The Good, The Bad & The Ugly

Happy season of overindulgence, everyone!  Or at least that what it usually feels like to me this time of year. My apologies for the prolonged period of silence. There is much news to go around! Typically I like bad news first so as to end on a positive note. I'm sure my psychology friends can quibble over what that means about me.

The Bad News:

Why can you get your ass in gear, A?

As you may have expected from the lack of communication here, J and I have fallen off the Fit Anniversary wagon. For the most part, anyway.  There were some positive strides and silver linings, especially in the midst of National Day of Eating Too Much (went for several runs and walks while in Florida for the Thanksgiving holiday). Since then I've been trying to make good food choices...but not that hard.  The worst offence is that I haven't been to WW in waaaaaaaaayy too long. It's the same cycle as always: I fear the scale and what that means --> I avoid the scale and thus also responsibility for what I'm putting in my body --> continue to live in guilt-laden ignorance of the number as well as the need to do something about it. Oy.  Though this behavior is not defensible, I have been varying degrees of ill since before turkey day, which hasn't helped in the whole getting-to-the-gym department. And frankly, I'm just not into it lately.  It's not an excuse, it's just true.  Given the choice to be healthy or do...quite literally, anything else, I've been choosing the latter.  My beloved goddaughter has the hilarious habit of screaming/crying/pleading the words "No thank you!" repeatedly and with increasing volume and hysteria when she is made to do something she doesn't want to do. We all know how she feels, and I in particular with Fit Anniversary as of late.  Gym? No thank you. Low fat/cal/carb? No thank you. Weigh in? No thank you. But! There is some good news.

The Good News:
Internship interviews are under way!  A few down, and more to go after the new year.  January is a busy travel month, a problem for which I am very, very grateful. So far the nuttiness includes visiting at least 7 different states, 1,000+ miles on my Old Man Mobile, and a 6-legged flight from DC to St. Louis and back, with stops in Georgia and Chicago in between. The illustrious N recommended I laminate a detailed itinerary including flight numbers and time changes. Mostly I've wanted to string up a map of the US and star new places that I've visited as a part of this process, to get a full view of where I have been and where I've yet to go.  It's been fun getting to know parts of this great country that I've never been to, and appreciate some very different ways of being across the board. Not to mention how great it has been reconnecting with old friends and making new ones.

This does not look very tasty.
And certainly not as tasty as bread.

But, as is inevitably the case, there's some ugliness that accompanies these two categories of goings-on. Ok, so I have these interviews - yay!  But my suits are TIGHT - boo. Found another suit which suits my needs (harhar), namely that it's not boring, and with the help of some trusty Spanx I seem to be good to go. Truthfully, I was hoping to have to option of wearing my other suits in time for the January interviews, as I am very close to being able to wear them...but not without spilling out everywhere Pillsbury Dough Boy-style. I figured some intensive exercise and juice-fasting would get me on track, but as January is only a few weeks away, it's not looking like it's going to happen, which is disappointing. Also because I haven't actually done any intensive exercise or fasting.

Really, this latest bout of stalled progress shouldn't be that surprising. Like many others in this boat, I've struggled with weight/exercise issues for the majority of my life.  Not sure why I'm disheartened that it's a struggle now too. Reminds me of that good ol' Einstein quote about insanity being doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. In the meantime I am plagued by waves of anxiety, which do not help either in the eating or focusing-on-anything-that's-actually-important departments. Said waves fit mostly under the umbrella of "internship shit," but also about money, family, Christmas, health, friendships and other rather important or looming topics. The combination of anxiety, illness, and legit dog-tiredness from all the running around that has been happening recently make it very difficult for me to do anything constructive. Part of me wants to throw up my hands, run away from work and continue engaging in my favorite self care activities of the moment: sleeping, reading, painting my nails and watching RHoA. This is of course knowing that doing so will mean even more to do the next day.  But perhaps that's ok for now.  At some point it won't be, but for now, there's not really a whole lot else to do.  Refreshing my email every 30 seconds waiting for news, worrying about things beyond my control, and fretting about the future of those near and dear to me are not helpful. And frankly, it's breeding a lot of ugliness in my world at a time when I'm trying hard to enjoy what beauty I find.  And to that I say: no thank you.

Sun and Soup

The dropping temps and crisp air are getting me excited for two things: soup and Thanksgiving.

Yes, I recognize that these are both technically food-related.  However, this year, I am particularly excited about Thanksgiving because we will be spending it in Florida with family.  This means I will be lovingly surrounded by some of my favorite S-words (not swords, as Sean Connery might say): sun, sand, sustenance. 

"Sustenance" for me is both physical and emotional.  Delicious food and being taken care of.  It's amazing how that can be so important as an adult. Sometimes all you need is for someone else to make decisions. And I, for one, am looking forward to going with the flow as one of the chitlin, so long as there is some beach time in there.

My love for the beach is a bit odd considering my genetic makeup. I'm pretty sure very few of my ancestors ever saw the sun on a regular basis. My body was built to withstand hard Scandinavian winters and Baltic farming duties. And yet there are few things that bring me more joy than playing in/around water and in full sunlight.  Despite my pale as all get out alabaster complexion, I actually don't burn that badly...mostly I turn into one big giant freckle and must avoid too much time sans SPF due to relatively predictable rashes of sunpoisoning. And yet, all I ever want is sunshine. Given the stress and uncertainty of the last few weeks, I can't even begin to tell you how much I am looking forward to this trip. I am actually day dreaming of beaches and flip flops as we speak.  But I am also at work, so I would be better suited to get back to the present and try to actually earn my keep.

Which brings me to another welcome S-word: soup.  This time of year, soups are perfect one-pot meals to feed a lot or a little and freeze the leftovers. Plus they're (usually) easy to make and (often) oober healthy. I've made a couple of nice ones so far (the marvelous M was especially fond of my recent potato-leek experiment), and today I'll share one that I think is filling and fun (or, at least as fun as flavors can get).

Butternut Ginger Soup

Makes about 8 servings.

