Chicken Soup for the Dieter's Soul (20 page)

Two of my friends have become exercise buddies. Every Monday Ursi and I walk together along a level path overlooking Monterey Bay. At first we walked thirty minutes; she kindly slowed to my pace and stopped to rest with me on a bench midway. Now we’re up to an hour nonstop, and just the other day she asked me to slow down a bit for her. On Fridays Allison and I meet at the gym, where our animated conversation makes the stationary bike wheels turn faster.

It’s been nearly a year since I initiated this new lifestyle, and I’m thrilled with the results. I’m more than halfway to my goal weight and my knee pain is gone. While getting dressed one morning, I shrieked in disbelief as I pulled on a pair of jeans, zipped and snapped them, then watched them fall down around my ankles. Stepping out of the pant legs, I danced with joy around the bedroom.

My progress hasn’t been rapid or easy, but it’s been steady. That’s probably good, because I need time to internalize all the changes. My weight has hit some plateaus— once for three months—but the inches have continued to drop, thanks to the exercise. There are days when it all seems too hard, usually when I’m overwhelmed with many other responsibilities. Then I give myself permission to “go off the wagon” for a short time. This isn’t about being perfect; rather, it’s about finding a way that will serve me for the long haul.

To fully savor each temporary step down in body size, I donate my clothes the minute they become loose and treat myself to an outlet shopping spree for replacements. This way there’s no turning back, and I have clothes that fit and flatter without stressing the budget. And every time I lose five pounds, I buy a five-pound bag of all-purpose flour and display it on my kitchen counter. Whenever I pass my expanding collection of flour sacks, I envision all that extra bulk back on my frame. Eventually I’ll give the flour to a food pantry, but for now it keeps me focused and puts a smile on my face.

I’ve learned that I can’t do this alone, and I thrive on the encouragement of family, friends and my weight-loss group. I’ve always been reluctant to talk about my weight or tell anyone when I was dieting. Now I speak proudly to everyone of my efforts and goals. As a result, they become partners with me on the journey. Even the most arduous trek is more fulfilling and ultimately more successful when shared.

Pamela Wertz Peterson

Nutty Carrot Raisin Bread

M
AKES
9
SERVINGS (OR 9 MUFFINS)
E
ACH SERVING (OR MUFFIN):
0
GRAMS SATURATED FAT

canola oil cooking spray

2 eggs, beaten

¼ cup high-oleic canola oil

¼ cup honey

¼ cup unsweetened applesauce

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 cup whole wheat flour

2 tablespoons wheat germ

¼ cup ground flaxseeds

¼ cup Splenda sugar substitute

½ teaspoon ground cloves

½ teaspoon cinnamon

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

1 cup shredded carrots

½ cup raisins

½ cup chopped pecans

Preheat the oven to 350°. Spray an 81.2 x 41.2-inch loaf pan or a 12-cup muffin tin with cooking spray.

In a small bowl, beat the eggs. Mix in the oil, honey, applesauce and vanilla extract. In a large bowl, combine the flour, wheat germ, ground flaxseeds, Splenda, ground cloves, cinnamon, baking powder and baking soda. Add the liquid ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir until well blended. Mix in the carrots, raisins and pecans.

To make bread: Pour batter into prepared pan and bake for 45 minutes. To make muffins: Pour batter into prepared muffin tin and bake for 20–25 minutes. When done, remove from pan or muffin tin and cool on a wire rack.

Reprinted from
The Gold Coast Cure.
©2005 Andrew Larson, M.D., Ivy Ingram Larson. Health Communications, Inc.

In for a Penny, In for a Pound

A
ttention to health is life's greatest hindrance.

Plato

They lied to me.

They promised I’d lose ten to thirteen pounds in the first two weeks.

I didn’t lose a single pound.

They said I must have been cheating.

I wasn’t. Not that I haven’t cheated on past diets—you know, a cookie yesterday, a bite (or two) of ice cream today—but not this time. This time I was serious.

I had tried them all. This new one was the latest in a long line of fad diets. Even my doctor lost weight on this diet. It required a strict adherence to a regimen of foods with a low glycemic index (GI). Don’t ask me to explain it—something to do with how quickly carbohydrates break down in digestion. Foods with a high index were to be eliminated for the first two weeks.

