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)

Putting myself first

On the mirror in my bathroom it says, "Make yourself a priority." There are also various sticky notes in various places that say things like, "This appointment is just as important as every other you make," and "Commit to yourself."

And yet, it's really easy for me to think, Hi, you. the laundry needs to be folded and there is more wrapping and cleaning before mom gets here. Or, Mom is here! It's rude to go to the gym while she reads a book!

Yesterday, mom chose not to go to the gym with me, knowing I'd be gone for at least three hours (running, swimming laps, and then working with a friend plus a shower take up a solid chunk of time). It was her choice. When I texted my friend that Mom wouldn't be joining us she immediately said, "I don't want to take time away from your mom." and I get that. I don't want to take time away from my mom either. But the truth is, wherever I am, I have to be willing to put time into this process every day. If I'm traveling for work, I still have to try and eat right and get up early to exercise. If I go to India, which is a dream I have (and where one of my client's mothers apparently gives her head massages and brings her tea every morning, I recently found out), I will have to walk and make sure I get plenty of protein and vegetables. If I was at my mom's house, I would have to fight to find the time for cardio every day. So, if she's at my house, the same rules apply.

It took reaching down to pull up on my sense of personal responsibility and my desire to work on my goals to text my friend back and say, "I really want to swim. No one else is going to get my cardio done for me."

It feels . . . selfish to me to put myself first. It's a new experience. I've always been asked to put others first. As a caretaker in my family, my needs were always subservient to those of others, and expressing them was always received badly. And so that is the space I learned to occupy in the world. I see it in all my past relationships, in how work expands and fills more of my week than it should, in everything I've sacrificed to be where I am. Saying no is always hard for me, unless I'm saying no to the voice that says, "Get your workout done. And while you're at it, eat some broccoli instead of some popcorn."

But the truth is, no one will work out for me. My job will not take responsibility for the weight their crazy schedule and too-high expectations caused me to gain 4 years ago. My mom can't eat broccoli for me or take popcorn away from me. And if not everyone can understand that I can work out 6 days a week, 5-7 hours a week, and eat everything right, and still get minimal results, then the least I can do is to understand it and act on it. Compassion to myself means knowing the scale won't always move even if I do what I'm supposed to, but it also means lovingly getting my butt out of the seat and to the gym. Loving myself means forgiving the bowl of popcorn for dinner but also trying to do better the next day and pack my protein and veggie lunch to take with me on the road. Patience is a gift I can give myself by not judging how slow my results are, but also by planning for the long haul and knowing that taking the long view means owning that working out this much or more will be my life forever.

I have a lot of understanding, compassion, love, and patience to give other people. I tend to have endless supplies even when times may be really hard for me or when I may be angry with another person. I need to learn to apply some of it to myself. Because the truth is that if my metabolism and hormones fight even my best efforts, then putting in less than my absolute max will serve me not at all. And the other hard truth is that if things are this hard now in my 30's, my elder years will only get worse. Without work and discipline and giving myself enough love and time I could easily become a 500 pound woman that needs to be cut out of her house. I don't think I'm exaggerating to say that.

It took alllllllllll yeaaaaaaar to get to the point where my gym schedule orbits cleanly through my other obligations. Even now there are little hops and skips when I'm sick or traveling. The difference between now and a year ago is that now if the record skips, I know how to bring the needle back down to play through. A year ago, missing one workout usually was the beginning of a long string of missed workouts. Now I know that if it is missed I must get back up on the horse the next day before I find myself on a slippery slope, and ideally, "make up" the missed workout. (This is a little like doing extra-homework to catch up when I was out of school for pneumonia in elementary school.) My workouts now matter to me in a different way than they did. I know that without them I will feel less pleased with myself, regardless of the scale or my jean size. I know I will have more stress. I know I will tend towards more depression. I know what my workouts give me. Which is why there is also a sticky note in my house that says, "It will feel good AFTER you go." That is a true story. Before walking out the door, it'd be my pleasure to stay on the couch reading. After going to the gym I know I will feel more productive, happier, more energetic.

There's another result of working out: I have discovered it directly effects how well I eat. You'd think that working out and being hungry from it could lead me to fries and Cheezits, but it has the opposite effect. I come home from a work out determined to eat my brussel sprouts and chicken, and further, to plan and pack an awesome lunch for the next day. And here's the truth - while I could eat nachos and pizza all day long, I really do like brussel sprouts and chicken. So, if I know I like them, and feel better eating them, then why not do the thing that leads me to eat those things more and let go of the pizza and nachos. It turns out, shopping differently (ignore that Cheezits exist! There is no aisle 5!) and cooking the brussels and the chicken are just preliminary steps. The thing I really need to do is go to the gym and strengthen not just my lats and hamstrings, not just my core and abs, but also my resolve. So, I go. sometimes it feels like I'm dragging myself there by the ear, like a child who has sassed a crabby grandmother, but so be it.

So, I went to the gym yesterday, and it was so good to know I had done it and met my goals for the week. and as my mom naps on the couch this morning, I will continue to get ready to meet my trainer. It's what has to get done in order for everything else to line up as it should. I still have to make myself do it often, but I can see the day where it will make sense for it to be just as natural and expected as brushing my teeth. Off I go!

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!

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.