4 Points+ per serving.

Ingredients:

• 2 medium butternut squash
• 1 small onion
• 2 carrots
• 1-2 stalks celery (optional)
• 1 tablespoon butter
• a 2-inch piece of raw ginger (yes, I actually mean that much)
• 3 cloves garlic
• crushed red pepper flakes
• 6 cups +/- water or stock (veggie or chicken would work best; I used chicken bouillon) 

Directions:

• Peel the squash with a very sharp vegetable peeler or with a paring knife. Discard seeds and cut into 1.5-2 inch chunks. Be warned: the skin of the squash is extremely drying, and will dry out your skin something fierce if you don't scrub real well after peeling/chopping. No joke, it's uncomfortable.  Thanks to the illustrious N for this tip!
• Melt the butter in a large pot or dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add chopped onion, carrots and celery and cook until onions are translucent.
• Add finely chopped garlic, salt and pepper and saute another minute or two.
• Add water/stock and squash chunks. Season generously with salt, black pepper and crushed red pepper flakes (a few good shakes, the ginger is spicy too).  
• Grate fresh ginger with microplane/other finer-toothed kitchen implement directly into pot.  Yes, it seems like a lot of ginger.  You'll just have to trust me.
• Bring to a boil. Once boil is rolling, cover and turn heat down a bit to simmer for 20 minutes for so, until squash chunks are tender. Once tender (e.g., once you can easily squish the chunks with the back of a spoon on the side of the pot), turn off the heat.  
• If you have a fancy-pants immersion blender, now's the time to bust it out. If not, use a large coffee cup to ladle a few mugfuls into a blender. Cover and puree for about a minute, or until it's as smooth as you like. Important Note! the heat from the soup will want to expand in the blender and blow the top off, so make sure you are holding it down tight with an hot pad or towel before hitting that puree button.  
• Pour pureed soup into a separate pot while you repeat that last step with the remainder of the soup (or if you have a fancy-pants immersion blender, don't worry about it).  Return the whole thing to the original pot on the stove to reheat and check seasoning.  Fun fact: if you're looking for a bit of extra creaminess, add a dollop of sour cream before serving. 

Any other treasured soup recipes you'd like to share? I'd love to hear them! 

If Wishes Were Fishes

Hello friends.

Firstly, my apologies for abandoning the internet adventure of #FitAnniversary (hashtag, see how hip I am?) for the last couple of weeks.  It was touch-and-go for a while, particularly in the "dealing with life like an adult" department.  That is to say, I spent days on end in my sweats, diligently plugging away at internship applications, while wholly ignoring other would-be important bits. You know, things like laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, showering, answering the phone, etc.  Combing the coping strategy of ignoring the to-do list (and, I'm sorry to say, my husband), with managing the emotional freak out that comes with trying (mostly in vain) to control what little is realistically within one's grasp led to consuming food that came from either the phone or the pantry (read: all the carbs). At one point last week I was so anxious that all I ate was popcorn, as it required grinding my teeth against airy kernels instead of each other.  Going to the gym was out of the question, as that would require time, of which I felt I had none. Furthermore, that whole concept of inertia was working in full force.  Meaning that, since I was primarily an object at rest, I was perfectly willing to stay at rest, and not particularly enthused by the idea getting myself in any kind of motion.

Needless to say, last week's weigh in was not pretty.  Up 1.4 lbs.  Ugh.*
*Note: when I weighed in yesterday, I had lost that 1.4 and an extra 0.2. Woot!

(c) National Geographic. Effin love those guys.

Amidst my anxiety, I was also plagued by wishes.  Many of which are old and tired and definitely never coming true.  After last week's abysmal weigh in I found my brain returning to that old standard:

I wish to be thin.

Or, perhaps more accurately, I wish to wake up thin.  Or even more basically, I wish that being thin were easy. As a red-blooded American, I can easily fall victim to the desire for instant gratification. Obviously I know weight loss takes time and hard work, and I'm doing my best to make both happen (er, or at least getting back on the wagon). But this has been such a long-fought battle that sometimes the wish to be thin comes unbidden. I find myself bargaining with God about how good I would be to my new body, how well I would take care of it, if only I could skip over this hard part of actually losing. The worst part is that I know better. I know better than to waste time and energy wishing things were different, and yet, I still do.  I find this to be true in my clients as well; wishing for things to be different. We all have unfulfilled needs and desires, and wishes do nothing more than exercise our fantasies about them. Which has its merits. But for me, right now, wishing to be thin does nothing except discourage and frustrate me.  Def not things that are helpful to Fit Anniversary.

A few weeks ago I stumbled across this article by xojane.com favorite Emily. Her irreverent and revealing stories have resonated with moi before, but this article shot straight through me, first with the title:

"There will never be anything effortless about my body."

Hrmf.  Oh, Emily.  Why you gotta be so full of truthiness.

When I think about it, being human generally means being a work-in-progress. Foreva. Whether this be about your weight, your relationships, your management of internal or external strife, we're all working on something (or should be, at the very least). We make mistakes.  This will always be true. We can always do better, but not in the disapproving-because-you-need-to-be-perfect way. More like an it-is-what-it-is sort of way.

When he was in seminary, J and I used to have this argument about whether God loves us because we are flawed or in spite of this fact. It comes down to being worthy, I think.  Either we are worthy of love because of everything we are, including all the brokenness, or we are worthy of love despite the fact that we are broken. He of course argued that the fact that we are eternal fuck-ups is what God loves about us humans. At the time, I thought of God more like a parent, who is supposed to love you no matter what, even if they don't particularly like it when you fuck things up. So he took up the side of because and I took up the torch of in spite of.  Looking back on it, it makes sense that I would have felt that way; at the time, I could not conceive of being loved because of all the ways you fall short. It's a very hard thing for humans to grasp, or at least for this one it is. But I'm working on it.

And I'm working on viewing my body in this way too. I'm trying to love it because it is mine -- flub and all. The effort extends to the exercise world; I can end up talking myself out of any physical activity because it's not what I feel I should be doing. So I try to accept what I am able to do, period.  Yesterday I hated everything about going to the gym, especially the idea of running.  I'm not sure why I was so furious with the treadmill, but instead of avoiding the gym altogether, I forced myself out of bed and onto an elliptical machine.  Hey, it's cardio. And I get to watch Frasier reruns on the miniature TV fixed to the top of it.  And you know what? I'm ok with it. My body gave me a solid 40 minutes of elevated heart rate and calorie burning, and I love it for doing so.

Perhaps the wish to be thin, or for this body and existence in it to be effortless, hearkens back to the in spite of mode of thinking.  Wishing to be thin separates the me that is lovable from the me that is fat. But they are one and the same. And certainly I am not one because of the other.

