The morning after

No, I’m not talking about “the walk of shame.” (Though the many, many sisters discussed this very things last night! Ha!) I’m not even talking about a hangover (I drank lots of water last night and went to bed with a light snack of Aleve in order to wake up ready to go). I’m talking about the day after a day of unplanned eating – parties being especially hard since it’s when everyone wants to make their most delicious treats such as famous brownies, family recipes of drinks, and snacks that are hard for even the most disciplined to walk away from.

We had a great party yesterday. It’s nice to both be a real grown up and be able to kick back at the same time. There were no kegs or shouting (well maybe a little shouting), nobody got sick and as far as I know nobody did anything they feel remorse for now. I mean, I did get handed a pool cue and told to play, and I did then watch as the only one of my balls to get sunk went into the pocket by the power of my opponent but . . . I can live with that. I’ve found in life that it’s good to know your own strengths and weaknesses. Cooking, yes. Telling the occasional funny story, yes. Photography, ok. I can do most of what I want to do with a camera. Singing, working on it. Playing pool, not so much. (It’s a little ironic, actually. I perfectly understand the geography and physics having “minored” in math but I can’t ever seem to execute the geometry I am seeing for my potential shots.)

When we got to this lovely rental house and began discussing this party, I had some suggestions of things to make. I had even brought some recipes and spices. The response I got was that whatever I wanted to cook was fine by everyone. So, I made an insanely organized list, grocery shopped, and then cooked for several hours. Now, I don’t mean to brag, but I can make a decent menu from scratch and feed a group pretty darn well. I am not a gourmet cook, but I am a solid cook who can follow a recipe like a champ as well as improvising with most ingredients. I wouldn’t even make it through an hour of cooking in Kitchen Stadium, or anything, but I can usually pull off feeding a large group with interesting and delicious dishes.

It brings me a lot of pleasure to cook for people. It also gives me an opportunity to insert some dishes that are satisfying and palatable, but not nutritionally empty or dangerous. Let me say that there were no  Cheezits, real or metaphorical on the table. (We had chips on the table, but I had seen to it that the ones we purchased did not have a voice that loudly called to me.) There were a lot of healthy salad side dishes, three different proteins, some cooked vegetables, and our desserts were either made from scratch or involved fruit, or both. (Note: I’m not saying that made the desserts guilt free, but at least they were without preservatives, corn syrup and other unknown ingredients). I managed to make three side dishes and some kabobs that would allow me to have a meal that was gluten free, filled with fresh and raw produce, and had a great protein without having to worry what the rest of the group or the guests thought about gluten, high protein, raw vegetables, or low carb eating. This is my secret challenge to myself whenever I am cooking for a group – can I cook around my and everyone else’s food restrictions and just make food that is delicious and interesting without having to apologize by saying. “I’m sorry it’s gluten free,” or, “I know that isn’t quite right but so and so is allergic to onions and nuts.” (I didn’t make that up. I once threw a party and had a guest who was allergic to nuts, wheat, dairy, onions, and garlic.)

As someone who has both medical and psychological issues with food, I know how hard it can be to be that person in the group that has to turn so many things down that they finally have to explain, “I can’t eat that.” Food is ubiquitous in our lives. Most of us have not attended many parties, gatherings, meetings, or conferences where food wasn’t a centerpiece of how people were made comfortable. It’s difficult to be social without it, and for me, it’s difficult to be social with it. I want to be able to eat without worrying that the next day I will feel physically bad from something that doesn’t agree with me (too much gluten or preservatives being the big culprit). I also don’t want to be feeling emotionally bad from what I ate. I would rather listen to my friends stories and conversations, not the loud clanging in my head of food yelling at me, “Heyyyyyy, heeey-aaay! I’m over here! Don’t you want cheese? Don’t you want chips? What about this tray of brownies? Yooo-hoo, over here.”

