"I've Been Shot!"

i am not a reader by nature. the only books i read by choice involved harry potter, which i think explains my connection with them, but i digress.

i have tried a few different ways to motivate myself to read. i bought myself an ipad as a goal reward and could really only keep my focus on autobiographies. for the record, i highly recommend Ozzy osbourne and carrie fisher’s books. 

to clarify: they each wrote their own book. they did not write them together, although i’m sure that would be a fascinating tale of invented curse words and drug-induced ramblings.

anyway, onto my real point. i bought this amazing little $5 book at my weight watchers meeting titled “a shot in the arm” last week, after my leader maggie recommended it and explained it’s origin. it seems that the writer, sharon was a weight watchers regional manager and would send out these motivational emails to her employees. this was a few years ago, before the big blog boom, if you will.

reading through this book, sharon shared personal stories, insecurities and humor, in a very non-intimidating or condescending way. i love this little book! i am obsessed with it and actually thought about basing my blog as a response or review of her emails, but decided that i will occasionally address the points as they come up.

sadly, sharon passed away 2 years ago. i am very thankful that i am able to appreciate her words and be enlightened by her spirit.

seriously, pick up this book.

Two-Faced Nutlover

one of the many realizations that anyone trying to take control over their food intake will learn is that although it may seem that over-eating is about the food, in reality, we’re really fighting ourselves.

i have no problem turning down something as blatantly pointy (high point value, in weight watchers terms) like disco fries or a chocolate croissant. i start having issues if i can find any basis of nutritional value in the food because then, i can justify eating it.

one constant struggle i have had throughout my WLJ (weight loss journey) was trying to keep my “nut fixation” in check. yes, i’m aware that sounds like a gay porn, but i’m actually talking about edible roasted and salted ones, usually pimped out by a classy guy in a top hat and monacle. ok- i’m not helping with the dirty references, but i had to get that out.

the reality of this trigger is that i can polish off a full jar and would only finish because my jaw was getting tired. hmm...ok...i’m now at a loss as to how to get this post back on the proper track...

aaanyway, back to my point: i would pick up a bag, jar or can of mixed nuts at least once a week for years. my great aunt helen used to make pistachio pudding for me on holidays and my neighbor growing up would make our family pistachio cake whenever my dad would macguyver something at their house. These were always my favorite treats.

then, in september 2002, i left work and picked up a bag of pistachios on my way home for a snack. i was sitting at my parents’ house and sharing them with our dog scooter while watching some bad daytime tv. all of a sudden, i started getting itchy all over my legs and arms. my mom (an rn) recognized that i was developing hives, but i was in denial..until i started throwing up! thankfully, my mom forced me to take some benedryl immediately because i was refusing to go to the hospital, since i didn’t have health insurance at the time.

i started getting dizzy a few minutes later and could no longer deny that this was bad. really bad. i went upstairs to get dressed and passed out, woke myself up and passed out again. i made it to the top of the stairs and said, “uh...mom. call 911” and passed out again. she came up the stairs and found me. at this point, i was partially conscious and could hear her on the phone giving our address. it then hit me that if EMT’s try to walk into our house and take me out, the dogs would not be happy. i somehow (although i have no recollection how) got myself up and made my way out to the porch to wait for the ambulance.

while sitting on my dad’s rocking chair on the porch, my mom was talking to me and saying, “stay with me!” but my throat was closing and everything was going white, so all i could see was the blackness of the inside of her mouth and her teeth talking to me. i kept trying to tell her to get me one of these big thick plastic straws that my brother had brought home from work because i thought it would keep my throat open, but i couldn’t communicate it clearly and she was confused.

then, just as i was starting to completely black out, the benedryl kicked in! my throat opened up and i regained full consciousness, just as the ambulance showed up.

i ended up in the hospital and hooked up to an IV of some serious allergy meds and mikey and kellie came by to carry me home a few hours later. 

so after all that, i have no real explanation for why, after being warned by my allergist to avoid any and all nuts, i still eat them! i haven’t had any pistachios since that day, but i drink almond milk and enjoy peanut butter on a regular basis. seriously. what the hell is wrong with me? 

