Travel Fitness Fun (written at 35,000 feet for authenticity!)

I have been fortunate enough to travel frequently lately. And while I used to look at trips or "vacays" as a time to throw in the fitness towel and paint the town red from a fitness debauchery standpoint, I have recently decided that I would take my commitment with me and make each travel adventure a fun and totally new fitness experience.

I definitely love to travel. Trains, planes or automobiles--I am in--I have an heightened sense of wanderlust. I like the idea of going somewhere totally new, I love a new city to explore with new people everywhere, I love that feeling that something I have never experienced before is just about to happen.

So instead of travelling with some sort of self-denying and Spartan diet regime I make a point of incorporating amazing local cuisine wherever I happen to be. Instead of worrying that I am missing my classes at home I find new classes to attend. I look for ways to move that aren't traditional exercise. I think about tourist activities as a chance to use the health and fitness I have gained so far--and even increase stamina. I go do it. Walking tours, body surfing, places to go dancing, and even mall and museum walking. It all counts.

Also, like most of us I don't have a spa-lady budget. My chances of blow-out spa weeks are pretty few and far between--but that's okay. I can make my own spa wherever I go.

Here are some of the practical things I do to make each travel opportunity I have a health and fitness one too:

1. Plan where you stay based on amenities. Almost every hotel--even motels--have fitness centers. And even if it's a two star fitness center with three machines, it will do. Full service hotels three stars and above can have very spa-like fitness facilities; check out where you are going on the Internet ahead of time so you know how to plan. You will need workout clothes, shoes and socks, possibly your yoga mat, a swimsuit, goggles and sunscreen. (I also cannot live without SwimEar--a rubbing alcohol concoction that gets water out of your ears almost instantly--helps prevent annoyance and swimmer's ear for about two bucks.)

2. BYOS--Bring Your Own Spa. There are definitely low-cost and fun ways to get your yoga on--or even get a massage without spending the hundreds of dollars a spa-day entails. If you belong to a local membership massage club like Massage Envy they are located across the nation in almost every strip mall in every major city. You can book a massage using an already-paid for membership massage almost anywhere.

The YMCA has really updated their fitness class schedules across the nation. I definitely got into the beautiful Brooks Family YMCA when I was in Florida over the summer. If you are visiting family it's very possible to get a guest pass or even a trial membership. If you are on your own, you can purchase a one week inclusive class membership for around 50 dollars. Even if you get to yoga three times for that 50 bucks you have saved money compared to walking into a traditional yoga studio or going to a spa class.

3. Don't forget the mental spa aspect. If you are doing as I do--traveling in a situation where you spend a lot of your time going solo--you have a lot of control over your experience, but at the same time you have to be willing to boldly go out and do it. Don't get stuck regretting a missed opportunity to see or do something because you are going alone. Revel in that alone time. How often do people get to explore cities at their own whim and in their own time? Moments of solitude can be amazingly healing times of self reflection and well, just peace. And when you have had enough peace you can always text your daughter away at college on your droid while you sip a latte in the sunlit cafe of your choice.

And finally give yourself a 25% margin of error. Have that dessert--you walked all day, have a cocktail, you hit the stationary bike. Or simply just declare some days "free days." I have realized that if I do the healthy thing for my body and my mind 75% of the time I am still going to make amazing strides.

And happy trails to you--until we meet again. I have a Jack Daniels and Ginger Ale and I am high over Seattle (literally and figuratively). I will check in again from this trip and post a picture or two.

Here's to our health--and our happiness!

Love--
Beauty

The Healthy Soul

Once, many years ago, my daughter who was attempting the amazing feat of not only trying to live through junior high school, but also trying to do it with a high frequency hearing loss, was talking to me about some kids in her class. These kids were treating her with a Saccharine-tinged form of rude-kid faux courtesy—candy-coated on the outside and, on the very transparent inside, just meanness. Meanness masquerading.

We all know those people. People who take your life challenges or even your wins and through their own baggage or simply their own mean spirits trash you while pretending to give you your props. It’s a disgusting display of manipulative passive aggression, and I have always loathed it. Give me a plain old rude person any day of the week over a sickeningly-sweet snake.

When my daughter encountered these girls (boys can obviously act this way too, but girls own the stock), they were in the habit of greeting her with exaggerated smiles and too-loud greetings making her feel like she was the mentally challenged character in an over-acted, poorly written play. I have always thought this sort of hidden contempt was the greatest form of cowardice. To counteract these mini-terrorists I gave her a few one-liners. And while she never ended up confronting these girls who, like dogs on a street, were eventually distracted by a car going by, or another cat, or a bug—it helped her to cope to have a retort at the ready.

I said, when they say, “HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! HOW ARE YOU TODAY!!!!!!?????” (Icky smiles, hair flipping, facial contortions as they over-enunciated), she should look at them coolly and say, “You can treat me like I’m normal, but thanks for saying hi.” This simple response was a way of letting them know that:

1. She got it.
2. She thought they sucked.
3. She wasn’t playing.

Lately in my own health and weight loss quest I have been reminded of this story about my daughter because I have encountered my share of these mean junior high school girls morphed into “adults.” And while my quest and my blog are most often met with sincerely positive and uplifting good wishes from fine people, the occasional small souls are still around doing the equivalent of what my daughter encountered albeit in more insidious grown-up fashion—good wishes that are not-so-subtly patronizing, prejudices laced with smiles, loathsome behavior wrapped with ribbon.

This doesn’t mean that people should stop applauding one another at the risk of appearing patronizing. It’s just that covert meanness and passive aggression are acts of hostility and people who do it should be aware that their behavior is doubly disgusting because of the pretense—and that no one is fooled.

