I grew up in a great neighborhood. First of all, our block had a cul du sac, which meant that we didn’t get much traffic (except for the kind that thought there was an exit out the back). Secondly, we had a really cool hill (both on the street AND in our driveway), so we spent most of our summer days hurtling our bikes, skateboards, Big Wheels and roller skates (not blades, thank you very much) down the hill at *death-defying* speeds. When we weren’t tempting fate, we were doing “bike rallies” — which really just consisted of a bunch of us going ’round and ’round and ’round the “big block,” hooting and hollering (to beckon kids out of their houses) while blasting some Gordon Lightfoot song on our AM transistor radios and clothes-pinning playing cards to our spokes so we’d sound like ‘motorcycles.

It was great fun, and we never tired of the monotony.

Unless we were doing something else – like playing kickball (running the bases we’d painted on the street in reflective spray paint), tag football, HORSE, hide-and-go-seek (in the dark, naturally), or – on windy days – flying kites from Mr. Taylor’s front lawn.

His house was prime real estate for a number of reasons:

1. It was situated at the intersection of a “T”, meaning that you could run up the block (to launch your kite) and end up straight on his lawn (which was on a hill, so you could comfortably recline on your elbows.)
2. It had super thick St. Augustine grass (which was not particularly soft, like Bermuda or Fescue, but did create a nice cushion.)
3. He had apricot and plum trees in the backyard (so we didn’t have to go home when we got hungry.)

Yes, our neighborhood was quite active, but also competitive. With a nearly equal ratio of boys-to-girls (boys being older), that meant there were lots of Barbies getting kidnapped (mine, mostly) and flour bombs being dropped on houses, and mock wars being fought in the streets. It also meant that kite flying was not just for fun: It was serious business, not to be entered into lightly. Sometimes, we would have “dog fights” at low-altitudes, where the “loser” found his line sliced or his kite torpedoed into a tree. The winner would ink a skull and crossbones on his kite to signal another kill.

To up the ante, eventually, the boys learned that fishing line presented a greater defense to the opposition, as it was much harder to see, didn’t snap so easily, AND had the added bonus of distance! You could fly your kite A LOT FARTHER on fishing line, than you could on standard kite string. Some boys were very smart and ran their kites from fishing rods (for easy “reel-based retrieval”); others used wooden dowels, or just held the spool in hand.

Never one to miss out on a great idea, I checked around and learned that the best line was something called “100# Test,” and it came on “450 yard” spools. If memory serves, it was about $1.99 at the corner Thrifty Store.

Not one to let St. Augustine grow beneath my feet, I hopped on my trusty bike and headed to Thrifty to pick-up my very own secret weapon. I wanted to be the first girl to beat a boy (which did happen, by the way…except that it was Howard, and most people weren’t very impressed by this victory, but that’s not the point of the story…) Anyway, at first blush, the idea seemed reasonable enough: Find the fishing line marked “100# test, 450 yd length” and buy it. Unfortunately, when I got there, I learned that there were many different KINDS of line (nylon, braided, salt water, fresh water, fly-fishing, stream) AND, they were all priced quite differently. As a matter of fact, *some of them* cost as much as $5.00 per spool – for only 50 yards!

After about 20 minutes of indecision, I determined that the most important factor was PRICE, at which point, I narrowed it down to the nylon line and grabbed for the appropriate spool. Which would have been the end of the story. Except…I noticed that, FOR THE VERY SAME PRICE, I could get something called “80# Test” and it had (get this): 975 YDS of line!!! In other words, whoever was smart enough to fly their kite from it would SURELY win the neighborhood award for “greatest distance.”

The case was settled and I bought my fishing line. I couldn’t WAIT to attach it to my kite and show the boys how it was really done.

I can remember the day like it was yesterday: There were the proverbial fluffy white clouds dotting a cerulean blue sky and it was just windy enough to launch the kite, but warm enough to bask in the shade on Mr. Taylor’s lawn. I took my “Sky Spy” kite (replete with new 80# test fishing line) out into the street…assumed the position…and ran! Soon enough, the kite was aloft, and I was gleefully unspooling yard-after-yard of fishing line. My kite was the envy of the block…at least, as far as anyone could tell…you see…at some point, I had let out nearly ALL of my line, meaning my kite was nothing more than a tiny, 2-eyed speck in a big, blue sky.