Tonight, when I am watching the election result pour in over the latest CGI maps of blue and red, I will make every effort to love my country because it is flawed. It makes me think of that Winston Churchill quote: "Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others." I love my country because it is mine, red, blue and in between. Not in spite of the fact that there are people with whom I vehemently disagree, or practices to which I am wholeheartedly opposed.  I love it because I am blessed with the chance to live in a country where both can be true. That I have the right to speak my mind and have my voice be heard, along with all the minds and voices that grate my nerves.  I love this country, not for what it should be, or what I wish it was, but because of what it is -- failings and fortitude alike.

Rs and Reminders

A few weeks ago, we explored the immense and gorgeous FDR memorial in DC.  Turns out that the FDR memorial is awesome, in the truest sense of the word: awe-inspiring and extremely powerful. The lovely C suggested that all our representatives in Washington should regularly be made to experience the gardens, the paths and the words planted there.  A homework assignment to remind those in power of what's important.  Which is brilliant, of course.  Somebody legislate that shit el pronto.

The memorial itself is very tactile, and designed so that people of all ranges of physical ability can experience it. Which I also love. There is stone and greenery and water and art aplenty.  But the most striking pieces of the memorial are the words.  Quotes from the 32nd president adorn nearly all of of the erected structures.  Lemme tell you, whoever selected those words did a really amazing job.  I was continually floored by the honesty of those words, and how accurately they seemed to capture a number of very complex human sentiments. Basically I wanted to come back every day and sit in the gardens, read books and do homework with FDR. The hope being that if I surround myself with greatness I too shall be great, or at least produce something great, like say, my my personal statement for internship (now in its 15th iteration). Or a great neuropsych report.  Because who doesn't want to write a great one of those.

Near the end of the memorial, this quote appears large, stretched out on granite against a backdrop of trees.

"The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be out doubts of today.  Let us move forward with strong and active faith."

I was floored.  I'd never heard this quote before, though the sentiment has been presented to me so often that you'd think I'd get it through my thick skull.  Standing in front of this stone wall, amidst the trees and the Potomac, I felt grace, gratitude, and frankly, God, rip through my heart.  Sometimes even I know when the universe is trying to send me a message. In that moment, all I wanted to do was sit on the stone floor and stare at the wall until all the gravity of the sentiment and its meaning had been absorbed, assured that when I moved from that spot I would go forth into the world free of doubt and forged in faith.

But we had been walking for like, eight hours.  It was time to go home and play Rock Band.

Believe me, I am self-aware enough to know that it would be advantageous to have that quote permanently inked on my arm as daily reminder to get out of my head and over myself. But since visible tattoos are not on the table for moi at the moment, I alone am responsible for reminding myself to let go of doubt in favor of faith, and push forward in the hope that tomorrow will be better than today, despite my inability to predict it or prevent it from happening.

This week I've been doing the same Couch to 5K run over and over again, because it's been killing me every time.  Yesterday, after being bolstered by my ability to make an incredibly arcane and stupid stats program do what I wanted it to, I took to the treadmill and ran it yet again.  And just like before, it got difficult and I got tired.  Usually I find myself trying to anticipate the little voice that tells me it's ok to "slow down and walk." But until it comes, the conversation in my head usually goes something like this:

I can't do this.
It's too much.
Why can't this be easier?
I hate running.
Eff you, skinny biatches for whom this is the "easy" run.
I suck at this.
I can't do it.
I can't do it.
I can't do it.

When it gets tough like this, at least in the workout world, I try to channel my dear friend, the redoubtable R, who recently biked across the entirety of the US of A to get to internship in Tacoma, WA.  I recognize that we are very different people (and that he's just a little bit crazy, which I love about him), but I can't help but think of him when that anti-Thomas-the-Tank-Engine shite comes rolling through my mind.  If R can bike 100 miles a day with a bleeding arse and a busted knee, I can put one foot in front of the other. So I do.  And every time a thought like that came through, I just crossed it out. I can't do it. Nope, not stopping there.  Moving on.

And low and behold, it was the first time all week that I got through the run without needing an extra break and without conviction that I would keel over at any given moment. Thanks, R. ♥ And FDR.

Sunday (too much) Funday

I love Sundays.

I'm guessing they are pretty big fans of Sundays too.

You may know this about me.  There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is how I get to spend a good chunk of my Sunday: with my church peeps.  This is a set of undeniably awesome people who get together to do some if not all of the following activities:

• laugh
• goof off
• sing
• hug
• play
• eat

Yesterday was unique for the latter in that it was the first Sunday of the "coffee house" series, where we gather folks in the church rectory for coffee instead of funding the chain coffee shop down the street.  This is great, because we get to do all of the aforementioned activities with free coffee and treats.  The problem, of course, is the treats part of the equation.  Sunday is often my day of rest -- well, not really, as Sundays are usually pretty busy.  Perhaps it's more accurate to says that Sunday is my day of sanctioned laziness.  And prior to Fit Anniversary, this also often meant a day of sanctioned crappy eating.  Especially because there were often free treats to be had.  I anticipated this happening, so I deployed some of my strongest pro-dieting tactics.  Number 1: make delectable treats and then give them away.  This strategy was successfully executed with a little help from some world-famous Molly Squares, recipe courtesy of the vivacious K who swore me to secrecy many years ago.  Suffice it to say: they are mind-blowingly good.  And not at all good for you.  So I delight in enjoying one and setting the rest loose on unsuspecting parishioners.  Which I did.  Win.  Number 2: busy thyself with things other than eating.  Yesterday it was also part of my job description so that was convenient.  The youth group kids and I helped some younguns decorate pumpkins.  Really, what happened is we encouraged each other and others nearby to play with glitter, stickers, feathers, pipe cleaners and pumpkins. Which kept me busy and thus also from stuffing my face.  Number 3:  talk instead of eat.  That part was easy as there were plenty of people to talk to instead of chowing down on the requisite goodies present at the coffee house.  

These strategies worked fairly well until the end of the coffee house when the summarily lovely S pawned off a whole mess of leftover food on me by activating an annoying (admittedly overactive but extremely entrenched) reflex: guilt.  

"If you don't take it, I'm just going to throw it away."
"No! ...really?"
"Oh yes, it's going in the garbage unless you want it."
"Well, 'want' is a rather strong word..."
"Ok, I'll toss it then."
"Wait!"