I continually thank God that I was raised by a woman who didn’t manipulate, who wasn’t a game player, and who spoke her mind without fearing being told she was too (fill in the blank—loud, assertive, not sweet enough, rough, pushy, etc.) I am glad that I am smart enough to understand and be aware of covert behavior and passive aggression and that I have never engaged in it. I relish the personal freedom I have because I have I learned to speak my truth and to not be mean. These are qualities I value far more in the world than even my health and fitness. I believe they are signs of a fit soul—and I am grateful for them every day.

Because, after all, you can work out constantly, you can reach your goal weight, you can be in perfect physical health, but if your soul isn’t healthy, if your light isn’t one of kindness and compassion, then at the end of the day, you have nothing but an empty package. And if you have filled this package with passive aggression and meanness and smallness, then what?

Bodies are important—but they are, and will always be, just the vehicles. A healthy soul comes first—and will always be the most valuable thing that anyone can possess.

Lessons in the Sun

Well it's over. I am on the plane back from Florida and I am considering the lessons learned at Camp Chad. Certainly three weeks is a very long time to be anywhere away from home on travel. It's a long time to be a good guest, it's a long time to remove yourself from everyday life and routine. But in spite of the stresses and exhaustion of travel I love it. I have often thought that I am happy going anywhere at all if it means I can hit the open road and explore. I like new places, I like local color, I like to remove myself from the way I usually think and I think this experience at Camp Chad facilitated that.

Of course you know, if you have been following my blog, I went to Camp Chad as a fitness and health excursion and I was successful. I definitely got a chance to improve my yoga skills and move from what I probably would have termed as a beginning yoga skill-level to an intermediate level. (Not that a true yogi grades his or her skill level that way, and I am convinced that the best part of yoga for me will always be the process of learning to be comfortable with myself and at one with the universe—the mind/body/spirit connection.) I realized with a great deal of happiness that my cardiovascular health has much improved. I can spend almost an hour on the most difficult running elliptical, I can master a very fast-paced aerobic hip hop dance class that was not only a blast but made me feel like I could be far more confident in what my body could do. I ate healthy (for the most part even though I did sneak away occasionally for lattes—I'm human—but I managed to stop drinking coffee after the early afternoon.) Oh, and I dropped 13 pounds.

But more than the active and intentional health and fitness changes I made and successes I had, I enjoyed the benefits of my increasing health and fitness. As a tourist in the amazingly romantic and beautiful town of St. Augustine I walked for hours. I saw museums I loved, strolled through amazing resort areas and landmark hotels, I visited the Fountain of Youth with family and strolled the grounds with ease stopping for a kitschy and amazingly relaxing presentation of the night sky projected on the ceiling of a mini and pretend planetarium with narration and sound effects that reminded me of a black and white film I might  have watched in elementary school. I tilted my head back in the pitch black theater and let the campy, touristy experience wash over me like cool Ginger ale. I loved it. 

I strolled from the hotel across the street from the Lightner Museum with my daughter and over a latte we decided to make our way to the marina for an evening boat cruise of the harbor. I thought nothing of making the mile or two walk in the high humidity, I bounced up the stairs of the small craft to the observation deck to take pictures without measuring my steps or making sure I didn't rush. In short, I forgot to be so worried about my every move physically because with my improved health and fitness I get to experience life without all the careful planning. Yes I can walk there, no I don't need to be dropped at the door. Yes I feel fine—even wonderful, etc., etc.

Also, I have been in Florida a number of times in the last ten years and believe it or not I never got to the beach. I went once when my daughter was little but was very uncomfortable making the walk from the parking lot to the ocean. I remember the strain I felt and I didn't enjoy putting on a swimsuit and lying on the beach or playing in the surf. Prior to this new experience it had been years since I could jump up and down from the sand to a standing position without thinking it through. Now I just do it. I walk down the beach in my swimsuit knowing that I am healthier than I have been in a long time and I am unconcerned with public opinion. I feel like I belong there and therefore I do.

My experiences at the Florida beaches were nothing sort of miraculous. If you are a California native—especially a Southern California native like me—you understand the call of the ocean. It's a part of me and probably represents home more than any other place on earth. Certainly I feel very much at peace there now. Prior to this experience when every step was an undertaking, when I felt ultra self conscious, when I was overheated and unhappy through the whole experience it just wasn't fun. I didn't trust my level of health enough to swim freely, I felt at risk. Frankly, I needed to feel at risk. That was accurate based on some real things. I was fat and out of shape past the point where I could safely and happily enjoy myself there. Well, no more.

As I sit writing this in an airplane seat I have the laptop perched quite comfortably on the pull-down tray in front of me and I fit in the seat well enough not to feel like I am encroaching on the space of others, and I know. I like to fit in the world. It's an incredible feeling of comfort that I will never take for granted again.

I am almost 52 years old now. I promised myself I would be in the best shape of my life when I reached the age my older brother died. I know now that I will still be in process, but I do know that my process is a wonderful, wondrous exploration of self and I do know that what I have done to change my life in the last couple of years makes me realize I feel like I am 39 again—not almost 52. I also know that we all have the chance to do this. If I can make these changes anyone can. If I can improve my health and fitness level enough to be enjoying my life I truly believe that anyone who wants to can make changes. Those changes may not be perfect, they may not always meet your original or “best-case” expectations but they will make anyone who undertakes them feel happier, more comfortable and more alive. And that's what it's really about.

So if you are reading this and you are having a bad day or month or year or, heck, decade about how you are doing physically, I am here to remind you today to realize it's baby steps. Do one thing and build on it. Make a small change in your life and applaud the hell out of it. You deserve your own praise. You deserve your own self-love and your own personal recognition. No one can change you but you. No one knows what is truly best for you but you. If you listen to what you need, to what you tell yourself quietly when the noise dies down each day, you will hear your own voice. That is the voice to give your attention to. Your inner knowing.Your true guide is really you. You know what to do. I am behind you 100%. I am proud of you as I am proud of me. I had a good time at camp. Thanks for coming along.

