The story of this blog

Out of the mud, grows a lotus. 

This is literally true, of course. But more figuratively, this is mentioned and quoted in different ways in Buddhism. Thich Nhat Hanh was quoted as saying, "There is the mud, and there is the lotus that grows out of the mud. We need the mud in order to make the lotus. "

At the moment that we're in the mud, of course, we don't think about the lotus. We think about the cold, the mess, and the feeling of being stuck. From down in the mud, beneath even the water, and the algae, the mud doesn't feel good, and it's difficult to see the flower that isn't yet.

But, creativity and pain correlate. Beethoven lead a miserable life, and (not BUT but AND) produced some of the worlds most recognizably moving classical music. It is the foundation of so much music that came after it. Writers, artists (just look at Frida Kahlo), most anyone with a creative bent will acknowledge that even if they were not able to produce at the moment they were in the mud, they were inspired by the time they spent down there.

It's not really any different for me. I mightn't ever produce things that move or reach people as much as the artists I know best for being inspired by and then out-stripping their pain in order to create, but all of my biggest creative projects came from distress.

My 365 photo-a-day self portrait project came from the realization that grieving the loss of my father and my relationship in one fell-swoop had shut me off to living and knowing the new and beautiful place I was residing in, and because I tried to mourn both at once, I had done neither properly.

My best poems were about that processing.

And this blog . . . well, it came from recognizing the need to, as the wonderfully wise Pema Chodron says in her best book, "lean into the sharp points of life."

Recently, a friend asked me about this blog. Why I started it, what inspired me, how I held myself to such a high standard of honesty and where my topic ideas "come from." She said she felt she was creative and prolific when it came to fiction writing but was having, "a difficult time when it comes to writing about 'real life.' I know the question might be a bit simplistic, but am really curious, and value your opinion as a fellow writer."

Well, first of all, anyone referring to me as a "writer" flatters me more than I can say. I think of myself mostly as a hack who can't keep herself from begging for attention. So, being included in the "fellow writer" circle with someone who had the guts and talent to go the hard road of getting a degree in writing is a sure bet to make me blush.

I gave her advice that may or may not have been satisfying, but also told her the story of this blog, at least partially.

This blog was in my head for months before it was ever on this site. And . . . even when it was one this site, I wrote three or four posts before I announced it on Facebook . .  . thus allowing everyone to see it, and then show it to everyone else. If I think very carefully, this blog started with a piece I wrote for a friend's book about a year before I ever wrote the first post.

This friend is an incredibly talented chef, and when her family began getting various diagnosis where diet changes could make a big difference, she made the command decision to do a full cleanse. As a family that was already Orthodox Jewish, and thus, keeping Kosher, dietary limitations weren't news in her house, but she then added on top of that: wheat free, gluten free, and dairy free. And yet, she magically makes some of the most amazing meals and baked goods I've ever had the pleasure to eat. In a series of long and long-distance conversations, she shared with me that she wanted to write a book. Not just a cookbook with recipes, but essays, research, and discussion on the benefits of eating and cooking your own food, how to do a cleanse and determine food sensitivities, and how to plan meals and events with this lifestyle of mindful eating. I had been experiencing a complete mental road block on the poems I was writing (see above) and found myself one night sitting at my neighborhood pub, drinking a beer, and just gushing out hand-written paragraphs about how eating and health aren't or shouldn't be disconnected from our other life choices. It was edited as an intro to her book.

But it got me thinking about how food worked for me, or didn't. It stayed on my mind and I found myself watching myself from the outside.

Then, another friend inspired me. One of my mommy friends started a blog writing about her family, the intentional and mindful child-rearing decisions she was making, health, and finding balance in her life as a mom and still being a person outside of that. I can't link to it because she ultimately decided to end the blog and give that time back to her family, but the simple, clear, straightforward way she spoke to these topics was compelling enough that I read it eagerly despite being a non-mom. It also taught me that real life doesn't have to be spectacular or exceptional to be interesting.

I carried these ideas and inspirations with me for several more months though, before doing anything with them.  I tentatively started a list of possible topics, but couldn't quite make the leap to writing anything online that others saw. What I found though, was that I started to notice myself from the outside with regard to those topics. One of the first ones on the list was "Perfect is damaging." What's ironic about this is not just where this topic arose from, but that it has yet to be written! The act of putting that topic idea on a list caused me to notice things about it, and it spawned other topics. As I started to observe myself, and how I made day-to-day decisions around those topics, how I thought about them, how I would reason them out if I was discussing them with a close friend, other things started to drift up against those ideas. Quotes. Things my friends said or did. Something I saw or heard in a movie. Some of these things, in turn, got re-purposed into other topics when the ideas got too big to be under one umbrella. Before I knew it, I had a list of 15 or so ideas and some skeleton structure for where I would go with them.

And still I didn't do anything.

It really wasn't until August of last year that I had the will to write and post. And at first I let just a few, select, people in on those posts. (One of my friends who had seen my 365 creative efforts on Flickr, another friend who had a secret blog, and a third friend I discovered had a blog on this site.) The right questions to ask was EXACTLY what my young writer friend asked - what motivated me to do it? What pushes me to be this publicly honest? She remarked that she knew her question was "simplistic." The answer is simple, but in the discipline of doing this, nothing could be less simple.

I was finally moved to do this because I was hurting inside, and the jagged pieces were no longer ignorable. I was faced with a choice of numbing myself and furthering the feeling of being broken and having jagged, broken edges poking me from the inside, wounding me further, or leaning into the pain and letting it teach me and guide me to new places. I chose the latter, but it meant acknowledging the mud I was in.

That mud included far too many dysfunctional relationships. I was not merely dissatisfied at work, I felt . . . misled and neglected to the point where neglect becomes passive abuse. I was noticing addiction everywhere in my loved ones. And I was in a romantic relationship defined by lies and denial. It hurt, but more than that, it made me sick because my engine runs on integrity and honesty and the chance to learn and contribute to making things better. I had sugar in the gas tank, which is a sadly hilarious metaphor since sugar was part of what I turned to in my brief stint of trying to deaden the ache.

It didn't work of course. And so, I did a bunch of things. I started going to a 12-step meeting for the loved ones of addicts, I got myself a therapist, I looked long and hard at a proverbial mirror and tried to come to terms with my beliefs and my needs, and I created some systems of accountability and honestly with myself, including this blog. I told my "fellow writer" friend that, "I started this blog at a time when I was facing a lot of dishonesty. Dishonesty at work, dishonesty in what is now my previous relationship. I was seeking more open doors." I truly felt like it was the element in my life that was lacking, like not getting enough sun or water. So, I decided I needed to BE the change I wanted to see. I had no idea how far I was going to have to reach down to do that, and so the other piece of this story is that when I find myself hedging around something now, I imagine my (incredibly loving, generous, extremely tiny and fierce) grandmother saying, "Now, Christie. Is that the whole truth?"

The short story is, we can be moved by the art, the ideas, the things happening around us, the people who teach us and show us new things, and I am. But I had to be in the mud to make a go of this kind of writing. As much as it feels like a bruise on my soul to be writing this post five months after losing my job with no new career in hand, I was far more wounded and far less functional and healthy on August 27th, 2011 (9 months ago, with a job!) when I first sat down to write something here. I know I am a better version of me now, I know the things that aren't ideal will change and change again. I know more about who I am, and who I can be, and what lengths I will go to to make that positive and meaningful, and I see myself in a much kinder light. I know everything is impermanent and I'm learning how to breathe through that. I know that I bruise easily, but that as thin as my skin sometimes is, the rest of me is tough and keeps going.

The long story is the tale of a blog that started with an idea about accountability, eating mindfully, exercise and health, and became a blog about the work of looking at myself, health in much broader terms, and the occasional post about zombies.

You know how people who lose 200 pounds always say, "I'll never go back to that. This feels too good." There is more behind that story. There is also the fact that there are days where it has to also be true that it doesn't feel good. Where putting the time in at the gym is the last thing they want to do. Where all they want is ice cream. But they know how working past those hard moments makes them better able to enjoy everything else, gives them more opportunities to feel good. Because when we dampen down pain, we aren't able to selectively anesthetize just pain. We shut out out good things also. That's me. It doesn't always feel good to feel all of my feelings. It's harder than going to the gym (which, let's be honest, I still don't always like doing). But it is better than being dishonest with myself, knowing that that leads directly to accepting dishonesty and dysfunction from others. And it makes me better equipped to feel and see and accept good things in my life. Sometimes leaning into the sharp points of life is like using sandpaper to uncover the natural beauty in the wood grain and shape us into something even better.

So, in that vein, I've decided to bring back another venue of creativity, structure, accountability, learning, outlet, and feedback into my life.

Welcome all to the first day of my second 365 (well, ummm, second in terms of it being version 2.1 since I did start a second 365 in 2010 and then . . . failed to finish it.) with a photo collage acknowledging that this is not just my birthday but the fourth anniversary of my residence in Boulder. I hope you enjoy it because I got up at 5am to make this happen!

A week without logging

I have been aware that food logging is a valuable tool for managing not only my weight but any issues I face with food for a long, long time. It was mentioned to me as a calorie tracking tool when I was (well, this is shameful) 10 years old. Like most people, the idea of counting all calories consumed, every day, forever, failed before it ever began. As in Benny and Joon, "The answer is in the question." Can I successfully count calories forever? No. For lots of reasons. It's tedious and daunting, and so without my emotional buy in, it will not help me feel helped. It's also really, really easy to miscalculate, because most people don't have a lot of training on judging what a serving is, and carrying around a food scale is impractical. And, I was TEN.