If I look very carefully over my food choices yesterday, I feel I can honestly say that the dominant elements were, in descending order: vegetables, protein, and beer. Yes, there were a few tastes of dessert, and therefore some white flour and white sugar in my life, but my blood sugar, deep sleep, and ability to get out of bed and feel alright 8 hours later are a testament to the fact that I didn’t overdo anything. I wasn’t anywhere near “on plan” but the ideas of plan (to eat smaller amounts more frequently, and to compose my eating mostly of proteins and vegetables) lingered. Of course, there was one thing missing from my eating yesterday – my food log. I’ve decided to set it aside this weekend and see what some mindfulness and trying to really hear the signals of my body can do for me. But since I won’t be walking miles every day when I return home, I should probably bring that back.

For me, it’s very interesting to be a member of the first species in history to have to deal with the negative effects of having too much food. I’ve been sitting on this porch a lot watching birds, and squirrels and listening to seals a few feet down the hill and thinking that they probably only notice food when there’s not enough of it. The problems of too much are unique to humans. It’s fascinating to watch how much profit comes of this. Not just the food companies who sell amazing amounts of products that are amazingly un -needed and bad for us, but then the corollary companies selling 100 calorie packs, Weight Watchers food, diet plan memberships and the list goes on and on. While there is clear evidence that we are evolutionarily programmed to eat what is in front of us and as much of it as we can, and to enjoy carbohydrates and fats more, I can only blame so much on ancient humans. My evolutionary programming may be responsible for my brain confusing cravings for need, but I am responsible for how I respond to that.
 
Some of the best accountability I have found is to log my food. That joined with some techniques to breathe through and question cravings, to pause before eating more, and holding close the ideas that most of the time, on most days, I really should exercise, and eat mostly proteins and vegetables is likely to help me forge my own solution. In the meantime, being part of hosting the party and bringing the food to the table, knowing what was in it and preparing it makes it a lot less likely that I will eat like a zombie (I could write multiple posts on my intense love for and interest in zombies), not knowing or caring what is being steered in my mouth, and more likely that I’ll be invested in the food being not only good, but an offering of good options. So, I cooked for three hours, and while some might not think that is a good use of vacation time, it was some of the best medication for me, and for FRED who wasn’t invited to the party and who didn’t crash the gates this time.

With that, I’m off to add some more whipped cream to my coffee, because I am on vacation and should live a little, after all, and then another day of walking, walking, walking, and sisterly love.

Vacation

Being away from routine and the known can be a difficult prospect for someone like me who has dietary restrictions that are both medical and by choice. Routine and predictability are often the watchword of anyone dieting or trying to combat food allergies. Beyond that, I learned in grad school that the best way for me to eat cheaply, but also with health in mind was to cook on the weekends and then choose from pre-metered out leftovers for the weekdays. Later, as I began making choices such as limiting carbs, doing “cleanses”, increasing my protein intake, and even going on a campaign to reduce gluten in my diet significantly it became very necessary to use the personal strength I have in planning to get the job done.

Yes, I’m a planner by nature, but I really did come by my tendency to be a detail-oriented, ingredient-reading fiend, control freak about food honestly and with good intentions.

It is both liberating and mildly terrifying to let it go. 

And then, of course I had to hand over my eating plan  in favor of seeing a nutritionist. This means that right now I have no plan other than to try and “eat right” (which has as many permutations as there are people who use that phrase) and exercise. Honestly, I don’t how to extend that to find the right fit for my mini-vacay.


To make matters worse, of course, my insurance doesn’t cover a visit to the nutritionist. So, I need to save up some before I go. So, I’m adrift on my own for a few weeks before that happens. Off in a sea of food choices, no lifeboat. I have to be my own lifeguard. Luckily, I’m a strong swimmer.


This vacation was ill timed in some ways, but perfectly timed in others. This is not an ideal time for me to take time off from work, but then on the other hand, I am beginning to think that with the month of non-stop, balls-to-wall, life in my car work I have ahead of me, some pre-emptive rest is in order. It’s not great for me to stare down the prospect of eating on vacation right after two months of eating-on-plan were suddenly brought to an abrupt stop, but on the other hand, being able to function around food is a pretty big deal. My dad felt it was important for me to be strong in math and able to use chopsticks. My mom made sure we could all swim by the time we were in Kindergarten. So, perhaps it is time I learn the skill live my life around food without fearing what will happen.