Love--

Beauty.

The Powerful Green Drink

Camp Chad has some very strange elements for the uninitiated. The most intense one being the Green Drink. Every morning upon arising participants in the camp are given a concoction of parsley, kale, limes, ginger, apples and cucumbers that has been blended to a frothy consistency. The goal is to take this green drink and "power it" or basically tip your head back and pretend you're a college freshman with a beer bong. It tastes odd--like you have ingested the contents of your lawn mower's clipping bag--very organic, tangy, incredibly fresh and strangely appealing.

Now the weird thing is (and we are about to get very graphic for those with tender sensibilities) this whole process acts like the most intense colon cleanse of your life. A while ago I purchased an over-the-counter colon cleanse that people in the fitness industry are always talking about and it did absolutely nothing for me except make me feel I had wasted a few weeks and a hundred dollars. This green drink, on the other hand, works like crazy. I felt as if my entire system was suddenly being purified. The insides of my digestive track released years of toxic waste. I was informed that it could have been, in addition to toxins, even "parasites." That seems a little hard to digest. But in any event, something has definitely started to happen.

What has started to happen is that I feel lighter. My abdomen feels like it is more compact, healthier and less bloated. My attitude, which is always pretty good, is soaring. Even with the get lag and an infection I have been dealing with I feel my body getting healthier.

I feel like at sometimes in my life I have been a scoffer, but there is no value in scoffing. What I feel like now is that I want to be open to experience. I am beginning to see that I can feel great. I can become someone who feels physically wonderful, happy to be in my body and gloriously alive. It's a strange and happy thought to think I can control this--I can change how I feel and the experience I have in my body on earth.

Maybe the green drink is the fruit of the Garden of Eden without all the penalties--just the joy and the sweetness. I think there's a good chance of that.

I hope you have a moment of pure pleasure and peace today. More adventures to follow...

And--cheers!

Day One-- A Long Day's Journey Into Night

Sometimes it takes a long time to get where you are going. That's a metaphor for my life on many levels, especially yesterday. I arrived at Phoenix Sky Harbor airport at about noon. About 5 PM I was on a plane to Camp Chad. Well, actually I was on a plane to Denver which had been delayed because of weather. It hailed in Denver yesterday for those of you not glued to the Weather Channel.

After waiting in the airport for hours I started out my sojourn into better health with a hot dog. It was the only choice and I stood up to eat it. However, in spite of the delay the airport seemed to be full of happy, even jovial people all going somewhere. Nothing like going somewhere to lift your spirits.

So getting on my Southwest flight I happened to sit by some great people--a man and his son who were coming from his sister's dog rescue ranch in the high desert in California. We laughed, we danced, we schmoozed--basically they were good people. The man was even gracious enough to put my enormous backpack stuffed to the brim with all my junk under  the seat in front of his feet. I am always amazed and gratified at the kindness of strangers. (But the guy at the pharmacy today took a point away from the Karmic flow of goodness to sort of equal things out.) Anyway, off we went to Denver where we landed to get rid of almost everyone and get a whole new flock of everyones to take off again. I was one of the three people going all the way through.

The next guy was a snorer. I started the flight by glaring at him at intervals and then found I could tune him out. Also I am not sure that it's good for my own psyche to glare at someone from Denver to Florida. So, I let it be courtesy of John Lennon and Buddha. I congratulated myself on my Zen and poured Bailey's into my coffee to prove the point. At two o'clock in the morning we finally docked in Jacksonville to deplane. My adventure begins!

Excuses, Excuses, Excuses.

Hello Dear Readers,

No, I have not been incarcerated, in rehab or on a bender. I have simply been dealing with a life that has more stress than a barrel full of monkeys and in fitness suspended animation.

I have so many excuses I could write a book about them all. Oh, wait, I have. So, now I am taking BATB on the road to "Camp Chad"--a cutting edge, all inclusive, exclusive weight loss spa located on the Eastern Seaboard. I will write you "postcards from the edge" as I find my own exercise "middle way" as the Buddhists would say.

I fly Thursday. Look for updates as I spend three weeks kicking butt and getting my butt kicked. I am glad to be back and I look forward to talking to you soon! Oh, and...wish you were here packing and doing laundry and dishes!

Love,

Beauty

Would Jesus Like my Yoga Class?

There is an old expression—whenever God closes a door, he opens a window. That is true, I believe. In my case that window was opened to yoga.

About 10 months ago I had the misfortune to swim in a pool and get something called "folliculitis." Basically this is a rash that covers your whole body and makes you feel like you are going to die if you get the severe version. If you get the lightweight version you get a bump or two, you wash with antibacterial soap, and it goes away. I got the severe version.

I went to war successfully against my gym. I called the health department. My gym admitted no wrongdoing, said and proved they passed their health department testing on the specific days levels of bacteria and other “ickys” were tested, but also got new lane lines and completely re-tiled in response to the cage rattling I did. I won, but I also haven't begun regular swim workouts again. I would like to and I will, eventually.

When I realized I didn't want to swim for my exercise for a while (mostly out of fear), I also knew that I didn't want to give up my fitness regimen. I had worked too hard and too long to backslide. I needed alternatives. While I was at my very heaviest I loved the pool in spite of the fact that it was a terrible challenge to force myself into a bathing suit and get out there. As I made my way from the locker room to the pool I always felt like I was a prisoner of my own body making my last walk to execution—Fat Girl Walking—but once there I had the weightlessness of the water to my advantage. I lifted the extra pounds of weight off my frame and I was effectively much lighter, more graceful, and able to work out pulling a more normal amount of weight around.

One horrible part about obesity is you miss so much. Your world gets smaller and smaller the worse you feel and the more difficult it is to move around. Things fall away. The folliculitis (interesting gift, don't you think?) coincided with a rather large amount of weight loss. I yearned to get out of my comfort zone a little and experience some of the things I had been missing for so long—or had never tried. I wanted those things back. So I braved my local junior college.