The other problem with food logging, is that without some training, some counseling, and a lot of introspection and self-knowledge, it can easily devolve into just counting calories or servings of food types. Here's the problem - not all calories are created equal and neither are all people, with respect to those calories. Diabetics need to concern themselves very closely with carbs. If making a trade off, protein and fat will always be better for someone with any insulin issues - this was illustrated when someone close to me recently made a birthday cake for a diabetic and told me that she had substituted apple sauce for oil in the recipe. I quietly informed her that I'm sure it tasted good but that she had added carbs to the cake. Meanwhile, someone like my brother who is almost entirely gluten free can eat carbs, but needs to carefully consider what kind (rice, amaranth, oats, and almond flour much better than wheat flour or wheat products). If you lined up my diabetic friend, my brother, and I, and put us all on an 1800 calorie plan, where we got those calories would make a huge difference to our successful eating, but I doubt any of our food logs would match. People have particular needs because of their pathologies, because of food allergies, because of preferences (I don't care how gluten-free and protein-full cottage cheese is. I just can't do it, folks.) and because we're all special and unique like snowflakes. (smile)

Calories are special too. For me, 280 calories could be over my discretionary calorie allowance, could be what my trainer is recommending as a small bump in fat servings for a week (a really good week of almonds, bacon, and some olive oil, I might add), or could count as a way to estimate two carb servings. In my case, I need to also be very, very careful where those 280 calories come from, not just because of my food allergies (which are weird, and more extensive than I'd like. I am lucky in that strawberries and peanut butter aren't off limits, and I have it all figured out as to how to eat dairy in a way that works for me. But, I do sometimes wish I could be a grown up and drink wine or eat dried fruit. ) or my suspected insulin resistance, but because food is my kryptonite.

Like most people, I suspect it would always be better to get 280 calories of broccoli than 280 calories of M&Ms, and yes, I'm gluten sensitive, so brown rice or spaghetti squash is always going to be better than bread. But I also have to think about if the thing I'm thinking about eating is going to set off a desire to eat something ELSE. I do eat bread, about twice a week. This is less than most people eat bread in a day. and I have to carefully place it in my path because if I eat it early in the day, I will metabolize it faster, but it might also fire cravings for other bad carbs. I do eat pizza, sometimes, but I have to decide ahead of time what the "rules" are for eating off plan, and if possible, store up some discretionary eating and extra cardio to "pay for it."

The real price I pay is when something sneaks up on me and clobbers me with its enticing smell, or beguiling voice telling me that popcorn for dinner sounds like a really good idea. I have to work very carefully to avoid these moments, much the way I see alcoholics trying to remove temptation from their lives, particularly early on in their sobriety. Those addicts can choose to seek out new friends and activities, so that they will find themselves confronted with their drug less and less. They can't live in a bubble forever and will eventually be offered a glass of wine or to go to a party, of course. But they can side step it for awhile - for long enough to log some time in a new normal. I've written about this before - I can't. I can't go to a wedding without being confronted with food, or most recently, a birthday party with a lovely funfetti cake. I can't go on a date or to a friend's awesome awards ceremony without food at least being a consideration. What I can do is decide that I'll have twice as much salad on my plate as pizza, on that date, and only eat two slices, to say no-thank-you to the cake, and then get busy doing something else, and to ask someone who is getting up to bring me ONE breadstick at the awards ceremony and then drink two bottles of water and remind myself I don't need to eat dinner twice. (Having someone else get the breadstick was key, by the way, because it meant I never had to be faced with any other food choices, or a plate to fill. I've said it before - I am lucky to have awesome friends). But here's what I can't do, even if I do all of that. I can't NOT bring food into my house, and I can't not eat.

I wish I could reach down and find some supernatural ability to not eat for, like, 28 days. Like the movie I imagine I would magically, and with heartwarmingly hard-won victories and new choices, find my feet on the path of recovery if I could manage this for a month of rehab. I also imagine that if eating weren't such a necessity I'd feel released. It would be a relief because it's actually exhausting to think this hard about food every day, every meal, every snack, every choice, from the moment I wake up (with my low blood sugar screaming in my head, "Wake up! Eat. ASAP!") until I go to sleep. The only thing more exhausting is the numbing, woolly-headed feeling and accompanying guilt brought on by NOT thinking about it and discovering I ate the whole box of Cheezits. So, I choose the lesser of two exhaustions but sometimes wish I had a less thorny, less insidious, less ever-present kryptonite.

So, for those keeping score, I am eating around the following limitations and restrictions:

• Gluten sensitive. In case you didn't know, gluten is hidden in absolutely everything. (Not just things with wheat in it! Tea! Mixed spices! Fruit bars! Protein shakes!)  For me I try to have this work out to one serving or less of gluten a day, or 7-8 a week. I sometimes am way under or sometimes a bit over. (Right now, it's a bit higher because while some things are easy substitutions - e.g. eat rice instead of bread - others are more difficult and things like gluten free chips, waffles, and granola bars are expensive and I'm on a tight budget these days.) But if I'm doing well with it, it makes a big difference in my energy level, skin, and allergies.
• Allergic to MSG - no Chinese take-out for me. Boooo.
• Allergic to preservatives - this means I can almost never eat dried fruit or off a buffet. It also affects me in certain cheeses, dried fruit, and wine. So, when I eat at your house and you make something cooked in a bottle of Merlot and garnished with Craisins I'll have to politely decline.
• I do much better with dairy if it is partially broken down and lower fat, such as yogurt. (Y'all can pry the greek yogurt from my cold, dead hands. I'm unlikely to EVER give it up even if it turns out it's not as miraculous as I think it is.)
• I can only eat 4-5 servings of carbs a day, and honestly, it is better if half of them were during or before lunch.
• I avoid most soy, because, let's face it, I don't need any more hormone issues. (But I love miso soup so I haven't completely removed soy. Also, in case you don't know, soy is secretly in everything too.)
• And I hate Dill and Mayonnaise with the passion of a thousand burning nuns.

Oh yeah, and eating itself is a problem, because it might set fire to the fuse and cause me to rapidly want to consume moremoremore.

This is where planning comes in. I can read all the books I want on strategies to beat cravings (and I do) and I can go to therapy and meditate (and I DO) but the very best thing I can do is to take charge of my food AGGRESSIVELY. This means a campaign of austerity including planning meals, planning what I will cook, and then shopping for that and only that. When shopping it means being thoughtful and ascetic and feigning ignorance of the existence of trigger foods. Then, as quickly as possible, I need to cook said food, because if it sits uncooked, popcorn for dinner starts to sound like a most excellent idea. Once the food is cooked and in my fridge, it should be idiot-proof, but of course there is the matter of avoiding temptation outside my house, and exercising a lot of control inside my house when it comes to portion size, added calories, and making sure I'm getting my 1-2 servings of fruit, 4-5 servings of vegetables, 4 servings of carbs, 2-3 of dairy, 7-9 of protein, and 2-5 of fats. It's a big job, and cruel task-master, keeping track of all of this. (Note: I measure portion sizes, and meet those servings, but only measure calories on certain items. I'm not against measuring calories anymore, but this works better for me to function and not feel overwhelmed.)

So, of course, this is where tracking my food comes in. I've been using various methods to log food for 4 years. FOUR!!!! I've done it online, carried a couple of different journals around, used logging tools created by my dietician, and all kinds of permutations of these activities. One of the best things I ever heard about the value of food logging came from Weight Watchers. I have to say, Weight Watchers should probably have a disclaimer that says, "does not work for those with insulin resistance" because they do treat all carbs as if they are created equal (4 points of M&Ms are just as good as 4 points of yogurt!), alas. Still and all, I would re-pay every cent I spent there to have learned this way of thinking about logging: Logging your food means acknowledging accountability as your best weapon. If you see patterns emerging, you can tackle them. If you find meals that are working for you, or food choices that help you with portion control, you have a record. But most of all, if you mess up, you write it down in full, and then you walk away with clean hands and a fresh start because you held yourself accountable. You don't have to keep beating yourself up about it. If it means releasing judgment, if it means not always hating myself for something I did three weeks ago then I. Will. Do. It.

So, I log food. Every day. At its best, its invaluable for not only accountability but for planning. Because as I'm writing down that I had some lovely (gluten free) oatmeal with breakfast, I'm thinking about what carbs would make sense in the rest of my day - a cup of rice at lunch gives me 2 carbs, and leaves one more for dinner, maybe a pita with some hummus to get a serving of fat in? Planning and anything I can do to support it is a great predictor of success for me, even if it also increases my control-freakishness. And even when logging is not at it's best, at the very, very least it lets me check in with my trainer and he can either nod approvingly, or he can say, "Umm, two beers? Two?!"

Why then, would I not log last week? Well, for one, I was out of paper. And didn't have it in my bank account to go get some. But, then, I started wondering . . . what would happen without my clipboard to keep me in line? This article suggests that logging is a way of evaluating ourselves, and thus, supplying our own behavioral modification. I became really interested to see what new patterns would be at work, and what old pitfalls would await me.

Here's what happened.