And that's how I came home with 10 hot dogs,  24 veggie dogs, 16 buns, a pound of macaroni salad, a package of shredded cheese, an unopened  bottle of relish, cut veggies, french onion dip, and an entire oversized bag of ruffle kettle chips.  Contrary to what the broke-as-a-joke-grad-student part of my brain might believe, food that is free of charge is not free of calories.  While, yes, I did cave and bring home a plethora of food that was not needed, I managed to confine my indulgences to veggies and dip (ok, and some chips) while watching football.  

My strategies for earlier in the day allowed me to feel slightly less guilty when we took friends who we hadn't seen since our wedding out for a truly Baltimore experience: piles of steamed crabs, hushpuppies, corn fritters and a very creamy crab pretzel shared between the four of us.  Between the beer and the Old Bay, I was certain that Monday's weigh in wasn't going to be pretty.  In fact, given my tendency to overdo things in the spirit of Sunday Funday, I was seriously contemplating moving the day of reckoning to anything OTHER than Monday.  

But my beloved J peer-pressured me into going this morning, despite numerous excuses and much whining on my part.  And the news was good! J is down 1.8 and I'm down 0.4.  We'll take it!

Rain, Rain, Go Away

...and while you're at it, take all this other crap with you too.

I apologize in advance for my grumblings.  In my part of the world today, it is wet and dreary, and I in turn am listless and achy.

Getting Older Unfun Fact #58: If you ever hurt a part of your body whilst you were growing up, thought it healed and forgot about it, the rain will remind you.

A combination of this lovely weather, actually running on a regular basis (woot), spraining an ankle every other week all those years in volleyball (not to mention the time during West Side Story when I slipped on the ice at a cast party, effed up my ankle and still had to dance on it for two months) has left me with creaky bones and feeling whiny.  Oh, and I'm blocked in the writing department, which is making me really whiny, because I can't afford it.  Internship apps go out in t-minus 29 days, and I've got a slew of cover letters, edits, and essays to write. Not to mention, you know, my job, which requires me to make edits to prep manuscripts for publication, aka: writing.

Well, I'm not having any of it. Sorry, world. And readers. There will be no lexical gems in this post.  It's as if some impish spirit shoved a wad of gum into the gears of my brain, and now I'm mired in my stuckness.

You won't regret it. Promise.

There is an absurdly large part of me that wants to pack up, go home, park myself in front of the TV with a big bowl of popcorn and watch season 2 of Downton Abbey (incidentally, everyone should watch that show.  I don't even like period drama and can safely say that show is the shiz-nit).  Come to think of it, that may happen anyway, as popcorn is well within my points budget for today, though I will have to fight with J for reign of the television  And rather than just continuing to feel badly all day, constantly losing focus and then feeling guilty for not getting anything done, I'm more interested in doing something to feel better and getting on with my life.

Actually, this is a fairly novel approach for me. Not so long ago, the typical course of events in response to writers'/responsibility/getting crap done block would be to:

1. Try harder.
2. Try even harder.
3. Stare blankly into space while chastising myself for not doing more/better.
4. Lament my failure to accomplish things.
5. Feel guilty.

Of course, the result here is exactly where I was in the beginning: not getting anything done. Only now I feel guilty and bad about myself, which makes it even harder to get anything done.  Ridiculous.  Not to mention entirely unhelpful.  

So in the interest of Fit Anniversary, and because I already gymed it up this morning, I'm trying a healthier tactic. I will go home, I will make the aforementioned popcorn (which is truly not that bad for you...also, I'm obsessed with my whirley pop), and allow myself to be stuck for a bit.  When I'm not feeling so stuck anymore, I'll try to do some things, write some things or clean some things.  Whatever I do, I will endeavor to actively avoid steps 3-5.  

And since I can't stop it from raining, I'll just have to sit with that as well.

Old Habits Die Hard (and other trite observations)

It's true though.

Turns out a lifetime of using food to celebrate success, strengthen relationships and heal perceived wounds is one of those habits that hangs around.  Despite my recent efforts, events of the past week have thrown me for a loop.  And, as most people do when they get knocked out of balance for whatever reason, there are all kinds of emotions that can accompany the process of getting off track and putting oneself back on.

The charming C and her beloved, the delightful D came down to visit for the weekend.  Which was AWESOME.  Such great people, such great times, with lots of food and wine to celebrate.  Luckily, we also spent the majority of a day traipsing around DC, which burned plenty of calories.  Not enough to completely make up for all the wine and food, but I was still down another 3.2 lbs for weigh-in on Monday, and J is down 0.6.  He was disappointed in that number, but I say down is down is down.  Onward!  (er, downward?)

More celebration ensued with the birthday of the marvelous M, which included numerous but oh-so-delicious pints and pies.  Unfortunately, our new-home baseball team losing embarrassingly to our old-home baseball team.  We consoled ourselves by yelling enthusiastically from the stands and drinking over-priced tallboys.  And J with his favorite stadium creation, bacon on a stick (read: a skewered slice of pork belly smothered in some sort of glaze).

Yesterday was far less fun, but no less caloric. All my patients cancelled or no-showed on me (which, in my memory, has never happened.  Or at least not since I had more than one at a time).  But that's neither here nor there, because the extra time allowed me to delve more into this tempestuous shit-storm we call internship applications.  Of late, I have been feeling pretty good about this portion of my life, which is a welcome change.  Creativity is flowing in the essay/cover letter department, I had mostly narrowed down a list of places, I am chugging along in plugging in all the minutia.  A fire has been lit under my tush because I've only got about a month before all this crap goes to seed, so there has been a little panicked energy behind my latest internship-related endeavors.  So, I used my time well, I felt things were going in the right direction, and I had two afternoon meetings set up in the service of the "Get A an Awesome Med Psych Internship" Project. Meeting 1: helpful and relatively confidence-inspiring.  Meeting 2: Oy.

Now, please bear in mind that I am grateful EVERY DAY that I am a part of this team.  They have been so incredibly helpful, supportive and encouraging.  The fact that they like and believe in me enough to support me through not one, but two years of externship has been a huge blessing, and I know it.  And the best part is that they care about each other, which I have discovered is an extremely important part of chemistry of a workplace, and definitely something that's a must where ever I go next.  Whatever my own response to the advice and guidance given as a result of these of these meetings, it has nothing to do with how much I respect and appreciate these folks.