As I was in my own mind (ok, and reality too) a "middle-aged-fat-woman," I was pretty worried about taking the plunge back into my local junior college. The last few times I had been to an open house at my daughter's high school I couldn't fit into a student desk. My fear of being anywhere I couldn't fit was—well, huge. But online registration appealed to me, and I thought, if not now, then when?

I registered for classes in the Fall semester. I registered for four classes—Gentle Yoga, Pilates, Body Sculpting and Tap Dancing. I have always been the kind of person who once decided, goes with as much gusto as I can muster.

Now a little side note about "Fall Semester" in Phoenix. It is about 117 degrees here in the fall. Not only was it going to be hard to do all these classes, but even for a healthy thin person it would be hard to walk into the class locations. A parking lot in 117-degree weather gets to be about 130 degrees because of heat retained in the asphalt. It's dangerous. But I planned a strategy. I armed myself with bottles of water and diet sports drinks. I had a spray fan from Disneyland that would effectively work as a hand-held swamp cooler. I had a charged cell phone. I even had an umbrella. I was going to look like a fat, middle-aged, idiot—but I was going to live. I wasn't a girl scout for nothing. It's a wonder I didn’t use my lashing skills (knot tying for the uninitiated) to fashion some heat-stroke-preventing contraption, but that's another story.

At the time that I began classes I had also moved my workout at the gym from the pool to cardio. I could manage a 30-minute elliptical workout—the previous May my visiting brother, very optimistic about what was then my 30-pound weight loss, cheered me on and copiously high-fived me when I managed a five-minute elliptical attempt. The first day of classes I still knew that sitting on the floor of a work out room and getting back up again would be a challenge. (One of the really limiting and frustrating things about being fat is all the planning about trivia. How will I walk through the parking lot? How will I get up from the floor? How can I fit in a plane seat, restaurant booth, amusement park ride, etc.—how will I not embarrass myself?)

My classes began with Body Sculpting. In retrospect I definitely was in the right class first. The class leader, a extremely fit 30-something woman with a contagious smile, a crazy amount of energy and a very accepting attitude bounced into the class and asked that we introduce ourselves and give a brief bio about who we were and why we were taking her class. I mentioned the fifty pound weight loss and said something self-deprecating about how I would be the least coordinated and able-bodied person in the class. She told me publicly in a very nice way that I should quit knocking myself. It was a good lesson. I will probably never forget it.

Her attitude made me realize that I was accepted there and even welcomed. (This in spite of the fact that I was definitely the fattest, probably the oldest, and certainly the least fit.) So there I was. She played people's play lists on their IPods and laughed when the songs got a little over-the-top or rude. She walked in class and said, "I am glad you are talking, continue, get to know each other." And she told me after class that I was the sort of person that made her glad she taught. She told me I was an inspiration, I told her she was.

The class was extremely hard. Grueling, toning work that uses your own body weight instead of weights as natural equipment. Lifting my own body weight was a very big deal—but I could, even though at times I fantasized about dropping to the floor and staying there, and I actually had perspiration dripping down my face and all over my body like some hulking Olympic hopeful lifting huge weights overhead. If it wasn't for my instructor’s penchant to crack jokes and keep everyone smiling while she did the workout herself, I don't think I would have survived. I managed to.

After class I would drink water and try to figure out how I would make it to my car in the 117-degree heat alive. I had to walk it. I filled up my empty 32-ounce energy drink with water—ice cold from the refrigerated fountain. I took out another bottle of water to drink along the way. I made sure my keys were at hand and turned on my water fan and even had my umbrella at the ready. I literally had to concentrate to make it. If I was unlucky enough to park in the far lot it was about a city-block in distance. Not a big deal to most people even in the heat, but to me like walking through the gates of hell to a waiting oasis that could be a mirage.

After the first couple of steps out of the air-conditioned work out facility I figured out I needed to amend my plan. I took the 32-ounces of ice-cold water and poured it over my head. I looked like a twisted version of Flash Dance—without the glamour. But on I marched—dipping wet, hot as hell, and holding an umbrella overhead. Gorgeous and triumphant.

End of Part One--

 Stats: Today in the mail I got my actual Go Red pin! I am wearing it now—along with the purple ribbon, which is still on my wrist, refusing to budge. The last two weeks have been fraught with stress. It would be easy to fabricate weight loss and success, but I can't—and won't. All I can tell you is I am holding on, I have made it through one of the most stressful two-week periods in my life without gaining weight, while holding on to most of my goals, but not seeing the scale move. I am not giving up and I hope that now that this very stressful set of personal circumstances has passed that I can get my body to release more weight. Interestingly, bodies react to crisis by moving into survival mode and holding weight. I have still lost a little over ten pounds since I began my recent Go Red quest, and I have time and willpower to succeed. Think a good thought for me this week as I get back on track.

The Wish



The other day I visited the Scottsdale Contemporary Art Museum or SMOCA where I had the chance to see and actually participate in an interesting exhibit. I entered the exhibit room and from floor to ceiling hung hundreds of colorful ribbons suspended by tiny wholes drilled into the walls. Each ribbon had a printed wish. The wishes ranged from the happy—“I wish to go to Bahia,” to the serious and upsetting, “I wish that it is benign,” to everything else possible in-between. My daughter and I spent a long time in this exhibit reading the rows and rows of wishes. One feature of the exhibit was the chance to participate. Anyone who cared to could write their own wish on a small slip of paper, roll it into a tiny tube, select an existing wish ribbon and replace it with their own.

So I selected a wish. The one that made the most sense was: “I wish to take better care of myself.” Tying it on my wrist I became strangely attached to the person who made this wish—someone I would never know and never see and had no connection to other than their wish—the heart’s desire of a stranger.