Well, here is what has happened so far. A lunch upon my arrival in Seattle where I selected a plate of two small slices of pizza (about half the size of normal slices), and a salad. An emergency run to get food when my blood sugar was crashing and a smoothie. Some Indian food where I ate a quarter cup of rice. A cup of cereal (Special K). A few chocolate covered cherries. A seriously decadent dinner in Ballard (I want you all to know, I love, love, love my sibs. But this restaurant is so good I would recommend you go to Bastille even if my bro wasn’t an important fixture on the staff and management) where I enjoyed the free cocktail he sent over, as well as a taste of pate, some pork belly and some tomato salad appetizer, and then ordered of all things . . . a burger. It. Was. So. Good. Simple but good.

Then today, I cooked for three hours for a BBQ (So I damn sure was going to eat it). I made bean salad, kale salad and corn salad, fried chicken, shrimp kabobs for the grill, and asked my sisters to help me with a recipe for homemade ice cream sandwiches. Then I went for a run to clear my head and get out of kitchen mode. When I came back, the party was on so I had some of each of the three salads, chicken, shrimp, grilled veggies, half a brownie, a small ice cream treat, some angel food cake, a bite of watermelon, a small taste of chips, and two margaritas and three beers.

I don’t regret the burger. I don’t regret the rice. I certainly don’t regret (and will never regret) the Indian food. I’m pleased that I got a run in. (I thought I was so smooth. “Oh, this run will be easier than normal because I’m at sea-level here!” Um, hills, dear Christie. Hills.)

Of all the things I’ve eaten here in Seattle I second-guess only two things – the pizza and the emergency smoothie. I am fairly certain my blood sugar would have been low on Thursday no matter what I ate. I had not slept enough on Wednesday and done quite a bit of rushing, running, and dealing with anxiety when trying to catch my flight on Thursday (it was a Murphy’s law situation where anything that could go wrong DID). Fatigue, changed schedules, travel, and anxiety can all drastically change how “even” my endocrinology is. So, I might have been fighting with myself anyways. But, I’m sure the pizza didn’t help. And, predictably, by 7pm, my body was sending me siren wails of, “WTF! It’s been 6 hours! What did we do wrong? Are you made at us?” It got bad. So, being stuck in the cell phone lot at the airport I just looked at my peeps and said, “I need to eat something NOW.”


I’m all about the up-side since I’m on vacation, so I do think the positive is that I actually heard and identified true hunger signals and blood sugar crash auras. On the less positive, one bad food choice lead to another less than stellar one: the smoothie. I’m all for smoothies when I make them (real fruit, no sugar, Greek yogurt – because it has more protein and no fat – and almond milk because it is higher in protein as well) but I need to let y’all know, when you get a smoothie out in the world it is probably made with a metric shitload (scientific term) of sugar/corn syrup as well as prepackaged junk-fruit that probably has as many liabilities, chemicals and preservatives as it does nutrition.Mostly empty calories.

But want to hear something? Although I haven’t stepped on a scale I believe I’ve lost a couple of pounds. My shorts are looser. Ahh, the powers of de-stressing, Seattle walking, and sisters. Speaking of that . . . there is a lot of giggling going on right now, and a new sister coming in to tell me I’m a good person, hug me, thank me for cooking. And even better – she’s read my blog!

More to come. For now I'll say this. I don't think what I'm eating now is the version of "eating right" I will take home with me. But, for vacation, it is right to eat indulgently at my bro's place. It is right to eat fried chicken that I made. And it is right for me to enjoy my food without counting calories because I'm also walking more miles than I can count, and learning more from my sisters than I can possibly present here! For now, suffice it to say I will never look at a coke can the same way again, and if I should ever record and album I might seriously consider naming it, "The one-eyed bartender."