• I still did 5 hours of cardio and nearly 3 of lifting
• I had two drinks
• I ate pizza, but only two slices
• One day I was really hungry and had 3.5 servings of dairy instead of 2-3
• I drank two diet sodas instead of one during the week
• I ate half a small bag of M&Ms but then got such a sugar-rush headache I threw them out
• I ate all the vegetables in my fridge. Like ALL of them.
• The two loaves of bread in my freezer remain there
• I did limit myself to that one breadstick at the awards banquet
• I yelled down a serious voice in my head advocating for for yo with reeses pieces on it and had half a mango instead.
• I was still anxious at each occasion where I ate food not prepared in my house
• My only big unplanned eating was a bowl of popcorn with some butter. 3 of the 4.5 cups of the popcorn count as one serving of carbs on a day when I was low on carb servings, but the rest, the butter, and eating them at 8pm were less than ideal

Now, the nature of logging as you go through the day means you have a tighter rein on what you actually ate. So, it's possible that in there, I ate an entire box of Cheezits and forgot, but I'm pretty sure that didn't happen. I ate off-plan, but not radically off plan in any given deviance, and most importantly, when I ate a big bowl of popcorn, or a breadstick, it didn't set off a chain reaction of eating everything in sight. Again, I could be mis-remembering, but since I also lost 2 pounds last week, I don't think I am.

I'm cured! Ha! Not really. Addicts are always addicts, and I will go right back to logging this week, but it's good to know that I'm headed in the right direction and building new habits in a way that is starting to take hold in my brain. New neural pathways are catching fire. They may not be able to burn faster or hotter than the old patterns YET but they are present. It took 10 weeks of grocery shopping carefully (eating healthy on a budget is the subject of another post coming soon), doing something like 95% of my own cooking, and lots, and lots of quiet time to myself to get here. (I would guess but don't know for sure that doing the cooking myself is almost as important as planning the meals and measuring the portion sizes - being intimately connected with my food makes it much easier to know what I'm eating and be very accountable but also to be very mindful when I'm eating our of my fridge.) But, there is a new consciousness taking root from all of this time I've had to do this thoughtfully, all this getting right with myself, all this meditation, reading, logging, and creating a new level of accountability for myself. It now seems like with enough attention, with enough mindfulness, and with enough professional supervision and input, I could handle birthday parties and banquets very differently some day. So, you know, check back with me in 4 years. (smile again)

Good trade?

This is a story you all know.

An addict walks into their 12-step meeting, and while talking about their addiction (coke, meth, alcohol, gambling) they are digging deep into a cup of coffee and something sugary. It's almost expected that when alcoholics start to seek sobreity that they will start smoking, drinking coffee, and seeking sugar. Likewise, the thing people always talk about when they are breaking up with their cigarettes is eating, eating, eating.

Heroine addicts seek chocolate. Smokers seek beer, wine, and food. Drinkers seek coffee and sugar. So I shouldn't be surprised to be reporting this, but I am.

Here it is. Drum roll . . . All of a sudden, in the last month, I am drinking a lot of coffee.

Let me qualify this. Normally, I drink a cup of coffee 1-3 times a month, usually when I'm traveling and am waaaay-haaayyy off my schedule. But you may recall that I traveled a LOT in November. Somewhere between flying to Orlando, driving to Williston, FL, flying back to CO, then jetting off right away to Utah, flying back, having my break-up disrupt my sleep, cooking all night for Thanksgiving, Black Friday the next night it became a LOT of coffee.

Like, a cup every day. Ok, ok, I know that most of my readers (aka EVERY adult I know) drinks 2-4 cups every day, but I don't. Except now I do. I find myself buying coffee, stopping for fat-free lattes, making coffee at home, thinking about coffee and finding ways to work it in almost every. day.

I've given up coffee twice. Once in college, and once in grad school. In college it was because I was disturbed by the reality that I was planning my schedule around free coffee stops at the college's various offices. Like, I would plan my route through campus based on where I could stop for a cup. I wanted to be unshackled from that need. I wanted to not have an addiction driving me around, ironically.

I recognized after a few years that the issue was really that I have an addictive personality. I can get addicted to Cheezits, coffee, popcorn, TV, almost anything. I drank a lot in grad school, and during my second masters, it was a daily activity (and a necessary one to keep me from violently rejecting my circumstances . . . more on that another time), but I actually think alcohol and drugs are among the few things I'd have to work to be addicted to. Because at the end of the day, I really hate not being in control.

With that in mind, I realized that general addictive tendencies were the issue; so,  when I had a lovely, wonderful, smart, talented roomate who made me coffee every morning, I thought, "Ok. One cup." And you know what, one cup a day was fine. (It was mighty fine, s'matter o' fact since she would get up and make it! in a french press! ) It didn't go further than that -  it was all good.

But, I was addicted to LOST, I went out and drank with friends at least once a week, I smoked socially (I know. So baaaad) , I worked out like a fiend . . . so, you know, my addictive energies went other places. I gave up that one cup because when it became clear that I had insulin and blood sugar issues, I did my research. And I found that lower glycemic foods were a good idea, whole grains, less gluten, and more protein. I also found out that alcohol, and caffeine have been known to affect blood sugar in some ways that are pretty gnarly. I thought, "Ok, if I'm going to really go for this I should take those out of the rotation." So, I gave them both up for 6 months outright. Then I decided I could have them in moderation.

Usually I think the phrase "in moderation" is a bunch of bull. It's a slippery slope that means different things to different people. For someone else, in moderation with sugar means one cube instead of two, but to someone like me it means I have white sugar only on special occasions. But in this case, it worked, for a really long time. I would have my 1-4 cups a month (mostly at airports and conferences) and if I went out I might have one or two drinks.

But, it turns out I'm like every other addict. If you take my substance away, I glom on to something else. So, here I have given up everything. Popcorn, Cheezits, pizza, white flour, chocolate, desserts of all kinds, sandwiches, extra servings of fruit, and eating non-vegetable sources of carbs after 5pm (this is to say, potatoes count as carbs, as do most squashes and I can have those with dinner, but oatmeals, rices, pastas, etc. are a before 5pm thing only). I don't drink, not because I can't handle it, but because alcohol is carbs too. That discipline is hard, hard, hard work. It is made harder by how busy I am, how often I don't get to stop and eat a meal like a real person at a table. And the discipline of working out on top of things is stressful.

So, here are these holes in my life. I don't get enough sleep. I don't get enough support. I don't get enough down-time. I don't get enough results. I definitely don't get enough popcorn, damnit!! So, along comes my new substance: coffee. And man, I gotta say, coffee is good. It's warm, and lovely, and creamy, even when it's skim or 1% milk. It makes it easier to get through the day with my pre-measured portions and not enough sleep. So, is that so bad?

I think I'm going to just have to go with it right now and keep it to once a day.

Biggest Loser

Ok, let m preface this by saying that I so know I have been slacking on this blog. This month has been brutal, and I realized today . . . bleeeeeehhhh it's only half over. With three trips, and unexpected work on my schedule, I just feel painted into corners. I have no choice but to be on the road at 6 am tomorrow. I have no choice but to have done 12 - 14 hour days last week. That means I had no choices other than to eat the food at the conference last week. I have no choice but to not get enough sleep tomorrow, and still work out after a long day.

If there is anything that I hate, it's not having control. (Ahem. Yes, I am probably too structured for my own good.) To be really honest, the reason I started this blog was because I felt out of control and in the dark about my weight. I wanted to shed some light on what was working and what was not working so that I could investigate it out of the closet, out of the dark. In my head I thought that if I could be more honest, and more accountable for my choices, more searching about my patterns and tendencies, I could see clearly how to take charge, be more in control, and head in a direction I felt better about.

To some degree that has been true. But in other areas of my life, I do feel that things are speeding out of control (ahem! Work!). It sounds tongue-in-cheek but man, if only I didn't have to take care of my life like an adult, I'd be all set to work out and eat right! If I didn't have to travel again tomorrow I wouldn't have to worry about what food choices or lack of choices I'll be facing. I wouldn't be worrying about running at 10pm. I wouldn't be worrying that something else would come up that felt more important than my needs. If I hadn't worked today, I could easily have NOT been where there were bagels. I could have not had to eat lunch in my car. If I didn't have to pack tonight I could have gotten in a second workout.

But then I also think about how HARD it is to not hear the voices in my head saying, just as loud as can be, "There is a whole store a mile away just full of popcorn, ice cream, and frozen pizza. Doesn't that sound like a nice place to visit?" Those voices lurk around every corner. I swear they come out of the heating vents in my car, "Chrrrrriiiiisssstie. Stop at the nearest Starbucks and get a pumpkin latte and cupcake. Mmmmm." They show up at the store, trailing around behind me as I shop, "Dude! Greek yogurt is good, but do you know what's better? The entire frozen dessert aisle." But they seem to LIVE in my couch, "You're just sitting here. Why exercise? Doesn't a bowl of popcorn sound better?" I swear when I bought this couch it came with a speaker system I didn't know about that selectively broadcasts that misleading, evil voice.

What I really want is to be like all other addicts and go to rehab. I want to take a time-out on my life, go away, and put my focus on my issue. I want to locate a place inside myself that understands, deep down that this problem is forever, but that also doesn't mean I have to be haunted for forever. I want to build strategies without having to at the same time, solve a crisis at work, book flights for my mom to come for Christmas, think about family drama, or have a hard conversation with my boyfriend. I often think, "Everyone else gets to get sober before they have to deal with life and people!" (But I also realize that that may not be true. that there are probably a lot of people moving in and out of AA meetings who have to go home and cook dinner, pay bills, or have a fight with their spouse.)

