And Now, Sheilla's Idea of Moderation

As you know I've spent the last year and a half working with a personal trainer- Sheilla Lloyd of Inner Strength Fitness. I adore her, and she has played a vital role in keeping me focused on my goals and working out through two surgeries and a pregnancy. Still, she's never seen me with this much extra weight on me, and with the lingering pregnancy hormones forcing my body to hold on to the fat I'm trying so desperately to burn off, Sheilla seems to be getting a little nervous. She has decided that it's time for me to cut back on my carbs in two week stretches- going two weeks low carb, two weeks no carb, until I see the weight begin drop. Part of me thinks this might be just what my aging metabolism needs to get me started. The other part wants to beat Sheilla over the head with a loaf of bread. Crusty bread.

I once tried Atkins because somehow I forgot that I don't like meat. I lasted two days. I also tried the South Beach diet because I forgot how much I need booze. Sweet, sweet booze. In the end I learned that not only is cutting out an entire food group a stupid way to live your life, but going low carb makes my digestive system very unhappy, and makes the people who have to be around me while I'm carb counting less happy still.

But because she is a professional, and because I have to admit that despite all my protests I don't do very well with moderation, I'm going to try to listen to her advice. Since I'm allergic to wheat and try to keep my wheat consumption to a minimum, you'd think that would be easy. It's not. There's still the wide world of corn, rice, potatoes and delicious Ezekial bread to taunt you. We do keep a very healthy diet, previous posts about moderation notwithstanding, but I'm interested to see how this theory of hers plays in to my quest to learn what moderation looks like for me.

I have no intention of going completely carb free. I don't know much about successful moderation, but I know that it includes oatmeal. I need carbs at breakfast Sheilla, and you're just going to have to live with it. I admit, more salad would probably make me happier, healthier woman, but less oatmeal might send me up in to a tower, you get my drift? I cannot eat eggs every day. There isn't enough ketchup in the world.

But I'm curious to see what half as much white and twice as much green might do to my body. So I'm giving it a whirl. I'm curious to see how my body feels, how it responds. I also know it's time to stop calling pizza and beer twice a week moderation, and time to stop counting and obsessing over every calorie. Maybe it's time to count cholesterol and vegetable servings instead.


What do you think?

I Walk the Line

For me, diet is always the most challenging part of the diet and exercise weight loss combo. I love to exercise. I also love to eat. Because I'm not willing to drastically cut calories or completely cut out any food that I love, no matter how bad it is for me (Pizza, I'm looking at you), my weight loss is always slow to progress.

I've always believed that I needed to follow a moderate, healthy diet all the time, whether I'm trying to lose weight or not, the theory being that if I ate normally I'd be less likely to see the pounds return. But I have to admit that I've abused the theory of moderation in the past, and my reluctance to say no to something I enjoy has definitely kept me from reaching my fitness goals. Besides not fitting in to my skinny jeans, there is alo the much more important issue of my health. Fitness isn't just being able to run and jump and kick. Fitness is also about a strong, healthy heart, a healthy vascular system, a healthy body in and out. And as much as I'd like to deny it, I'm sure that my indulgences are also doing damage that I can't see.


The truth of the matter is that I haven't met my weight loss goals in the past because I refuse to say no to something I want. Worse still, I often find myself making an unhealthy choice over a healthy one because some part of my brain is still wired to believe that junk is a treat and healthy food is a punishment.

Where is the line between an occasional indulgence and a pattern of excess? At what point does striving for a healthy lifestyle become an obsession with calories and fat? Assuming you aren't in a pattern of disordered eating, how do you find the line? By the scale? By the fit of your pants? Your cholesterol? By some numeric breakdown of the number of times you've eaten chips this month?

Tell me what moderation looks like to you. Do you feel like you've got a good idea of what moderation means in your life?Are you as healthy as you want to be? If not, do you over or under indulge? How great a role does food play in your life?

I'm accepting, slowly, that I don't really exercise moderation, and instead vacillate between two extremes. Food plays a huge role in my life and I'm still trying to figure out why. Can it be as simple as loving good food and loving to cook great meals? If so, at what point does cutting back genuinely deprive me versus making me happier and healthier? Will it always be a battle? That's what I'm trying to figure out. It's time to stop obsessing over calories, time to stop bingeing because I've deprived myself. It's time to find my middle ground.

So tell me- where is yours?