"cha-ching!"

What is this I see? Not one, not two, but three separate Starbucks in one terminal, as I walked through 16 gates. Bronzed fish bas relief type sculptures inset in the floor tiles. The skin color here is no longer predominantly pale (and my predominantly, I mean the 90-95% white of Colorado). Free wi-fi. Lots of people looking impossibly hip, and somehow still casual, modern, and yet individualized - not running in a pack when it comes to fashion. Oh, and lots of backpacks and comfortable shoes. Must be Seattle!

It's not so much any one of these things, but the collection of them that distinguishes this city from others. Yes, yes, free wi-fi is becoming more prevalent everywhere, but I remember when one of my best friends (and my personal Mac guru) used to have to carry his "airport" with him. (Oh how he loved sitting in the main admin office of the academic building where many of his colleagues worked. He'd plunk himself down on the couch most people used to sort copies or wait for the Dean and say he was in his "office." ) And here, wi-fi is pretty much taken for granted. Yes, I could go to NYC or just about anywhere in Cali and see diversity (or, I could go visit my peeps in Jerz!), but man does it calm my soul. I'm as white as they come, but one of the few things that sets me on edge living in Colorado is the glaring, blinding caucasion-ness of it all.

The fish represent something I love about this city. Seattle is devoted to not just good seafood, but good, fresh seafood. OmiGOODness, I love to eat fish. This is the good-food news about this vacation. I have the opportunity to truly enjoy my protein sources.

And oh, coffee. Starbucks in its natural habitat. I'm not much of a coffee drinker. I should qualify that. Coming from the family background that I do, and having discussed some of my personal struggles with food on this blog already, it won't shock any readers, methinks, to find that I have a self-diagnosed addictive personality. I've been addicted to a few things in my life time. Work, gum, and coffee top the list of past demons. I love coffee. Actually, what I love is the experience of really good coffee. I like the smell. I like sitting over a cup and talking with people. I like what my good friend and former roomate referred to as the daily "coffee ritual." (Life was fiiiiiiiine when she was dissertating because her internal clock was wound tight. Up every day between 6 and 7am she would creep around our tiny apartment being considerate of me, and then as I rose and began to shower would make freshly ground coffee in, yes, the height of luxury, a french press. I would arrive out of the shower to fresh coffee steeped and pressed for me. Ahhhhhh)

In college when I ran an office as part of my many, many jobs I easily drank 4-6 cups a day. But in grad school (of all the times to give up something that you actually have to detox from) I gave it up! And it was haaaaaaaaaaaarrrd. It was a tough three weeks, and I should thank my dear former roomate for still liking me after it and remaining my very good friend. I gave up coffee because I had done a lot of reading and self-education on hypoglycemia and blood sugar. I discovered that while many people focus on simple carbohydrates (table sugar, corn syrup, processed and "white" foods and junk foods) as culprits, there were a few that the masses had overlooked. For instance, maltose - the sugar in beer - has a glycemic index rivaled only by table sugar. And since beer is liquid and goes down faster than food, this means that in practice and in use, beer usually does more damage than eating an equal amount of table sugar.

Another way to look at it is what the source of energy triggers your body to do. In the case of coffee, one of the body responses is to release glycogen, a form of energy. This is one of the ways in which coffee makes people feel alert and energized, by actually giving them a burst of energy via glycogen/sugar jolting the system. The trouble is, for anyone with issue maintaining blood sugar this can cause the body to think, "Oh, sugar! I know what to do with that! Release the insulin." Since Glycogen can cause a real spike, the release of insulin from the body of someone like me is as though I just had a Thanksgiving meal by myself and instead of sending one maid to clean up the carnage, an entire cleaning crew is sent. This in turn can cause my body to crash like a train coming off the rails, if joined by other factors, and send my blood sugar to a lower level than when it started.