So I started to wear the wish. I realized that wearing a purple ribbon on my wrist was going to be a bit of a hassle. It gets in the way. It gets wet. It falls into whatever it is I am doing. It bothers me when I prepare food and when I eat. I have even bathed with it. It’s often annoying—like this quest I am on.

Getting fit and losing weight is difficult and, like the ribbon, it’s something constantly with me even when it’s not my immediate focus. Every time I look at it I think about how I can better take care of myself. Not only physically, but emotionally. 

In the last two weeks my ribbon has lost its printed message and is beginning to be tattered. I have a feeling it will be around my wrist all summer. While it is with me I am going to honor it and my journey and take a moment each day to wish this fellow traveler—the wisher—a happy, healthy experience. Each day I will remember to thank this unknown friend for the chance to help them on their way by remembering my own.

Stats

It’s been two weeks of high stress related to some family issues and nothing seemed manageable. My program definitely took a hit as I lost sleep, made poor food choices, and basically got off track—so off track I missed a post. However, it’s the recovery and getting back on track in these sorts of circumstances that makes a successful program. I definitely feel back on track in the last day or two.

Weight loss—Nothing this time, but plateaus are inevitable (and I know what happened) so I’m not worried.

Water, fruit, vegetables, etc.—I could do better with the water since it’s suddenly hot here again water is far more important. Also, I have replaced one meal a day with a whey shake. I think this is a great alternative for me and really helps with energy for exercise.

Exercise—Both Pilates and yoga with some time at the gym doing cardio. I am definitely working my way back to an hour of cardio on the elliptical since my illness. Last night I did 40 minutes—a ten minute increase over my previous time.

Attitude—Back on track. 

Until next week—may your wishes come true! Go Red!

Note: The exhibit is called “I Wish Your Wish” by Rivane Neuenschwander

http://www.artnet.com/artists/rivane-neuenschwander/

http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&biw=1419&bih=617&gbv=2&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=i+wish+your+wish+rivane+neuenschwander&aq=1&aqi=g2&aql=&oq=i+wish+your+wish

Hall of Shame

Warning: The following pictures have been gathered here to provoke contemplation. Many of them are shocking, most of them are stupid and cruel, and all of them are examples of the rampant bias against people of size in the media today. View at your own risk.

FAT PEOPLE ARE FUNNY

Jack Black, himself always an example of fitness, examines the actual size of his lover's panties, proving to the audience that true love renders him actually blind.

Cartoon media exploiting women and people of size. Most of the fat person humor in the media is aimed at women.

Much of the media art available with strong size bias also has a sexual taint to it--and most of it is designed to imply that fat women are easy, desperate and slutty.

Fat bias and a sort of "carnival sideshow" attitude about fat people has been in vogue since the early days of media.



Interestingly this woman would simply be considered overweight and not obese--but that still makes her a target.



A major organization selling animal rights. (Imagine using any other minority for this advertising campaign.)

And, finally, the truly despicable. Who created this and for what possible reason?



I have been amazed by the rampant hostility toward fat women in the media. I believe normally caring, unbiased people become desensitized to it and unaware of it. Awareness is a funny thing. Once I began to gather this research I began to see examples of this sort of "humor" everywhere--including mainstream media, television shows, and even news programming. It's a frightening realization that in our collective mentality as a nation we are very close to accepting and even condoning this sort of sideshow mentality. Awareness is the best way to begin to see things differently. Posting these images today is my effort to make the readers of my blog aware of this bias and sensitive to it.

Pieces of Me

I am great in a crisis. I will bandage your various bleeding extremities, I can call 911 and give directions without flinching or forgetting where I am, and I can spot a citizen who needs help a mile away without the benefit of glasses that I vainly insist I don’t need. What I am not so great at are everyday trials and tribulations. The spilled milk, the rude counter help, the windshield wiper that the car wash trashed—in short, those every-day frustrations and irritations that seem to reduce our morale by pieces.

Individually, petty annoyances are just that—petty. It’s just when they are relentless over a long period of time that they make people postal. Case in point: Yesterday at Starbucks.

Case in Point

I love Starbucks. I consider it one of the must-stop places along any journey I undertake from the corner to shop to the other coast on a road trip. I think there is something to be said for a clean restroom and some very potent caffeine. The fact that at Starbucks I can find these with usually happy service people, and that my very own Droid has an application to find me the closest Starbucks anywhere I happen to be, makes the experience handy, positive and fun. But yesterday I must have had the rudest Starbucks barista ever. When I asked politely for a straw (which he forgot) he threw it at me in rushed silence. I told him after I saw him react far more politely to a cute teenager that he needed some customer service feedback—and I politely but firmly gave it to him. Did he respond politely then? Was he sorry, or even the robot-trained-counter-help version of sorry that would have resulted in him offering a pretend apology to placate me? No, he was not sorry, and he muttered about me audibly to his coworkers as I walked away. Basically, he was a pathetic excuse for a person working with the public and my mother would have taken her business elsewhere.

So, yeah, this is meaningless in a sense. It’s one moment with one stranger in one place of business. People are rude all over the place. It’s the nature of minimum wage and unskilled counter help the world over. People who aren’t working at places they feel passionate about aren’t living their dreams. This has a tendency to make them rude. So be it. I get it. Whatever. But, when this takes yet another piece of my hard won positive mental attitude and throws it into the trash can with the coffee grounds—I have to react.

Have a Cookie, Mister Postman

In my past life as a person of size, I would have soothed my ruffled nerves with something edible.  You know, when you are sad have a cookie—that sort of thing. But now since I can’t eat that cookie—or choose not to, I have to give people the opportunity to share learning moments with me. And I have to do it in the moment. A polite confrontation in the moment means one less cookie I have to eat later. It’s simple math.

