ignored exerted the final pull over me, and I ate about a 1/4 cup of them. Yecch. They didn't make me feel better. On the contrary, my blood sugar levels rushed upward and made me feel sicker, high in a caffeine-rushy kind of way.

I have posted recipes on this very site like chicken soup and suchlike. But when I don't feel like cooking, the plan is much harder to follow.

I've found myself allowing Amy's Tamale Pie, rationalizing that most of the foods in it are Core, and the cornmeal mush on top *should* be Core. Same with corn tortillas. *Should* be Core. This is dangerous thinking, and I've got to stop it. Once I start rationalizing myself away from the rules, the game is lost.

So, back on the horse today, and cooking though I didn't feel like it. Potato soup made with the evaporated skim milk, lots of broth. I did miss the crackers, though.

Travel with Mirrored Elevators

We just got back from a trip to NASA in Houston, and Sharon and her family went to St. Louis. From my report to Sharon:

The elevator in the Holiday Inn was all mirrors, so you see tons of replicas of yourself. Matt found our infinite selves fascinating. I wanted to hang myself with the dental floss.

I'm toying with the idea of going on "strict" weight watchers - like, look up the suggested diet on the website and follow it to the letter. I had three Pecan Sandies on the way home, on top of my trail mix (with m&ms in it). Big hotel breakfast with all-you-can-eat sausage, bacon, etc. :P

To which she replied:

I had the "bad mirrored elevator" experience in St. Louis, and have already thrown away the pants I was wearing when I first got the bad news about my ass. (I'm sure it wasn't the first time, but I was able to block the other times and keep eating.) I must say, having to face the elevator did help with portion control...

So far I have failed to get on the Strict Weight Watchers Plan, though I renew my resolve each morning. Then in the evening, it seems too hot to worry about dieting, too hot to do anything but swim. I did manage to heat up the house making homemade pizza (pesto and pepperoni/marinara varieties), and my dear family and friends obliged with cheesecake and chocolate chess pie.

This morning I got out there and did my walking, had my bagels, salmon and tea ceremony. I haven't ruled out the strict WW plan yet - but when it comes right down to it, just not that appealing.

A discussion with my brother Tommy confirmed my findings about having to do both diet AND exercise to stay even, in the 40s-50s age group. He's also motivated to keep his blood pressure down - doesn't want to have to medicate himself for it. He has a heart monitor to make sure he's getting the maximum benefit from the exercise. May have to add that to my gadget wish list.

Enervating Heat

Can't seem to pry myself out of the house to exercise today. Yesterday we went to the pool, and I was grateful for it despite the other people's hairs and the dead ants and splashing kids in the lap lane.

I'm in that doldrum space where nothing I do seems to help the weight loss effort, so I fail to make an effort, or I work at cross-purposes with myself. I had my bagel and tea ceremony for breakfast, then a Weight Watchers entree for lunch, but followed it with 3 granola bars. I would eat more, but there's really nothing much in the house.

My birthday approaches with me having gained back all but 6 of the 20 pounds I'd lost in the three years (!) of Weight Watchers. Half trying, most of the time, but you'd think it would at least keep me from gaining. Seems it's just enough to keep me from gaining *rapidly*. Sigh.

I think I'll make out some menus; maybe that will kick-start me.

If I'd Known How I'd Look...

The photo company that covered the Danskin posted their pictures today. I noticed them around, snapping, but figured they were there to capture the winners. Then at the end, they posed me by a banner, so I was expecting that one.

What I was NOT expecting is full coverage of the whole event. And how much fatter I am than my mental image of myself! Aaak! If I'd gotten a really good look at myself beforehand, I'd never have dared to show up at that event.

So in retrospect, I guess that's a good thing. And it's very motivating to me to get dieting in earnest. Also motivates me to take a butcher knife to my thighs, or sign up for gastric bypass surgery, or spend all my savings on liposuction. Any self-respecting plastic surgeon would take this lipo case on an emergency basis after seeing those photos.

Trouble is, all the exercise makes me HUNGRY. I've been eating what I consider semi-sensibly, and it's not doing the job at all. So, back on the Weight Watchers bandwagon. Dammit! Why can't I exercise this weight off? I'm willing to exercise a whole lot. Unfortunately, for me, it requires both diet AND exercise to lose weight.

Did the Open Water Swim!

I am quite proud of myself; I went ahead and did the open water swim. I didn't finish last, as I'd feared; 5 people were kind enough to swim that 800K more slowly than me, and I thank them.

My biggest hurdle was actually braving my own ridiculous fears. I have these unreasoned fears that someone will come up to me and say, "Wait a minute. How much do you weigh? I'm afraid we can't allow you to attempt this; you're obviously not in good enough shape." Does everyone have unreasoned fears?

I'm a bit put off of my coach; she still has me doing drills, so I ended up going the entire distance with sidestroke mixed with the occasional backstroke. And some of this backstroking was actually pausing to float on my back and suck wind, taking advantage of my buoyancy, skimming with my arms like a water beetle to make progress. But I did make it, and I believe her when she says this is the right way to learn. I do want to learn the skill, not just get through. So I signed up for another lesson Thursday. Never say die!

The day was overcast, and the lake was cold but sparkling clear, a sublimely beautiful setting for a personal challenge. I've swum that cove many times in the past, so there was a nostalgic feel to it as well. Unfortunately, Decker Lake, where they're holding the Danskin swim, will be a hot, weedy bathtub compared to lovely Lake Travis.