I Call This Piece "Overcompensation in Black"

Behold, my new Linea Paolo shoes, purchased for the wedding we're attending next weekend. I couldn't find a dress that made me look 20 pounds lighter, or even one that made me feel really good, so I'm overcompensating with really expensive shoes. And I luuuurve them. I want to lick them.

So Scottie's friend Jason is getting married next Saturday. Yay for Jay! Jay and Scott have been friends for nearly 14 years and just about every single one of our close friends will be in attendance. I know I just had a baby, and I know there is absolutely no one paying attention to me (Hello, bride in a big white gown) but I still catch myself wishing I'd been able to lose some more poundage before the party. The worst of it is that I'm tired of always wishing the same thing- we've got some big event or another and I'm never excited about the event itself, I'm always worried about how I'm going to look and wishing I'd finally done something about those last ten (or in this case, thirty) pounds. Same old story. So this time I'm going to try to change my attitude. I may be in a bigger dress size and have a more sizeable derriere than ever before, but I'm going to rock that dress and that ass with all the confidence I can muster. I'm going to walk in to that room like I'm Heidi Klum, only I'm going to eat my dinner. I'm going to laugh and dance and drink and have fun, and I'm not going to worry about appearance at all, save for checking my teeth for lipstick and my shoes for toilet paper.

One thing that always works in my favor is that I'm way too narcissistic to just let myself fade in to the background no matter how uncomfortable I am with my appearance. I do not surrender without a fight. Besides the bangin' shoes, I'm also planning on rocking bright red lips and super blonde hair, plus an assload of diamonds and some luxurious cashmere. Fat be damned, I WILL be fabulous, and I WILL feel good. Because I know that at the end of the day my friends want to see me, not my outfit, and the only person even slightly concerned with my appearance is ME.

This blog is about losing the weight and getting in shape, about what I can accomplish when I work hard and when I believe in myself. But it's also about making those changes from a place of self love, not self hatred. Real change only comes from a place of love, from believing you deserve the best, not from believing that you aren't okay as you are.

So who cares if I haven't lost the weight? For once I'm going to look forward to the party and be in the moment, not worrying about what I'll wear and how I'll look or whether or not people are talking about me behind my back.

Yeah, my ass is fat. So you'd better watch out because I plan to SHAKE IT.

You're Not LISTENING!

Dear Body,

This is Brain speaking. Apparently you've forgotten who is in charge here, so let me remind you how it goes. I give the orders, you obey. That's how this thing works. I say "Jump", you say "We're already in the air, Captain."

I noticed recently that you've decided to think for yourself. You seem to think that just because you grew a person you can do anything you want, and it seems you're ignoring me all together. Well I'm putting a stop to that. I'm cracking the whip and from now on, we do what I say! You may have grown a person but I wrote the blueprint and don't you forget it. You're nothing without me, do you hear me?

No, wait. Don't go. I'm not really angry. But we need to talk. It's time to let go of the fat. During pregnancy you piled on pounds no matter what I fed you or how hard we worked out. And it was okay. I let it go because we were making a person. But now that person lives on the outside and we're not pregnant anymore. As of last week we're not even breast feeding anymore. It's time. I implore you: let the fat go. It isn't helping any of us. I know, I know; you liked being pregnant. It made you feel proud, gave you a sense of accomplishment. I'll make you a deal. Let go of the fat and I'll turn us in to an athlete. No? Okay, well then, I'll turn us in to a fit, healthy, happy person. And then? When we're done? Maybe I'll let you make another person.

Just this once.

And I Paid Her To Do This

Uuuuuuuuuughh....

Many, many squats. Much lunges. Big Owie. Much Hurt-y. Bad Sheilla! Bad, bad Sheilla!

Okay, it's good for me, I know. Great, even. But...I live in a two storey house and the stairs? HURT right now, as does the really, really hard toilet seat.

On the plus side, I did 15 girl pushups today in our first set! I think I did 15 in the second set too, but I'm not sure, as I believe I blacked out. Anyway, I was really proud of the first 15. Also? I am back to lifting what I did before I got pregnant, and in one move, more. Feeling super proud about that.

On the down side the scale at the doctor's office says I've only lost two pounds in the last month. But I secretly believe they screw with the scale just to see the look on women's faces. What with all the stress of overcrowded offices and HMO managed care, I imagine they need a laugh now and then.