So the fact that my response to the harsh truths borne of Meeting 2 was to sob like my pet unicorn died has nothing to do with the deliverer of said truths.

Of course, my deeply ingrained behavioral response to my feelings of disappointment, discouragement and deflatedment was to buy:

1. Bread.
2. Wine.

Luckily the Payless that used to live right next door to the grocery store went out of business, other wise you bet shoes would have been added to that list.  

Does it count that I bought a whole wheat baguette? No?  Dang.  

Desired wineglass not to scale. Bigger, please.

Thus old habits have been interfering in the dieting department for moi.  To our credit, however, things have remained  pretty steady in the exercise department, for both J and I.  No gym dates this week yet, but we have had a couple of actual dates, which have been much needed and just as nice.

Unsolicited Advice, Piece #267: No matter how long you've been with your partner, date them. Take them out, show them off to the world, even in those moments when you're not particularly fond of each other.  This is an essential ingredient in a happy, lengthy union.  I've decided.

While this particular habit of eating as celebration and consolation has not served me well this week, others have.  Like reaching out to those I love, making rewarding plans for after I've actually accomplished something, and talking things over ad nauseum with J.  Many thanks to my beloved husband for making dinner, hugging, listening and being a much-needed voice of reason last night during my unicorn-slaughter-meltdown.  

What's the saying about how many times one must repeat a behavior for it to become a habit?  Like 30?  Here's to attempt #1 of 30 of going to the gym instead of the grocery store during times of high-intensity.  Cheers.

Speed Bump

Yup. Still fat.

Ugh, I'm so in love.  Must resist.

I guess I was hoping that working out every day and eating right would be making this whole thing go faster. Or maybe I was feeling slumpish and wanted to dig my way out of it by shopping through my closet for fun fall things, hoping to find some forgotten pieces would fit. Alas, they still don't. To lament the fact that most of my wardrobe remains ill-fitting and squeezes me in all the wrong places, I switched to coveting shoes instead. It's fall, I deserve boots, no?

slumpish [sluhm-pish]: adjective. The feeling one gets when in a slump, stuck in a rut, dug in a hole or has otherwise lost momentum.

Actually, I don't really feel that way when it comes to FitAnniversary.  For the most part, things in the food-n-exercise department are going fairly well.  But I may have overestimated how many problems can be solved with being more healthy on a regular basis. As if solving the problem of being overweight and out of shape works as a panacea for the rest of the crap in my life. Low and behold, there remain many things that need my attention and not enough hours in the day to address them all.

Something that I am classically not very good at is enjoying the present moment. It's not a very attractive quality, and I am fully aware of it. Especially because I often tout the benefits of remaining present with my clients. But it's hard for me to live that way, especially when things are unpleasant, stymied or anxiety-producing.  I find myself searching for a fast-forward button to get past the unpleasantness (sidenote: I think the advent of DVR has made me considerably worse at this. Perhaps commercials are the universe's way helping me practice patience).

Let's fast forward to the part where I am thin and have an internship.

At one point I had a supervisor who, while totally harmless, was not the most likable person. He would pretend he was a man of modern medicine, but really he was a huge Gestalt hippy at heart. Which of course, made him kinda weird in our books. One of his oft- (over?) used favorite interventions/implorartions was to chant "Be here now" with various tones and inflections.

BE. Here, now.
Be here now.
Be here, now.

We as a group would shrug off this statement as a relic of his training, but there is something to be said for the combination of those three little words. The invitation, or command, to let go of all else in favor of what is happening in front of you. Right here, right now. This idea stands in stark contrast to my desire go fast forward through less desirable portions of my life. Which, let's face it, are a big part of this whole "living on earth" business. On the opposite end of this spectrum is the unrealistic desire to capture and keep those moments which I do enjoy or are going well. Part of the problem with taking pictures at a party, despite my love for capturing people, moods and moments on film. But there is a part, however small or unconscious, that wants to keep this forever. The trick about time is that it just keeps going, unfettered and unbidden by our human desires to speed it up or slow it down. And in that sense, what else is there to do but to be here now?

Here's to living in the present moment: fat, slumpish or otherwise.

L'shanah tovah!

As some of you know, this weekend will usher in Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. This means several things, firstly (and most importantly to me) that the illustrious N is home in Baltimore to celebrate with her family. With a few side trips to see friends and defend her dissertation. NBD, she's gonna nail it. She's awesome like that.

In this process of Fit Anniversary, as well as a few other processes at work in my life currently, I've gotten to thinking a lot about fresh starts.

One belief that resonates for me during this holiday is that everyone deserves and receives a second chance, even if it's their 100th one. With the new year comes renewed opportunity.  You don't have to be Jewish to appreciate this notion. In fact, a comfort if my own spiritual beliefs is knowing that you are forgiven, accepted and loved, just by virtue of the fact that you exist. Back in the days of being a budding therapist, I would be so nervous, unsure of myself, and so desperate to be helpful, I would work myself into being completely absent from the relationship I had so graciously been invited to participate in. And lord knows, that is most definitely NOT helpful. So I would take a moment out before every therapy and supervision session to remind myself:

You are a beloved child of God.

And no matter what else happened, I knew that much to be true. Sometimes, when I was feeling particularly inept or lost, I would cast off the mantra as nothing but a more sincere or fevered rendition of Stuart Smalley's. But the truth of it tugged at the corner of my mind, ready to be reinvoked when I was ready.

Oh, sure there are plenty of facts about me too. Fact: I am overweight, I am hyperresponsive. I am sometimes selfish, avoidant, and shortsighted. Occasionally I am vindictive, lazy, and judgmental.

And there is also the Truth with a capital T: that I am a beloved child of God.  It is precisely the two sides of this very human struggle are why fresh starts and second chances are so important. Now, this does not mean that we are unaccountable or pushovers or have license to behave in whatever way we choose without consequence. This whole weigh loss adventure is pure proof of that. Fact: eat with reckless abandon, avoid exercise like the plague, get fat. AND YET. The truth is that, as a creature of this wondrous universe, I am offered chance upon chance upon chance to try again.  And this is a good thing because last night, after a number of hoppy beverages and mourning the loss of the Ravens, the marvelous M convinced me to split a crab pretzel with her.