Maybe I could be positive to the next rude person and say, “Look, I just lost about 85 pounds, and I’m trying to make it 100 in the next 8 weeks and there is a very good chance if you are rude to me that I will not only bite your head off but chew it up and actually consume it.

I just wonder what response I would get from the insolent dude who so audibly mocked me as I walked away yesterday. Would he laugh? Would he get a grip? Would we share some precious moment of humanity and connection and both walk away better for it? No. No way. He would react exactly the same way as he did. His personality is as carved in stone at 22 as many an older man. I give up with him. (The Starbucks online feedback form, notwithstanding.) But I do know that proactive, assertive and polite action makes people feel better about life, more in control, and less demeaned by the slings and arrows of outrageous but ordinary crap. And those who handle things in the moment have less emotional fallout.

So next time someone gives you less-than-human treatment, invite him to share a learning moment with you and then get on with your life. You won’t need a cookie and you will have taken a proactive step. And I am even hopeful that somewhere, somehow, my little learning moments will eventually impact the world for better—and if not, at least life’s petty annoyances don’t get a piece of me.

The Moral:

Never teach a pig to sing it frustrates you and it annoys the pig.

STATS!

Lost: 3.4

Total loss: 9.0

Fruits, veggies, water and other good stuff: You betcha.

Exercise: Yoga and walking my dogs in an effort to get them to like me best!

Rude clerks: 1

Feedback opportunities: 1

Cookies: 0

When I am Upset I Really Want to Eat Wonder Bread by the Slice—The Tale of an Emotional Eater

Practical Magic

The Tale Of an Emotional Eater

When I was four years old, my mother, (as I have mentioned in a previous blog), went from stay-at-home mom and aspiring writer to full-time employed teacher and divorced mother of three. This threw my world into a tailspin. My mom who had previously been there for me everyday making life fun and safe and wonderful in a very hands-on and connected way was forced by circumstances to make life safe and fun and wonderful for me in another way—by earning a living. The changes for me were many and sudden and severe. My best friend and trusted companion and source of all comfort and security was suddenly gone far more than she was there.

The emotional upheaval in our house was dramatic and intense. My amazingly strong and brave mother took her change in circumstances with as much integrity and fortitude as anyone on the planet, but in my childish perception, she was just gone. She was suddenly absent from before I went to kindergarten in the morning until around 6 o’clock each night because of the insanity of a system that didn’t take into account any sort of work/life balance that forced her to complete her student teaching in a city far inland.

A good-hearted next-door neighbor and her best friend at the time, a lady named Pat, filled in as babysitter. Mornings, however, became a fend-for-yourself exercise since she was busy getting her own kids ready. I used to walk through the treacherous bird-of-paradise bushes between our lawns before school so she could buckle my shoes and button the back of my dress. This woman obviously saved my mother’s life, but she was busy and had two kids of her own, my older brother was already becoming “a handful” in response to circumstances, and she wasn’t my mother. She was a saint to help us whatever it looked like. It was as simple as that.

So, all of this started right before I began kindergarten. I was unfortunately an “early starter” with my birthday rendering me able to attend at four instead of five and because of circumstances I was going to have to make the three-block walk by myself each morning. I clearly remember my mother following a few feet behind me in her car as I walked to school alone. I knew and didn’t fully understand why she was behind me watching me walk. I can just imagine the emotion that she felt doing this—I also realize now my baby brother was in the car and she was on her way to drop him off at a place called “Happy Land” where she told me years later she would arrive a half hour early so she had time to sit in her car and cry.

So, it’s easy to see what was going on for us as a family group. By second grade my grandmother who had recently lost her husband had relocated to live with us and things got a lot more comfortable, but there was this two-year period between four and six where I learned to eat emotionally. It’s amazing that a child of four could manage this, but I could and did.

Enter Wonderâ bread.

I found at the tiny and tremulous age of four that I could sneak into the kitchen and steal piece-by-piece an entire loaf of Wonderâ bread. I would scurry to a hiding place and eat this—sans butter or jelly or anything else—just feeling that the emotionally hollow pit in my missing-my-mommy tummy would briefly feel better. (This is that food/mom connection that infants make looking into the eyes of their loving mother while breastfeeding. See my previous article, If You Feed Me Do You Love Me @ http://bit.ly/eOnmdl ) In my childish way I was trying to replicate that food/love/mom connection. As I write this today it makes total sense. The connection between comfort and food was forged early for me.

Fast Forward—This Week and Reality

Moving forward from four to some age that, unless you know me personally from back in the day I will never reveal, I spent week three of my Go Red! Challenge feeling very emotional and dealing with a lot of stress and exhaustion and other stuff. Several of the days of my quest I sort of blew it and at least once I found myself at the cupboard of my kitchen metaphorically stealing Wonderâ bread and running away to eat it behind a chair. As I ate I felt that, of course, it wasn’t helping and in fact I had all the regret and tension that comes with denying my own best interests and not being true to myself, but I didn’t really see the connection—not completely. Emotional eating is a catch phrase that every diet program loves to bandy about, but until you understand your very own story and moment when food became a drug to you, those words are just the dogma of the diet industry. Today I think I get it and while the “aha! moment” will come and go—even a beginning understanding is the opening of a small door where light shines through.

So Happy Mother’s Day to you and to me—and especially to my own mother, whose bravery and fortitude made me the kind of person who stands in my own life willing to break down barriers. She made me brave enough to face my demons and strong enough to face them every day if necessary. For that, and for everything else on earth, I thank her.

Stats—Yes, I Am Giving You Stats

1. Loss—1.4
2. Total loss—5.6
3. Water—yes.
4. Veggies—oh, yes.
5. Exercise—yoga twice (2 hours total and still too low).
6. Attitude—yes.
7. On track? Indeed. In the words of some very dated song from you-know-when: Keep on truckin’!