Also, something I wondered about during pregnancy: why in the world, when healthy blood pressure readings are such a serious concern during pregnancy, would they take your blood pressure after they weigh you? I mean, how long do you need to be in that business to realize that this isn't a smart idea? Just sayin'.

So I feel great about my progress, but our next house? All one level living.

OW.

Healthy Recipe of the Week: Chicken Stuffed With Prosciutto and Spinach

4 boneless, skinless trimmed chicken breast halves
4 slices good prosciutto
4 slices reduced fat smoked provolone, or mozzarella
about 2 cups fresh spinach, wilted in the microwave OR cooked and drained
2 cups italian seasoned breadcrumbs
cooking spray


Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Lightly saute or microwave your spinach until wilted. On a large sheet of aluminum foil, lay out your spinach, prosciutto, cheese and chicken breasts. The foil is your work surface- you are making an assembly line of the ingredients.

Cut a pocket in each chicken breast. Place a slice of prosciutto and a slice of cheese inside each chicken breast. Divide the spinach in to four equal parts, and tuck one portion of spinach in between the prosciutto and cheese in each of the four breast halves.

Place the breadcrumbs on a plate or shallow dish. Once you've stuffed your chicken, spray it liberally on all sides with cooking spray. Roll the coated chicken in the breadcrumbs and coat thoroughly.

Place the coated breasts on a baking sheet. Bake the chicken breasts at 400 for about 22-25 minutes, until lightly browned and cheese is starting to melt out. Serves Four. Serve with Honey Roasted Sweet Potatoes. Also delicious served with Spring Vegetables and Caramelized Shallots or Roasted Asparagus.

And what do you know, I'm actually doing it

I've never been an athlete. In second grade my parents signed me up for soccer. My dad, a former soccer player, took me to the sporting goods store to buy me my first pair of cleats. A girlie girl all the way through, I cried at the sight of black cleats ("Black sneakers are for boys!") until he gave in and found me a store that sold white cleats. He tried to convince me that no one wore white cleats, that white cleats would get grass stained when I ran and kicked and fell.

He needn't have been concerned. Besides cloud watching and looking cute in my tiny uniform, the only thing I was good at was throw-ins; mainly because the ball was going away from me rather than coming at me, and there was no need for contact with other players. Most importantly, I could use my hands and didn't have to get my pretty white shoes dirty.

I'm not an athlete.

Anyway, by 6th grade an injury sidelined me permanently from gym class, and any hope that I might develop muscle tone or hand eye coordination vanished in an instant. I did, however, earn the nickname "Human Dictionary" and scored a 740 on the verbal portion of my SAT.

Always preferring books and words over sports and activity, exercise never occurred to me until, after a lifetime of thinness, I gained the freshman 15 (okay, 20) and couldn't fit in to my clothes (do you see a pattern developing here?). I started working out, doing Tae Bo and working with free weights, even running. But by the time I reached graduate school life had become chaotic and exercise was nearly impossible. My weight continually crept up, the result of long hours at school, my internship and my part time job (as a waitress in a bakery cafe. Why couldn't I find a job folding shirts at the Gap?).

Eventually I returned to the gym, but over the next few years I didn't do much to challenge myself. I was afraid of group exercise, remembering the nightmare that was high school gym class (even when you're popular, the jock girls aren't very nice to you when you let the volley ball fly by because you really just don't care) (seriously, if you're the kind of person who took gym class volleyball totally seriously, just stop reading now because we're never going to see eye to eye). I had always been told I'd never be an athlete, and I listened. I just didn't believe I was capable of fitness. Thinness, yes. Fitness, no.

That fear and lack of self confidence usually takes the form of "I Can't Because"- the excuses I've found to keep from pushing myself harder than I am comfortable pushing. "I Can't Because I didn't eat anything yet today. My blood sugar is too low." "I Can't Because I left my water bottle at home." "I Can't Because I didn't get enough sleep last night" "I Can't Because I'm not strong enough or fit enough to try." The launching of space shuttles in to orbit required less work than preparing me for an intense cardiovascular workout.