Since I do have an issue with over-zealous insulin, as I like to think of it, and since, at that time I was training very hard and wanted to do all I could to keep my blood sugar stable and at the ready, I gave up my coffee. (In truth, part of my thinking was, "Maybe if I give this up I can more easily work in the beer!") I realized over time that sleeping enough had its own rewards, and that on the days where I didn't get enough rest, there were more healthy ways to keep moving forward.

But when in Seattle do as the Seattle-ites do. Within one hour of coming to Seattle on my first trip in 2009, my cousin and I had steered into a Starbucks. And yup, I had some. I quickly realized that it had been so many years since coffee was a daily craving that I could now just enjoy it for it's own sake, not as a daily expectation. (So, there is some evidence that I can leave cravings behind and come back around in a different way.)

On the second day of my 2009 Seattle trip we went on the Duck Tour. And, by the way, it was awesomely, hilariously cheesy and a riot. On the way, the driver pointed out a Starbucks, paused and said "cha-ching!" and then went on his story of how Starbucks began in this area and then swept the country, how many Starbucks are here, and all things Starbucks. Then for the next four days, as my cousin and I traipsed all over the city, whatever we were discussing - kids, politics, books, family - if we passed a Starbucks we would insert into the middle of the sentence "cha-ching" and then continue on. As in, "Well, the thing about Obama is "cha-ching" that when he was elected . . . "

So, as I exited the plane and thought, "B2 . . . B4 . . . cha-ching . . . B6 . . . B8 . . . cha-ching . . . B10 B12 B14 B16 cha-ching!!" I knew for sure I had entered the land of sea-level city wonders.

"Life is hard at 1500 calories a day."

"Life is hard at 1500 calories a day."

This one sentence changed my whole plan of how I have been tackling my eating, empty calories, and losing some weight over the last couple of months. And as you may have read I'm a girl who loves me some structure.

I have been on a plan that combines pre-packaged foods with meals that contain proteins and certain vegetables. This meant a drastic cut in calories for me (though, interestingly, because the "plan" foods were so high in protein, no cuts in protein). Now, part of that cut was that I wasn't being 100% honest with myself before about portion sizes, and oh yeah, there were those boxes of microwave popcorn.  But even on my best, most awesomely healthy eating days, I was always eating between 1800 and 2200 calories.

The vast reduction in calories wasn't what drew me to this plan though. I was inspired by two friends who had lost over 50 pounds with it. That was more than half of my goal loss amount! And they had done it in 6 months. What really drew me in was that this plan allowed me to eat some "real" food, but really helped to meter out food through the day in small amounts. It demanded that I eat 4-5 of the plan foods at 4-5 sittings, plus one or two small snacks, and one or two smallish-but-healthy meals. This meant I was eating, at a minimum 6 times a day, and on some days, more often. (Woo-hoo! More eating!)

This is something I've always known was important -  to eat smaller amounts but more times a day, especially for someone like me who has hypoglycemic tendencies. And despite that knowledge and education, I've always sucked like a Dyson at it. I have issues with time, and with cravings that become cyclical. I'm a busy person, busier than everyone I know  except maybe two exceptions. So, sitting down to eat is something of an event for me. It might be my only time for the next 4-6 hours to do something just for me, or to take a break from work, driving, errands, working out, and whatever else is on the list. I find that once I've made the time to eat, it makes logical sense in my mind to just take a few more minutes, make a bigger meal appear on my plate, and eat it. It's the same process that causes me to be at the gym for close to three hours on some Saturday mornings - I'm already there so why not run and swim and teach swimming all in one go of it??

As for cravings, well. (Yes, I know that was a fragment). I explained it to my doctor this way. I love fish. I love beans and lentils. I love vegetables and fruits (no cabbage please!). I love to eat healthy because I genuinely love those foods. So, I do a great job eating healthy choices . . . until I don't. And then my eating habits become an avalanche racing down the hill, burying my every attempt to insert some good choices and outpacing any shreds of willpower or self-esteem left standing on the side of the mountain. I have a friend who described this as "F.R.E.D. Frequent Ridiculous Eating and Disgust." And man, I never liked the name Fred.

