Sarah's Still Fat

It's astounding, actually.  If there was some reward for who has kept a blog about her weight for any length of time (*cough* almost 3 years *cough*) without losing any measurable weight to show for it, I would SO be all over that award.   My acceptance speech would give all the credit to my faltering will-power and my penchant for emotional eating (and by emotional, make no mistake, I mean ANY and ALL emotions).  I guess, as far as awards go, it would be lame, but like Monica on Friends wanting to be the person who gives "the best bad massages," at least I could say I'd accomplished something.

When we moved to the Land of the Skinny and Surgically Perfected,  I told myself I'd be healthier, eat better, get in shape.  Instead I lost and gained the same 9 pounds AGAIN.  Using, "well, maybe I'll be pregnant next month and then I'll just have to lose all this weight again in nine months anyway" as an excuse, however lame (and believe me, I know exactly how lame).  Well, thirteen months of me saying that have come and gone (more, actually, if you count the few months we tried before moving out here) and while I thankfully haven't jumped above the weight I was when we first arrived here, I've not successfully or sustainably shaken any of the weight. 

One thing I learned by attending BlogHer last month has changed a lot about how I view my life.  I found out BlogHer'09 was in Chicago way back last February.  Having been blogging for three years at that point, I really wanted to attend, but was wary to make definite plans because, well, "WHAT IF I bought the tickets, booked the hotel and the flight and then POOF! magically I got pregnant and had to be on bedrest and couldn't attend?"  What a waste of money that would have been!  So I delayed making plans, waiting until it was clear that I would not be knocked up in July (whoopie!).   And BlogHer'09 sold out.  I still went, but I was a total Blanche DuBois, relying on the kindness of strangers to house me (thanks Amy, Sarah and Becca!) and give me their conference passes when they had to leave (Sarah, you are the best).  I was a total BlogHer mooch this time around because I so desperately wanted to attend, but so much more desperately wanted to believe I'd be pregnant that I put my life on hold.  

I'm done with that.  Not trying to get pregnant, no.  The longer we try, the more I wonder how I will ever come to a point where I am done with that.  But I'm done with living my life around it, making my plans (or not making them as the case may be) around the off-chance that perhaps one month my girly bits will actually remember what THEY ARE FUCKING THERE FOR IN THE FIRST PLACE (I'm not bitter. nope), and maybe I'll be gestating.  

So the first order of business is to rewire my brain to stop telling myself it's okay to weigh 165 lbs because "I'll just have to lose it all again after I have another baby anyway."  Believe me, I know how stupid that sounds on so many different levels.  It's amazing what I can rationalize when staring down the creamy deliciousness of a piece of cheesecake (not that I often even eat cheesecake, but whatever).

Second order of business is to work my way back out of the habit of emotional eating.  When I was taking pictures of everything I ate, I felt so much more in control of that.  It was such a riggamaroll to get the camera, take the picture, off-load the picture from camera to computer, then download the picture to the blog that really, emotional eating lost all of it's appeal because the only thing I am MORE than an emotional eater?  Is lazy.    So it's back to pictures for me.  Even if I am eating crap, I eat less of it when I know I'm holding myself visually accountable to the entire blogosphere (read: the two people who read this blog).  

Third order of business is to get moving again.  This will be a bit harder because now that we're moving out of Los Angeles, I am spending most of my time cleaning, packing and organizing instead of at the gym when Ethan is in school.  And Husband, on the heels of his old job and leading into his new one, is burning all kinds of candles at every end possible, so going to the gym in the evenings isn't going to be an option.   But I'll figure it out---we have FitTV; I'm DVR'ing some yoga shows and Ethan would like nothing better than if I bust out a couple cans of diced tomatoes for him to use as weights for the 30-Day Shred.  So fine.  Moving more will happen.  I did indeed walk 3 miles today---granted it was to a frozen yogurt place, but I only got a little and it was a bazillion degrees out, so I probably sweated out most of the calories....right?  (note to self: STOP rationalizing!!!!) 

Fourth order of business: no promises.  I'm not going to tell you that I'm going to lose 10lbs before we move to the Bay Area, or that I'm going to post every single day, every single thing I ate.  I'm just going to do what I can do, do my best and that will hopefully bring results.  When I make a promise to myself about losing X number of pounds by a certain date of event, I usually start out great, but as the deadline draws near, if the intended result isn't obtainable, I just give up--let it all fall apart, throw my hands up and say, "well, I won't lose 20lbs in time for that wedding now after all, so I may as well treat myself to that pint of Ben and Jerry's."  

Aside from all these things that I think will help me, the blogging/writing community is a huge element of it as well.   When I started this blog, I'd never read any other weight-loss or healthy lifestyle blogs.  I'd never read Moose: A Memoir of Fat Camp by Stephanie Klein, or Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster.  I just felt like a very lonely chubby girl out here in the blogosphere.  I spent a LOT of time fretting about going to BlogHer at my current weight.  I really wanted pictures of myself with my new friends, pictures of me out having fun, as a woman in my own right, not *just* someone's mom (albeit the most wonderful someone ever).  But I shuddered at the idea of what I'd look like in those pictures.  I thought about "forgetting" my camera.  But in the long run, I'm glad I brought the camera and have the pictures, elephantine arms and all.  

This blog, the other blogs I've discovered along the way, and amazingly, my failures to lose the weight thus far, have helped me realize that I am not alone in this, nor is it a black-mark on my worth to struggle with my weight.  It's just part of who I am right now.  But it doesn't always have to be.  

Change of Scenery...

Does this new background look okay, or is it too reminiscent of giant boobs? I can't tell yet.

So, since I've last posted, and since starting this whole "pay attention to your food" endeavor, I am happy to report that as of today, I am down 6lbs! Of course, losing those 6lbs still keeps me right around where I was the last time I mustered the courage to post my weight. AND I know that my weight can fluctuate up to 5lbs on any given day. BUT I am going to take it as a victory and a sign that being more mindful of the food I eat and how I eat it is the path for me to find a healthy and happy weight.

