Chicken Soup for the Dieter's Soul (14 page)

Actually, I did think that the first day went fairly smooth—mostly, I guess, because the night before the diet, I binged as a farewell to my old eating habits and woke up the next day barely able to walk. Still, by evening, I was starving. So my wife asked me how many points I had left for dinner. I rolled my eyes.

“I have enough to enjoy a tablespoon of dirt,” I answered, “as long as there aren’t any bugs (five points) in it . . . or mulch (nine points).”

The diet has gone downhill from there. To be successful, you really have to learn how to space your points out evenly throughout the day. That way, by dinnertime, you still have enough so you don’t get a hunger headache, or your stomach doesn’t rumble and frighten small children.

There’s a discipline to the program, which, incidentally, my wife is really good at following. Just yesterday morning she was bragging about it.

“I banked three points yesterday,” she announced.

I looked up from licking the bottom of my cereal bowl. “What does that mean?”

“I didn’t use three points,” she exclaimed.

I wanted to cry. “I’ll give you ten dollars for them.”

“You can’t buy MY points,” she answered.

“Why not?” I argued, “You’re not using them.”

“Yes I am,” she retorted. “I can apply them to my points today. I’m going to have a latte with my lunch.”

“Yum,” I said. “I’ll give you five dollars just to smell your breath.”

I think I might have to up my daily points—like maybe by 1,229,789.

Ken Swarner

The Road to Self-Worth

O
ne must eat to live, and not live to eat.

Molière

I am the behind-the-scenes writer of a column for a national health and fitnessmagazine that focuses on success stories about weight loss. For years I have written about other people and their journey to a healthy body, mind and spirit. But I’ve neverwrittenmy own success story. Sure, I’ve lost ninety-five pounds and have lowered my body fat from I don’t even know how high to healthy, and dropped dress sizes from24 to 10, but I always felt like thatwasn’t reallyme.

I wasn’t always overweight. Until age five, I was a healthy, active kid. It wasn’t until my parents started having problems that resulted in a divorce that I turned to food. I struggled with my weight all through my school years and into college, where I reached 260 pounds during my senior year. Today, more than a decade later, people don’t believe that I ever weighed that much. Even I have to pull out the before pictures to remember, and they are shocking because back then I never looked in mirrors. I never looked other people in the eye for fear of what they would say about me. I was shy. I was ashamed. I was depressed. I was scared.

Like most of the people I interview for stories, I tried all the fad diets. My parents put me on them when I was a kid, and I forced myself on them as a teen and young adult. What I didn’t realize was that the worst thing I could do was to use food as a form of punishment. It would never work. And it didn’t.

One dark night before graduation, I looked at my body and imagined myself at eighty-five years old. If I continued walking the path I was on, who would I be? What would I look like? I saw overweight. I saw health problems. I saw loneliness and unresolved emotional pain. I didn’t like what I saw. I remembered what an old college professor said to me when I asked her for advice. She merely shrugged and said, “You just have to choose.”

I got mad at her. What kind of advice is that? Choose what? How can I choose? Then it clicked. It was a mental trick. All I had to do was choose the picture of who I wanted to be at eighty-five. All I had to do was choose to allow the real me to come out of her cocoon by making small, little choices in support of my decision every single day. I would deny myself nothing. I would choose to become the best me possible. I would choose health over habit. I would choose action over inertia. I would choose love over self-loathing.

I read the health books. I got educated. I learned balance. I went for walks. I chose to eat healthy and to not completely deny myself the things I loved, but I chose to eat them less often. And I chose to see it not as a short-term, quick fix that would make me skinny tomorrow. I chose to see it as a lifelong journey to health.With the help of long walks and yoga, I learned how to listen to what my body wanted instead of the old tapes that made me crave sugar and junk food to numb out with.

It took a decade to lose that weight. I continue to lose a few pounds every year. I continue to listen to my body’s needs. I know it needs sleep and downtime and play and inspiring work. I know that it needs good friends and healthy foods to fuel the things it wants to do. I know it needs movement and plenty of time outside.

Most of all I know that it needs gentle kindness and love from me. Not brutality. Losing weight over such a long time was like the proverbial herding of cats. Very gently, calmly and lovingly I would bring myself back to my goal of a healthy life each time I turned down a side road. I continue to gently shepherd my mind, body and spirit down my path to health. It’s a road that I’ll walk my entire life with love and gratitude, because I am and have always been worthy.