So, this plan handed me a built in structure. I could pack three or four of these little packages of joy and protein in my purse, some water, plan a lunch and a dinner filled with chicken, fish, broccoli, kale, and other green wonders, and head off into my day with my food decisions made for me before I even put my shoes on.

And it worked! Sort of. Er, mostly. I knew right away this was going to be a different experience with different results for me than others. While others talked about adjusting after a few weeks and not feeling hungry anymore, that never quite happened for me. And I had some pretty bad blood sugar readings along the way. And despite fighting through all of that and working out more than I have in two years, I was losing only about half of what others on this plan lose per week. I should've known, right?

Yes, I should have. But see, one of the side-effects of FRED for me is that I lose faith in myself and my inner-hearing becomes really faulty. I start to doubt what my body is telling me because it becomes hard to distinguish the cries of, "I'm really hungry! Help!" from the inner sounds of, "Hello, little girl, would you like some candy?"There's a thing that happens in my head when I'm way off track where the volume is very loud on every food related thought. And once everything is so loud in my head, there is so much distortion that I can't distinguish the "pure" signals from the misleading ones. The inside of my head is banging with sounds loud enough for a heavy metal concert and inside it, I might hear that I'm hungry and also hear, "Hey, there's a grocery store three blocks away just full of ice cream, frozen pizza, popcorn and Cheezits!" The litmus test for which is psychological and which is biological is to question myself, and I learned long ago I was an unreliable witness.

So, my body told me things. It told me when I missed a workout with my trainer because of a migraine. It told me when I was tired all the time. It told me when after all of the sacrifices and feeling as hungry as I assume Kate Moss is all the time, I got weak results. It wrote me memos, stood up and waved it's arms in the middle of oncoming traffic, and finally gave up and appealed directly to my Endocrinologist. "Hey Doc, didja you get those labs? did you see the liver enzymes were a bit off? And the cortisol? And that A1C - that's what shows how stable the highs and lows of the blood sugar have been over time, right? Yeah, that used to be one of our best labs but that's been tanking lately. What can we do to convince her this isn't the right plan for us?"

Despite being very much a scientist at my core, I still fought the evidence, presenting my own case. "Well, maybe this is just how I lose weight! I never lost more than 5 pounds before since I've been in your office, so maybe this is just what it takes. It could be worth it in the end to lose weight and have those health benefits," I countered (out loud, not in my head!). When of course, what I really meant was, I'd endure being sick if it meant being thin. (Oh, how I wish I could report something more enlightened and empowered here)


She put her hand on mine and said, "Life is hard at 1500 calories a day. And that hardship isn't worth it if your body is going to fight every pound and be ill. Let's switch plans."

So, I'll see the nutritionist, and we'll come up with a new plan. I am trying with all of my everything to see this as a positive. I am working very hard to say, "Christie, this doesn't mean you should go off on vacation and eat chocolate every day. You've learned about your habits. You've learned about your triggers, and most of all, you've learned that planning and structure makes will power and good choices possible." But honestly, I fear having that many choices again. And I'll be traveling with some pre-planned snacks and my food journal by my side. Enough to ward off the monster FRED? Stay tuned.

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?

When plans change

So, I knew this day was coming, I had just thought I would write about this another time. My job.

I work for the world's largest after-school education program. The business model is that most of the after-school centers are run by franchisees; so instructors who are also small-business owners. I work for the franchisor doing . . . well, a lot of different things. I do franchise development (training and guiding candidates who want to become instructors and franchisees), as well as supporting current instructors. This last means I do something different on each day. Sometimes I offer a professional development training (yes! public speaking!), sometimes I do one-on-one consultations to train a franchisee, I help set goals, go over results,  and sometimes I do observations of students. I give tests, arrange training opportunities for instructors, and help them get licensed. Most people in my position work in a "branch office" comprised of other Field Consultants like me, an admin, a branch manager, etc. They share responsibilities such as giving presentations, and have resources and support to get general office tasks done.

I do not.