I've got a little extra motivation this month, as I am planning on attending BlogHer towards the end of the month. I know there will be women there of all shapes and sizes, but the couple of women I know I'm going to be hanging out with are petite and cute. I am so not petite and cute--"football player-esque" is the modifier I'd use to describe myself. So if I could trim down a few more pounds this month so that I don't look like I belong quite as much on the defensive line of the New England Patriots, that would be cool.

So lets' see--what have I been eating lately? Admittedly, I've fallen out of the habit of photographing everything, but I will get back into it.

One of the keys I'm finding is portion control. Husband and I split this fennel and something else pizza a couple weeks ago at a restaurant downtown called BoHo. It was delicious, but I only had 2 pieces, when I would normally have, um, eaten half of it and fought Husband for the last piece.

Husband's soup @ the same restaurant--potato & leek, I want to say--was delicious. A couple spoonfuls did the trick.

Same restaurant--ginormous salad of fresh beets and goat cheese. I was sad to see them take this away from me only 1/2 eaten, but it was just too massive (it doesn't look so huge in this picture, but it could have been an entree). Working on portion control is opening up for me a realization that I have tremendous guilt about not finishing food. But I don't know why--no one ever gave me the "starving kids in Africa" line when I was growing up. But still...

Yogurt and toasted, milled flax seed from Trader Joes. Delicious

Beef and guacamole tacos from Loteria @ the Farmer's Market. Should have put my hand down for some perspective--they're tiny, but delicious.

Love. This.

www.operationbeautiful.com

How often do we as women, especially women who are carrying extra weight, find looking in the mirror to be painful reminders of all the ways in which we find ourselves to be imperfect? How many times do we leaf through fashion and health magazines and wistfully sigh, "if only (fill in your poison here--for me it's "If only I weighed 30 pounds less than I do now")? How many times do we not take a chance or try something new because we feel like putting ourselves out there for the world to see will be an embarrassment or humiliation?

This site, and it's message, is so empowering and affirming. I love that, even though the little notes are on mirrors, it's not about how you look. It's about the fact that you are beautiful on the inside, you are a beautiful person. In the past few weeks, I've really worked on changing my perception about weight-loss to be one of health and longevity rather than "oooooh, I want to wear skinny jeans!" (which are so out now anyway, right? right? honestly, I have no idea. Maybe that's just wishful thinking). So the reminder that the best of me is who I am, not how I look, and that that's how it really should be, is refreshing and motivating.

I love that it's women reminding other women. We are taught from such a young age to tear each other down. If she is self-confident and sure of herself, she might get what I want. I'd better make her feel at least as shitty about herself as I feel about myself. Believe me, I went to an all-girl high school. I know. I've been on the giving and receiving end of that nasty little dynamic more times than I care to remember.

I just wanted to pass that link along. I'll be carting around my own little post-it note pad & pen from here on out. I plan to spread a little Operation Beauty around myself.

Nothing side-tracks an emotional eater like infertility

Sure, probably just another in a long line of excuses as to why I practically found myself face down in a banana split yesterday afternoon. A banana split I told my 3 year old we were getting for him because he'd been so good at the doctor's office. You know, for the appointment I went to to find out there was no chance I was going to be pregnant this month. AGAIN. gah!!!!

Anyway, this has been a particularly interesting experience for me in terms of understanding how my brain works when it comes to food, and realizing that I can actually take some control over it. Yeah, I ate 1/2 the banana split (and when I say 1/2, I really mean two-thirds), but later on in the evening, when the glum was settling back in, I went to the gym and ran. Oh. my. god. So, so, so much better than stuffing my face.

Now, I'm not saying I won't find solace in food ever again or that I"m going to run a marathon next week to heal my broken heart. I'm just saying that it was nice to realize that I have other options than a bowl of ice cream the size of my head or a slab of ice cream. And that's got to be good, right?

Back on Track...

It's been a long few days. I've been wallowing in self-pity (and, not so coincidentally, cake) for the past few days. It's amazing how cake just seems to find me (har har) when I am so down.

But I've managed today not to let any cake break down my front door and force me to eat it. I did my oatmeal, sandwich wrap, healthy snack routine. I'm not hungry, which is a good thing to sit with and realize. But I"m still miserable. And it's hard to keep myself from going to the kitchen to find some reasonable substitute for cake, or cakey-like foods.

If you are a "recovering" emotional eater, WHAT do you do when the pull to the pantry is so strong it takes everything in you to fight it?

Lost Weekend...

Well, not really. But I do often struggle with exactly how to go about eating during the weekend. I guess it is the dieting mindset that I've lived with for so long--the idea that if you are "good" all week, you can treat yourself during the weekend. Well, I've been trying to work my way out of that way of looking at eating--but it does leave me wondering how to go about eating Friday night through Sunday. Which really? Sounds weird now that I see it in writing.

I've not been good about carting my camera around everywhere with me. Which is a shame, because a couple of nights ago, I ate at one of my favorite sandwich and pastry shops and split a slice of something called "princess cake" with a girlfriend. Dear god. I found this picture, online, of what a traditional princess cake looks like:

Lemon cream, raspberry cream and fondant icing? Dear baby Jesus, that stuff is good. Thankfully I asked for a small slice, and shared it with a friend who was equally as excited by the prospect of just flopping her face right into the cake. Still, very indulgent. But so worth it. I'm trying to find a new relationship with foods like this, too. I'd rather save up the "junk" food for something impressive and special like this than have something like ice cream every night, just for the sake of eating it. So this was actually one of the first sugary treats I've had in a long time that didn't come with the invisible but suffocating side 'o guilt.

Last night, Husband and I took Ethan and a good friend of ours to our favorite sushi restaurant.

watermelon and cucumber mojito. For real.

This bowl of edemame was as big as my head. Maybe bigger. And delicious.

I wish I was a good photographer so you could really see how vibrant that masago is. It was gorgeous. California rolls are possibly the world's yummiest food.

Sunset roll (eel and avocado--where have you been all of my life?) and a spicy yellowtail roll.