This was great fun. For about 15 minutes. (Seriously, how long SHOULD you fly a kite?)

Soon enough, moms started bellowing out their front doors for their kids to “come home for dinner!” Mine was no exception and, not one to disobey, I immediately set about reeling my kite in. As it turns out, my brother was ALSO flying HIS kite, so we both had to bring our Sky Spies back to earth. Misery loves company.

Except…

• Did I mention that my brother was using 100# test/450 yd fishing line on his kite?
• Did I mention that he wasn’t shooting for a “distance” record that particular day?
• Do you remember the “rock incident” from Big Sur?

Well…he got his kite down pretty fast…in like…five minutes, and quick-as-a-whip, he was ready to head home to wash up for dinner. As a matter of fact, EVERYONE had their kites in hand pretty fast. Except me***

*** I refer you to the aforementioned 975 yard spool.

Needless to say, the task of winding my kite back to Mr. Taylor’s front lawn was a daunting (and lengthy) one, and soon enough, my brother was back to gloat tell me that I was “in really big trouble with mom and dad.” I asked for his help, but I’m *pretty sure* I didn’t get it. He might even have laughed at me (but I don’t want to fib if I’m not sure.)

These are NOT my hands. That is pretty much how my line looked, though.

Anyway…there I sat…for 1, solid hour. By this time, of course, it was dark. The street lights were on. I was alone…and YES, my kite was still aloft — SOMEWHERE OUT THERE. Lord only knows how, because it didn’t seem to be windy anymore.

Which might explain what happened next: I’m fairly certain I was within 200 short yards of retrieving my kite, when the darnedest thing happened: It began innocently enough with a tiny “plink” and then…quicker than you can say “I spy a loose kite in the sky”…the tension on my spool was gone…and the remaining line inexplicably drifted to the pavement…and across the treetops, front lawns, power lines, streets, and chimneys.

Hmm…Let me see if I got this straight: I spent ONE SOLID HOUR reeling in my kite, risking life, limb AND grounding, JUST so I could LOSE MY FREAKING KITE SOMEWHERE OVER BOYAR PARK (1 mile away?)

In a word: YES.

In retrospect, the moral of that story is pretty simple: MORE IS NOT ALWAYS BETTER AND SOMETIMES MORE IS LESS.

The corollary is: CHEAPER ISN’T ALWAYS BEST.

So, how do I apply this to my Bariatric After Life™? Well, just like I tried to get the most bang for my buck with that blasted fishing line (without fully understanding its usage or considering whether or not it even made sense), I have tried to do the same thing with food. There have been times where I have tried to “get away” with eating things that are “not as healthy as other things,” (like: sugar free cookies), and there are times that I ended up eating WAY TOO MANY of those things that are not as healthy as other things (like sugar free gummy bears)…and well…I paid the price. I learned the hard way that before you choose a fishing line (or food), you really need to understand HOW YOU INTEND TO USE IT and whether it makes sense.

I guess you could say, you need to choose the right “pound test” for the job!

In my defense (thanks, in no small part to brilliant marketing) I really believed that a lot of those food choices were equal to the alternatives (even BETTER) – just like that fishing line seemed equal to the alternative (even BETTER) — but the reality was, I lost sight of what I was really trying to achieve; I forgot what was reasonable; I forgot the real goal.

At the end of the day, any kite-flyer worth his salt will probably tell you that the goal to successful flight is MANAGEABILITY. It’s not always about distance or height – yes, you can do tricks – it’s about maintaing control of the kite. It’s about proving that you are in charge — not the other way around.

Weight management is the same way: It’s not about some magical number on the scale, or some teeny number on your clothes. It’s not about weighing what you weighed in high school, or squishing your shrinkly butt into those acid-washed “mom-jeans” from the 80′s. It’s about MANAGING your health and feeing good doing it.

You know…as I look back at that summer…so long ago on Mr. Taylor’s front lawn…I realize my kite was flying ME. Just like when I ate those things that seemed okay.

These days, I’m flying MYSELF — Oh, maybe not as “high” as other folks, but at least I’m airborne, and — hey, my life is manageable. At least for today.

Now, where did I put my black marker? I think I need to add a skull and crossbones to my scale…I killed another pound today!

