#364. . . Or how I totally rock

This is the last time I mention the peanut butter cookies, but I would like to point out that there has been a half-eaten (by my husband by the way) cookie in a tupperware container on my dishwasher all bloomin day and I haven't touched it. What is even cooler is that I haven't really even wanted to. Chocolate milk, yes, and I did have a slim-fast shake this afternoon. Oh yes, I am fully aware they have sugar, but it has the word "slim" in the title--how bad could that be. Anyway, let's return to why I rock. I went to the gym tonight to run. I love running. Since my better half broke his arms I haven't gotten to do it as much, but tonight was marvelous. Ok, so I was slightly motivated by the fact that the gym has treadmills with individual televisions and so could proffer an opportunity to secretly watch "The Bachelorette." Maybe that doesn't rock as much, but my heartrate was sure rockin' and my legs felt strong and once I hit my stride I felt so hot and tough and alive. Sweet. And on the way home I passed the custard place and was actually excited that I wasn't going to have any of that for a very long time. It made me feel awesome at a time when I could really use some awesomeness. That is way better than brownies.

Day #365

Things resisted:
-peanut butter cookies (leftovers from said amazing recipe)
-all cinnamon plane shaped cookies, but one
-blueberry waffles

Succumbed:
-one cinnamon plane shaped cookie. . . but I did throw the rest away!

So, for the first day, not too shabby. Granted I was fasting for most of the day and so only had to grapple with dinner, etc. But still, small victories will add up. One day at a time. I thank the Lord for a body that can run, lift, and laugh. Let's hope tomorrow I show that gratitude with a little self control. Bring on the Monday.

Whiplash

Sometimes I wonder if keeping this blog is healthy. I eloquently set myself up for failure I fear. After my oh so self aware entry about my addictions, I promptly hop off the wagon and as soon as my husband and son hit the road for a boy's road trip, I find a heavenly peanut butter cookie recipe and cook them up just for me to enjoy while reveling in a romantic comedy. What a psycho. With the boy's away, I am enjoying the girl's weekend with me and my two little ladies. It has been awesome so far, and convinced that I will begin my new life come Sunday evening, I am eating whatever the fruit loops I want to. Waffles? check. More PB cookies? check. (seriously, these are amazing-- 1 c. pb, 1/2 c. sugar, 1/2 c. brown sugar, 1 egg, pinch of salt and 1/2 t. baking soda. . . allow me to spread the joy and fat around a bit) Slice of pizza for midmorning snack? check. I am on a rampage. But, I am having a fabulous time. I am taking one full day off the high road. I temporarily withdrawing my bid to be elected supermom, superMorgen, supereater, supereverything. I will clean the kitchen, I will read my scriptures, and I will prepare myself to start a Fast this evening to begin my year of sugarlessness. So there. I've thought that I will analog that journey. I will report each night, starting with day #365 tomorrow, and see how the ride goes. Can I do that? Will knowing that I have to report to a blogosphere that may or may not be there and may or may not be concerned with my philosophical struggle with brownies actually give me strength? Excellent questions.

We might be moving in with my mom for a year. This is a time of uncertainty in so many areas with countless variables over which I have no control. But my hands, my mouth, my legs--those are all mine. That I can control. I can always choose what to put in my mouth. I can always choose how much to move my body. And really I can always choose how to feel about those things. I will "refuse to dwell in the realm of negative thought." (President Thomas S. Monson) And by doing so I think I can discover a nice freedom. I can be free to love more and think about my body less. I will be free to go to family reunions more and worry about my skinnier sisters in law less. I can serve more and wallow less. Won't that be nice. Sure, brownies are nice too. Cinnamon rolls? They rock. And let's not forget those cookies. And maybe in a year, I'll be ready to reintroduce myself to them once in awhile. I thought once that if I could run a marathon I could do anything. I've done that, but the invincibility hasn't quite come around. I think we keep setting these crazy benchmarks for ourselves. . if I can just do _______, I can do anything. Maybe we should just day, "I'm going to do ______" and I'll feel great about it and end it there. And maybe a day off once in awhile isn't such a bad thing.