Honesty, part 1

Honesty is a tricky thing. People don't respect you if you don't have it, but sometimes people don't want all of the honesty that you have. Let me re-phrase that: sometimes people don't want all of the honesty that I have!

I have learned over the years that I am what mostly people consider . . . hmmm, how should I put this? Lacking in subtlety. Blunt like a two-by-four. Brutally honest. I definitely have had to learn when to lay that on people and when not to. Ahh, tact. I see how it can help people hear each other better, but I also sometimes just want to get to the POINT. I can credit my job with forcing on me the fine art of being honest while also being careful to bring the person I'm consulting with along with me for the ride.

I actually didn't realize how much I prized the sometimes difficult fact of my brutal honesty until the last few years.  I had two really hard moments with two people whose opinion mattered to me more than I thought it did. In one instance someone I worked with accused me of lying to him (and I hadn't). We had been struggling with each other both in our friendship and in working together but I was just so shocked he would accuse me of dishonesty as a way out of dealing with that, that I couldn't think what to say. I got up and walked out and later had to explain that I felt that if he didn't trust me, then everything else I said was meaningless.  (And then I cried.  A lot.) It was a shocking situation, because what had started the whole thing was me being honest with him (at my manager's request) about my concerns about some of his recent decisions and behavior.

The second was with someone who I am close with in my personal life who claimed I was a terrible liar and always had been. Again, I was shocked. It's hard to be told, on the one hand, that my honesty is too blunt, and then on the other that it is lacking. Which is what I ended up saying. (I later told this person that I was known pretty strongly as someone who could be counted on to be honest even if it wasn't welcome so I wasn't prepared to accept their proclamation that because they didn't like what I had said it meant I was lying. And then I told them that if they called me a liar again they could expect to not hear from me or see me for an exceedingly long time . . . And then I cried. A lot. Are you seeing a pattern here?)

But this isn't about those stories. It's about what those experiences taught me. What I realized is that my honesty, two-by-four and all, is something really valuable to me. It's part of me, and part of what I rely on in myself and interactions with others. Even when the starkness of it catches people off guard, it matters to me to be able to count on that.

So why is it sometimes so hard to be honest with myself? I mean, if I'm going to deal with Empty Calories in my life I'm going to have to be able to take a long, hard look in the metaphorical mirror. I need to be able to tell hard truths to myself. Pssst! Christie, you might seriously have outgrown your job. What do you want to be when you grow up? Hey, you there in the mirror of truth-telling, when you buy a box of Cheezits, you eat ALL of them! You live alone, so no one else is there! Ummm, hi. You suck at choosing men. That kind of honesty. Yeaaaah. Don't say I didn't warn you that my honesty can be uncomfortable at times.

I struggle with looking myself in the eye after eating the whole box of the aforementioned Cheezits. As though, if I don't think about it, it didn't happen. Then I fold up the box and put it in my recycling as quickly as possible. It's ridiculous. It got to the point that I not only had to stop buying Cheezits, but had to stop even going down the aisle they live in at the store; a kind of wiping them from my personal existence. Then I started crushing out on flavored microwave popcorn and the cycle started all over again. ( It was at about this point that I decided I needed to get some help to avoid a scary level of food addiction, by the way.) But the lying to myself wasn't just the selective memory about my food sins, it started way before that. It starts when I pick something up that I know I will feel guilty about, don't need, something that will derail my good eating, or one of the many things I am unable to be moderate about (pizza, potato chips, Cheezits, popcorn, chocolate, ice cream, bagels, my mom's lasagna, Cheezits, quiche, anything fried - especially calamari, marzipan, and did I mention Cheezits?). I tell myself, "well, I can be a grown up about this. I can ration this out. Yeah, sure I can." Every. Time.

Lies!

But there's this thing about me. If I'm writing, I can't bear to be even a hair less than totally, slavishly, honest. It's like I won't dishonor the act of writing by being anything other than truthful. So, if I have to write to really look hard at myself, so be it. Hence, my food log, this blog, and the emails I send to my health coach.

So here goes, some difficult honesty, served up for myself.

• I'm afraid of the dark. Like, I really don't want to be alone in the dark, even in my house.
• I hate all cardio except for swimming
• Once, in grad school, we had to throw a welcome picnic. I took a portion of the budget and shopped and planned to make all the side dishes. When I opened up the dill, it had little red bugs in it, that I didn't see until I added the herb to the other ingredients in the blender. I was so broke I couldn't replace those four ingredients so I hit "liquify" and just made the salad. (I have not been able to eat dill or even have it in my spice cabinet since)
• I might not have made it through my second Master's without vodka
• I live alone. So, if the Cheezits (frozen pizza, fries, popcorn, etc.) come into the house I'm the one who eats them. All of 'em
• I might always live alone since I have tragic taste in relationships.
• Which I'd be fine with (and by fine, I mean disappointed but able to get over for the most part) if it didn't make it so difficult for me to have/adopt children
  
  Well, Christie, how did that feel?
  
  Hmmmm. Well, I wish I could be rewarded for this with some magically delicious and yet amazingly calorie free quiche, but other than that . . . less painful than say, the 200 squats my trainer and I did on Sunday.
  
  Ok then, and those squats were good for you. Is it possible that this honestly you like to dish up for others could be good for your relationship with yourself too?
  
  Uhhh, sure. But is there any word on that quiche? Or, if that's too hard. How about some Cheezits?