Inflatable Life Raft

The term life raft is used for vessels carried by ships and planes to allow passengers and crew to escape in an emergency. Inflatable life rafts, also called life boats are always equipped with auto-inflation carbon dioxide canisters or mechanical pumps. The pressure release mechanism is fitted on board ships so that the canister or pump automatically inflates the lifeboat, and the lifeboat breaks free of the sinking vessel. Inflatable life rafts are made from flexible material, usually rubber, canvas, or neoprene, and hold air at high volume but low pressure. However, if there isn’t enough air inside, inflatable boats are apt to fold in the middle. Thus, they need to be pumped up to the proper pressure using bellows.

I’ve gotta be honest with you — I’m doing all that I can not to crack under the holiday pressure. Last week, I promised myself that I would not get plugged into the stress of the season by obsessing over things I can’t control or shouldn’t worry about.

Right at the top of that mental list are the words, ‘HOLIDAY FOOD,’ followed by the phrase, “it’s not about the food, it’s about the people.” For as long as I can remember (pre-surgery, of course), the holidays meant things like fudge, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, magic cookie bars, homemade cranberry sauce, apple pie, See’s candy, stuffing and leftovers. The holidays were when clients sent me wonderful (edible) gifts and neighbors dropped off baskets of baked goods. Heck, the holidays were when I broke out the cubes of real butter and colossal bags of chocolate chips and got down to the business of “celebrating through baked goods.” But, all of that changed when I had gastric bypass surgery. That first Christmas, I sat in the recliner at my brother’s house and tried to nurse a pumpkin shake while everyone else gathered around the table to overindulge. Last year, I was just trying to survive a gall bladder attack, which again meant that food was way down the list of things to do.

This year, I’m healthy (but for the annoying stress fracture), which means that I get to enjoy the holidays as a normal person living a full and wildly successful bariatric after life. But, what exactly IS normal? Do normal people get stressed out during this time of year? (Yes). Do normal people worry about exercising during this time of year? (Yes). Do normal people worry about what they are going to eat? (Yes).

Gosh, normal doesn’t sound all that different from what I did for 40 years, it’s just that NOW, I’m doing “normal” in a 150-lb body.

Which brings me to the title of this posting:  INFLATABLE LIFE RAFT (What if I Explode?)

When I think of an inflatable life raft, I visualize one of those boats that pops open when it’s not supposed to. In the movies, life rafts always inflate inside a tight space, like a compact car, a closet, or somewhere there isn’t enough room for expansion.

Sort of like my size 6 pants.

This morning, I had this horrible visual — that I was one of those inflatable life rafts (contents under massive pressure) just waiting to explode — figuratively and literally! I’ve got all of this mental stress just percolating beneath the surface, which by extension, is translating to physical stress (mascarading as pounds). I am not doing anything especially different with my eating — EXCEPT that I fear I’m NOT getting enough protein in, I’ve run out of some of my critical vitamin supplements, and I can’t afford to replenish my usual “go-to” goodies, e.g., Revival Soy Chips and Whey Up! protein drinks. I’m mudding through and doing my best to make good choices, but the stress of it all is bearing down on me, manifesting itself as the “blahs.” As I wrote on another forum, I’ve got a terrible case of the “I don’t wannas.”

Not to say that this past weekend wasn’t amazingly productive, because it was! I finalized my Thanksgiving menu, prepared my extensive shopping list (in Excel, naturally), broke it out by store (and category, e.g., “Bakery,” “Deli,” “Dairy,” “Produce,” etc.), transcribed some recipes and posted on the fridge, organized my earrings (I know that sounds weird, but they were on top of my bureau in neat little piles and I just wanted to put them away so they wouldn’t be cluttering my room for Thanksgiving), did the laundry, cleaned out my car (just another niggling thing that had been clouding my mind and keeping me from doing other things), visited a friend in the hospital, worked out, went to church, AND, did my grocery shopping at FOUR STORES (Von’s, Trader Joe’s, Big Lots and WalMart). So, it was a big weekend and I felt pretty accomplished — ready to take on the short work week and prepare for “The Big Day.”