But today is a new day.  To atone for our crab pretzel and as an excuse to hang out on a beautiful day, the marvelous M, her dog and I went for a two-hour hike in the woods.  My second two-hour hike in three days!  I'm aware that hiking is not running or lifting, but for the time being, I'm ok with just getting my heart rate up every day and not eating like a schmuck.  In the celebration of new beginnings and fresh starts, I am trying to be less hard on my self and bit more forgiving in my efforts to be a healthier person.  Ok, beers and crab pretzels are not good choices. But today is a new day.  A fresh start.  Another chance to live in the spirit of the person I want to be.

And for that, I am grateful. 

___________________________________________________


Thanks to the lovely L for posting the article about Rosh Hashanah!  And thank you also to the illustrious N for patiently introducing me not only to Jewish faith and customs, but also to this concept of "working out," running and actually going to the gym, and especially for being such a wonderful friend.  Knock 'em dead, girl!

Small Victories

Public Service Announcement (that the public will likely not be interested in nor serviced by).  In the interest of celebrating small victories on the path to fitness, I wish to declare to the world:

My pants fit.  Well, they fit better.

Granted, these are the largest pair of pants I own.  I almost gave them away a few years ago because they were my designated superfat pants.  Since they did not have belt loops I had to pin up a few inches to keep them from falling off and inadvertently mooning innocent bystanders. Earlier this summer, when none of my other clothes were fitting, I found the superfat pants and wore them out of necessity, muffin top be damned.  "Ugh, this is just the way it is," I thought, and tried to wear flowy shirts to distract from said muffin top.  This morning, I found myself in a similar position (aka: all my roomy dresses were in the wash), so I dug up the trusty superfat pants. To my delight, I did not have to suck in my gut to button them, and the muffin top was considerably smaller!  I even opted to pair them with a non-flowy shirt that I haven't been able to wear in a while. There are still notable remnants of spillage, but certainly more acceptable and tolerable amounts.

And, tonight J and I will have our second gym date this week. I rather like these dates. Tuesday we sat next to each other on stationary bikes and caught up on the day's events whilst elevating our heart rates.  Tonight's endeavor will be side-by-side ellipticals during which I will tell J all about my oh-so-exciting day of public health research and he will listen politely before telling me some gruesome story about a call they got. Then he'll swim and I will run, we'll reconvene at home for dinner and possibly a movie. Or at least that's what I hope will happen.

AND I already have another activity-laden date with friends this week! The sassy Ms. S, smile-for-miles P and I will be going for a woodland hike and picnicking al fresco.  Love it!


That is all for today, readers.

Oh, except this.  Can you believe this thing is real?!

Can you laugh and hurl at the same time?  Yup.  You just did.

Thought(s about) Control

Last night, I received an unexpected and delightful check-in from the effervescent A, followed by a muchly anticipated phone date with the magnificent M, full of updates from their newest life-chapters and support for the various projects going on mine.  After hanging up from both of these overall good conversations, I pretty much immediately burst into tears.  As a would-be psychologist, I was able to engage in an intrapersonal "what the heck, man?" line of questioning to sort this out, and came to no real resounding conclusions other that I miss my friends.  Many of them are launching into really exciting parts of their careers, and I am honest-to-God thrilled.  Seriously, these folks are going to change the world.  Watch out.  My path is somewhat different, for reasons that are both in and out of my control.

Something about this project feels, well, important.  And I understand that yes, health is important, and yes, changing habits for the better is really important for the long-term for both J and myself.  Of course we want to be able to run after our children without huffing and puffing, live long and resplendent lives, and look bangin' at various reunions.  But when I take a step back to think about why, after all the years and diets and efforts to lose weight, all the iterations of all the plans that I've started and stopped, why this time is different.  Why it feels bigger than two people, a plan and a blog.  And part of that is what I talked about before; that this cyber confessional keeps me accountable for the changes I'm trying to make.

But it's something else too. There is something to be said about taking the reigns of what one actually has control over.  Fact of the matter is, I can control what I put in my mouth.  I can control how I manage my time enough to get to the gym.  It's hard,  but it's doable.  There is a comfort in this type of control, particularly  when everything else is out of my hands. And on this, the anniversary of the attacks that have colored the fabric of our nation, accepting things that are out of one's control feels appropriate.  But this shift in gears is difficult for me.  I often so desperately want to control the various moving pieces in my life, in the hopes that without the noise of the unknown, I can force things into a shape and order that will eliminate space for anything negative to creep in.  Believe me, I am well aware of the impossibility of this feat.  In fact, I'm working (pretty hard, actually) on letting go of responsibility over impossible things.  The other half of this equation is actually taking responsibility and ownership over the things that do lie within my reach.  I could be doing a lot more to take the bull by the horns in other parts of my life, and I have the sense that I will.  But for now it looks like making sure I pack a lunch and put my gym bag in the car on the way to work.  Soon it will look like writing and rewriting cover letters and finishing the endless hours tally for the APPI, but for now, it's situps and Couch to 5K. 

Speaking of things that are and are not within my control, I would like to send a little personal thank you to all the JHSPH folks who cleaned out the kitchen after scrumptious-looking sandwich/cookies leftovers were put there after some catered lunch.  Admittedly, I was plagued by wayward thoughts of scavenging the leftovers and had justified myself by mentally devoting extra time on the treadmill tonight.  But when I wandered back into the kitchen, they were gone.  Nothing but a half-eaten cookie and mangled bits of lettuce remained strewn about the lonely-looking doilies. And I, for one, was grateful. While I know I am perfectly capable of controlling whether or not I swipe a free cookie or sandwich, I was feeling peckish, bored (sometimes research is boring.  Hard to believe, right?), and self-righteous (I'm a poor grad student, I deserve free food, no matter what is slathered between the slabs of carby goodness) -- key ingredients for diet disaster.  Thank you, whoever you are, for removing the temptation and allowing me to continue to exercise a modicum of control over this (rather trivial) corner of my existence.

Thank you also to have and continue to serve this country in varied and countless ways.  Thank you for allowing me the luxury of fretting about things like sandwiches instead of safety.  Thank
you for controlling what you are able to in your sphere of influence in this world, so that I might continue to exercise my ability -- and right -- to control what I can in mine. May we all find some solace in the expectation that we, as individuals and together as one human family, are forever engaged in the act of balancing what we can hold and what we must release.

"I think I can, I think I can..."

...said the girl who hates exercising.

Do you think it matters that I never actually read this book?