My latest battle: limiting my peanut butter intake to a “reasonable” level. Thankfully, mikey helps and made my dad’s peanut butter cookies recipe this week and he made itty bitty ones, so i can still enjoy them without going over board, but i still need to recognize this issue!

internal discourse:

“you are tempting fate with your allergies!”

“i have my epi-pen”

“there’s so much fat!”

“but there’s also protein! i’m active and i need protein!”

please tell me i’m not alone with my two-faced brain!

"I'd Rather Be Fit in Public"

having struggled with my weight since i hit puberty, i clearly missed out on many usual milestones through my teenage years. i’m not saying that overweight people don’t have proper social skills or they are not allowed to play sports. what i’m saying is that i allowed my weight to dictate what i did and even more disappointing, what i didn’t do.

through high school, i wore huge clothes to hide my body and avoided gym class whenever possible because the anxiety of undressing in front of my classmates was paralyzing.

my junior year, i was hit by a car (that is a huge story that i will save for it’s own post) and i was actually relieved that i didn’t have to take gym. seriously. i was hit by a friggin car and i was happy because i didn’t have to undress in front of other people. that was my primary concern. not that i had to have 2 surgeries and wear a cast for almost 4 months and then relearn how to walk. i didn’t want my classmates to see my bare thighs.

when i think about the person i was back then, it makes me very sad. i wish i realized how ridiculous that was, but i guess those issues make me appreciate how far i’ve come...blah blah blah. it still annoys me.

before puberty, i was a very active child. my mom was constantly yapping at me to sit back in my chair and relax while i eat dinner because i would literally run in, sit at the edge of my kitchen chair, woof some food down and run back out to play. by run, i mean literally run. i ran everywhere. they always joked that i was running before i was walking. my family managed a bowling alley in buffalo and my dad always talks about how i would come to visit and he would try to introduce me to people while i zoomed by, just running back and forth around the main lobby area. i’m sure it was fueled by full free access to the pepsi machine in the restaurant and candy room, but regardless, i was a big ball of energy.

as my goal weight grew nearer this past spring, i started to think about what activities made me happy as a child, in an attempt to tap back into that 4 year-old wild woman. now, if you read my success story, you know a main reason why i chose running, but this is the reasoning why i thought it would click for me. 

i started out running at the gym, but i only chose treadmills that faced the window. the added benefit, was the ability to flip off tourists in those double decker buses to relieve any aggression i had that day, but it was essentially, so i didn’t have to see who was around and making me feel self-conscious. after my run, i would wash my face after and take the hour long train home, as a big sweaty mess. i’m sure my fellow d train riders were less than pleaseD with my general funk.

finally, one day, i decided to force myself to shower at the gym. it was a rough couple weeks while i tried to learn to balance towel placement with exposed skin areas, but i did it. 

i then realized that i had to start to be comfortable with running outdoors. now, as i have mentioned previously, i am a sloooooow runner. people walk faster than i run and i’m not even kidding. i am often lapped by women old enough to be my grandmother. the number i was given in the central park conservancy race was off by about 2,000 runners because they had me down as a 9min/mile, which i do not expect i will ever be able to achieve. i like to think of myself as the 80‘s movie-style serial killer of running. i may be moving very slow, but i’m gonna get ya!

that said, about a month ago, i decided to try to run around central park and while looping past the great meadow, i saw an exercise class and the group of people were kicking and punching while the coach was cheering them on. i immediately thought, “oh god. i could never do that” and then it hit me. those people are kicking ass! why wouldn’t i want to look like that? that thought triggered another, which was, “i’d rather be fit in public, than fat and naked in front of my doctor.”

so now i run in public with a big smile on my face and i shower at the gym without fail. my shame and embarrassment was replaced with pride and self-confidence. is there anything better?