Disclaimer: Wonderâ bread is a quality food from a quality company that is obviously a part of a healthy diet if not eaten by the loaf in one sitting while hiding.

Pal Jack and I in the same place about 1.5 years between photos

My compliments to the fascinating and talented Jack Kelly for posing unwittingly for this blog post picture set. Please contact me if you think you want me to shop you or even to sue me. I probably owe you a beer for this. LOL J

When you come to the end of your rope—tie a knot and hang on!

How Did I Do This Week?

Well it’s week two and I had a mostly good week. I managed to make it to yoga two times, far better than any week since I had bronchitis. I feel almost as if I am on the mend. I am suffering from a variety of bizarre side effects from the prednisone taper including hot flashes and cold chills—which may be related to age (menopause onset) or may just be the prednisone taper. Who knows? But for those of you that have also gone through either a prednisone taper or menopause. OMG, I am in hell.

The Hard Facts

The facts are this: For the most part I feel like the week was a success. I had some ups (making it to yoga); I had some downs (making it to In and Out Burger). I felt overall like I stayed on plan and I kept up my previously good job of increasing fruits and veggies. I managed to lose 1.4 pounds for a total weight loss of 4.2 overall.

The Stuff I Feel Great About

• Veggie consumption
• Yoga
• Water intake remained great
• Got more sleep than usual

Things to Fix or Change

• I have to seriously consider keeping cookies out of my house.
• I would like to make it make to Pilates class next week as well as yoga.

Overall Outlook

I’m positive but only when I have both a sweater and an icepack at the ready at all times. I think a serious dose of some comedy-television viewing is in order to improve my mood. I am on my way to my facial and “stone massage” appointment in an hour or two. This is my first reward (that I missed last week because of a massive allergic reaction to something—I don’t know what). Do I sound whiny? I certainly feel whiny. I guess the best thing to realize is that every program has these valleys (as well as the peaks) and it’s the ability to stick to a plan during the difficult moments that eventually creates success.

Today’s Motto

When you come to the end of your rope—tie a knot and hang on!

Still working toward “Seniors in Space” and not settling for “Seniors in Florida.” Come on Beauty, show some chutzpa!



Practical Magic—The First Week—Slow and Steady and Recuperating—Or, if I ingest a whole cow with the bell still around its neck, will the bell continue to ring?

 

Week One

Well, first weeks are always hard, even if you have been doing something for a long time. And although I have been on this journey for over a year, since the holidays I have been stymied by circumstances. These include:

1. Dental surgery
2. Asthmatic Bronchitis
3. Steroids—a common asthmatic bronchitis treatment with sometimes horrible side effects like the desire to take a whole cow and ingest it with the bell still around its neck.
4. Downtime from gym and classes because of illness and eating differently from not feeling well. More comfort foods, less ability and desire to cook, etc.

Every one of us has their thing. In my case it’s bronchitis. The challenge is not letting that “thing” that holds us back beat us. With any dieting and fitness program there is that vulnerable place—the thing you have happen to you time and time again that makes you stop.  As a life-long dieter I have had lots of failures. But now I see these failures as opportunities for information.

Just like I can recite the calorie content of any food on earth by memory (if there was a game show for this I would be the winner) I am also a weight loss expert. I have tried every commercial diet program known to (wo)man or God and one thing is true: It’s all about me. There is no person, no outside force, no company or product that can change me. It’s that elusive tipping of the emotional and mental scales when it becomes better to do it and more fun to do it and more rewarding to do it and more emotionally satisfying to do it than not to.

And I have to admit to myself that eating can be and often is happy and interesting and emotionally and physically satisfying. Eating party food (we all have that list of celebratory foods in our heads) is fun. Maybe one way to picture that elusive GO point is like an actual set of scales—a plate on one side that holds all the stuff that makes being fat fun, and on the other side of the scale a plate where all the things that make being fit fun have to go. You have to tip the scales in your favor.

Getting Through the First Day

So getting through the first week—or even the first day—of this program takes some things.  A regular reader asked me to comment on what it takes to get through the first day of any program and here is a list of things that helped me:

1. Having a real plan with an end date and a goal—and writing it down.
2. Making yourself accountable to something—or someone—and deciding how to do that. Like daily food logging, weekly weigh ins, etc. Some people find a support group useful, others find a fitness friend. You have to decide what works for you.
3. Getting what you need ahead of time. Go shopping and get the right foods to have in the house. (This also includes giving your kid’s friends all the Girl Scout cookies or anything else you can’t easily control your ability to resist.) Think about what and when you will eat. In my case I have been eating as many plant-based foods as possible so when I think about my plan it starts with fruits and veggies.
4. Give yourself a carrot. And I don’t mean just a real one—but a motivational one. I have a visit to my brother in Florida looming at the end of these 12 weeks that is definitely a motivator (He hasn’t seen me in over a year!). Think about what makes it fun for you. Clothes shopping? A promise of something that gives you pleasure—a CD, a spa treatment, an hour at Starbucks with a good book and some well-deserved solitude.
5. Give yourself a break. This all doesn’t happen in a day. Getting through a day isn’t black and white. Maybe the first day you add more veggies, maybe day five you start exercising. Maybe you pick something you commit to and do that first and then add from there.
6. Give yourself permission to recover after you fall. I have messed up more things in my life because I am so unbelievably unforgiving to myself. Messing up is just a moment, not a lifetime. If you give yourself permission to take a little problem and use it to search for the information you need about yourself—you can readjust.

FIRST WEEK STATS

1. Charting my food intake via an online journal. (I am using sparkpeople.com, which is an excellent totally free diet community resource.)  

Results: As I mentioned I have been using this free online diet and fitness community. This is a very useful tool but you have to be sort of obsessive or dedicated about it. I did pretty well—and for the most part kept my calories between 1250-1600 a day. This tool also can log your exercise and gives you information about calories burned for specific exercises.