Acceptance

I have finally (for the third time at least) accepted that for whatever freakish biochemical reason, my body has serious issues with the sweet stuff. I nibble one little cookie and watch out all things edible. Stale graham crackers, marshmallows I don't really even like, and don't get me started on peanut butter. I scarf and sneak and somehow wonder why the scale stays still or creeps up. Not sure what I expect. I think I fool myself into thinking that as long as I am eating healthy food and exercising my body will travel to my ideal. I apparently turn a blind eye to the rest of the food I am eating. It doesn't matter nearly as much what I eat as how much I think, and when I eat sugar, I eat a whole lot more of everything else to boot.



So, I am an addict. I've decided to tap into those Word of Wisdom blessings on a whole new level. The run and not be weary thing could really come in handy. I accept that, for me, sugar is an addictive substance, just as habit forming as tea, coffee, alcohol, and countless other habits. As an example, after starting this post, I went over to a friend's house to sit with her kids after bedtime while she went and cleaned the house from which she'd just moved across town. I knew going into this situation that I was walking into a den of temptation. She always has loads of sweets and treats that I never buy. And of course she even had leftover pizza. Somehow I resolved in my mind to not resolve to anything. Talk about self-defeating behaviors. And sure enough, I broke down. Here's the tally: 2 slices of pizza, 2 chocolate chip cookies, 1 oreo (might I mention here that I don't even really like those, but again, round and sugary--note earlier post), and a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch. In my defense, it was a really small bowl, more of a cup actually. . . does that make me a better person??

So anyone want to take a stab at how good I felt about myself when I came home last night? Mmm, somewhere between crummy and utterly worthless. I just couldn't seem to stop myself. Believe me know that I am a sugar addict? Good.

But, here's the thing. I really really don't want to diet. I have tried tracking my food in my Weight Watcher's journal for three days and it fills me with resent. Why? I have no idea. I've lost 50 pounds using WW, never feeling resent or even deprivation really. But for some reason, now that I've come so far, I just can't diet anymore. I just can't write down, plan, limit, or track. But yet I look at my body with disdain and long for a change, but the will isn't there to eat the cottage cheese and salad to make it happen. I think I need to take an honest look at what I am willing to do and then pray to accept what my body does with that. I want to be strong lean and healthy, but I look at the cover of Runner's World and wonder what that woman eats and if I'm willing to follow that plan for that body. I doubt it.

So, what am I willing to do? I am willing to train for another marathon. Yes, yes, I vowed I wouldn't do another one. But, I am planning to walk/run it, which will be easier on my knees and my schedule. I will run three days a week, do weights two days a week, and have a free cross-training day for whatever kind of movement sounds fun to my body at the time. Diet?? Not willing to use the word. Not willing to track. Willing to eat healthy food. Willing to not eat any sugar and willing to stop eating after eight pm. So, no sugar. . zero zip nada nil. And for at least the next month, that means any sugar at all on the ingredient list. Maple sugar, honey, and fruit will be the sweet tooth satisfiers of life. And, yes, I do think it will be for life. The other night I was talking this over with a friend who gave the oh so reassuring news that her father swore off sugar for similar reasons about 15 years ago and is just now getting to the point where he can eat a cookie now and then and stop. Nice.

A marathon in the Fall, no sugar, and no food after 8pm. These are the simple rules of my life. And steady constant prayers for strength and a loving acceptance of my body as it is and as it will be with this lifestyle. I think I will get stronger. I think I will be leaner. I don't think I will look like Runner's World girl, but at least I have hips and a life. I'll take that.

Cookies. . . .

i love them i love them i love them i love them.


Is this a problem? If someone out there actually can eat just one cookie--even when they cooked them-could they please bottle that power and sell it? I mean, I have cooked batches of cookies without licking one finger or even tasting one cookie. So willpower I have. . . until I take the first taste that I somehow think shall be my last. Honestly, have you ever really eaten just one cookie? Do these people exist? If so, how? What goes through your head when you just eat one cookie? Do they just not want another one? Is it a battle of wills or some naturally engrained healthy instinct that rests on a chromosome that apparently did not come standard on me. Who knows. All I know is that I love cookies; good ones, mediocre ones, lame store bought ones. If it is round and consists of mostly butter and sugar--I love it. Oh well. Yet again I find myself rolling around in that term, "sugar addict." Do I accept it? Do I keep trying to pretend I can live in sweets moderation, enjoying a cookie now and then without spinning into a cyclone of sugar consumption, totally void of tastebuds and self-control? Stay tuned. . . I certainly will.