My buddy Neff sent me some invaluable advice - check your bearing every 10 strokes, and just go slowly. I wish I'd done that former item. The kindly "sag" noodle swimmer, who paced me for quite awhile - I'm sure he feared I'd slip under the surface at any moment - told me I was swimming a longer distance than I needed to, because I kept having to correct course. Don't swim any further than you have to! Next time, every 10 strokes I'll check for the buoy.

Neff participated in the open water swim as well - he did the 5K swim (!) and acquitted himself very well. Next year, he'll slide into another age group and really kick some butt. I can't imagine swimming in the lake for a solid hour or hour and a half, much less swimming as fast as he did. I'll be happy to get my 800m time into the 20-something minutes, instead of the 30-something minutes range.

Downside of the Buddy System

Abandonment is a big issue for me, and Sharon having "abandoned" me to doing these fitness things by myself really stings.

I'm determined to take the momentum we've built together, and use it to see me through.

I've let friends down in similar fashion many times before, usually by canceling out on stuff we'd planned to do together. It makes me even madder at Sharon to know that she's simply overloaded, putting herself last. One of my dysfunctions is that I can't say no, or let anyone down. But I can let my dearest friends down because I know they'll understand, forgive me, and love me anyway.

I'm determined to win past this tendency to put myself last. It's hard to buck the societal pressures to be a good wife, good mother, good friend, but I do believe it will be better for me, Greg and Matt if I can. Who wants a martyr in the family? Matt doesn't need to get the idea that marriage is about a woman sacrificing her needs for him. Neither does Greg! And especially, neither do I.

Swim Fun

I am so enjoying learning (all over again) how to swim. I almost don't recognize myself, though.

When I was pregnant with Matt, I was walking every day at Camp Mabry with Sharon, and we did it so faithfully, we got in good enough shape to try running some of the time. I never enjoyed running before, so I expected to hate it unremittingly. But I was struck by how gratifying a sport running can be. Every session, I made measurable progress. Better wind, longer distance, better time. Unfortunately, though, I didn't stick with it.

But swimming seems to have all that, and more, going for it. The breathing, distance, and time measures are all present. But there's no sweat, no strain on the knees, no jiggling thighs to distract me. The biggest obstacle was getting comfortable having my face in the water, but goggles and practice with the breathing have removed that obstacle for me now.

Now I get to concentrate on getting the form right. There are so many variables: head position, arm position, switching sides, breathing rhythm. Before I know it, I've swum for 40 minutes.

Then there are all the accouterments and other perks; goggles, fins, cap, suits, a ridiculous convex, purple locker lock. Having acquired all I need in that line, I've branched out to maximizing my enjoyment of the pre- and post-swim showers. I have my shampoo and orange-ginger conditioner from Bath & Body Works, scented soap, a fluffy towel. I scope out which shower spouts spray best, which seem to give a more reliable stream of hot water.

Yesterday I bought a rainbow-colored wash-pouf and a detangling comb. And each session, I work on the most efficient management of the transfer from swim equipment to shower equipment. The facility has an old-fashioned wringer for my suit. My obsessive enjoyment of all this detail pleasantly reminds me of my friend Chris McDermott, who has a gift for making any routine an exercise in efficiency. I thought I'd dread the locker room nakedness, but I find it companionable and relaxed.

Earning my Self-Respect

I'm sticking like grim death to my self-imposed routine, on the weekdays.

• Walk at least a mile in the morning.
• Write three "morning pages" in my journal, as directed in the Artist's Way.
• Feed myself royally with a healthy and fully enjoyed ceremonial breakfast.
• Work on the book.

The funny thing is, the closer I stick to my routine, the more I find myself doing. Most days I go for two long walks. Most days I eat well for all three meals. I've been swimming, biking, and paying attention to everything more.

Establishing this routine wasn't my idea. Caroline Myss told me to do it in her Self Esteem series, as a way of earning my own respect. Self-esteem is, after all, self-respect, and keeping my word to myself is the best way to build it back up. And where do I break my word to myself most often? In self-care, exercise, eating right. So that's where I've focused my attention, and it is paying multiple dividends.

Myss recommends reading William James, who said we must "Suffer Not One Exception" when keeping promises to ourselves. I've shortened that reminder to SNOE in my mind, since I have to chant it each morning when Greg gently wakes me at 5:15, per my request.

Having a dog - Snicker - is helping with that first item, the morning walk. I'm convinced God/the universe gave me this dog to help me mine more patience out of my reluctant self, as a further lesson in balancing my needs with that of another being, and to get my ass out of bed. Avoiding dog poop in Greg's office is, I find, an excellent motivator.

Child rearing is also a lesson in patience and need-balancing, but there's a certain amount of automatic self-sacrifice that seems built into motherhood. Dog ownership, however, involves a much more voluntary servitude, so I'm more conscious as I balance her needs with mine.

The second item, the journaling, isn't quite as hard to get started with, but making myself write for the full three pages is often a struggle. I find myself getting up, and have to force my butt back down. With as much as I have to say in this blog, you'd think I'd find plenty to say in the mornings. It's a different exercise, though - not written for public consumption, I'm free to gripe, complain, bitch and whine, be unfair to all my loved ones. Speculate about what I really want, and whether I am willing to do what it takes to get there.

And the third item, the ceremonial eating. I am tempted to start a new religion-cum-diet-fad for ceremonial eating. Geneen Roth's work has inspired me to pay attention to my eating, but making my breakfasts a sacred, solitary self-care ritual has been one of the best things I've ever done.