So, okay. No Luna bars or fruit. Not the most healthy foray into the culinary world, but it's all good. I did have a delicious bowl of Starbucks oatmeal this morning with nuts, brown sugar and dried fruit (yes, I ask for all the toppings--old habits die hard).

With my tall decaf skinny vanilla latte, the perfect breakfast...

Wednesday Wobble...

Okay, so it wasn't a banner day. Husband got home a bit late and I just didn't have it in me to go out for a run. Probably because of the, erm, chocolate chip and coconut cookies Ethan and I made this afternoon.

Yeah, I know. But actually, it's kind of a good thing that I feel like crap. I ate too many cookies and it just doesn't feel good. Tasted awesome. Feels yucky. That's a serious lesson for me because I tend not to listen to my body---I eat when I'm bored, freaked out, pissed off, sad or any other emotion you can think of---eating is a huge mental thing for me. Need to calm down? Grab a bite. Need to take my mind off of something that's bugging me? Grab a bite to eat.

I'm trying very hard to move away from the mindset that food is comfort or a replacement for dealing with emotional needs and recognizing it as a fuel for my body. The past few days have been a good step in that direction, but how realistic is it to think that I'd just POOF! suddenly be able to turn off years of conditioning?

Today I found out that my body didn't respond any better to the higher dose of clomid and that our chances of conceiving this month are no better than they were last month, or any of the other sixteen months that we've been trying. So I guess it's actually pretty impressive that I only ate 3-4 small chocolate chip cookies instead of all of them, or instead of grazing all day long on whatever I could find in the kitchen. Food has an incredible emotion-numbing power for me that is very hard to shake. I'm finding though, that for the most part, I am really enjoying the more healthful foods I've been eating over the past several days and that running clears my head in a way that stuffing my face never has.

So, let's see what today looked like.

I didn't get a chance to have breakfast this morning because I had to be at the reproductive endocrinologist's office @ 8:30 am and I chose showering over eating (as would any sane woman who knows she's going to hear "take off everything from the waste down and cover up with that paper" at some point during her morning). So on the way to the office, I grabbed a sugar-free chai tea latte @ Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. But when I got home, I enjoyed a cup of yogurt and a crushed up Kashi TLC bar--delicious.

For lunch, I made my standard wrap, but I added cucumber spears to it--crunchy! I finished the snap peas from the farmer's market, too. The problem with farmer's market produce is you have to eat it almost immediately or it's mushy and gross. The tomatoes? The 3-year old ate them all. Thanks, bud.


Also the grapes? I think I ate 3 of them. Ethan is a freak for the grapes. I would have to take the bowl into a closet somewhere in the house if I wanted them to myself. So instead, I had a LUNA bar, but forgot to take a picture of it.

These are the cookies we made--nothing fancy, but a perfect distraction towards the end of the day.

Ethan helped with the pouring and stirring. I wish I weren't such a freak about salmonella or I'd have let him taste the cookie dough, but alas, I am terrified of food poisoning, so I'm a mean-mommy when it comes to licking the beaters when mixing batter or the cookie dough spatula. He can deal with it in therapy later in his life...


We added coconut to the dough. I thought of adding crushed almonds, but my food processor was still soaking after last night's avocado topping and I didn't have the motivation to scrub it.


He's a stirring fool.


Aaaaand after making cookies, he opts for a strawberry. He'll be starting his own blog on healthy eating any day now....

I made the cookies tiny and packed most of them away in tupperware for Husband to take to work with him tomorrow. But I kept a tiny stash for us, and promptly ate half of them. Tasty, but tummy-ache-inducing.


This is what dinner was supposed to look like, according to Rachael Freaking Ray.


But I used lean ground turkey instead of ground beef, so it looked a little...um, paler.

I have yet to eat any. Husband has downed a good portion, so it must not suck (or he's being really nice). But it's really nice not to feel like I have to eat if I'm not actually hungry.

Farmers Market Day

One of the best things about living in Los Angeles is the fact that you can barely walk down the street without finding yourself strolling through a farmer's market of some kind. On Sunday mornings, we go to the one 3 blocks away from us, which takes over a city block, complete with fresh produce, flowers, baked goods, fresh honey, artisan crafts and bounce-houses and pony rides. On Tuesday afternoons, Ethan and I jump in the car and drive a couple miles to another one, which pops up in an auxiliary parking lot of a local mall at 3pm, and features fresh eggs (and the rooster, to boot), a climbing wall, the best shave-ice this side of Hawaii and an assortment of produce and yummy baked stuff.

File this one under "you learn something every day," I had NO idea that artichokes flowered.

How freaking gorgeous is that?! And I'm a lousy photographer and this is on my lousy little digital, so you know they are 100% spectacular looking in person.

These are my delicious farmer's market buys:

The strawberries are insanely juicy and the snap peas may as well be made of sugar. Being more mindful of food made me really appreciate the farmer's market today. I sampled more fruits and vegetables today than the baked goods, although I did sample on baker's sweetbean pie. I have no idea what is in that stuff, but sweet fancy Moses, that stuff was BEYOND heaven. It was everything in me not to buy a whole slice (or, erm, pie). I promised myself that if I was still fantasizing about it by next week, I'd let myself have a slice. :-)

Today's menu:

Old-fashioned oatmeal (not instant---wayyy too much sodium), brown sugar, almonds and bananas.


coffee

lunch was a turkey and cheese wrap (yes, there's mayo in there, but please, people, it is the condiment of the gods, so don't expect me to give it up any time soon).

Dinner was another experiment. This one went better than the cardboard and paste (chick pea patty) disaster of last night. This is a beef and black bean burger with a lime, avocado, onion and light sour cream topping, on a whole wheat bun. It wasn't a ton of work, but the taste-to-effort ratio wasn't really that worth it. But at least it was busting with protein.

Thanks for the advice on getting enough protein. If I ruled the world, foods high in protein wouldn't also be so high in fat.

What's a girl got to do to get enough protein???!!!

So I started the photograph your daily food intake thing today---that in an of itself is a lifestyle change. I thought I carried my camera around with me alot, what with the freaking adorable 3-year old I spend my day with. But when one is supposed to be snapping pics of every bite that goes in one's mouth, it becomes painfully obvious how much one is actually, erm, um, eating.