Not Up

The scale has not gone up. This is good news and is following my plan. Peanut butter and jam sandwich? Not following my plan. Yesterday I had an awesome three miler, complete with chest-heaving "fartleks." Then, I walked the kids to the library, whole foods, and the park. Someone slap us on the cover of "Active Family." This trek unfortunately convinced me that I had probably earned some diet wiggle room and so I snitched some granola, yogurt covered almonds and had quiche for dinner. But, I repeat, the scale has not gone up. And that is my daily focus. We'll see how tomorrow flies.

How does one handle leftovers? Do we scarf the last few bites of the peanut butter sandwich our child leaves behind because we wish we were really having that for lunch anyway? Which is worse--wasted food in the trash or in my stomach? Either way it isn't doing anyone any good I guess and noone is going to give me a refund on my grocery bill if I can prove that every bit of my purchase was eaten. So, I should just let it go. I should stop licking my fingers, stop hoping Lucy won't finish her sandwich, and realize that I deserve to stick to my plan. My goals merit eating differently, and if I have a good attitude about it, I won't create children with eating disorders. I don't want my girls to be consumed by their body image. I want them healthy and strong. I also don't want to sit by them while they sob into their pillow because a boy at school called them beached whale. I've sobbed into that pillow. Once and awhile I still cry quietly into that pillow.

Hello Again

I was surprised to discover that this little blog I thought I had tucked safely away along with any kind of external accountability has actually been read of late. And so, for you Amanda, I will keep on keeping on. . with many things. The last few months have been a ride. I've done Body for Life for a month, losing four pounds in the first week and then eeking out just .4 lbs off a week after that. Frustration doesn't quite cover the "want to throw the blasted scale out the window" sensation I felt bubble up inside me. Then came Florida. Then came Daman's broken arms. Then came a week of complete total reckless food abandon. . . sneaking snacks, raiding cupboards and scarfing cookies all with the excuse that it was to be my last splurge, my final hurrah before embarking on a true sugar free life. That life has yet to begin and perhaps it never will. Perhaps it never will because I just can't want to live that life enough to do it without resent and resent cracks your will when brownies stare at you screaming that you have every right to eat them darnit.
There is a very unfortunate side effect to this healthy quest of mine. In an effort to focus on becoming the body that I have in my head I've cultivated a unhealthy disdain for the body I am in right now. I look at myself in disgust and dread and feel utterly hopeless that I could really look like much of anything pretty at all. Though I did like the Body for Life plan, it put me in hyperfocus on food and body and diet and that is actually the last thing I need right now. The more I think about losing weight, the more I hate the weight that is on me and that slowly seeps into just plain hating me. And that isn't healthy, no matter your jeans size.
So, this is my new approach. I bought a scale when I got back from Florida. I weighed myself and the eyebrows shot straight up when I realized the damage wasn't nearly what I'd imagined. And I looked at that number and said, "Ok, I don't know if I'm going to lose any weight, but today I'm going to eat in a way to make sure that I don't go above that number." And the next morning--it was down! So, I said the same thing to myself: "Self, just don't go above that number." I am following Weight Watchers--using their filling foods plan, which means I don't track, but I only eat fruits, veggies, whole grains, lowfat dairy, and lean meat/beans. I write down anything outside of that and keep it within my extra "points" for the week or use any exercise points I earn. But, I've eliminated all timelines, expectations, or physical visions--or at least tried to any way. I've lost three pounds, which is great. But, I don't know if it will continue and I am trying very hard not to care. Right now I am praying to love my body. I am praying to see myself as beautiful. I am praying to care for my body as the Temple it is and trying to appreciate the fact that these legs have run a marathon, these arms have held babies, and this face has kept looking up when all it feels like doing is looking down and crying. That is a body I can and will love--even if I don't lose another pound. That said, I am certainly hoping I will and if I follow the plan, I am confident my body will travel to a healthier size, weight, and shape. But, right now what I am is what I am and I've got to start smiling at the mirror instead of scowling.