I know that the difference between my addiction, and say, an alcoholic or drug addict, is that I can't not eat. I have to do the thing that causes me to be out of control. I can't decide not to go to the bar. I can't sever ties with my dealer. My drug is something that everyone needs in moderation, whereas "cocaine in moderation" doesn't sound like a recipe for health. (Anyone who knows of my Margaret Cho obsession will understand that the phrase "in moderation" constantly makes me think of her talking about her mother working at the book store and unpacking gay porn. Tee hee!) This means that my drug will always be a part of my life and my dealer shows up at every meal, party, most social interactions, work meetings, and inhabits every street corner. Moreover, I have to accept that in order to function in life, I have to be ok with showing up at parties that are unlikely to have cocaine or meth, but will almost always have food. And not just food, but trigger foods - maybe not everyone will serve the now infamous Cheezits but odds are that there'll be popcorn, or candy, or pizza, or something yummy for dessert, or honey roasted peanuts, or . . . or . . . or.

So, maybe it's not realistic to think that going to be somewhere outside of my stressful life would give me some opportunity I don't have. But I also have to accept so many instances of not being able to measure and prepare my food, so many times where I have to eat what's served, so many times where my choices are to work out or sleep, so many times where there isn't enough time for me to fold my laundry, much less take on the giant project of searching myself for how to overcome this and change.

So, yeah, I'll just admit it - I watch The Biggest Loser. Yup, I do. I know this show is highly produced, and I know that it's not anyone's reality, least of all mine, much less something to strive for. Of course, the fact that there are people who lose 100 pounds in 10 weeks catches my eye but also makes me wonder if that can possibly be a good thing). But it's more than that. It's not the prizes and money. It's not the fancy gym or makeovers. It's not the celebrities. It's that every single contestant has to to shed weight, but along the way they also all - down to the last one of them - overcome an emotional roadblock. Over the years of watching whatever weight loss shows are out there, it has become clear to me that for almost everyone fighting this fight this is an emotional disease much more than a physical one. I don't think that is the message of this show, and in fact, I think they do a pretty bad job of portraying it, but that is what I am tuned to see - it's the fact that people don't get fat primarily because they're lazy, ignorant of their situation or what would help, or unable to do something about it. People get heavy for the same reasons I eat out of control sometimes . . . because it is easier to do that than solving their other issues. 

But what really keeps me coming back for more is that they get to leave behind the lifestyle that enabled their unhealthy patterns - at least for a little while. If they're lucky, they get to do it for long enough to start to form new patterns and habits. (And it doesn't hurt that the trainers are hot)

I long for that. I mean, I don't actually want to be on the show, because seriously peeps, I do NOT look pretty when I sweat. And ohhhh-eeeem-geee it's hard enough to get on a scale with just myself in the room. It gives me goosebumps to think about doing it on TV week after week. And let's be clear, that scale has HUGE numbers making every bad result that much more horrifying. Shiver! But the privilege to put all my energy and resources into putting my feet firmly on a better path, oh, how it calls to me.

I think there may be a "grass is greener" thought process here. I know that rehab isn't a vacation, and Biggest Loser contestants walk away from their jobs, true, but being on the show becomes their job for however long it lasts. Anyone who goes away to rehab, boot camp, or whatever other program, has to give up control, and the comfort and support of friends and family. But maybe, just maybe, my life is unhealthy in ways beyond my addiction. Maybe, just maybe my job stress contributes to how slowly I progress down this path. Maybe, just maybe if I could walk away from all of that for a few weeks (and NOT go to the Biggest Loser ranch, but go somewhere else aimed at healthy weight loss and getting to the bottom of what caused the weight gain) I might be able to better cement in new ways to be me.

In the meantime, I am thinking long and hard about salads and late night runs in Utah. Send me your support, good thoughts, resolve, prayers, and anything else you got!

update

Ok, in the spirit of brutal honesty, I ate the pizza I was craving. I know it won't help me. I know that even if my the numbers on the scale aren't changing, other changes are taking place. I know that it was an emotional, not nutritional need. And I know that in the end, filling that emotional void with pizza makes things worse. I know it was a back-slide from how awesomely on top of chicken and vegetables I have been. I know, I know, I know all of these things and so much more.

But I wanted it. and I couldn't fight that after fighting fights at work, in my eprsonal life, with my condo association, with my conscience, and the losing battle with the scale. So I gave in.

And you know what? It wasn't even that good. It felt so . . . anti-climactic. It felt so . . . unfulfilling, in every way. I wasn't nutritionally satisfied, I was far from emotionally satisfied, and I did all of this heading into a three day conference where I will be surrounded by bad food every minute of the day. Tsk, Tsk.

So, now I get to try and dig myself out of this hole while working too many hours to exercise, surrounded by desserts, chips, and other unhelpful snacks.

See Christie run. See Christie run right into her worst nightmare. see Christie dig a hole for herself. Now see Christie try to dig her way out while trying to accept that not being perfect at this is part of the process.

Epiphany in 4th grade

I had a flashback the other day. I was remembering 4th grade. My teacher in 4th grade was Mrs. Travena. She was lovely, and in charge of the school newspaper so she was very into making reading and writing cool. What heaven for me. If only I hadn't been 10 years old, I could have appreciated it more. Because, you see, at 10 years old, I had already endured being at an "awkward" age for a year, and I was damn tired of it, and pretty cranky about it too (if only I had known it would last for another 9 years. Siiigh). I'd had my share of boys making fun of my bra by snapping it, my teeth were too big for my face, and let's face it, with my hours of reading and insufferable-know-it-all-ness I was not going to be one of the cool girls. I know this now, but at the time, it was hard that the girls I had grown up with were suddenly a seemingly different species than me.

I felt myself floundering a little, socially, and so I started trying out different friend groups. It turns out that finding my "group" in a school of less than 200 kids probably wasn't going to give me the sample size I needed (I never really did find my "group" until college, and then again in grad school, and then again, here. All three of those groups were well worth waiting for). I never really did find a group that I fit well with. For a lot of that year, I latched onto just one friend: Kelly. Kelly was cute, spunky, and had a life completely different from mine. She was funny, and had interesting stories, and her mom was soooooooo cool. I remember I was in the hallway, collating the school newspaper (by hand) the day that parents were coming in for conferences. Kelly's mom came in, said hi to me, and then went and found Kelly afterwords. She talked with Kelly for a minute, give her a big hug and high-five, and then left our the back door. Kelly saw me and came bounding down the hall, jumping up and down saying, "Oh my gosh! Guess what?! I got all C's! Alllll Ceeeeee's!"

I had a momentary pause and then jumped up and down with her and said, "Yeah!"

Internally, it took me until after she walked away to process this. As I continued to walk slowly around the table, collating by hand, I realized, for Kelly, C's were worth celebrating. That for her, this was good news. At my house, and in my family, my parents said, "As long as you do your best, we're proud," but nobody had ever had to test that beyond a B+.

I'm not knocking my former-friend Kelly. As I came to realize, she worked really hard for those C's. 4th grade wasn't easy for her, and her life at home seemed really cool to me (all that TV and independence!) but also meant she didn't have the support to do cool homework projects like I did. She probably worked a lot harder for her C's than I did for the steady stream of A-'s I got that year. You know, I knocked out some reports and science projects and diaramas, but 4th grade was really pretty easy for me. I didn't have to dig down deep for much - it's not that I didn't care, because I did, but looking back, I wasn't ever really mentally taxed at school until High School.

The epiphany fr me was realizing that I not everyone aims for the same thing, and that my standards are reeeeee-heeeaaally high. This isn't really surprising. Since I grew up as the only girl sibling in my family, and the oldest (all of that to shift and re-settle once I met my sister) I definitely have the standard - take-charge, high-achiever, structured personality of the first-born. I also had parents with high standards, and some means to support them. In my family, winning is important, competition was real, and good grades were expected. Also, despite all of us having a certain degree of special needs, we also had a lot of raw goods to bring to the task wen it came to success at school. It was fair for my parents to expect A's and B's.

It was eye-opening for me to realize that not everyone has the same expectations. This issue has returned to me again and again in my life. I've been told I have very high standards. I've been told I'm my own worst critic. I've been told I have to be kinder to myself. I've been told I'm pushy. I've been told I'm unforgiving. I've been given this message in as many disappointing and hurtful ways as nice ones in my life.

I think about this a lot when setting goals for myself, for my exercise, for my weight loss, for my to-do list at work, for whatever. I think about it when I don't hit the mark I was aiming for. Because everything I've been told about myself, whether or not it was said nicely, is true. I don't just get disappointed, I punish myself. If I eat a piece of pizza I'm a bad person, if I don't get things done on my to-do list I'm an absolute failure. If the scale goes up, I should just resign myself to being depressed for the day. If I don't get what my trainer is showing me on the first try I'm royally pissed at myself for hours. (I hate to admit it, but there was one day where I was supposed to clean-press and we had raised the weight, and I was just not getting it. I had to be more precise with my movements, and fearless, and I was not succeeding at either. By the fourth set of failures, I totally fell apart, throwing a mini-tantrum because I was so mad at myself I couldn't put it into words past "aaaauuuuuugggguuurrrrrrhhhh!")  

