'Nobody Sat On It' Isn't A Good Reason To Eat Something

My friend Kerry said this to her kids.  Isn't she a genius? I howled because it made me think of when we act like anteaters, sucking up anything during our day, unrestrained, too busy to care if we just ate an ant or a rock.  Okay, maybe you don't do this, but I boldly admit I have had my anteater days.  Like on Easter Sunday.

Anyway, when last I left you, I measured my body.  Then, I brought out The Tools.  Simple ones so as not to frighten me:  a measuring cup, a piece of scratch paper, a pencil and measuring spoons.  These will be my most influential and important pals for a while, so I consecrated a small spot on my counter as “Sheri’s Space.” Then, I started my day of normal eating. 

But there was a catch….I put myself on a budget, because that seems to work for me.  Some people count points, servings or have a food journal.   I respond to the actual counting of calories.  So, that being said, I played “Banker” and gave myself 1500 ‘dollars’ a day to spend. 

Everything was counted as it passed my lips, so that pretty much made my mouth a toll booth. 

I wrote the calories on the scratch paper which was on a clipboard, because it felt so official.  Every time I ate something, I was a nurse, charting at her station.  For this week, I just focused on eating no more than 1500 calories, no matter what it was.  And I found quickly that the cookie or few leftover Cheetos just cost me too much, threatening to use up valuable currency before dinner.

For some reason, there was comfort in seeing the numbers.  Since many things are labeled anyway, and some things I could quickly look up on Google (adding it to my Rogue Food list), I’d just eat, and add.  I didn’t even write down raw vegetables, because they are so low, and if I had to estimate anything, I’d estimate high. 

I became good at conversion pretty fast (4 tablespoons equals ¼ cup, 3 teaspoons equals 1 tablespoon, etc.) which I wrote down on a little strip of paper.  Our normal spoons are basically also 1T or 1t sized, so I could use those if I had caked the measuring spoons with butter or olive oil in the desperate rush to get a lunch together during the ‘low blood sugar’ tremors.  When I’d have a meal with multiple items, I’d start swapping things out if they tilted the numbers too fast.  It was like a little game.  Because weight loss is so damn much FUN. 

I was also counting on laziness to appear, because at some point, I’d think of a snack but it would be too cumbersome to measure.  I'd sigh and reach for something easier, like an apple.   

Pasta sucks when it comes to measuring it.  Try having a bowl of whole wheat spaghetti..."2 ounces or 1/7 of this box equals 180 calories--uncooked."  What crappy food labeler decided to punk us all with calculus equations?   Well, by day three, this pissed me off.  I was hungry and didn’t have time for this.  So, I took out my dissection kit (don't look at me that way; my husband teaches physiology), and I played the game.  I counted, divided, boiled and measured in my little kitchen lab to get to the bottom of this.  Cooked whole wheat spaghetti is about 160 calories per cup.  High five. 

Within one day, it became clear two things had been sabotaging me.  I have healthy food lying around but I’ve just been eating too much of it AND waiting too long to eat it.  That’s why I’d go from Extremely Satisfied to Ripping-the-Door-Off-The-Pantry to grab a fistful of triskets, leaving a cloud of cracker dust in the air from eating so fast.  

If you try this method, it would be interesting to see what starts to reveal itself to you about the past.   

I’ve done this for about a week to lock in some habits and get a better feel for portion sizes.  When I eat at a friend’s house and go commando without labels, I’ll be able to judge things better.  

As for the photo above, I tend to be very hard on myself, too tenacious with crisp and colorless routines and a punishing pace; just so very…German (I’m German, so I can say that.)  I’ve recently been having much more success when being gentle with myself and honoring anything that peacefully helps my body and soul become healthier.  Thus, I tossed my utilitarian measuring spoons, and bought those beautiful, medieval spoons.  They make me happy to use them and look at them and hold them.  

There will be days I'll hiss at myself in the mirror, but let’s hope there are less of those and more of the “How YOU doin’?”  

For my next post: She starts moving.

     

Numbers Are Cruel, Just Like Third Grade Girls

Week One  (pronounced "Weak One")

(Warning:  Mental Images are Visually Graphic.  Eat lunch first.)

Measurement day!  Before I started anything else (well, besides this blog), I had to get this evil out of the way.  Time to document my starting point.  I began with my feet, because I wanted to start with small numbers (for my morale), and because I suspect even they’ve gotten bigger.  My poor feet:  they have NO idea what I’m about to ask of them next week.

Simmering. Can You Smell The Garlic?

(I'm sorry, that was cruel.  I'm not really cooking this right now.  But this, this masterpiece is my husband's doing, and it's exactly why I love to eat.  It features vegetables from the gardens of several friends, which makes me think of all of you, my support.) 

Other Uses For Your Chin-Up Bar

I turn 50 next year, on Easter Sunday.  I love the symbolism of it all…rebirth, a new life, a second chance.  I’m also carrying an extra 50 pounds from life choices and having two kids.  I can no longer say “I’m carrying baby weight,” because she’s almost eight now. I am not ashamed to say I enjoy the occasional apple fritter, because when the perfect one comes along, it needs to come home.  My husband is a great cook and I am not.  I love the smell of food, the sound of dishes and the gathering of friends.  Yes, I am known to forget to eat when I write for hours, and then can devour half of a baguette like a wood chipper.  When my son accidentally rolled his car a few months ago after he got his license, I was known to reach for a few slices of whatever was on the counter.  Boredom and stress are my triggers.

Prior to that, I never had a weight problem, ever, until I turned 32.  I am actually okay with my dress size and I don’t mind the actual pounds.  What does bother me, is that I can’t paint my toes because I have a fanny pack which has spun around to my front, and it makes it hard to bend.  I also miss wearing my wedding ring.  My fingers used to be long, making my hands my best feature.  Also, I take blood pressure and cholesterol meds…my heredity is partly to blame, but my choices aren’t helping.   I hate taking pills and want to eventually stop.  I love my doctor and I just want to show some good numbers to him at my next physical because he’s an authority figure and I need to make him proud.  And I just want to be able to cross my legs at the movies.

But the biggest problems with this weight, are my eyes.  My son looked at ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures, and he noticed the difference in my eyes.  He was right.  My eyes look so much better when I care.  

I won’t reveal my ‘before’ photo and weight, until I make some progress.   I’d like to greet my 50th birthday with my best self.  I want to walk up to it, face it and say, “How YOU doin’?” 

Will I peel off 50 lbs?  I don’t know.  We all know how to lose weight, but why do we fail?  For me, it’s motivation.  I think I represent that average Joe who just doesn’t have the time or energy to make it the #1 priority, with the intensity and focus of all those super bloggers who work really hard to keep it high on their radar.  I can put it #1 on my list some days, and try to work it into my week, but I fully acknowledge there are so many daily distractions that exist to derail me.   So, since I am motivated by shame, I will try it out loud, in front of the world.  There are sure to be ridiculous, poignant and revealing moments that I will stumble upon, and I am anxious to write about them all. 

Welcome to my experiment.  Can a busy person stay focused and actually succeed within the confines of a parent-spouse-friend-daughter-volunteer-worker lifestyle? Where weight loss is one of seven children and not your number one child?  Come with me, and if you are anything like me, you’ll know I’m doing it out of morbid curiosity. 

Let’s see what unfolds.