Jacquelyn B. Fletcher

Sesame Crusted Chicken with Dipping Sauce

M
AKES
4
SERVINGS
E
ACH SERVING
: 1.5
GRAMS SATURATED FAT

extra virgin olive oil cooking spray

1 piecewhole grain bread, broken into bite-sized pieces

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil plus 1 teaspoon

3 tablespoons sesame seeds

1 tablespoon wheat germ

teaspoon salt, plus more to taste

teaspoon cayenne pepper

½ teaspoon paprika, divided

1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts (pound thin)

¼ cup prepared hummus

2 tablespoons canola oil mayonnaise

1 teaspoon Tabasco (or other hot sauce)

1 tablespoon lemon juice

Preheat oven to 400° and coat a baking dish with cooking spray. In a food processor or blender, add the whole grain bread, 1 tablespoon of the olive oil, sesame seeds, wheat germ,
teaspoon salt, cayenne pepper, and a ¼ teaspoon of paprika; pulse to make fine crumbs, about 1 minute. Transfer crumbs to a large Ziplock plastic bag.

In a medium-sized bowl, toss chicken in teaspoon of olive oil and season with salt to taste. Add chicken, one piece at a time, to the bag and coat both sides with the crumbs. Transfer chicken to the baking dish. Bake for 15–18 minutes, or until cooked through.

Whisk together the hummus,mayonnaise, Tabasco, lemon juice and remaining 1.4 teaspoon of paprika. Remove chicken from oven and transfer to a platter. Serve immediately with dipping sauce on the side.

Reprinted from
Fitter, Firmer, Faster
. ©2006 Andrew Larson, M.D., Ivy Ingram Larson. Health Communications, Inc.

Stop Dieting, Start Living

A
rgue for your limitations and sure enough
they’re yours.

Richard Bach

I was overweight by the time I was five—chubby, with red hair and freckles. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, just a series of circumstances that set me on a roller coaster.

As a child, I learned not to waste food. There were “starving children in Africa,” so I dutifully cleaned my plate. I had a skinny, athletic brother who ate anything that wasn’t nailed down, and I rushed to get my share first. From my grandmothers, who were both wonderful cooks, I learned that food was love.

At nine, my parents divorced, and I discovered security and comfort in eating. As a teenager, I dealt with boredom by baking—and eating—chocolate chip cookies and hanging out at fast-food joints with my friends. Over time, my faithful friendship with food became a love/hate relationship. I was caught in a free fall of eating to meet my emotional needs.

I first became aware that I was fat at six, when my dad teased me about swallowing a watermelon seed. By eleven, embarrassing shopping trips to find clothes confirmed that I needed to lose weight. My mother was slender and I never saw her eat a baked potato like the rest of us. I always knew that eventually, I wouldn’t get to have them anymore either. For the next twenty years, I rode that roller coaster of overeating and dieting.

It was never-ending: guilt when I ate what I wanted, deprivation when I ate what I was allowed to. I tried to be “good,” but it didn’t last. I used exercise to earn extra calories and pay penance when I was “bad.” As a result, whenever I quit dieting, I quit exercising too. I was ashamed of my body, my eating and my cheating. Dieting caused steeper climbs and deeper drops. I felt like I was careening out of control.

Despite my lack of success with dieting, I did well in college and medical school. During my residency, I delivered tiny babies in the middle of the night, resuscitated dying people in the emergency room and assisted in long operations with cranky attending surgeons. The only saving grace was the free food in the cafeteria. I deserved it.

At any time of the day or night, I found company in the doctors’ lounge and comfort in the special-of-the-day. It didn’t take me long to discover the double-dipped malted milk balls in the bulk bin. A wax paper sackful slipped into my white coat pocket would last me all night. Each little chocolate sphere was a consolation prize that gave me the confidence, energy, reward and pleasure I desperately needed. I gained a lot that first year—a whole new resilience and spirit—and at least ten pounds in malted milk balls.

When it was over, I started another round of self-denial. The clackety-clack up the hill felt good. “I’m finally back in control,” my little voice said. I weighed myself and calculated how long it would take to reach my goal. I cleaned out my refrigerator, kitchen cabinets and desk drawer. I threw away (or finished off) all the “bad” stuff, started eating celery sticks for snacks and drank my eight glasses of water every day. I read labels so I’d know what I could eat and stopped going out to dinner. I bought new walking shoes and got up early every morning. “You can do it this time!” my little voice said.

The weight started to come off. I lost four pounds that first week. Never mind that part of it was water or even muscle. I already felt thinner—and a little smug. I was near the top of the hill, watching everyone below scarfing down junk food.

Then one day I weighed in and I hadn’t lost as much as I thought. I vowed to try harder, and I did, for awhile.My little voice whispered, “This isn’t worth it.” I saw someone eating ice cream and I heard, “It’s not fair.” I woke up early for my walk, but it said, “This is too hard.” I went back to sleep.