I am really trying though.  I've been to the gym 3 days in a row, going for 4 later tonight thanks to the FAC's weird hours (who's open till 11:30pm on a Sunday?  Oh well, I'll take it).  One gym incident I'm particularly proud of was going one morning when I wasn't "firing on all cylinders," as my dad likes to say.  It would have been very easy to convince myself to stay in bed and lounge about the house.  But instead, not only did I work out, but I then walked the mile and a bit to my friend M's house and then walked around some more, before trodding back to my place in the pouring rain (I figure I burned more calories with the deluge as an obstacle).  And I felt great!  Totally sweated out whatever yuckiness was hanging on to me that day.

I used to have a lot of rules for the gym, but it was mostly to do with avoiding things I didn't like.  Back in the day when the Illustrious N first introduced me to the idea of "going to the gym," like, a co-ed one with weights and stuff, I was convinced that I couldn't eat before exercising because it made me nauseous (turns out if you don't stuff yourself at every opportunity during the day, you don't feel sick when you work out.  Amazing.)  I also liked going first thing in the morning, to "get it out of the way," and because going later ensured that I had eaten something already and then it was all downhill from there. Another rule was that I had to do both cardio and weights, and if there was only time for one, then there might as well not be time for either, so forget it. I recognize that I had built a tapestry of rules to make it more and more impossible for me to actually exercise, so I'm attempting to give some of that up.  Especially by going at times when it's convenient, rather than only going first thing or not at all.  Just because I like going in the morning better doesn't mean that life works out that way.  And, as we are teaching my goddaughter, sometimes we have to do things we don't like. So I'm mixing it up.  Hopefully tonight J and I will have a late-night gym date at like 10pm or something.

Eventually, I'm going to need plan for going to the gym that involves more than trying to survive Couch to 5K.  Everyone seems to have a different opinion on this, which is great, because I love hearing them all and getting ideas.  My former WW buddy and good friend H (who as recently slimmed down like nobody's business and looks effin' fabulous) touted her love of weight training in her journey to healthfulness, so I tried some yesterday, which was good.  But I definitely need a plan.  And I don't think I can just do what J does but less poundage.  I'm considering ordering (is that what you call it? ha) a personal trainer for a couple of sessions to help me come up with a plan.  However, I have a slightly more ballsy endeavor waiting for me and I just need to get on it...more on that later, promise.  But all that'll have to wait another week, as it's back to reality starting tomorrow.

As you might expect, things are sore. Various parts of my body are beginning to crack, creak & cry out when I do something in a way it doesn't like. It's not that I mind this part so much, but it makes me painfully aware that I'm not getting any younger, and I'm always afraid some ouchy part will be permanent or damaging. Long gone are the days of twisting my ankle every other week playing volley ball in middle school and walking it off.  I actually understand why coaches make kids do that now --  "Trust me, buddy, you CAN walk it off. Someday, "walking it off" will not solve this problem, so for the time being, suck it up."

Perk #1 of Fit Anniversary: new clothes.  Actually, I hope this will be an ongoing perk, come to think of it.  But in this case, they are all ginormously-sized workout clothes from my favorite store: the Bullseye Boutique (think about it...get it?!  Hilarious.).  Lord help a girl with a rediscovered Target gift card in her wallet and all the gym clothes on supersale. Apparently this is a trait I inherited from my Grandma Marge, who could never resist a good sale, and would spend just as much money and twice as much time in her hunt for a good bargain.  "Nine bucks? Cool. Wait, this is SIX dollars?  This too?!" and then I sort of black out until I get up to the register and observe the climbing total.  Luckily we can afford it (for now) and I'm convinced that brightly colored gear in blues and pinks and purples will be a bit more inspiring for the gym than the same black gym shorts I've had since I was in high school and some over-sized commemorative t-shirt from events and vacations past.  J's concern was that (hopefully) they won't fit me for long, but truthfully that's a problem I'd love to have.

PS -- thank you to all the church-folk who were so supportive about this project today! I've really appreciated all the notes, comments and cheerings-on.  Seriously guys, this is more helpful that I can even describe. It's also been nice to hear that my endeavors have been inspiring for others as well.  Let's keep it up, folks!  "I think we can, I think we can..."  :)

Gotta Start Somewhere

Hello friends, fitness enthusiasts, and all others who have stumbled upon this particular rant.

Firstly, a warm and hearty THANK YOU for all your support, both here and on Facebook.  This is most assuredly not going to be easy, and I am a ready and willing recipient of any and all good vibes you can send our way.

Today, I stepped on the scale for the first time in a shamefully long time.  Somewhere deep down I knew it was going to be bad, so I fixed my best-guessed number in my head and concentrated on that.  The good news: there is definitely room for me to lose my share of this 100 lbs.  The bad news: the scale read quite an unpleasant number.  One, in all my years of diets and detours, I've never actually laid eyes on before. This is a new low (er, high?) for moi.  I can't deny the part of me that wants to cry about it.  Because no matter how  often magazines and self-help folks try to tell us, it's very difficult not to ascribe meaning to the number that pops up on the scale.  On the other hand, there is the part of me that responds with a resounding "aw, HEYL no."  Get thee to a gymnasium.

Incidentally, one of  the ladies at work was stuck in the elevator today for like, 40 minutes. I'm interpreting that as a sign and taking the stairs from now on.

So, with fear of the scale in mind and bolstered by the support and encouragement from you all, I headed to the (dun dun duuunn) GYM.  Lemme tell you, it's been a while.  Having been reminded of the benefits of cardio by my friend JChen, I decided on the dreaded treadmill and the smooth sounds of This American Life and Couch to 5K.  As expected, my conditioning had slipped since the Operation Oliver 5K, during which I proudly finished a) not last, and b) not dead.  Everything seemed be going fairly well until, for some unknown reason, the treadmill stopped and gave me my "workout summary" about halfway through said workout.  In fact, I restarted it two other times with the same result; it just quit on me.  So I have no idea how far I went or how many calories I burned.  But it was a good chunk of time and, most importantly, I felt good afterward.  Despite being red-faced, dripping with sweat and trying to smile-off the concerned looks of the surrounding undergrads ("No guys, I am not having a heart attack. I always look/sound this way when I work out.  NBD.").