I put on a good front when I say to people (generally people who approach me with jobs that don't work for me), "I don't have to be good at everything. There are things I know I am truly exceptional at. I make amazing soup, and can do full splits!" But, the truth is, not being awesome at things is generally not ok with me. I can live with not being fab at the following: Scrabble, poker, rock climbing, drinking Bourbon, making pie crusts, and parallel parking. But everything else, come on, I need to rock at it. Dental exams are to be aced, shopping trips should not only be efficient, but hit the budget mark within a penny, and it's important to me to get good reviews at work. My brother and I have a running joke with my mom that we're her "favorite." It comes up over and over. She'll tell me thank you for something and I'll say, "Mm-hmm, that's because I'm your favorite."

I made a lot of fun of Charlie Sheen, and "winning!" continues to be my ring-tone, but come on, winning is cool. As much as I love winning, I hate losing. Unless winning is losing. And right now, all I'm doing is losing at being a loser.

That's right readers. I lost nothing this week.

Pardon me for a moment, . . . "aaaauuuuuugggguuurrrrrrhhhh!"


In the crazy two weeks that I've had at work, I've managed to fight to find the time and wherewithal to weigh and measure eehhh-hhhheeeeee-verriiii-thing, to bring healthy lunches and dinners with me, and on two occasions breakfast too, to tote around my gym bag and fit my cardio and lifting workouts in SOMEHOW . . . for THIS?! Seriously?!! I hit all of my goals for serving sizes and all of the right number of servings for each thing. I even skipped several carb servings, subbing in extra servings of RAW VEGETABLES. I had several days where I skipped my discretionary calories altogether, and I left alcohol out of the equation altogether.

I stood on that scale and looked at her and said, "I'm sorry, but I cannot put this much time into measuring everything I put into my mouth, and fighting to get my workouts in and still have things be this slow. Everyone else I know can go to the gym a couple times a week and stop eating chips and lose more weight in a week than I do in a month. I'm probably going to eat pizza today. For reals." and then I cried, but just a little

I want to win at this. I have to win at this, even if winning means having lower goals than EVERYONE else. And it's heartbreaking that I'm digging my heels in this hard to deal with my food issues, to be accountable, to peel back as many layers and be truly honest here, to fight myself kicking and screaming into the gym, to give the popcorn the finger when it's what i really want, and to generally know that my endocrine system is a little like that old adage that no matter how far you lower the bar, there are some who will insist on slithering beneath it. No matter how reasonable I think my goals are, or how much harder I am working than everyone else I know, my endocrine system can still frak it all up. And the truth is, my standards ARE high. I expect a lot of myself, and this makes me very much want to pull the covers up over my head. And eat pizza.

I came home, and stood at my counter, and fought off the urge to order pizza. I did not cry. I thought about Kelly, and her C report card and wondered if I could be happier finding my way into that mind-set. What if I was ok with winning less? What if getting a C was ok for me in this case? The problem is, Kelly worked really hard for those C's, and (here's the key) was happy with those grades. I'm working really hard, really, really crazy hard, and trying to talk my way into accepting that C's are the right thing to expect, and getting D's. Deeeeeeeeeeees.

So, I didn't order pizza, and I didn't cry (until shedding a few more tears now) but I did eat two slices of pumpkin chocolate chip bread, and I did skip my run today. then, I felt like a failure and decided to eat vegetables for the rest of the day. I can't phone it in every day, I know, but just for today, I needed to want less and to not try.

Honesty, Part 2

Six weeks ago, as a new blogger I wrote this post about honesty with myself. I'm fundamentally very, very attached to my honesty and my ability to say what is true, even if it isn't received well by others. So I explored how that would feel if I turned that honesty on myself. It felt a little uncomfortable, but not painful. In this post I got a small taste of how others must experience me - the uncompromising high standards are probably intimidating. I guess my honesty is too. A good friend pointed out yesterday that anyone with issues probably feels a little concerned or intimidated by the fact that I am very open and honest, because they know their issues will be exposed.

It was an eye-opening conversation for me. On the one hand, I'm not going to stop being honest, but on the other hand I don't want that penchant for speaking out about hard things to be mistaken for a lack of empathy, or worse, some kind of blind spot about my own issues. I take it as a given that my issues are up for grabs too - I mean, I started a blog about them - but I also recognize that if I appear intimidating, then it's probably doesn't seem like I'm approachable on those subjects. My sister told me that when she reads my blog she feels like she's trespassing on my private diary (I reassured her that I have a journal I wrote in just for myself and I'm aware that this is published and read by others) but at the same time, writing about me isn't enough to make sure I'm just as open to being honest about me as I am about others. I have to speak it too.

I often give people the impression that I'm very open. I think this happens because I answer questions very openly. There isn't much I won't talk about in terms of theme or subject - my childhood, my dad's death, sex, you name it. I'll answer it. This often gives people a false sense of knowing me deeply and/or that I am an open book. I remember last year during my scary-but-wonderful singing class my teacher trying to help me perform with more emotional openness saying, "I don't believe this performance. You need to show me more inside." I responded saying something to the effect of I didn't know how to do that and she said, very lovingly, "But I know you! You're an expressive person when you talk. You're very emotional and open!." She wasn't wrong but what I thought was, "Yeah, you THINK you know me, but there's a lot you don't know." Because I am expressive and talk a lot about feelings and reactions, because I talk with my hands and have animated facial expressions, because there are few taboo subjects with me, people frequently get a false sense of closeness with me. I don't mean to mislead them. I'm not trying to lead people down a garden path. It's more that I give a lot up front, but conceal important truths and feelings to keep myself safe. I described this once to another student in the class as being a real estate agent showing a house. I'll invite you in, tell you to look around, invite you to enjoy the open house food I've laid out and encourage you to ask any questions you have. But I'll just conveniently leave out that the house is haunted, or some other important detail.

The need to be more honest to other people, about myself, out loud, was never more clear than when I met with my trainer yesterday. This was the first time seeing him since I saw the dietician last week. I was medically referred by my doctor after messing up my body and my eating with the diet plan that could never work for me (silly Christie, diets where people lose large amounts of weight are for other people!). I didn't think anything about going, but after getting my new eating plan from her, I wanted to share it with my trainer. I texted him as I was leaving the office and said, "Saw the dietician today! Have lots to share - looking forward to Sunday."

When I ran into my friend who also works with the same trainer, she said, "So, you saw a nutritionist?" Since I don't really know the difference between a nutritionist and a dietician I said, "Yep. I really like her." And my friend said, "Well, that's great. Just a question for you. What about (insert our trainer's name here.)" In my brain it made this noise, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." All of a sudden I realized, CRAP! I totally didn't talk about this with him! And he might want in on this to make sure we're all on the same page.

I was medically referred, yes, and there's nothing wrong with me going, but if my goals with him are weight loss, then he needs to know about my medical status and diet; just like when I met with the dietiician I brought info about my diagnosis and medications, as well as about my workouts with him. That door has to swing both ways since the goals are the same in all three consultations. I had given him the impression that everything was transparent between us by conveniently leaving out that the house was haunted, or more specifically, that I was medically compromised and that's why I needed to see someone.

Actually, being more honest about it means saying this: I changed my eating drastically without telling him or my doctor when I went on that plan. I don't have to search hard to find that the reason I did that is because I didn't want to hear cautions or reasons not to go on that plan. I wanted to focus on the 50+ pounds my friends had lost. I wanted, no I needed, to believe that that could happen to me too if I was just committed and disciplined.

My trainer said to me, "I'm not sorry you went, and it sounds like the information and structure you got is helpful. I want to talk to you more about it while we work out. But I also want to make sure you know I could have done that for you too." He thought for a minute while he was setting up kettlebells for me and finished up with, "When I got your text I was a little surprised."

I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I know. I realized that after. I'm sorry. I know you can do this too, but I need as much structure as I can get. My doctor medically referred me because I messed up in July and August. I went way too low with my calories so I lost fast and then stopped losing at all, and that's a warning sign. And my labs were awful. Ahe waved them in front of me and basically said, despite being the nicest, sweetest little Indian lady, 'what the hell are you doing? This is a mess!' I think you should be pissed, but be pissed that I changed my eating drastically then and didn't consult you. It just feels like I'm always on the extreme ends of the spectrum with my eating, and I don't know how to find the middle point on my own." That was all deeply honest, but if I was plumbing the depths of this story I would also have said this: I am a food addict, but self aware enough to know I sabotage myself. That means there's hope for me to find recovery, but it also means when I mess up I feel not just like someone out of control, but like a bad person. It's very painful for me to go through these last few months having to fee my feelings during things that are really hard in my professional and personal life, and all I want to do is buy frozen pizza and Cheezits and pull the proverbial covers up over my head. But if I do that, I'm faced with the feelings of failure and being unworthy of love. I need help. From wherever I can get it.

I think he senses what a struggle this is for me, not just the weight loss, but talking about it because what he said was very firm, but compassionate. "I wish you had told me your labs were bad. In one sense, talking with your doctor is separate, but in another sense, if I had known that I could have done things differently. You don't have to tell me about your labs and doctor's appointments but if you do we can work together better. "

I said that I wanted to share my food logs with him, and have him be involved in that. He gently said,
"You can tell me the medical doctor stuff too." He's not wrong. By leaving things out of the conversation, I wasn't dishonest, but I wasn't honest either. I was avoiding his help because I didn't want to hear that what I did was wrong, or that what I wanted wasn't possible. I didn't know that this plan wouldn't work for me, but I knew that not talking about it with him was a bad idea. So much for the idea that I'm completely open and honest when it counts.