2. Doing 30-minutes or more of exercise daily.  

Result: This was a toughy this week. As I have been recovering from asthmatic bronchitis my energy levels have been way down. I did manage to do a 30-minute cardio session at the gym one day and take three 20 minutes swims at my pool on consecutive days. This is not nearly as much exercise as I like to get and I feel that this is definitely impacting how I am doing and feeling. As I feel better I really want to amp this up.

3. Eight glasses of water daily  

This one seemed like an easy thing I could remember to do and so I did it. Sparkpeople.com logs this as well on the nutrition tracker.

4. Increasing dramatically the amount of fruits, vegetables and whole foods I eat.  

Result: This I excelled at. I definitely added far more fruits and vegetables to my family’s diet. We often had three different vegetables at dinner and I definitely served more salad and ate more fruit. I feel great about this.

5. 7 hours of sleep a night (say seven, hope for 8!)  

Results: I did okay in this area and supplemented with a few well-timed naps. (Naps are always good!)

6. Inspiration  

Results: My daughter (who decided to join me for the 12 weeks) and I got journals to begin this process. This week we made some lists. My favorites were “ten self-esteem boosters” and “ten low cal snacks.” It’s been fun to discuss these and it’s provided an opportunity for us to support each other and spend some positive time together.

7. Motivation and rewards  

The motivation for this week is a facial and a “stone massage” at Massage Envy where to the dismay of certain family members balancing our books I have paid for many massages and not used them. This starts the process of actually using these accumulated massages and will be a sort of a mini spa day for me too.

8. Weekly weigh in results (measurement results monthly)  

Results: 2.8 pounds lost. I’ll take it.

9. Before and after pictures  

Results: I took two pictures but as yet I am not drunk enough or brave enough to post these. I will work on my bravery in this process and I believe it will be easier when I see some progress to post them.

10. Weekly Practical Magic Post  

Results: Check and double check. So far so good.

So on to Week Two of our Go Red Challenge. I hope people will continue to message me about how their lives are changing for the better. I am inspired by the impact this is making on the lives of people I touch. Keep sharing! And have a great Week Two! Go Seniors in Spaceä! Our slogan: “We aren’t dying to go!”

If You Feed Me Do You Love Me?

From the moment we enter the world and move from womb to breast we have someone who loves us encouraging us to eat, and that’s good. Women will do anything necessary to feed their babies. Nurturing and love begins with food. The attachment an infant makes with his mother is about the amazing phenomenon of taking food from her body. It’s instinctual and even sacred.

From the first time we have a full belly and lie in the arms of the person who, hopefully, if all goes well, loves us more than anyone on earth, we equate that comfortable, full and content feeling with staring into the face of the most blessed creature on earth. No wonder it gets confusing.

Our ability to feed those who need sustenance is a sign of our humanity. The breakdown of a society can be determined as much from our inability and unwillingness to feed each other as it can from the crime rate. Feeding the hungry will always be something about us that comes from a spiritually aloft place.

Food is complicated. The relationship between food and love is forged early and littered with confusion and collusion and lots of stuff. From the first moment a child gets a cookie for being good to the last meal of a prisoner considered the final comfort and courtesy, human beings learn early on that people who care for us feed us.

When I was four years old my parents divorced. I remember standing near the front door watching my mother hand my father a cast iron frying pan over my head. I looked straight up from my tender height and thought, "This is bad."

Actually I didn't think anything. I was baffled and confused, but I sensed the loss. I felt rather than understood.

In the months that followed, my mother, a recent divorcée with three children under eight, changed her life. She went back to college and got her teaching certificate. She held on to her children, her house, and her dignity. She began a life of working too hard the moment she handed my father that frying pan and, in the end, her body and her health suffered.

She was far more stressed than any human being should be, but she survived and she provided a stable, happy home life for her children. She used food from that day forward as a tool to comfort and sustain herself.

Prior to that day she had used food in other ways. It was an enemy—something to be fought against and triumphed over, something to portion out and ration carefully in an attempt to remain thin and beautiful to an unappreciative husband. She was someone who was a product of the times she lived in. A time when reducing diets included hard-boiled eggs and Rye Crisp and small servings of cottage cheese all consumed with one hand clutching a cigarette advertised by the media to help her control her weight.

In addition to this plan of almost-fasting and smoking were the inevitable diet pills and idea that exercise was harmful to those trying to reduce. The theory was that exercise caused people to get too hungry and thus consume more. It was a war. Every woman for herself.

At about that time fat reducing machines were the rage. Women flocked to health spas and attached themselves to turning and vibrating devices that “jiggled away the fat.” It did absolutely no good but they felt proactive. They might swim a lap or two, their heads tucked into bathing caps poised gingerly above the water so as not to spoil their "sets." The overly athletic girls or those with a country-club sense of the social might take a turn on the tennis court, but the rough stuff—lifting weights or hard exercise—was something for men. Women didn't want to get "big."

My mother, like anyone else, was driven by not only by the prevailing dieting culture but her own circumstances. She operated with not enough sleep and too many cigarettes, no exercise—and either not enough food, or the wrong kind for the wrong reasons. Her relationship with food made her its constant casualty—first gorging from stress and then punishing herself with abstinence. The whole thing was simply set up from the get-go to be a disaster.

And despite this constant battle with food as both good and evil, she somehow managed to conduct a career, excel professionally, feed her kids, keep her house clean, take care of first her ailing father and then mother, get a masters, make a slew of friends, and change the lives of hundreds of kids for the better.

No wonder she died before she was 70 years old.

Food became an evil lover—sustaining and beautiful and desirable and lovely and damaging and dangerous and mean.

The last thing my mother gave my father as their relationship was torn apart forever was a tool to cook with—the do-it-yourself version of the last meal. What I didn’t know was their attitudes—however healthy or unhealthy—would be the basis for all of mine.

End Part One