Like Father, Like Son

My Father and I never really got on very well. He was a conservative and reserved New England Yankee. I always felt he equated emotions with 'being soft' and that meant 'being weak.' My Dad hated weakness. Unfortunately, he himself was a deeply emotional person and fought hard to never express his true feelings. Which is probably why he became addicted to alcohol. Being drunk he could be angry and shout or cry or whatever his heart cried out for him to be. Which sucked not only for him, but most definitely for the rest of us around him. He lived a stressful life, and drove himself into such a deep state of denial about how he was feeling that he ended up on blood pressure medication. I guess a macho guy can take a drug, even if he can't see a shrink and get some real help. Who knows how the logic worked, if there was any. Looking back on it, I guess he hated himself, most of all. Crazy, huh? Growing up under his iron thumb was, for a sissy boy like me, unbearably difficult and agonizing. I just never understood how to love someone and hate him at the same time, and the only lesson I ever got from my family was to simply never talk about it. Of course my Mother and my brothers and sisters all got their fair share of the pain -- I didn't have a monopoly -- and to some extent simply pretending there WAS no problem was the best thing we could come up with. And I suppose another lesson I learned from my Father was addiction. Just as he would come home and lose himself in a bottle, when I was feeling angry, lost, scared or confused, I medicated myself with food (the junkier, the better). Of course, that overeating made me 'softer' and 'weaker' and led to a cycle of guilt and depression. It took me a very long time to embrace my emotional self, to celebrate my 'weaker' side, to acknowledge the goodness and worthiness of my being. And for as many years as my Dad was hitting the bottle, I was hitting the cookie jar, and the ice cream vat and the pizza parlor. We both took a long time to slay our demons, and we both tried and failed using several different approaches. Eventually, our lives' journeys allowed each of us to grow a bit, and over time the two of us developed a sort of detente-without-rapprochement. Interestingly, he stopped drinking cold turkey one day when he was 70, and never had another drop (that I know of). He never discussed his problem and my Mother wrapped it all up in a haze of revisionist memory and to this day, nearly twenty years later, avoids all mention of anything remotely related to his having been a drunk. By contrast, my own journey is one that I've made public and loud and emotional and noisy! I participate in weight loss groups, I write this blog, and I am as upfront as I know how to be about my food issues and my desire to remain healthy and trim. Since I can't 'quit' food, that wasn't an option for me, and I've had some small relapses and some doubts as to whether I'd make it. But over time, I feel that my approach is the right one (at least for me) and it has helped me become a healed, whole person in a way my Father never had a chance to be. So, its with bitterness and regret that I'm being bombarded by reminders of Father's Day in my e-mail, my post office box, and in the advertising everywhere. I never could bring myself to celebrate that day when he was alive. But maybe now in my own middle-age I've learned enough about the difficulties of addiction and depression and stress to cut him a little slack. I ran across this (very soft and emotional looking!) photo of him the other day and thought, 'he and I really weren't so different, after all.' So Happy Father's Day.

Reality Bites

My weight slipped down a notch this week, and I have to say, that really ticked me off! Because as I review my journal for the past seven days, I realize that I ate less and exercised more. Dang! I hate when that happens. Because there's that little part of me that always thinks 'well maybe this isn't so scientific after all and by MAGIC I will achieve the results I want.' I believe that I share this magical thinking with a great number of overweight (and formerly overweight) people. My evidence? The constant stream of junk e-mails promising rapid weight loss, the supermarket magazines trumpeting 'miracle diets' and the plethora of phony 'fat burner' exercises that are shown on TV. Its funny because now that I'm skinny I've had to get used to these ridiculous comments that people make to me ('its easier for you since you're younger' 'you're lucky, you can eat whatever you want' 'its so much harder for me because I don't get as many points as you do' etc.). I once even attended a WW meeting where the leader told the group that 'this program is really designed just for women because men simply *have* to eat more.' Yeah, right. And I don't know about you, but I've succumbed to more than one fad (the no-fat diet, the grapefruit diet, the starvation diet, etc. etc.) in the belief that somehow I could trick my body into losing weight permanently. I even had some 'subliminal message' weight-loss cassette tapes that I would listen to in order to 'speed up my metabolism.' You might think that four years of maintaining and I'm cured, but alas, that's not the case. I still read the crazy magazines in the checkout lane, I still peruse the rapid weight loss websites, and I give the once-over to some of the 'magic abs' machines that occasionally show up at my gym. But its all hooey. All of it. So, I guess I have to face facts. Managing my weight is about eating less and moving more. Just like I did this week. And when the information machine provides feedback that's not in line with my expectations, I'm forced to go back and look at that old energy-in, energy-out equation. It works. Damn!