And then I woke up yesterday morning and here’s how I felt: I’m on a rollercoaster and just roared down that first big drop. Unfortunately, I am now stuck at the bottom and there’s no chain to drag me up to the top of the hill. So, there I am in my car (with my restraints securely fastened) and I’m not panicking. I can see the stairs which will lead me to safety, but I don’t wanna take ‘em. I just want to sit in my seat and wait for the ride to continue.

Well, when I woke up today, that whole inflatable raft thing happened. What if my inflatable life raft springs open while I’m sitting in my rollercoaster car at the bottom of the hill??? There will be no way out. (At least that’s what my brain is telling me.)

What exactly does that raft represent? Oh, that’s easy: My “before” life, obesity, fat. I’m wresting with the irrational fear that I will wake up one morning and be a size 28-30 again, all because of the holidays. The part of me that wants to move as fast as she can is paralyzed by an overwhelming lack of “oomph.” The “I don’t wannas” have moved in and there is no sign of “clearing” until tomorrow afternoon sometime (when I will leave work, return to my “civilian” life, and start chopping onions and celery for the stuffing.)

I guess the best thing I can do between now and then is:

1. Give a voice to the things that are concerning me. Make a list of all the things I believe I have to do, then prioritize, determine what will get done and what won’t, then LET GO of whatever doesn’t make the cut. I’ve been doing this mentally, but now I must do it physically. (Time for another Excel spreadsheet!)
2. Stop worrying about money. (LOL – as if!) This has been a constant source of stress since May, but we have survived to this point and will continue to do so — as long as I am mindful of the budget and don’t get caught up in what I believe I “should” be able to buy.
3. Workout daily to the best of my ability. Okay, my leg hurts and my feet feel like they have 10 pound bricks tied to each foot as I pedal the Life Cycle — so I’ll just do the best I can and stay active!
4. Realize that everything will work out just the way it is supposed to, and no one will be any the wiser. My 25 guests will not care that my bedroom carpet did not get steam-cleaned, or that I don’t have fancy centerpieces on each table. They will care that we took the time to cook and bring everyone together for a beautiful day. They will not be looking at the number on my scale!
5. Eat slowly, with purpose, and include sufficient protein. I will continue to say “No” to those stupid Boston Market “corn bread” muffins at the office (that are really nothing more than cakes, disguised as something sorta healthy, but laden with 35 grams of carbs and 25 grams of sugar!)
6. Live in the moment. If I do not have a ton of energy right now, that’s okay. I will work with what I have and know that I have an amazing husband upon whom I can rely. Together, we will pull this off (as we always do).
7. Realize that I get this stressed out every year, but just never had a blog to discuss it!
8. Exhale.
9. Acknowledge that I miss my dad and am a little uncertain about our first Thanksgiving without him.

At the end of the day, Thanksgiving will be here on Friday (that’s when we celebrate), the turkey will get cooked, the stuffing will be ready, the table will be laden with food, there will be lots of healthy food choices and sugar free desserts that I can eat, but more importantly, I will be surrounded by people I love, and great joy will abound — regardless of the plastic utensils and paper plates! And that inflatable life raft? I think I’m going to store that with my Earthquake Preparedness Kit in the motorhome.

OOOPS! One more thing I’ll need to work on. Someday.

Get ready to file this under: UNPOPULAR OPINION

In the Bariatric After Life, a lot of time is devoted to “why” we do or don’t do certain things. I’d argue that fighting the weight loss (and maintenance) battle is 5% physical and 95% mental.

How many times have you asked yourself:

“Why am I always hungry?”
“What can’t I stop eating that thing?”
“Why don’t I want to work out?”

The “whys” inevitably lead to the “hows…”

“How do I make myself do this thing?”
“How do I stop myself from eating that thing?”
“How do I get back to the gym?”

For me, there are two answers:

Why Ask Why?
Just Do It.

I know that might sound glib (and unpopular), but that’s what I keep coming back to as I strive to live a fulfilling ‘after life’. When I wake up in the morning, and say, “How am I going to get myself out of bed and stagger down to the Life Cycle?” (remember, I’m nursing a stress fracture…), the answer is always the same: “I’m just going to DO it.” And, for the past 4 days, I HAVE just done it.

When I find myself overwhelmed with the desire to buy air popped “light” popcorn at Trader Joe’s, and ask, “How am I going to get past this craving???” — Here’s what I do; I don’t buy it. Then, I can’t eat it. (I just DON’T do it.)