I admit that I didn't photograph everything---I forgot to take my camera with me a couple of places and my dinner was so gross I didn't bother recording it for all of the world to see (chick pea patties that I must have somehow botched because they tasted like cardboard).

but let's see---

Breakfast was a a 1/2 cup of old-fashioned oatmeal, a handful of raisins and almonds. I also slicked up a granny smith apple and a added a bunch of grapes--more than I would eat because I knew the grape-hoarder (Ethan) would strike the second he saw me walk into the room with plate o' grapes.


And the cup of Dunkin Donuts decaf with the fat-free hazelnut creamer and one splenda...


Then there was the trip to IKEA for the 99-cent breakfast for Ethan and his friend Penny. I ended up eating about 2 bites of the egg and 1/2 a strip of bacon.


since I had the extra eggs and 1/2 piece of bacon, I only had a bite or two of left over chicken curry from Husband's dinner last night. But I forgot to photograph it.

But this? This Luna bar? Heaven in a wrapper. Tons of protein, calcium and folic acid (in case my freaking reproductive system ever decides to gestate again). And the "Lemon Zest" flavor? Delish.

Dinner was supposed to be a lovely chick pea patty and Greek salad, from the pages of Real Simple's April '09 issue. I read the recipe, I followed it, I thought it was going well and then....bleugh. It tasted like we were eating cardboard and paste. So instead of the chick peas, I ate my salad with this obscenely tasty Greek yogurt...

This stuff is...well, I was going to say heaven in a cup, but I realize I just used "heaven in a wrapper" for the Luna bar.

So all in all, not a bad day. I discovered two new amazing foods and I managed to get outside for a run tonight. After Husband came home, I was out running for another 25 minutes---felt great.

One thing I'm struggling with is getting enough protein. I managed to get enough today (I track on sparkpeople.com, which is awesome!), but in general, I feel like I always have to be shoving almonds in my mouth or a hunk of chicken. It feels as though all the high-protein foods are high in fat, too. I wish I could eat cottage cheese, but it's got so much sodium in it, I might explode. Boo.

Back in the Saddle, er, uh, the running shoes...

So this cold that's been bogging me down for the past 3 weeks and has sent me to both my primary care physician and to an urgent care clinic (ohmygodmakemyearstophurting!!!), seems to be singing (read: coughing) it's swan song.

I decided I'd had enough of sullen disappointment on the couch and I'd take my chances with a bit of a run. At first I thought I'd just walk, get myself warmed up and see what type of lung capacity I had with this lingering "irritation" in my bronchial tubes that make a deep breath challenging. I didn't want to push it too hard on the first time out after not doing anything for the better part of a month.

But I hadn't gotten more than two blocks before I found myself jogging. And continuing to jog. And not coughing. At all. So I ran. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that felt good.

It wasn't an epic run or anything like that (and "epic" for me at this point is probably 3 blocks without switching back to walking). I was only out for about 20 minutes, just zig-zagging through the neighborhood, and I certainly did walk a portion of it---but a much, much smaller portion of it than I'd thought I would. I coughed a little bit when I came home and I"m pretty sure I'll have to use my inhaler tonight before going to bed so that I can lie down and sleep w/out coughing. But I ran, and that is enough for me for right now.

I'm so thrilled that it's staying light out later these days---from now on, when Husband rolls in after work, I am out the door for 25 minutes of running.

Starting tomorrow I will be adding pictures to this blog. Not of me. Not yet. I wish I were brave enough to share "before" and "after" pictures, but let's face it---this blog has been in existence for three years now, and I've yet to move far enough away from the "before" to even merit a picture called "after". It would just be---"more before". Boo.

I've actually been following a few blogs lately of women who are dedicated to living a healthy and mindful lifestyle. You can find them, See Sarah Eat and The Healthy Tipping Point, in my blogroll if you don't already know about them. They have a practice of photographing their meals and snacks, sharing recipes and product reviews, etc. I have to admit, initially I thought this was eating disorder-y obsessive. Taking pictures of every bite you eat? Documenting it all for the world to see? How....crazy!!!

But actually, as I've followed the blogs, I've realized that they are doing something I promised myself this past New Year's Eve that I would do more of this year---live mindfully. Live in the moment and appreciate what is in front of me as it is there. Honestly, I've made a lot of progress on that in many facets of my life---but not in eating. Eating is the most mindless thing I do---in terms of what I choose to eat, when I choose to eat, and how. I can honestly say that I rarely ever walk through the kitchen without grabbing a handful of whatever. I throw it in my mouth and go back to whatever I was initially trying to do. When we go out to eat, I often just get the same thing I always get, or I don't know what I want, so I get flustered, order something obscenely bad for me and end up regretting it.

But by preparing meals and snacks that keep their bodies needs in mind, and by taking the time to prepare the food on a plate or in a bowl and taking a beautiful picture (seriously, they make sprouts look good), it seems so very in the moment and present in the experience of creating good food. I can only imagine what it's got to be like to feel that kind of appreciation for your food and what it can do positively for your body. My mind has been wrapped around the negative of what food can do to my body for so long, the idea of celebrating good, healthful foods and appreciating them is a step I need to take as I move forward.

So from tomorrow on, I am going to be following their lead---photographing what I eat and sharing it with you all (or you one, or you nobody). If nothing else it will bring some color to this otherwise drab looking blog!

Back to the Drawing Board...

Turns out, I did not have the stamina to keep up with pain-whore bitch Jillian Michaels. Well, that's not entirely true--I was doing fine, but got a cold and then life took over. Illness, family vacation, an apparently far too booked social life for me and the three-year old. It became such a hassle to carve out 20 minutes during the day because I always found myself saying, "Sure! We can go to the Farmer's Market! I can always do my workout later!" Because honestly, after the first few times, Ethan grew pretty tired of the whole "making my muscles" thing. And would do things like try to sit on my back while I was doing push-ups. Perhaps Jillian would have approved of such weight training, but my back did not. So, doing the work out during Ethan's waking hours proved too annoying (and perhaps I grew bored by it, too, and am using his boredom as an excuse? could it be????)