About 3 years ago I took an experimental position in an area that belonged to a branch office but was remote from it by more than 500 miles. So . . . here I am. And it's just me. That means a few things. One, I do my own admin (financial reports, copying, appointments with vendors and repair people, stuff like that), and since my "office" is the small second bedroom in my house, I can't meet with instructors in the office as many other field consultants do. So, while many others in my position are on the road 2-3 days a week, I'm on the road 4-6 days a week.

Is this good for me? Hard to say. Sometimes, I really relish the time in my car. It's time that belongs to me. I can call people on the east coast and catch up, listen to really loud music, listen to a book on CD, and I have even been known to rehearse singing in the car when getting ready for a performance. On the other hand, I deal with traffic, having to carry the office on my back (not to mention often packing my meals, up to 64 oz of water, my gym bag, and anything else I'll need), and long hours almost every day. It's not unusual to find me eating dinner at 9pm or at the gym even later than that. God bless free on-demand and Hulu or or I'd never see the shows I'm hopelessly addicted to. (The company used to give a bonus for graduating from the training program for this job. I suggested that they should give consultants DVR. I wasn't kidding.)

So, you'd think that when an instructor calls me and says they have to cancel an appointment about 4 hours before the appointment, I'd say, "Wow. thanks for letting me know! We'll reschedule," while thinking to myself, Sweet! Day at home! Regular meals! Getting caught up on office work while in PJs! Woooooot!

But when I got that call today, I thought, Damn, I'm already showered. I'm already dressed. And now I'll have to reschedule and fit this appointment into an already packed schedule in a couple of weeks. Of course, what I said out loud was, "Oh, I totally understand. thanks for letting me know. Let me open my calendar so we can reschedule," because I'm not a total cretin about customer service. And because I know that I too have had to cancel things when there's been an emergency somewhere else at work, a flat tire, a flooded road, or something else I couldn't control or predict.

On the days that working from home really means being at home, I love it. I love having a real lunch, not some stuff I threw into a bag. I love starting a load of laundry while I'm waiting for something to finish copying. And I love, love, love working in my soccer shorts and old black t-shirt. So, why was I so anxious with this serendipitous schedule change?

The operative word here is the last one: change. Of all things I resist and dislike (cabbage, washing windows, shopping for dresses, having my time wasted) change is so, so difficult for me.

I am a type A+ which does not mean I'm a type A personality that is also a good student! It means I plan to the nth degree. About two months before a vacation, I can be found reading a guide book and looking up options online. I have a calendar on my smart phone, a dayplanner, and a white board calendar. I leave myself reminders to text and call people at times I said I would. I go swimming the same time every Saturday. This girl loves to plan.

If I dig deeper, I know what this is really about is control. I like to control things. I try not to have that spill over on other people like my friends, my voice coach, and my clients. I've gotten better and better at that but am admittedly not perfectly achieving that goal. But, for me and my life, I really think I should be able to plan everything. What I wear, which days I was h my hair, what I'm going to eat, when I'm going running, when I'll call my mom.

I have been actively seeking ways to let go of some of this craving for control. I trusted someone to tattoo me. I threw a party this year and invited more people than my house could handle knowing that it would work out as long as everyone had fun - and it did! People called up last minute saying they couldn't make it, and other people showed up who hadn't planned on being there and every seat was filled. It was an awesome night. And I took a singing class that challenged me to perform with my emotions, not controlling them . . . and even though it was the scariest thing I've ever done, I'm about to do it again!

I'd like to go skydiving. See how that frees me up from being the boss in charge of my little world.

So, why can't I be ok with a sumptuous day of soccer shorts and black tee-shirt, getting work done in the office? Well, part of it is logistical. I had already showered and gotten all gussied up for being professional out in the world. If I'm being honest though, more of it is that now I have to change my calendar, fight for a spot for this individual in my crazy September schedule, and roll with the punches.
I am a trained kick boxer, but rolling with the punches in my life fills me with more dread than getting actually punched in the face! Sometimes it helps to remind myself that my plan is not THE Plan. sometimes it helps to hand things over to the universe and to remember that the forces that are bigger than me are not just bigger than me, but are massive. (It's an entirely separate post as to why it's a little twitchy for me to just say the name, "God" here.) But there's also something just threaded into me that demands a plan!