If I want to get better, if I want to like myself more and be more worthy of my own love, I need to be willing to, as a 12 step program says, "make a fearless and searching moral inventory and quickly admit wrongs." I was wrong to pay my trainer to help me get stronger and thinner but not tell him I had changed my eating. I was wrong to not tell him when my doctor discovered my body was crashing and burning on the inside. I was wrong not to tell him that I had been referred to a dietician. I was probably also wrong to not tell him the full truth about me as I know it now and to hold back on saying, "I'm really messed up on the inside, and for the first time I see a way to try and make it better." I was wrong to let him spend the last 3.5 months thinking he knew what was going on with me, and thinking that I was being open with him. Clearly, I'm not as strong on honesty as I like to think when I can so easily leave things out of the conversation to avoid things I don't want to hear.

Yesterday was a wake up call for me. When we sat down and he looked through some of the items from the dietician he said, "Well, I would like to be involved in this stuff with you even though i know you have a plan laid out with her (the dietician) too. "

I said, "Yes, I need you to look at my food log every week. I need all the accountability I can get because I mess up and it becomes a slippery slope really quickly and then I feel like I'm failing at life."

"Well, if you want to use me for accountability, you need to tell me these things. Just sayin'"

So true. Good talk.

Calling myself out

Ok, I started this in part to keep myself accountable. So, now I have to do that.

That means admitting I've been off the proverbial wagon for the last seven days. It's hard to admit this, because it means admitting the bad choices I've made, and the fact that I knew they weren't the most helpful choices as I was making them. It's not like I can say, "What?! I had no idea that it was a bad plan to eat that cake!"

I needed things I wasn't getting, so I put other things in place that were not what I needed but made it seem like I was getting by. I loved my friends' visit, but of course being "on vacay" or having people visit from out of town often means eating out. Still, though, while there were some extravagances during their visit (most notably more alcohol than I generally do, risotto, some apple cake - delish by the way - and some self-serve fro-yo) there was also a lot of vegetables, a lovely salad lunch, and some exercise. What really was caused me to fall over the edge was not their visit or my semi-vacation eating, but instead all the things leading up to it. If anything, the semi-vacation time in my own city brought some balance back to "the force."

See, September put me on the road every day but three, and it wasn't good for me. I needed more time, more support in my work and personal life, more practical help from my office, more sleep, a more solid plan to eat well and exercise, and some downtime so that I could process, think, and set myself up to make good decisions. What I got was an average of 5 hours of sleep a night, the need to do all of my cooking in two hours a week, having to make myself go to the gym after 9pm and after 10-14 hour work days, eating in the car, and working longer and longer hours and falling more and more behind on administrative office work. I got a lot of tired, a lot of unanswered personal and professional questions, and a lot of pressure to do and be more.

I am glad to report that I missed only two of my workout assignments from my trainer in September, and worked really hard for all of the days September, to eat healthy. I walked in the mornings, though the beginning of the end of my commitment was when I stopped getting up at 6am to do that regularly. I ate a lot of healthy food, but the FRED voices worked their way in. I was tired and stressed out pretty much every day, all day and there was a stress toll paid as well. I've noticed that FRED has a lot less to do with bad food being present, and a lot more to do with addictive eating, emotional or stress eating. FRED has almost nothing to do with being hungry, but for sure being tired is a big predictor of what I will hear loudest inside my head.Yes, that's right . . . like a schizophrenic, something I'm starting to learn about myself is that there are some internal voices I need to make friends with; those that ell me it's a good idea to have the whole box of Cheezits, as well as those that clamor for kale salad and chicken breast.

It started so innocently. I baked some gluten free pumpkin bread for my singing class. I didn't intend to eat it, but to give it away. But then my class was canceled and I had a serious carb (with chocolate!) on my hands. I had a few pieces and then decided it was wiser to throw it out than keep it. Good job, Christie, good job.

Then the next week I had done 10 hours of working out, and I needed to add a couple of hundred calories to my day - pizza. A week later, I had joked with my boyfriend about cheese fries and he showed up with them. None of these things derailed my results, so it was easy to treat them as isolated incidents, instead of a pattern. Looking back though, there was a result I hadn't taken into account - how I felt about what I was doing, and an erosion to my resolve and my choices. Pumpkin bread, pizza, and cheese fries became sandwiches, a cookie, and a scone. And soon, September ended and I was tossed into a two day conference in October. Have you been to one of these things? It's food allllll dayyyyy loooooooong. It's also a sit-fest and an expectation to be professionally "on" all day, up to 10 hours, and then still somehow make up for the phone calls and emails that have been missed afterwords. I found myself in a hotel, not all that far from home, but it might as well have been in Srilanka for as far away as I felt from the semblance of eating-and-exercising routine I had established. We were at breakfast at 7:30-8, in workshops from 8-5:30, and then had networking sessions. I wasn't obligated to be at the networking sessions, but with as many people as I'd been in small group exercises with, and as many people there from my company, it would have been rude not to go.

My first day at the workshop went like this:
7:30  Breakfast of fruit and bagel. I swear, that was the healthiest choice
10  Snack - the same foods as offered at breakfast plus a rack of chips
1  Lunch - I ate salad because it was the best choice, but there were no protein sources I felt comfortable with so I knew I would be hungry in the afternoon . . . damn.
3ish Snack - chips, veggies and dip, candy bars, ice cream offered. I had veggies and dip and Smartfood popcorn. I was really hungry from lunch. I stared down the candy bars . . . it was hard to walk away.
5:30 Our cocktail hour and networking session. Beer,well drinks, wine, sushi that I couldn't eat because it had mayo in it (you really don't want to know how much I hate mayonnaise. Trust me), fried spring rolls, fried cheese, cheese and crackers, veggies and dip, meat I couldn't make myself eat because I didn't know where it came from, and a whole mess of desserts. I had two beers, three pieces of cheese, veggies and dip, and one tiny fried spring roll. So, I knew I was still hungry.
7:30 I knew I was in trouble when I headed into my "make-up work" session. I grabbed an apple, a bottle of water, and headed for the lounge hoping to scoop some wifi and knock out some emails. What a mistake. It became social time as more and more people joined us, and while I loved it, after that day, it was hard not to have a couple more beers, snack on some calamari . . . oy.

Going into the second day, it got harder and harder to stare down the chips and candy bars, and I won some of the battles, but not all of them. And so I began to feel I was losing the war. That's the mentality I carried with me going into picking my friends and being in the mode to enjoy their visit and my time off. Do you see how a few pebbles can so easily become a landslide?

I feel like the J.K. Rowling quote becomes my life when I look at these patterns and what it will take to break them. "Constant Vigilance!"

So, I began calling myself out while my friends were here and mentioning why yes, I do very much want dessert, but I'm putting fruit on my fro yo. Or, I'm aiming for more vegetables today. Or, i really need to work some exercise in. Not perfect, but looking for that balance in enjoying myself and living life and also not going hog wild at the trough.

I hadn't really planned it this way, but when I made my appointment with the nutritionist I made it for 3 hours directly after leaving my friends (with lots of hugs, gratitude, and love) at the airport. It was kind of perfect. (it is moments like these that I really think things happen for a reason.

Several people commented, "After all of your self education about your medical conditions and carbs and food do you really think she can tel you anything you don't know?" I went in there with the attitude of, "For me to get better results, I have to consider that either I don't know everything or that I do know things but haven't been accountable to that knowledge." It was my plan to challenge this woman to give me my money's worth by helping me come up with some systems of accountability and some ways to really get the kind of results that are realistic but also keep me motivated. We worked very hard with a lot of information to plan what we felt was doable, what my body can handle without faking itself out, and what allows me to still live my life - a lifestyle that we had to frankly acknowledge does not make it easy for me to get big results.

I did hear a lot of things that were news to me, and I heard things that helped me or taught me something new. More on that in coming entries, but for now, a renewed sense of what I'm tackling, my goals, and a better map of how to walk that road.

Best of all, when she wanted to weigh me, we had a very hard discussion where I said, "I'm normally fine with stepping on the scale, but it's been a week of eating off of my plan and not exercising as much. I'm not sure I want to weigh today." she gently said, "We will have a much better idea of what is working if we can track the change on my scale each time you come in." Like the giant nerd that I am, I said, "I can get behind looking at the delta, not the number." As we walked over to the scale she said, "We're not going to marry this number, we're just going to meet it."I liked that. I'm not married to this number, I'm just using it for tracking purposes. I liked even better to find that I had only gained 2.5 pounds. I hate that I gained since my body is such a fighter when it comes to letting go of the weight, so I know mow much time it takes to take off 2.5 pounds. i like that my hard week doesn't mean I am a total failure or have completely backslid.

It's an important lesson to me - accountability is important, and something I continue to need to work towards, but life also happens and I need to know that not every week can be a perfect week. Better even than that, I need to plan that when things aren't perfect, I need to not let it continue to roll out of control. But, like many things, I can't see it clearly inside of it . . . what felt like certain doom to me, was actually 2.5 pounds and a roller-coaster week where what I saw was the cake, the waffles, the ravioli and risotto, the for yo, and the little tastes of chocolate. What I didn't account for was the best run of my life, a hike, a lot of "out-and-about" walking, and some choices that were amazing! I ate vegetables at the conference snack, not ice cream! I made sure we had three servings of vegetables at our dinner party!