When I find myself wanting to graze at night, and I’m wringing my hands, asking, “How do I control this insatiable urge? Why does this always happen at night?” I just tell myself that I don’t need whatever it is I’m itching for and then, if I still want to graze, I go to bed. Of course, if there is a real reason for the hunger (e.g., hormones (LOL) or the fact that I didn’t eat enough protein in the day)…then I can satisfy the need.

Look, I’m not perfect, and it’s not simple, but really, why do we always try to make more of it than it is? It’s like asking why a criminal commits a heinous crime, and then explaining that he had a rotten childhood. It doesn’t change the fact that a crime has occurred. Now, I’m not juxtaposing crime with eating or not exercising — let’s not go there — I’m saying that, just because you know why a behavior or thought is motivated, doesn’t mean the behavior or thought has to be put into action.

In other words, I was restricted to what I could eat as a child because my brother is diabetic. Or, at least, that’s why I THOUGHT I was restricted; in reality, my mom was feeding us healthy food because it was the RIGHT thing do do. But I walked away with the WRONG message, so the seed was planted and I fertilized it for about 40 years until it became a big, fat overgrown morass. Some might argue that I over ate as an adult to compensate for for my perceived sleight as a child. But, in the end, who cares WHY I over ate? I just needed to STOP the behavior.

I guess what I’m feebly trying to say is, sometimes, we put all of our energy into trying to understand WHY we want to do something, and there’s nothing left to actually change the behavior. That is why I have channeled my focus into living by the two mantras that opened this post:

Why Ask Why?
Just DO It.

I don’t always succeed, but I can guarantee you: By following this sage advice, I succeed way more often, than when I agonize over the “whys” and ‘hows”…

What do you think?

Why Me?

I originally wrote this post in 2009, but I think it is still pretty relevant, so I’m sharing it for the a whole new year — Enjoy!

Many years ago, while I was working on my masters degree, a fellow student lent me an audio book on tape that she said had changed her life. It turned out to be Dr. Phil — whom I’d not heard about at that time, since he didn’t have his own program yet. I still remember the shock of hearing his voice for the first time. And that accent! I wasn’t sure I’d be able to tolerate his voice through an entire 4 CDs!

Fortunately, I stuck with it, and learned a powerful lesson that has become the very core of my successful weight loss journey.

Background
In 1996, The Texas Cattlemen Association (US Beef Producers) sued Oprah Winfrey claiming “fear mongering” over her comment that she wouldn’t eat hamburgers again because she was afraid of contracting Mad Cow disease. Her statement carried so much weight, that in one day, sales of hamburgers plummeted, severely impacting beef industry futures. The cattlemen sued Oprah for her comments and for one year, she and her staff were hounded and threatened by Beef Industry thugs. Now, this posting is NOT about the rightness or wrongness of Oprah’s statements or the behavior of the Texas Beef Producers — I have no, uh…cow in this fight. Stick with me here.

As Oprah’s court date approached, she rented a house (well, “compound”, really) in Texas to be nearer to the proceedings. She asked Dr. Phil to stay with her for the month leading up to the big event. As Dr. Phil tells it, Oprah was devastated at what she felt was undeserved harassment for her comments. She felt that she was entitled to her opinion and didn’t understand why she was being sued for something that should be protected under the First Amendment. More importantly, she was disconsolate over the fact that her PEOPLE were being threatened and harassed — something she could not abide. As she put it, the Cattlemen’s “Beef” was with HER — not her people — and she was beside herself with worry and grief over their unfair and unwarranted treatment.

As her day in court drew nearer, she had many sleepless nights. One particular morning (around 3AM), she padded down the hall in her robe and slippers and knocked on Dr. Phil’s door. She said, “Phil, I just can’t take this anymore. Why are they DOING this to me? Why are they scaring my people? They have nothing to do with it — I’m the one who said what I said — not them! They don’t deserve to be harassed. Why won’t they just leave everyone else alone? This is so unfair.”

And here’s the crux of the lesson. Dr. Phil responded quite simply that it didn’t matter WHY they were doing what they were doing, and it didn’t matter if she DESERVED it or not. What mattered most was what she was going to DO about it.