I did, however, participate in a 5K towards the end of April and through it, I found what I want to do in terms of exercise. I want to run. The 5K was our synagogue's main annual fundraiser and I hemmed and hawed over participating for days. In early March when I heard about it, the moms and I talked about it and I said, "Oh, absolutely I'm doing it!" As though I was a runner. Ha.

The morning of the race, I laid in bed wondering, as I used to as a kid in junior high, if anything on my body hurt enough to merit staying bed---avoiding the race (or, as the kid in junior high, school). But that day, as all those years before, there was no pain or illness present, and so I hauled myself out of bed and drove to the race.

I'm not a runner. I have massive calves that have always drawn questions (even from random strangers) about whether or not I took ballet, or what I ran in track. My answer? Um. No. No ballet. No track. Nothing remotely athletic---just genetics. But the questions have always led me to ask myself, "could I?" I mean, clearly ballet is out of the question---there is little market for a 165lb, pushing 38-year old ballerina out there. Let's talk a minute to imagine that. It's a little bit hilarious.

But running? I could do that, right? I mean, sure I'm out of breath before the end of the first block and can see my heart beating through my sports bra after the first lap. But I mean, those are things I can work on, right? Run a little, then walk a little, then run a little more, then walk a little less, and so on....

And so that's what I did. When the race started (to the sound of a shofar blowing. I kid you not), I took off slowly, setting my eyes to a mailbox at the end of the block----I'll run to that mailbox, I told myself. And I did. Then I'd walk until I could take a good, deep breath, and then I'd take off again, finding another point in the distance to challenge myself with.

My time wasn't great. 45 minutes for a 5k. I probably walked almost as much as a I ran. But I finished it. And I still have my number pinnie and the little "medal" I received at the finish line as a reminder---I can do this. I might not be skinny, or even get skinny doing this. But with running, it's not about that. With every other exercise I've tried (with the exception of yoga), the end result is the weight loss---that's the entire focus, so if the weight doesn't come off---I give up.

Running isn't about losing the weight. It's about going a little farther each time, just like how in yoga, it's about getting deeper into the pose and the breathing each time. Same thing. It's a challenge of endurance, not calorie-burning. The focus on the breathing and the fluidity of the motion remind me so much of yoga, it just feels natural to me.

Right now I am dealing with a 3-week old cough that has kept me from doing anything but walking lately. The doctor prescribed me an inhaler to help my "irritated bronchial tubes" relax and breathe easier. It couldn't happen at a worse time, a time when I want to really be out there, on the pavement, challenging myself to run a few steps further. But whatever. I'll get there.

If you follow my other blog, Life @ Forty-Five Degrees, you know that Husband and I have been trying to have a baby for almost a year and a half. We're giving it a few more months of fertility treatments and if we're not pregnant, we're done trying. While I want more than anything to have another baby and I'd happily deal with the weight gain and the bed rest and all of that if it meant I could have another healthy child, I have set a goal for myself if that shouldn't happen. I've promised myself that if we are not pregnant by September, I will be prepared to run a 10K by what would have been my due date if I had conceived in August. So much of trying to get pregnant and fertility treatments is giving over your body to the process and to the professionals. If I end up unable to conceive another child, I want to do something for myself and by myself that reclaims my body and my mind. I think I know now that running can do that.

Shred Dread...

So I hadn't shredded in almost a week. Last week, I shredded while under the influence of a sore throat, congestion and low-grade fever and it took the phrase, "thought I would die" to a new level for me. And then there were days of laying on the couch, whining and complaining about the throat and all of that.

I did realize, however, that my muscles didn't hurt that badly. Sure, I could barely breathe while I did my jumping jacks and and lunges, but I didn't hurt. SCORE!!! Well, skin hurt, but that's more likely fever-related than shred-related.

Even still, I was dreading getting started again. It had been days. It would feel like starting over, day ONE. I remember the agony of day 1 like it was yesterday. I don't want to go back there at all. I didn't want to turn the DVD on.

But I did. And while I heaved for breath here and there, I did it all. All the push-ups (the girly version), all the lunges, all the squats, all. of. it. And for the most part, I followed Fancy McAdvancedMoves the whole time.

My "wanttodieometer" only went to about a 3-4, as opposed to the 7-9 it usually registers.

Could I be ready for level 2?

I'm scared.

When is the 30 Day Shred NOT a 30 Day Shred?

When you get sick as a dog on day 5 or 6 of the shredding.

Last Wednesday I woke up with congestion and a bit of a sore throat. Having relocated last summer from one side of the country to another, and realizing that this particular congestion and sore throat had been subtly making their way to the "you can no longer ignore us" surface over the course of a week or two, I thought maybe I'd finally run out of luck where allergies are concerned. I grew up in New England and spent almost 9 years in the DC area---never so much as a sniffle or watery eye. But given the entirely different make up of the flora waaaaaay over here, I thought maybe my body was finally rebelling against a rising pollen count.

Sooooo, I dropped Ethan off at a friend's house for a play date then sneezed my way back home (each sneeze thumping in my head like a hammer--good times), changed into my shredding gear and got to it.

Remember in my last post, how I said I was going to turn the volume off on the pain-whore and play my own music? Well. Funny thing. On Tuesday night, our TV went on the blink and when Husband, my tech-geek knight in pocket-protected armor, fixed it, he somehow forgot to rehook the video input from the DVD to the TV. So, ironically, I ended up doing the shred with no visual at all---just a black screen and the sound of *her* voice. ::shudder::

It was actually a really beneficial turn of events (or would have been, had I not been heaving to catch my breath through the pin-hole space in my nasal cavity that was actually admitting oxygen). I could see my own reflection in the television rather than watching those smiling, vacuous robots behind Jillian (hateful, much, Sarah?), and while it wasn't pretty, it enabled me to correct some the issues I was having in my form. And that, in turn, helped me get further into some of the exercises. Mentally, I was watching Natalie and finding that as I saw myself in the TV, I was lunging farther, squatting deeper. With the 3lb weights, for the first time.