So, I'm calling myself out for not logging my food last week, I'm calling myself out for not making time for myself at that conference, because really, 10 hours of work should've been enough so running and giving myself an hour was more than reasonable. I'm calling myself out for the things I ate that were just ridiculous. Not the ravioli. Not the risotto. But things like the fried spring roll and the candy bar. Just unnecessary. (Some of the other choices were good food, made in good ways, just food that happens to be a little carbier than is optimal on a regular basis. Fried food and processed candy, not so much.) But I'm also calling myself out for being so hard on myself that one error feels like the end, because that is likely where the crack in the foundation formed causing things to fall down a bit.

So, I'm back, and I'm ready to make the rest of this month be about what this should be about: accountability, and a goal to take care of myself, not to beat myself into the ground. Off to finish all of my doctor's appointments (I hope) for the rest of the year!

on the road again

I am on the road a lot. Normally I spend about 10 hours a week in my car. In September that usually goes up to about 12-14 hours a week. This year, because I am doing extra jobs and part of opening a new center I'm looking at being in my car 14-16 hours a week.

I've talked about this before - there are good and bad things about my car time. Today on my drive to the new center I caught up on two work phone calls and listened to some truly stress releasing music. On my drive back, I talked to a wonderful friend who I haven't seen for a long time. I have plans to see her in two months and we're so excited. Since the last time we were together, she created a whole new person in her family!! (As a fun sidenote: the was the surrogate sister of my ex-fiance. I feel truly lucky that when that relationship went south, she worked to maintain a friendship with both parties. And when he didn't reciprocate . . . she and her family just kept me!!)

The downsides to my car time are truly bummers. For one thing, almost every drive I make for work is 60-90 minutes. I drink about 90 - 100 oz of water a day so I have to pee every 90 - 120 minutes. You can do the math on how that works with my drives. I get killer farmer's tan. I lose all kinds of time and plans to traffic. But, hands down, worst of all is what it does to me and eating.

In the ideal world of losing weight, people schedule three meals two or three small snacks a day trying to spread them out across their waking hours trying to put more calories  into the first half of the day and then taper off in the second half. So, like for me, I'm usually awake for 16-18 hours. I need to eat within 15 minutes of getting up because of my hypoglycemia. So, a good schedule for me would be:

Hour one - breakfast of yogurt, oatmeal, V8 and/or hard boiled egg, lots of water
Hour two - herbal tea
Hour three - small snack (piece of fruit, almonds), lots of water
Hour four - water and/or diet soda
Hour six - Lunch (tuna, sashimi, leftover kale salad or brussel sprouts, maybe a lowfat string cheese; lots of protein and veggies with . . . you guessed it, lots of water)
Hour seven - mint water (it's my way of making myself feel like I got something really good, while also staying hydrated)
Hour eight or nine - small snack and/or protein shake, lots of water
Hour ten - lots of water and/or diet soda
Hour eleven or twelve - small dinner = all veggies and protein, lots of water
Hour fourteenish - very small snack, lots of water

This seems like it's so reasonable and easy, yes?

No.

How my life really goes is so much weirder than this. I get up, eat the first half of my breakfast. These days because I've been getting so used to getting up eeeeeaaaa-heeaaaaarly I either then go walking, or go into the office to get some emails done. Then in hour twoish I eat the second half of my breakfast. I still drink a metric shit-ton of water. Then I have to shower fast and get some more work done. Then I have to shove a bunch of stuff in my messenger bag, throw all my stuff in my gym bag, and pack between 50-70 oz of water. Often, if I have a meeting somewhere around 1 to 2pm I have to drive during lunch. Then I work for the next 4 hours or so, and then get to drive some more, go to the gym, eat dinner too late, catch up on more emails, and then fall asleep while watching or reading something. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Plus, the road has other hazards. There are Starbucks (and when they introduced cupcakes, that became a place of doom. Plus, now it is Pumpkin Latte season. Danger Will Robinson!), bagel places, places that sell really good fried food, gas stations with candy bars . . . it's all out there. Over and over and over I drive down the road.

It's far too easy to fall into that trap. And there are almost no good choices on the road, or if there are, you have to work really hard to get at them. There are salads, but they often don't have protein. There is protein, but it is often of a dubious source, or fried. And everywhere, everywhere lurks cheaper, more convenient sources of corn syrup and carbs.

So, I'm trying really hard to master the fine art of eating lunch in my car. But, this chic hasn't eaten at a McDonald's or Burger King in more than 12 years (which made driving across the country 3+ years ago REALLY interesting, I'll tell you). And I'm not going to start now when I'm trying really hard to eat healthier and lose weight. My new quest is to find the perfect healthy lunch en route.

So far, the best I've done is to cut a grilled chicken breast into strips (like chicken fingers, but not fried), put some cherry tomatoes into a bag, cut up some raw broccoli or cauliflower and put all of it in a rectangle tuperware with a small cup of low cal dressing. I drive, and dip. I think it's legal. At least, it's less dangerous than driving and texting.

It's also far less dangerous for me than what is out there. So, yes, it's another bag to carry, in addition to the gym bag, the work bag, the purse, and the 50-70 oz of water, I've now added lunch and a baggy full of snacks (snap peas, almonds, and protein shakes anyone? I'm always strapping).

This is hard. It's really hard. I want to eat normal things like a normal person. I want to decide to get a bagel sandwich. I want to not have to second guess myself. But, I want to be thinner faster more than I want those things. I want new habits and the ability to trust myself more even than clothes in smaller sizes. So, I'll live with the greasy fingers, the need to keep paper towels in my car, and flossing in a parking lot to get rid of the little broccoli pieces that like to take up residence.

I also know that it's not completely possible to keep the world out by structuring everything. Sometimes, in the moment, I want that pumpkin latte more than I want anything else. And I also know that real people who wear clothes four sizes smaller than me also give into the Pumpkin Latte (or popcorn, or Cheezits, or donut) occasionally. With that in mind, I too have to be able to eat those things, but then be a normal person and not keep eating, well . . . everything.

This isn't about controlling everything. It is about keeping things in check where I can. I learned a tough lesson going from my Seattle trip straight into being on the road and a business trip last week. I did GREAT on vacation with exercise and eating and then came back and was thrown into a see of business lunches and dinners out with my boss. ACK! It wasn't good, and even though I still fought for time to exercise, my weight crept up. Like, in a matter of hours. I mean days, of course, but not very many days. 3 days. 72 hours. It went by so fast. I was so tired, and so not in the driver's seat in either the rental car in Salt Lake City, or metaphorically. So, if we ended up at a steak house, that's where we ended up.

I have to be a normal person who does those things and then still goes running. I have to be able to eat a piece of bread and not fall all to pieces. I have to be able to be social and allow the dinner to be about business, not about my incredibly difficult eating. So, I went to the steak house. I ate the bread. And then I went running.

So, I have to be a normal person, yes, but I have to get to normal. Right now that means taking advantage of the times that I can control things, and setting that structure so I can learn a new normal. That means that I have to make choices ahead of time whenever I can. And here, in Colorado, even if my schedule is insane, I can. So I do. And I did. Chicken and broccoli tomorrow! Yaaaaaaaaaaayyy!

If nothing ever changes, then nothing ever changes

Are you all ready for some raw, painful, honesty? I am WICKED tired from vacationing, sprinting across the mountains, giving a long presentation, laundry, packing, and then sprinting back across the mountains for a business trip. Not to mention a long day at work out here today and some deep and difficult feelings. So, I don't know if I can be moderate tonight. You've been warned.

I have been engaged twice. (Though I estimate I have been proposed to over 500 times. But that is a funny story, and I'm not in a funny mood tonight. So, another time) And I have called both betrothals off. In the first case, I was young, but ready for the challenges of combining our young lives and moving forward. He was lovely, and funny, and smart, but perhaps not as ready to deal with reality and responsibility as I had estimated. Looking back, he was an interesting choice for me. I felt very connected to him, until I didn't. 20/20 hindsight - what I see is someone who was my friend, maybe my best friend for a long time, and who I felt fortunate to also have romantic feelings for . . . but kind of in that order. When it ended, and during the time leading up to it ending, I was desperate to seek ways to make things better. But once it ended, I felt . . . peaceful. We broke up, and about 20 minutes later went to Target and saw a movie. He went back to being my friend, and although our lives took different paths, we are still friendLY today. So, I am now, and was then, ok with letting go of that hope for something more that had existed when we made those promises because in it's place, I got to stop fighting with my friend and nurture that friendship again.

I then dated a handful of people (one at a time, not all at once! I am most def a serial monogamist) who took up various space in my heart. Some of them were people I felt very close to, while there were others who impressed or intrigued me but who I didn't feel as attached to. All of them were interesting learning experiences.

Right around the time I was thinking that having these learning experiences was getting a bit draining and that I should probably focus energy on me instead of on people who might or might not be worth the trouble, I met someone. (In the movie version this is accompanied by a sigh and a swoon) He was a difficult personality, he probably still is. But, we connected very easily and quickly. It felt . . . well, it felt like it was supposed to be. And so, when we discovered we both wanted to go somewhere with this feeling despite the logistics of me being in NJ and him going abroad for a year, we just went for it. Looking back, there were a lot of warning signs. For instance, the fact that he proposed to two women who were bad for him, stole from him, took advantage of him, but couldn't commit to me fully and couldn't understand how asking me to do more, be more, and give more to the relationship was unfair in the face of his hesitation. Warning signs? Umm, more like neon signs.