A matter of taste

I've been at (or darn near!) my goal weight for a couple of weeks now without much fluctuation. Which means I feel thin, look thin, I AM thin. And it strikes me that *THIS* is what is supposed to be about. This is why we manage our portions. This is why we exercise. This is why we say no to donuts in the office. This is why we get on that scale week after week for a reality check and to look for signs of progress. And it *IS* wonderful. I really love the way my clothes fit when I'm at this weight. My smallest pants don't pinch, and all of my shirts and jackets hang on me the way the were designed to. Working out at the gym is more rewarding because there is no extra layer of fat between me and my muscles, so I look stronger and feel more precisely the benefits of the exercises I do. At this weight, I fit in bus seats. And yet (… for my loyal readers, I'm sure you've heard me say this before …) for ME, this amazing, marvelous, outstanding, awesome and successful feeling really isn't any more compelling than a bowl of ice cream, a box of oreos, or a large, iced maple oat scone. I'm always astounded by people who say 'nothing tastes as good as thin feels.' Nothing? Really? Then why did I ever have a weight problem in the first place? Thin feels great. To me, food feels equally great. At the gym today I had a fantastic workout and then stopped at Cala http://www.calabell.com/operations_grocery_about.htm to get some lunch. Walking towards the salad bar, I caught site of the pastry case. Cookies. Brownies. Cake. Pastries. AAAAiiiiiiiiii !!!! Everything seemed to call my name. What's ironic is that I didn't starve myself thin, and I'm not walking around hungry. I eat a variety of foods, including snacky things and indulgent choices. And I don't simply walk around all day thinking non-stop about foods that I ' can't ' have (since I CAN have anything in moderation). Its just that, even when I'm thin, I'm still ME. For all my wonderful and all of my regrettable qualities, I'm still just little ol' me. Only now I'm actually little. So, for lunch I not only made myself a neat salad, I also got a box of mixed veggie sushi rolls that was delicious! It was satisfying, hit the spot, left me feeling full, and was an excellent post-workout food choice. Perhaps my new goal needs to be finding foods that make me feel as good as being thin. I'll have to think about that one.

Three Little Letters

There's a woman in my office who is known for having a strong mind and for speaking her piece, no matter what. I'm not crazy about her, but I have so much admiration for the fact that she started out in this country as an immigrant teenager with nothing and now she has a Masters and a great job and is supporting her family. When I observe her words and actions, they emanate a sense of confidence and self-assuredness that's hard to miss. The other night we were at a business dinner and I was feeling quite sorry for myself. Poor little me... I had looked up on the website what I would order for dinner, only to discover we were being served a fixed menu of ribs, sausages, biscuits, cole slaw, and baked beans. None of which I liked or wanted to eat. So I sat there nibbling on a cracker and feeling angry and forlorn. Then, looking down the table, I saw my coworker digging into the most AMAZING salad. Shocked, I went over to her and asked how she got it. Quite crossly she said 'You just ask.' And then she went back to her salad. I mean, could it have been any simpler? Just ask. Funny, it reminds me of a time when I was working in the Federal Government and was travelling all over the country on business trips. At a staff meeting, one of my coworkers bellyached about me getting to go to so many interesting places. And I simply shrugged and said 'Well. All I did was ask.' What is so different about these situations? Why do I find it so easy to ask for what I want at work, but not at a restaurant? Perhaps a part of it is that I have a sense of my own competency in the work place, based on a lifetime of experience. Whereas I've only spent four of my forty-five years learning how to navigate the waters of weight maintenance. And what's ironic is that in my professional life, I tend to remember the things I requested and GOT (i.e. a transfer from Washington, DC to San Francisco) and not the things that I didn't get. Seldom have I let a rejection set me back or diminish my enthusiasm -- at least at work. With food and eating its a different story. And it doesn't need to be. My co-worker has shown me that. So as someone whose goal is to maintain my body at a healthy, natural weight, the three most important letters in the English language for me to stay there and be happy are not 'E' 'A' and 'T' but rather 'A' 'S' and 'K'

C'mon Get Happy

Earlier today I started to draft a post about how my new outlook on healthy eating and exercise make me feel like a snob, as if mainstream food and culture wasn’t ‘good enough’. But as I was running (nothing clears my head like a good run) I realized that knowing what you want (as we’ve been discussing) is not the same as being ‘demanding.’ So why is it that I some times end up feeling arrogant or vain if I’m asking for modifications, dressing on the side, etc.? One thing I share in common with a lot of people who’ve ended up overweight is that I haven’t always had a particularly robust self-esteem. It took me a long time to believe that I was a worthy person and ‘deserved’ good things in my life. And as a result, I often turned to my best friend (… food …) for solace and comfort. I have a memory from my late 20’s of leaving a dance club one night and stopping to buy a half-gallon of ice cream and eating the whole thing once I got home. Nothing like a binge of Ben & Jerry’s to compensate for a little rejection on the dance floor! Similarly, whether I was nervous about something at work, or just not feeling good about myself in general, there was always a good old fix of junk food around the corner. So now what? I’ve never wanted to be the guy who is bucking the trend or the person who is always trying to set the rules. I’ve always thought it would be best if only I could blend in, go along, be a part of the gang. Yet, for better or worse, the society we live in is one where the consumption of food has surpassed all reasonable limits. As I watched people at the conference stagger away from the buffet table under the weight of their dinner plates, I realized it was okay to be ‘different.’ It doesn’t mean that I’m morally superior or wiser or gifted. It simply means that health is such a high priority, and nurturing my self-esteem is so vital to my being, that I am willing to raise my hand every now and again. ‘Excuse me. Are there any vegetables? And could I have the dressing on the side?’ That’s not being pushy, that’s being happy.