Inspired by my feat of exercise and the delectable crop of goodies I swiped from my dad's garden whilst home last weekend, tonight's dinner was pretty fabulous, if I do say so myself.  Though I initially was tempted to succumb to over-instagraming food pictures, I thought I'd just share the recipe (or a rough estimation of one) instead.

This is my MIL, rooting around in my Dad's world-famous garden

Latvian Salad Salmon

(so called because of my take on the cucumbers, tomatoes and sour cream mixture that my mother calls Latvian salad, though I'm pretty sure it's a staple of most cuisines in that part of the world).

for the fish: 
one or two salmon filets, skin intact
1 (or so) teaspoon extra virgin olive oil
salt and pepper

for the dressing/topping:
1/4 to 1/3 cup light sour cream
1 to 2 tablespoons capers, drained
one medium or large tomato, chopped
half a cucumber, washed, with skin, chopped
splash pickle juice (lemon juice would also work, but my mom swears by pickle juice because it adds a good flavor with the tang)

Preheat broiler.  Make sure rack is about 5-6 inches from the flame.  Put tin foil over your broiler pan so as to eliminate stuck fish and messy cleanup.  Spray foil with Pam.  Wash fish, pat dry, place skin-side down on foil.  Pour a titch (this is another technical term from my mother meaning "just a little bit") of EVOO on each filet, rub with your fingers to distribute.  Sprinkle with S&P.  Broil for 10 or so minutes, depending on the thickness of your filet.  Best to start at about 8 and check for doneness (when it flakes apart easily and is a uniform color, e.g., not more pinky in the middle).

While the fish cooks, chop your veggies and put in a mixing bowl.  Add capers, sour cream, pickle juice and mix.  Season with S&P to taste.  I also added some Mrs. Dash at this point, and dill is usually a must (but alas, I had none).   Mix in seasonings and let meld for a few minutes.  Taste and see if you like it.  If not, add more of what you do like.  The mixture will be somewhat runny, but will firm up once you put in on the fish.  Once the fish is out of the oven, put in on a plate and spoon the Latvian salad mixture generously over the filet.  I mean, cover that thing, maybe add some to the side, cuz it's gonna be good, and you're gonna want more.


Happy gyming and eating everyone!

Readiness for Change

In my line of work we talk a lot about the Stages of Change. Way back in 1983, psychology icons Prochaska and DiClemente developed this model to characterize where people are at any given point in the journey of changing behavior. Whether it's addiction, smoking cessation or whining, the idea is that people work their way through these stages and, quite often, relapse into old habits.

You know it's legit when there's a chart.

I would say I am currently squarely in the preparation stage. I'm aware of obstacles. I'm wanting and waiting to change. I can say I'm ready to change, but for the aforementioned obstacles. I'm taking steps to mitigate said obstacles and makes plans for success. I think J is here with me too, but if we were to gradate the stages, he's much closer to Action than I. But I can see it from here. It looks daunting, but also exciting. Like we're embarking on some grand, fat-melting adventure.

J and I have had our individual journeys into various realms of weight loss. Ups and downs, expansions and contractions, fit and flabby. Lately, things have gotten pretty out of control, and not in the good way. We could make our excuses for why we find ourselves in this position, and they'd be good ones too. But this blog is not a sob story. It is not a pity party. It's designed to be a chronicle for confidence and comebacks. An archive for accountability.

THE GOAL
Lose a combined total of 100 pounds by our fifth wedding anniversary. There will also be other fitness goals along the way, but this is the overarching one.  I want to find a counter or something...stay tuned.

THE PLAN
There are a few parts to this plan.  Numero Uno:

Weight Watchers.

Regardless of what you think of Weight Watchers (henceforth known as WW, because I'm just that lazy), this is the cornerstone of Fit Anniversary.  The model of WW has a few things going for it, and that's not even counting Jennifer Hudson looking bangin' in the commercials.

1. It works.  At least for me.  First time around, my old college roomie, bridesmaid and good friend H and I did it when we lived together and I solidly dropped about 25 pounds and managed to keep it off for 3 years or so.  Since then I've had at least two other occasions when I was doing the WW thing on the regular and successfully lost weight every time.  The problem is actually doing it.  And going to meetings. 
2. Accountability.  One of the core tenets of WW is that you have to go at least once a week, stand on a scale in front of another human being, and own up to the consequences of your decisions--the good, the bad and the misguided.  
3. It's healthy. For realsies.  To be honest, part of me would really like to starve myself for a few days at a time, consuming only grapefruit and that disgusting concoction of cayenne pepper, maple syrup and a bunch of other crap J used to make when going on weight loss binges a few years back.  But that's not sustainable and, like I said, disgusting.  Besides which, I don't do well with wholesale deprivation.  Tell me I can't eat carbs and all I want is a loaf of crusty Italian bread slathered in butter. The nice thing about WW is that nothing is off limits.  I have a budget, I stay within it.  Easier said than done, but you get the idea.

The Plan Part Duex: 

Actually Exercising.

This is a toughy for both of us.  J is better at maintaining an exercise program once he's into it.  He also has things he enjoys doing, like swimming.  I, on the other hand, hate exercising.  I get no joy from the process or activity of working out. I don't mind sweating, I don't mind the after-aches.  But I am not one of those people who "has to" exercise.  My dear friend N is one of those awe-inspiring creatures.  I wish there was a bone in my body that felt this way.  So instead, I must force myself.  Here too, are some parts to this piece of the plan.

1. Going to the gym.  I know, right?  Obviously.  This requires purchasing the membership to the gym of where I go to graduate school, which is actually very reasonably priced for both J and I.  It's hard to get past the droves of undergrad co-eds in their body-hugging work out gear while I sweat my ass off in oversized t-shirts and get red in the face. But...we can't afford much else, and it's a perfectly good gym if I can just go.
2. Baby steps.  By this I mean things that are totally doable and small.  For example, taking the stairs whenever possible.  I'm not going to quit watching cooking shows or real housewives, but I will do situps or pushups during the commercials (another great idea from the illustrious N).  
3. Active dates.  This is my favorite part of this plan. Hopefully this will include things like hiking pretty places around the city, rock climbing and other sorts of adventures.

Another rather large piece of my professional life is to do with words. Hopefully this blog thing will be yet another source of both accountability and support. So if you feel inclined to comment, please do. The same goes for the words I write. You can never really know how much power your words hold, but better to hope they are heard than to silence something that could make a difference.


Here goes nothing!