I was en fuego. Doing a good job! In spite of the allergies! Woo hoo!!

Until I started seeing the spots.

Yeah, spots in front of your eyes are bad sign mid-way through circuit 2.

I did finish. I took more breaks than usual. But I did every exercise and I did them all to my best ability. Stupid pain-whore.

Telling myself that it was just allergies, I decided later in the day to go to the gym. Just to ride the bike a bit, walk a little on the treadmill. Just for a little bit. When I ride the bike, I put it on random hill and set it up to level 3 or 4. I could barely lift my legs. Spots. So I got onto the treadmill, which I'd normally never set to anything less than 3.6 mph. I found myself short of breath until I set it down to 2.4. Spots.

So I gathered up my kid from the gym play area, talked briefly with a friend of mine (who told me later that I was indeed a weird ashy color at the time) drove home (more spots), took my temperature and found that I was running a fever just shy of 101.

Hrm. Perhaps not allergies after all.

It's been a few days and I think tomorrow I will start again. Husband fixed the video connection, so perhaps I'll have to look at Jillian again tomorrow. I just hope it doesn't feel like starting all over again. Gah.

What? Am I supposed to be exercising?

The eating better is going better. Who knew that cherry tomatoes are >this< close to tasting like candy? Unfortunately, I also baked a lemon/blueberry bread for a playdate yesterday that was delicious. And thus, far more of it than should have ended up in my stomach. Today, however, I had a bowl of cereal for lunch, and salads (big hearty salads) for both lunch and dinner. Strangely, I'm not hungry.

But the working out hasnt' happened since Saturday and that needs to change. Jillian only promises her shredding works if you do it every. freaking. day. Much as I hate her, she's right. I CAN do anything for 20 minutes, so I've got no excuse. I am Queen Excuse and that's got to stop.

Tomorrow, in addition to shredding, I am going to take a yoga class in the morning and hopefully getting to the gym for a little time on the treadmill in the afternoon. Seriously---a goal of THREE workouts in one day??!!! Jillian Michaels can suck it.

Oh, I'm also thinking of taking "before pictures". I'm scared. Hold me.

Shredding and Vegging

So yeah, I'm still doing that pain-whore's work-out. I loathe her. I am thinking that now I know the routine, I should just put her on mute and play my own thump-a-thump-a music while I go through the 20 minutes, because listening to her makes me want to shove forks in my ears (which I guess is better than forks in my mouth, but whatever...)

In all honesty, I've not done it every single day, but I have done it four of the last six and intend to do it again this evening (and I'll be forcing Husband to join me in the torment--this would be part of the "for worse" vows). It's pretty seductive to go through other womens' 30DS blogs and see their results--both in images and stats. I don't really see any results on myself yet, but there IS the slightest hint of definition in my arms and belly where there wasn't before. Of course, I could just be imaging that. But I have to believe that if I keep at this, I will see results sometime soon.

Of course, I'm not just using the work out and then pigging out. I'm drinking nothing but water (save one cup of sugar free chai tea a day--please, I cannot live w/out a tiny little tea latte), amping up my fruit and veggie intake (I am leaving a bowl of carrots, cucumbers, and cherry tomatoes on the kitchen counter to use for my daily grazing and emotional eating--I figure if I can't beat it, embrace it, but healthfully), and I'm not eating after 8pm. The not eating after 8pm is mainly being accomplished because my two cats set up shop on my lap as soon as Ethan goes to bed and they won't let me move. Hard to get to the fridge for mindless eating when a cat is sleeping on you.

So there it is---shredding, eating veggies and drinking water. Funny thing is, after having spent so much time at the gym, and now working out at home w/ the pain-whore, and eating better, my body can actually tell when I'm not staying on track and it makes me pay for it. If I don't work out, I feel tired and lethargic. If I eat too much sugar or dairy, I feel sick-ish. Strangely, that "sick-ish" feeling used to be my normal. WTF.

Still don't think I'd be passing up a slice of Cheesecake Factor cheesecake anytime soon, but at least it's a start.

Hello, Fat Blog...

If you don't read that title in the same tone of voice in which Seinfeld habitually greeted his arch-nemesis neighbor, Newman, then you aren't quite getting the overall mood of my revisiting this particular topic.

I'm still fat. Well, I have to be fair--not "fat" per se, but chubby. A couple of pounds chubbier than I was when I last left you. Yes, moving to Southern California didn't necessarily spark the "ooooh, we're going to be SO healthy and eat bean sprouts and quinoa and hike canyons and by the fall, I'll totally be waifish (and freaking starving!)" that I thought it would. Turns out, they've got just as many Starbucks here as they did there---and they have Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, too, and their muffins are to die (read: to gain 5 lbs) for.

So here I am, again. Sigh. Not pregnant AND not skinny. I'm just another chubby, not-pregnant girl. Gah!

After having watch every single season of The Biggest Loser, I have developed a love/hate relationship with that she-devil Jillian. Thus far, my commitment to "what have I done today to make myself proud" extended to not eating a bowl of ice cream during the hour or two (those nights are tough) that she show is on. I figure if those contestants, many of whom are two or three of me (much like I am closing in on being two of Nicole Ritchie---when she's not knocked up), can work out for six or seven hours a day, eat nothing but Jenny O turkey and be tempted by tables of full of Krispy Kremes, I can go sixty to one hundred and twenty minutes without ice cream.

Not surprisingly, this sacrifice on my part has not gotten me the desired results. Nor has the anxiety-eating, social-eating, anger-eating, depression-eating, boredom-eating, the all-but-hey-I'm-actually-hungry-eating that I've been doing for, well, years.

Don't get me wrong, I've been going to the gym, spending hours on the treadmill and elliptical trainer, and eating salads for lunch---I'm just not getting results. Because no one is pushing me. And I just don't push myself, beyond the surface.