But at the time, I just loved him and decided that, "love is patient, love is kind," blah, blah etc. Of course I realize that a real love, a true, mature, lasting love, is one that may not always be kind, but that when it is, it is about both people being patient and giving and kind. And he . . . well he did it on an as-needed basis. Talking about him usually takes me several minutes because the story of how our relationship died a terrible death is also the story of how we got engaged, how I ended up in CO, and how unfortunate it was to lose a parent and come home to losing a fiance. I have resentments about how I was taken advantage of, and how he attempts to continue to use me and pawn his life off on other people, but I am not longer bitter about the loss of the relationship. Mostly, I'm grateful that we didn't get married and have kids. Because . . . it got baaaaaaaaaaaaad. And looking back, he was someone who I had strong romantic feelings for and strong attraction to, but who I only sometimes felt was a good friend. When he was, he WAS but when he wasn't everything was awry. So, it's not a surprise that we were so out of synch that he would choose the worst possible moment in the recorded history-of-Christie to punk out.

In the wake of these failed engagements, and two other eye-opening non-engaged relationships  I became tough. It takes work to crack this pistachio, and it's unclear to me if the nut inside is what others consider worth it. (Not everyone likes the pistachio, after all.) I was wary, picky, and had some pretty high standards. I wanted someone who would be nice to my mother, even when I was frustrated with her. Someone who didn't scorn religion, but wasn't fanatical either. Someone who was equally comfortable with fun of different varieties like cooking dinner at home, a live baseball game, the symphony, game night with my friends, perusing a book store. Someone who would find my bad habit of kicking my shoes off in weird corners of the house endearing, someone who would happily let me swipe their tee-shirt to sleep in. Someone who would challenge me, but support me. Someone smart but also wise. Someone who would make me laugh. Someone who would forgive my faults and be honest about theirs. Someone who would be my friend AND romantic partner, in equal measure.

I found it in an unlikely candidate. And between having been burned so badly before leaving me scarred and wary, and being unsure that this person was the fit I had been looking for, well it took me quite awhile to admit that I felt as much as I did. I hung back for awhile. And right when I thought, "Well, maybe . . . " he freaked out. Not auspicious, huh? I know.

What followed was several months of two steps forward, three steps back. And because I understood the desire to not jump in too quickly, I hung in there. Also, it was unclear exactly what the issues and concerns were for a while. Despite being a pretty good scientist, there seemed to be so many pre-correlated variables that it took a long time to see the pattern of difficulty for what it was. By then, I had begun to respond badly to his destructive cycle, and, I was tired. We broke up and I was at peace with it because we were friends. I lost my lover, but not my friend and I was content with that.

He most definitely was NOT satisfied with that and waged a serious campaign to get back together. Gradually, he won my trust back. I had concerns, but I thought, "No one is perfect. Certainly not me. And in all of my friends' relationships, they faced serious shit at different points in their relationships and then got to where they are today. So I'm not going to close myself off from what this could be just because it was a wobbly start. "

Things were great for maybe 3 months. And then the old issues returned. I doubted myself at first when I started to feel tat things weren't right, but in the end I had to face that his issues were not under his control.

He is an addict. He is a destructive, throw-it-all-out-the-window-for-his-fix addict. He is someone for whom an hour of escape is worth almost any consequences. He is far more comfortable with apology and contrition than giving up his means to numbing out.

Now, I have dated someone who was diagnosed with mental illness while we were together, someone who I suspected of having a borderline personality, a recovering alcoholic with 9 years of sobriety, and someone who was hospitalized for manic-depressive disorder. I know from issues! And I also know that the chinks in someone's armor don't have to be downfalls and dealbreakers, they can be beautiful and part of what makes someone who they are.

And I know I have my own issues . . . Ahem! Popcorn! Cheezits! I can't really pretend to be on a high-horse, eh?

If I'm being really searching in how I dig up the truth here, I have a lot of people in my life who are addicts. I'm not going to name them, because their stories aren't mine to tell. I think it's enough for my story to say that I have seen addiction up close. It's not some mysterious species that I need help identifying; I've seen it often. I think I know the difference between flirting with dangerous or deviant behavior for the hell of it and the tail-spin addiction. I know what it looks like to medicate or escape and how that can lead to but isn't always the same as being out of control.  I have seen what it does to people to stop driving their habit, and to start being driven by it, and I've seen what it can do to the people who love them. It isn't addiction as-seen-on-TV where there is foreshadowing, and then a conflict, and then a denouement where everyone cries, realizes their flaws, makes up and gets healthy.

It's secrecy, and lies, and broken promises, and boundaries that aren't respected and are then abandoned as too hard to maintain and conversations that are avoided. It's things falling apart in darkly quiet non-communications that are insidiously violent and rip trust and happiness and options to shreds. It's bone-crushing denial. It's people getting sicker and sicker in how they cope and understand and make decisions, and not just the addict, but the people who love the addict also.

So, it shocked me to discover that my friend, my partner, my boyfriend was an addict too, and worse, I had been drawn into it without thinking twice. I had never experienced being loved for just exactly who I was so I didn't want to see anything else but the grace and wonder of that. It was intoxicating. And to be fair to both of us, his addiction isn't what is depicted on TV and one that is often not recognized or talked about. It was easy to not see it, and hard to discern the pattern. When it became clear that this person was deeply, darkly, desperately out of control, I fought back and fought back HARD. Kind of like when you feel a light tickling on your leg, and think nothing of it, push it to the back of your mind, and then when you look down and see a spider, jump up, sweep it to the floor, and kill it viciously. I sprang into this kind of response, and, you know, in hindsight it probably wasn't very gentle or compassionate to him or to our relationship. But that's what I did.

I pointed it out, I intervened, I asked for help, I got help, I asked him to get help, I understood when that was difficult to go out and do right away, I offered counseling as an option for him/us, I had long talks, I went to my own meetings, I gave him space, I helped him find some resources for a meeting for him, I told him I didn't care what option he picked but that a commitment to getting help was a pre-req for spending time with me, I cooked dinners so that we could talk about how that was going for him. I, I, I. Y'all are smart and will say, "well, what did HE do? "

He agreed he was out of control. He agreed he needed help. He agreed to get it. He went to three meetings in ten weeks and skipped the rest. He agreed to go back or try other meetings. He agreed to look at other options. He agreed to do things to restore my trust in them and then promptly didn't do them.

I asked for us to not be together but to be friends, then to take a break from seeing each other. I believed him over and over.

And over.

And finally when he had shirked getting help for yet another week, when he had made a promise and then in three swift hours broken it, and when he had lied to me again all in the same week I said, "You are stubborn and have a strong will. If you wanted to address this you would."

He said many things but what it boiled down to was that he felt he should be able to do it without help (even though he hadn't been able to so far . . . ), he felt that the discomfort and dissatisfaction of the three meetings he attended entitled him to quit going, and in that decision he hadn't considered at all the promise he made to me to get help. He expressed ambivalence about changing his life saying on the one hand he sees he has become a less good person than he liked to think of himself as and wants to correct that course, and on the other hand he wants to not have to. He said he feels he has failed. I sympathized but said, "I don't know any addicts who decided to get better who found it easy or who did it alone. It's not that you have failed. It's that you haven't truly tried yet." I said it without yelling or crying.

What came next was a vague and resentful nod towards doing what I was asking as a way of making things better and "sucking it up" so that it would be possible for us to see each other. And I don't want to be anyone's crappy obligation. It became clear that he couldn't report any changes he had made or was willing to make, when it was clear that he wasn't prepared to make any kind of comittment or action plan to try anything on his own behalf, much less mine, I had to STOP.

I'll say it again because it's important. I don't want to be anyone's crappy obligation. I don't want to be a chore. I want to be someone's everything. And maybe even more relevant to this situation, I don't want my needs and the needs of the relationship to be confused with his need for recovery. I don't want my feelings to become his motivation. He has to want to get better. And if he wants to be with me, he has to want our relationship be a part of his life. Those are two separate things, but easy to confuse.

So, I took a deep breath and said, "If nothing ever changes, then nothing ever changes. This will keep being the same unless we make changes. " I said other things too, but you get the gist. "You are completely untrustworthy. So, I can't talk to you unless you are getting help of some kind. I can't be your friend or your girlfriend. I can't have you be a person in my life unless and until that happens. I love you, but I can't do it anymore. "

I am so, so, so scared that he's reading this. I'm scared he's not. I'm scared that cutting off contact will be his excuse to not get help. I lose my breath a little when I think he could feel I gave up on him and then give up on me. I'm sad when I think that this means I could just never hear from him again. What if he never gets help? What if he does but doesn't call me? What if I found someone who was both my friend and my partner but too broken to be either? What if I'm the one who is broken and some large part of this is my fault?

I don't know the answers to any of that. I know that I couldn't keep signing up to be sick with him. I know that it's hard that it happened over the phone after two weeks of not seeing him. I know that in my heart of hearts I am hoping, hoping, hoping (praying) that in just a few days he will call me and say, "I'm getting help and I want to talk to you now." I know that, above all, I had to change because I couldn't keep being a part of what he was spiraling into and I know that if I hadn't changed, it would have stayed the same. I know I deserve to be more than someone's crappy obligation and he deserves a chance to get better. And I hope he knows that too.

I miss my boyfriend, but I miss my friend too.

So. Yes. Heavy. don't be surprised if there are lots of musings on addiction in the weeks to come. I was having those thoughts anyways, but now they are percolating to the front of the line.