It's so silly!

So, I took this 20 minutes, to breathe, get into a different mindset, and convince myself this is a good thing. Now I'll go re-align my calendars - ha!

224,973 pounds

Statistics vary on hunger and poverty in the so-called "richest nation." But some estimates say that some 50 million people report not being able to put food on the table at some point in the last year. That's about one in six people. Why do the numbers vary? A couple of reasons. Different studies measure poverty, hunger, or malnutrition using different standards for one. But, also, it's very hard to poll the poor. They often work multiple jobs, are unavailable, and if they're homeless, often go uncounted. Moreover, how would you like it if someone asked you if you were able to provide food for yourself and your loved ones? Exactly. Since often this relies on people self-reporting, it may be the case that they don't.

What is known is that children are disproportionately affected. An estimated 17 million children are hungry on a regular basis in the U.S. today. Many parents reported going without food or balanced meals in order to provide for their children, but this still leaves over 1 million children suffering from despairing hunger and malnutrition. Right here. Not far away in some hut. Right here.

What kills me, is that at the same time, we have an obesity problem that also disproportionately affects children! So, our children are vulnerable both to going to bed hungry and all of the health risks that carries (hungry children are at a high risk to feel ill, not go to school, or suffer illness 150-200 days a year, and malnutrition amplifies the effects of every other disease from routine ear infections to chronic diseases like asthma to life threatening ones). Meanwhile, obesity threatens the lives of children too. Children who grow up obese are at astronomically higher rates for diabetes, hormonal imbalances, depression, and heart disease early in life, and later in life, this causes a rise in heart attacks, stroke, and life threatening diabetes complications. I know I'm not the first person to say this. This isn't news. (Unless you are Jamie Oliver. Who, by the way, j'adore!)

The thing is, these problems come from almost exactly the same source. Poor families trying to make ends meet by working tons of hours and buying food cheaply. When children are left unsupervised they will eat what is easy and available - often processed, pre-packaged, empty calories. Meanwhile, their neighbors whose families are struggling with a lot of the same issues (too many hours worked, not enough parental supervision to go around, and not enough money) have children who are hungry.

Education and more resources can help the former, education and resources can help the later. Just different resources.

So, two weeks ago when I heard an impassioned speech imploring a community to come together and raise food and supplies for a food drive that went something like, "If you can honestly stand up and say that you needed money for your stuff more than someone else needed to eat and have diapers for their kids then by all means, don't contribute." God was mentioned, and an imagined conversation with God about what you needed and our obligations to care for one another was brought into play. But what reached me was the thought of a mother somewhere working too many hours and still fearing there wouldn't be enough food. So, I went out and bought one of everything on the suggested list, and more than one of a few things. I arrived the next week with two bags of food, and found the floor covered with pallets of food covering the floor and packed higher than I am tall (which really isn't that tall but, still.)

I was never able to get a picture that really satisfied the magnitude of this mountain, this unstoppable force of food and supplies, so I don't think I'll post the photos I did get.

But I did find out that this community of ordinary people gave up their dinners out, fun purchases, and pedicures for a week and brought in 224, 973 pounds of food. there was so much that it took three days for the food bank and shelter to remove it. Resources. A LOT of resources.

Clearly, I am in the portion of the population that has to worry about excess, not the issues of not-enough. So I was moved to awe and tears and felt deep gratitude at the opportunity just to be part of it. It's nice to take the focus of myself for once, and to do something tangible instead of fighting with myself. The pallets made my two well-packed bags of offerings seem small. This ginormous (sidenote: apparently "ginormous" is no longer just a hyperbolistic word-blend, but an accepted word! Spell check didn't pick it up!) number of pounds of donations reminds me that there is more than enough to go around and that everyone need only give a little. It's a great reminder of how small efforts can add up.