But something changed, something that shook up the way I think about my body, about what I can do. I had a baby. I endured 26 hours of labor without any meds at all, and then, totally numb, I pushed out an 8 pound baby who was face up and got stuck in the birth canal. I grew a beautiful, big, healthy baby with my body and I pushed her out. My body can do a whole lot more than I give it credit for. And in the last few weeks, newly post partum, a time when I once would have made excuses ("I'm not ready yet, I'm not strong enough yet, I won't be able to do it") I stopped reasoning and just starting doing. I went in to kickboxing class when I was 9 weeks post partum, and I didn't care that I was one of the heavier women in the class, I didn't care how hard it was or wheher the wind conditions/global economy/astrological charts were perfect before I tried. I just went. And I did it. I did it beautifully. I did it full tilt. I didn't modify a bit of that workout, and I didn't hold anything back. The next day I ran the interval workout Sheilla assigned me without worrying that I wouldn't be able to complete it. When I thought I couldn't go any further, when I didn't want to go any further, I thought to myself, "I pushed out a baby. I can do this." And sometimes, "Just shut up and do it." And I did. I did it.

And I'm still doing it. And it feels fantastic.

And now a few things that DO fit

Behold: the oodles and oodles of shoozles I bought during my pregnancy to compensate for the fact that I couldn't squeeze my ass in to pants. (Yes, it is a sickness. I know)

There's no point to this post, really, I just like to be reminded of all the things that do fit.

Someday...We'll Be Together

You're far away....from me my looove...but just as sure my-my-baby...as there are stars above..wanna say-wanna say- wanna say...

Someday, we'll be together. Some sweet day, yes we will, yes we will....

Tell everybody now...


My green velvet jacket. My Seven, Citizens and Rock and Republic jeans. My army of gorgeous silk dresses. My embellished, gypsy skirt from Nordstrom.

How I miss you, my friends.

Before I was pregnant I dressed well. Heck, I actually wore outfits. But for the last 11 months everything I've worn either had an elastic waist or was shaped like (and was the size of) a tent. I miss my old clothes. I miss them a lot.

And while I am pursuing these fitness goals because I deserve to accomplish goals I never thought I'd reach, while I want to treat my body well and feel it treat me well in return, I've also got some fly gear in my closet and I miss it like the Spice Girls missed Ginger. I'm ready for my reunion tour.

Elliptical machine, here I come.

Tuesday's Healthy Recipe

Honey Roasted Sweet Potatoes

These delicious potatoes are easy to make and full of nutrients. They are also lower in starch and carbs than white potatoes, and make an excellent, easy side dish for a weeknight meal or for entertaining. One of my favorite Go To recipes. Courtesy of Ellie Krieger on foodtv.com


2 pounds red-skinned sweet potatoes
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons honey
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Peel and cut the sweet potatoes into 1-inch pieces and put in a 9 by 13 bakingdish. In a small bowl whisk together olive oil, honey and lemon juice. Pour mixture over potatoes and toss to coat. Sprinkle with the salt, and bake, stirring occasionally, for about 1 hour, until potatoes are tender.

The Current Cardio Playlist

Now, normally I wouldn't share my odd tastes in running jams with the world, as I prefer not to be laughed at. However, since this is all about how I'm getting fit, and maybe how you can too, let me share what moves me to run faster and jump higher. And yes, it does sound like a commercial for Rock of the 80's Part Two, yes it is weird, and no, I don't care. So there. Although I must add the following disclaimer: Just because I rock out to it on the elliptical trainer does not mean I'd play it in my car or at a party or working at my desk. Case in point, see: Jett, Joan. (But admit it, Van Halen rocks)(If I ever run for President, Higher is definitely my campaign song)

Higher- Van Halen
Jump- Van Halen
Setting Sun- The CHemical Brothers
Never Met a Girl Like You Before- Edwin Collins
Roll Out- Ludacris
She Wants to Move- N.E.R.D.
Got Your Money- Old Dirty Bastard
Candi Bar- Keith Murray
Beautiful Girls- Van Halen
Doncha- Pussycat Dolls (and yes, thanks, I am ashamed of this one. But I just can't stop)
Me and Mr. Jones- Amy Winehouse

Because I Want To Be Able To Kick Your Ass

Well folks, the time has come.

On June 28th, 2008 I delivered a healthy, beautiful baby girl. Cayce Joy weighed in at 8 pounds, 3 ounces and measured 21 and a half inches long. As miraculous as her birth was, I couldn't help but feel disappointed. Given my weight gain during pregnancy, I'd been hoping for a 25 pound baby.

It's an old story. I've gone up and down the scale for years, worn everything from a size 4 to a size 14, and my motivation for weight loss has always been external. I wanted you to think I looked good, I wanted to fit in here in my appearance obsessed community, I wanted to wear designer clothes and look good in a bikini. I believed that your approval of my appearance gave me worth. But now I have a different motivation.