In other words, was she going to continue wringing her hands over the “WHY” of the situation, or was she going to put her energy into the “HOW” — as in “HOW was she going to WIN the battle?”

Let me tell you. that was a Helen Keller moment for me. I distinctly remember saying, “I get it. I totally get it.”

I’d essentially spent my entire life being Oprah and wondering WHY people did or said hurtful things to me, or why I was always a victim of unfair circumstances. What I DIDN’T do was figure out how to move beyond the situation and succeed DESPITE it.

Let me explain how this crippling behavior used to manifest itself in me:

Why can’t I eat what everybody else eats?
Why do I always have to be on a diet?
Why aren’t I more athletic?
Why do I have these fat genes?
Why does my metabolism suck so much?
Why do I have a thyroid problem?
Why do I hurt all the time?
Why do I have to count calories?

Here’s what I SHOULD have been telling myself:

“Why can’t I eat what everybody else eats?”
First of all, *everybody* doesn’t eat *everything* — everyone has to make their own choices, and *everyone* doesn’t eat an entire sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies in one sitting. Even if they did, they are not ME. I only have control over MY situation, so I need to decide whether eating 25 Thin Mint cookies at one time is going to help me get thin or not.

Why do I always have to be on a diet?
I wouldn’t have to be on a diet if I just watched what and how much I ate. This isn’t just happening to me, I’m a willing participant in this poor eating plan. However, even if no one else on the planet had to be on a diet, I do, so why fight it?

Why aren’t I more athletic?
I can’t waste time and energy wishing I were someone else. I am who I am, and that means I’ll probably never be the fastest or strongest athlete out there — unless that’s what I truly want to be. I have to learn to work within my physical limitations and just do the best I can. The goal is not to be THE best; it’s to be MY best.

Why do I have these fat genes?
We don’t choose our parents. We get what we get in the genetic lottery. It’s what we do with what we’re given that matters most. How can I use my genetics to my advantage?

Why does my metabolism suck so much?
I wasn’t born with a hyper-fast metabolism like some people. As a matter of fact, not EVERYONE has a metabolism like that. Most people have a “normal” metabolism, and it’s up them to know how to make it work for their bodies. Given my chemical make-up, what can I do to ensure my metabolism is working at its optimal efficiency?

Why do I have a thyroid problem?
Why is the grass green or the sky blue? Why do I have brown eyes instead of blue ones? Why do I have to dye my hair auburn to be a redhead? Who cares “why” something is a certain way — questioning its existence doesn’t treat the condition. I should be asking what I can do to bring the thyroid problem under control. Do I need medication, or is it controllable with food?

Why do I hurt all the time?
Am I working out, eating right, and taking my vitamins each day? Is my pain due to fibromyalgia? If so, have I eliminated yeast and sugar from my diet, or am I continuing to make poor food choices, which exacerbate my pain?

Why do I have to count calories?
Asking why I have to be accountable makes about as much sense as asking why I have to drive the speed limit or follow laws. Again, arguing the “why” of a situation doesn’t get me to the “how” — as in, “how can I win this battle?”

Which brings us back to Oprah: The moment she shifted her thinking from WHY and moved into HOW, was the moment she won the battle. She stopped asking why the suit was being brought against her, or why her people were being attacked, and sought about finding a winning strategy.

Ultimately, she did prevail in court, as I prevailed in my own battle with weight. (Actually, my weight battle is never “over” and I have to continue to wage war against it everyday, but you get the idea…)

The foundation for my success came from Dr. Phil and Oprah: I don’t question WHY I have to eat a certain way, or WHY I can’t eat and drink at the same time. I don’t ask WHY I had to have bariatric surgery to lose my weight, or WHY I have to workout every day. I don’t ask WHY I have loose skin, or WHY I will have to fight this battle everyday for the rest of my life.

“WHY” doesn’t solve the problem and it certainly doesn’t make the problem disappear.

“HOW” gives you power.
“HOW” helps you win the war.

“WHY” is not an action word.
“HOW” gets things done.

Are you are “WHYner” or a “HOW-TO-er”?

My new therapist, Jim, says I’m a “doer” — I guess that means I’m successfully ensconced in the “HOW-TO” camp.

Believe me when I say this: It doesn’t matter WHY I was born with the chemical make-up I have; It matters what I DO with it, and I’m DOING great things.

How about you?