So I netflixed that she-devil's DVD--The 30 Day Shred. Just the name is shudder-worthy. Do I want to "shred"? For thirty days? That's a lot of shredding. And what is being shred, anyway? Me? Ouch. The premise? A twenty minute work-out, alternating rounds of strength, cardio and abs. Twenty minutes? Hell, I can totally do that!!! Right? right?

"They" say Day 1 is the worst---most likely because it's like being thrown into a freezing cold ice bath after lounging leisurely and blissfully in the sun. After that initial shock, I guess your body isn't surprised by the pain.

So today was Day 1. It sucked. She's so mean. Nothing soft and gentle about her. I believe she wants me to get thin, and that she cares that I stick with it, but a little part of me thinks she must hate me because I'm chubby. Like if she walked by me on the street, she'd go "uggggcccchht" or something, while rolling her eyes and making a comment about fat people to her equally skinny friend. So it's kind of like having the popular, athletic girl from high school "motivate" you to lose weight.

I was taught yoga by a dancer, and have taken pole-dancing classes, so I like to think I have a touch of grace when I move (anyone who's ever actually seen me walk, dance or otherwise move? You go ahead and take a moment to laugh at the idea of me being graceful). But Jillian hasn't an ounce of grace in her---her warm ups are jerky and fast, just throwing her arms around. She admits to being uncomfortable with the hip rolls, like it's embarrassing for her to move her body in a way that could be even the slightest bit sexual in nature. So I wasn't sure if her hard-core, "put your freaking sneakers on and sweat blood" approach was going to be for me.

I didn't really have a whole lot of time to contemplate because she was wiping the floor with my ass by about minute 4.

Jumping Jacks, jumping rope, lunges, squats, crunches, running in place in such a way that you literally kick your own ass (she's a bitch, I tell you! A bitch!)---it's just non-stop and when you think about taking a tiny break in between intervals, she gets all up in your face about how you're "only doing 20 minutes! NO breaks!" Seriously--she's coming through that screen and into your living room and bitch-slapping you if you slow down.

My 2.5 year old (who, in a cruel trick of fate, weighs under 24lbs and has never once been more than 3rd percentile on the weight chart), thought it would be fun to help me, so dodging him on the living room floor as he did "jumping jacks" and "ran in place" (which involved running all over the place) also became a part of the work out. And I was unable to do the bicycle crunches at the end because Ethan thought it would be way more fun to climb up onto my shins as soon as I got my legs up to 90 degrees and pretend that he was an airplane instead. So fine--I was doing crunches while lifting a 23lb weight on my legs---that counts, right? Perhaps that reason alone is the only reason She-Devil didn't come tearing through my screen and berate me for not doing her bicycle crunches the right way.

When it was over, I just hurt. My arms and legs were shaking, my stomach wanted to puke and it was about 20 minutes before I felt like I could stand up long enough to take a shower. And I'm so tired right now, I'm not entirely sure what I'm even writing about.

But that scary bitch will be on my TV screen again tomorrow, for Day 2. "They" say it's easier---"they" better be right.

Fat Girl Moves to LA...

Here I am, all 164lbs of me, sitting in my hotel room, pondering what the future may hold for me in about eleventy billion ways, not the least of which is my weight.

When Husband told me in March that he had been given this opportunity with his career, honestly the first thing I thought of was, "I can NOT go to Los Angeles and live among the beautiful people. I will shrivel up and die of shame!" I'm embarrassed that I thought this before anything else--before the idea of leaving friends, family and the familiarity of a routine that created home for us.

I sat down with Husband and we agreed that before moving, we were each going to attempt to lose 10 lbs. Oh, the intentions could have lit up a room with how much emotional energy I poured into them. And we did do well for awhile. Frozen "steam in the bag" vegetables and roasted chicken became our meal of choice. We cut down on going out to dinner. We cut back on Starbucks. I started walking more, every day. I even jogged a couple of times. And, as usual, I saw no change on the scale.

As time went on and I thought more about the upcoming transition, thankfully my stress and emotions focused around the latter and I became, well, a bit depressed about saying goodbye to my best friend and her newly adopted son, our play group, and all the other bits and pieces of our life in Arlington.

And what does Sarah do when she's "a bit depressed"? She eats. a LOT. No, it's not like I started driving through Taco Bell @ 2am or filling my grocery cart with pint upon pint of Ben & Jerry's (although my gait always slows at the ice cream case as I fight the call of the Siren, Phish Food...). I didn't suddenly start binging on tons of crap food that I normally don't eat.

I just ate more.

Then, sadly, my cousin's little girl passed away after almost a year of battling a brain tumor. And how did I deal with that? I ate. a LOT.

Then, we the packers came. That was two weeks ago tomorrow. Since then I've been living in a hotel. And that means that for two weeks, Husband, Ethan and I have been eating at restaurants. For every meal.

I have truly tried not to take comfort in food every time my emotions welled up on me. But I can't lie; I have definitely used food in the past couple of months to assuage the anxiety and sadness of this huge transition. Not even the mortification of possibly gaining weight and looking freakishly huge when walking down Ventura Blvd next to every Paris Hilton wannabe in the city could deter me.

Now that I'm here, though, I see opportunities to live a healthier lifestyle all around me. We live a few blocks from a farmer's market. I've been to the hotel gym five out of the past seven days. I am thinking of converting our garage into a small exercise room. There are no fewer than four yoga studios within walking distance of our house. The park I take Ethan to is at least a 3 mile walk, round-trip.

It's interesting that I'm finding embarrassment and shame does not motivate me. What motivates me is the potential and the possibility of a new environment. If I can make this change in where I live, in giving up all the security I had with the old routine, surely I can make the changes I need to to lose the weight. To ensure that the next time I carry a baby, I don't completely wreck my body and set myself up for another 2.5 years of struggling to lose the weight.

So we'll see. Here I am with yet another renewed vow to myself that it's time to change. Life is a bit of a blank slate right now, so perhaps I'll find this time I have the motivation to make it work.

When Sarah Met Salads...

Remember those scenes in When Harry Met Sally where we learn that Sally is a bit on the high maintenance (albeit orgasmic) side in terms of ordering her food? It made her endearing, right?