I want to be able to kick your ass.

Not that I actually want to kick your ass. But if you talk smart to me in a bar, I want to know that I have the option. I want to know that I am strong and I am fit. I want to be in better shape when I am thirty than I was when I was twenty. I want to find out just what I'm capable of when I stop making excuses and start really working.

At twenty years old I was skinny. Not thin; skinny. I shared pants with my best friend, a woman who stands a full five inches shorter than me and has always been petite- even after she gave birth to twins. (How I've managed to remain friends with this woman- why anyone is friends with such a woman- is another story) But fitness is a different subject entirely. At just under 5'10 inches tall, I weighed 134 pounds. I was thin, sure, but I couldn't run a mile (not that I tried) and I couldn't open my own jars or carry my own luggage. And worst of all, I thought I was fat. Even when I've maintained a healthy weight, I've had trouble feeling good about my body.

Back in those skinny days, I obsessively counted calories. I worked out, and I did some limited weight training, but the emphasis was always on getting thinner, wanting there to be less of me, always worried that there was too much of me for everyone else's liking. I don't know where the pressure came from, since it certainly didn't come from my boyfriend or my family. I suppose I'll blame part of it on my competitive nature. If you're thin, I want to be thinner. If you look good, I want to look better.

I'm sure you know what happened next. Eventually the need for perfection became too taxing and I went to the other extreme. Once I had a taste (no pun intended) of what it felt like to be free to eat anything I wanted- when I stopped counting calories and just ate and drank as I pleased-well, then I couldn't get enough. Thirty pounds in one year. Ouch. I went on that way for the next three years, dropping 15 pounds or so at a time, but always ballooning back up again. And then my mother died, and for the first time in my life I didn't have to make any effort whatsoever to lose weight. The pounds just fell off. But it wasn't long before bad habits (read: comfort food, and worse, comfort drinking) caught up with me, and the pounds came back on. In the year before I was married I tried to lose the weight, and I did alright- lost some of it, but didn't get back down to the healthy weight I'd reached and then maintained for nearly a year after my mom died. I remembered all too well the deprivation of the skinny days, and how much I hated feeling like I "couldn't" have this or "couldn't" have that, and despite my denial of this truth, I never really worked as hard as I could have.

And then in 2006 I reached my highest weight ever- 179 pounds. I felt terrible. On my 27th birthday I sat on the floor of my closet in tears, too depressed about my appearance to want to put on clothes and go out. Nothing looked good anymore, and I didn't like what I'd done to myself. It felt just awful- physically and emotionally. Unfortunately it still wasn't enough for me to make a change, until a month later when searing abdominal pain sent me to a doctor who diagnosed me with gallstones. The gallbladder came out and I vowed to return to a healthier lifestyle. I've always known what to do. It's the doing that gets me. I'm sure you can relate.

In between my 27th and 28th birthdays I lost 23 pounds, put on more muscle than I'd ever had in my life, and regained my self confidence. I was about ten pounds from my goal when I became pregnant in October of 2007, and despite careful eating and exercising all the way in to week 38 of the pregnancy, I still gained 54 pounds. It was in the last two months of my pregnancy that I decided that I owed it to myself to work harder than I'd ever worked before to get in shape after baby arrived. It was time to see what I could do when I really tried, when I really believed in myself. Pregnancy showed me that my body was miraculous and could do amazing things. I want to see what else it is capable of.

So here I am. And I'm telling the world about it because I refuse to let myself off the hook. I want to be strong. I want to be fit. Before I was pregnant I could do pushups- real pushups, not girl pushups- for the very first time in my life. And I know I wasn't working nearly as hard as I could have been. What might I be capable of if I finally do?

My body made a person, and then pushed that person out. I'm pretty sure I can do just about anything now.

So gather 'round folks, and follow the tale of the lazy girl who loved pizza but became strong and fit anyway. Or perhaps, the tale of an angry woman who took solace in beer and deleted her blog before too many of her friends and family could see it. Either way, it should be interesting for at least a few minutes.

Just to prove how serious I am, I'm posting the picture of the skinny white designer jeans I bought at Saks 5th Avenue when I was nine months pregnant. This is it. No more excuses. No more wondering what I could be or could do if I really gave myself a fair chance. We're going balls to the wall here kids, and it's skinny jeans or die trying.

Or maybe I'll just find a really good tailor.