Road Scholar

Downtown Memphis is a pleasant enough place. And the Peabody Hotel, where I’m staying, is elegant and sophisticated without being snobbish or off-putting. But I will say that I have increased empathy for anyone in this neck of the woods who is trying to eat healthy. The hotel restaurants are all pretty upscale, but they feature what I would call ‘old-school’ menus (pastas, steaks, breads, desserts, etc.). And I walked around the downtown area for blocks and blocks and blocks today, in a futile effort to locate a piece of fruit or a non-fat yogurt. Memphis, being the home of barbeque, has any number of good ol’ southern home-cookin’ type places. But nouvelle cuisine, if it is here, isn’t anywhere I’ve seen it. For lunch today I finally gave up looking elsewhere, and ordered a salad at the hotel. I asked them to put grilled chicken on it and to have the dressing on the side. The waiter was exceedingly polite but apparently confused. ‘You want chicken? On your mixed green salad?’ And so I assured her that was, indeed, what I wanted. In due course she cheerfully provided it to me – with about 10 ounces of chicken, I might add. Later on, for dinner, I ordered another salad, and asked for some steamed vegetables on the side. Another very competent, very cheerful waiter appeared unfazed by this order and brought it right away. But after my first forkful of the veggies, I called him over and asked ‘Are these steamed? They taste as if they’ve been sautéed in butter.’ Which was apparently the case, he told me. But the hotel chef is very accommodating and in short order I received a delicious order of steamed vegetables (no butter) – truly excellent. Travelling is stressful enough, but eating healthy when you’re on a business trip with a tight agenda is just plain tough. And I could easily just give in and eat the butter-soaked banquet food, scarf down the baked goods during breaks in the conference, and tell myself ‘I didn’t have a choice.’ Fortunately, there is a nice path for running, and after today’s session I went for a long, slow run along the Mississippi and it helped me realize something. My health and satisfaction are worth the extra effort. Even when I’m on the road.

Whaddya want?

If I learned anything in my ten years of therapy, it was that most of us haven't really taken the time to dig down and really figure out what we want (it never turns out to be that new car, or the perfect job, or a million dollars). Its all too easy to mis-identify our surface needs ('Oooh, I want a donut!') with our more internal needs ('hmm... I want to feel comforted and taken care of'). 'Anonymous' made an excellent point in his/her comments about making sure that we are eating the foods that we desire. The question I like to ask myself is 'do I love this particular food RIGHT NOW?' Because I don't care whether its carrots, or carrot cake, I want to be loving the food I'm eating. But alas, when it comes to knowing all of the foods I want, I'm still not completely clear. For pure nutrition, I know that I want to have fresh fruit every day and I enjoy cooked veggies as well. Quite often I find myself wanting a salad (from a really good salad bar, like Whole Foods). But looking through my food journals, its pretty clear that I like junky, munchy, carb-laden stuff. But is liking the same as wanting? I'm pretty sure that the verb want originally meant 'to lack' (e.g. 'for want of a nail the shoe was lost'). It makes sense that over time, people would move from describing what they lack to what they desire, using the same word. But again, are they the same thing? I might want an oreo, but am I actually 'lacking in oreos' if I don't have one? While the want-o-meter is a cool idea, I’m not sure I’m going to try it. The reason being that many of my food fancies are really just passing urges. This morning on my running route I passed a dessert shop I used to frequent in the ‘old days’ and immediately I conjured up images of huge cookies and massive slabs of cake. But a moment later I was running by my bank and my thoughts switched to this month’s mortgage payment. Perhaps I’m worried that if I begin making lists of all the junky foods that have urges for, I’ll start something that I won’t know how to stop. Perhaps I’m worried that just writing them down will set my urges into concrete until they become unstoppable cravings. Or perhaps I’m just lazy. What I’m discovering about food choices and maintenance is something that London and ‘Stretchy’ and others have alluded to in the past. Namely, its about having enough of the things I like in frequent enough intervals, that I don’t feel overly restricted and snacking doesn’t become some kind of prison break. But the point is well taken. If I *want* to maintain my weight, its vital that I be clearly aware of the foods that I *want* to eat. Of course, I also *want* to wear a bathing suit when I go to the beach in New Jersey next month, so that has to come into the equation as well.