It makes me annoying. At least to myself. Perhaps no one else notices my constant "on the side"-ing these days, but as Harry says, "On the side is a very big thing for you." For Sally, it was sheerly a matter of "I just want things how I want things", a self-assured expression of her individual taste and persnickety personality. For me, it is more of a "I'm tired of being fat so just keep all the yummy stuff off of my plate, please."

This week, I had a spinach and strawberry salad, raspberry vinaigrette on the side, and a pear & gorgonzola salad, champagne vinaigrette on the side. Yes, I fully realize that the gorgonzola should have also come on the side, but dear lord people, baby steps!

Couch to 5k to bathful of epsom salt...

So, having finished Jen Lancaster's Such a Pretty Fat, and with our move to Los Angeles, the home of the oh-so-pretty-and-thin, looming ever nearer (30 days and counting), I have a renewed sense of "Ohmygod, Sarahyouaretoofat!" and have reminded myself once again that the only thing that helped me lose weight when I turned 30 was....sigh....running.

I hate running. I remember when I first moved down to DC and joined a gym. I had two complimentary training session and the trainer (tall, skinny, blonde, nightmare) assured me the fastest way to lose weight was to run. In New Hampshire, losing weight slowly was fine; well, let's face it, not losing weight at all was apparently perfectly acceptable, because it's how I spent my 20's.

But in DC, there was a boy. A tall, cute, thin boy whose attention I wanted. And I didn't think I could do it at my then current weight (which is, sadly, 10lbs fewer than what I'm carting around right now). So as much as I'd always said I'd rather walk on my hands than run on my feet and as much as I told the trainer through my huffy-puffy breaths that I was going to die, drop dead right there on the treadmill and it would be on her shoulders, if I ran for 10 more seconds (she did not bite), I did it.

I started out with my own program of counting to 100. I'd count to 100 while running, then count to 100 while walking. Slowly, begrudgingly, I built up my pace. Eventually I was running to the count of 600 (almost a mile by the treadmill's count) and damn that perky little trainer if the weight didn't melt away. From 150lbs to 135lbs in two month's time. (Oh, and the boy? I left him in my skinny little cloud of dust.)

So here I sit, still at 162 and realize...it's time. I made noise about it a few months ago and promptly went back to sitting on my ass and wondering why I wasn't losing any weight. I mean, I *did* cut out the morning ritual of finishing my kid's waffle, so why wasn't the weight falling off of me??!! (cue: Sarah smacking her head into the wall).

Today while Ethan and Husband napped, I threw on my work out clothes (after I picked a bit of cat hair off of them--they've made a lovely little cat bed for Abby for the past few months), powered up my iPod, threw on my stop-watch and started my "Couch to 5k" program (http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml). Basically, a 30 minute workout consisting of a 5 minute warm up, then jogging/walking in 60 and 90 second intervals.

Smuggy McSmuggerson (that would be me) thought "Piece of cake!" When I started jogging years ago, I began my training with counting to 100, which takes longer than the 60 seconds this circuit was going to require of me. No problem. Embarrassing to be starting with something so EASY....that's what I said to myself as I sauntered through my warm up. I even though, "maybe I'll jog 60 and walk 60, so it's totally even. These professional trainers at "couch to 5k" can't possibly know more than me! Oooh, I like this song..."

At the end of the 5 minute warm up, I looked at my stop-watch and picked up the pace to jogging. Oh, how I want to report that I was a vision of athletic prowess, gliding down the street with extraordinary poise and ease.

I *could* report that, but I would by lying out of my fat, uncoordinated ass. Nevermind that apparently my ear holes are abnormally small and my earpods kept falling out of my head (have you ever seen someone fish around to find and reposition the earpod of their iPod while running? Aside from looking funny, it really borders on a public safety hazard). On top of that, by the time I got to the count of 50, there was a burning in my calves, but there was a serious lack of air in my lungs.

I remembered all those biology classes when the teacher droned on and on about aerobic activity and oxygen and the production of lactic acid. I think it's safe to assume that I was a vertiable lactic acid factory during the 20 minutes I alternated between walking and running.

Sadly, as I zig-zagged my way through my neighborhood, there was a couple out for a leisurely walk, CONSTANTLY zigging while I was zagging, so every corner I came around, they were turning down the same street, coming right towards me. Ugh. I hate exercising in front of other people--when I can hear my own breathing OVER the music playing mere centimeters away from my eardrums, I really don't need to be in the company of strangers. Fortunately for me, neither of them were lithe and toned. I probably could have outrun either of them, even in my only-feet-from-needing-an-oxygen-tank state. On the 3rd or 4th encounter, the man and I decided to nod at each other, as if to acknowledge the fact that we were unwittingly stalking each other. The girl ignored me, in all my fat, sweaty glory. Sadly, I wanted her acknowledgment more than his (twisted all-girl school mentality NEVER goes away, I swear). Oh well.

By the time I finished my last interval of running, my body was SCREAMING and my lungs were fully threatening to shut the fuck down on me completely. But I did it.

And, damn it, I'll do it again--once I can catch my breath and stop soaking in a tub of epsom salt.

Teensy Weensy Victories...

Yes, I got a grande skim chai this morning. But I did not get the blueberry scone that was, I swear, literally screaming at me (apparently I speak Starbucks Sconese) through the glass of the pastry case.

A week ago I would have rationalized my way into buying it and scarfing it down clandestinely on our way to play group. Today I was honest with myself (at least about the scone---baby steps, people), and just let it go.

The Starbucks thing is the hardest thing. I swear they pump vaporized crack through the ventilation system in there. I do love my chai, but I believe I could live without the drink. And their coffee, in my opinion, is so strong and burnt it may as well be a cup of battery acid. It's not the drinks--it is simply the space, the store itself. I must find myself in a Starbucks shop daily, even if I only get myself a cup of tea (like water and tea bag type tea, not chai). The goal, by the time we get to LA is to be on the water and tea bag type tea full time, with the exception of a tall skim chai once on the weekends.

But for now, I am elated that my stomach is not digesting the scone I left in the pastry case today. FatSarah 1, Starbucks 0-ish.