Contrary to all my impulses—impulses clearly illustrated by the size of my hips—I followed the diet’s rules. No bread, rice, potatoes, pasta, baked goods—those I could understand. But fruit was also forbidden for the first two weeks. Fruit! What happened to “an apple a day keeps the doctor away”? Guess it keeps the doctor away, but not the pounds.

So there I was with my GI chart, no flour, no sugar, no fruit, not even certain vegetables with a high GI rating. But water was okay. Lots and lots of water.

It was the longest two weeks of my life. My driving motivation, besides a closetful of clothes that no longer fit, was the promise: ten to thirteen pounds in the first two weeks.

The first three days were easy. I was excited, and this particular diet was novel. After all, who ever heard of a diet that placed fruits (and some vegetables) in the same category as cookies and ice cream? In addition to the change in my eating habits, I also drank eight to ten glasses of water a day and began an exercise routine that included walking around my neighborhood every morning.

Day One: I weighed myself for an official benchmark. Ready to go!

Day Two: no change.

Day Three: still no change.

Well,
I thought,
I’m less than a quarter of the way through.
Maybe my body just needs to adjust.

I drank more water.

Days Four and Five: the arrow on the scale didn’t budge.

I was becoming discouraged. (Becoming? I was in a full-blown state of disappointment.) I did what most people do when they’re on a diet. I talked about it. Actually, it was more whining than talking. What I could eat, what I couldn’t eat. How I sloshed when I walked. Worst of all, how the bathroom scale hated me. The responses were predictable.

“Are you sure you’re not cheating?” (Yes, I’m sure I’m not cheating.)

“It must be water retention.” (Possibly.)

“You’re not exercising enough.” (Probably.)

“That’s terrible. Have a chocolate kiss—you’ll feel better.” (That last one was from my inner child, whom I wisely chose to ignore.)

So I drank more water. Believe it or not, the best way to eliminate water retention is to drink more water. And I exercised more. Walking, bicycling, sit-ups and workout videos.

Days Six and Seven: nothing.

Day Eight: our bathroom scale owes its life to my husband. I had decided to toss it onto the curb with the rest of the household trash, but he convinced me the scale was an innocent bystander in my battle of the bulge. We’ll see.

Day Nine: the arrow on the scale moved—a whole pound! Rejoice! Celebrate! Now, I was sure, the weight loss would begin in earnest. I did a little dance and broke out the celery sticks.

Day Ten: no additional movement, but that’s okay. After all, I had lost a pound. Life was good.

Day Eleven: my mood matched the dark sky. The pound had returned. Why? How? I went back to my friends for advice. The consensus was that the weight was actually added muscle from the increased exercise. “Muscle weighs more than fat.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. How many times have I heard that before? Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt (in an extra-large size). I’m ready for a new destination.

Day Twelve: no change. Well, to be perfectly truthful, there was one change, but not on the scale. As a result of my daily walks around the neighborhood, I had gotten to know my neighbors, and they are really nice people. Who knew?

Day Thirteen: no change.

Day Fourteen: I didn’t bother getting on the scale.

Instead, I dumped the diet book, ignored the well-meaning advice and listened to my own body. It was time to start eating a balanced diet of the foods the Creator designed it to have. Fad diets obviously weren’t the answer, as my most recent experience had proven yet again.

I went shopping. I filled my cart with colorful fruits and vegetables, as well as representatives from each of the other food groups. To add fiber to my diet, “white” was out and “brown” was in, including sugar, flour and even grains such as rice. I avoided processed foods, deciding that my body didn’t need to digest ingredients and chemicals that my brain couldn’t pronounce.

Six months later, I’ve lost over twenty-five pounds. I feel better than I have in years, and I’m ready for the next twenty-five.

And I still have the same scale!

Ava Pennington

The First Day of the Best of My Life

O
ne of the symptoms of an approaching nervous
breakdown is the belief that one's work is
terribly important.

Bertrand Russell

I smiled at the memories of the previous night’s dinner. I had met some friends at one of our favorite restaurants and we’d had our regular Monday night supper of grilled double-cheese and bacon sandwiches. I savored every bite of my sandwich—determined not to miss a bit of the experience. From the sound of the crisp crust on the grilled bread to the feel of the gooey cheese to the salty sweet taste of the maple bacon, I fully enjoyed my favorite sandwich.

But that was Monday night, and it was now Tuesday morning. I bounded out of bed in the morning. I had been overweight for years. Way overweight. But things had changed. I had decided that I was tired of observing life. I wanted to be a participant, but at 260 pounds, participating was a struggle.

I made a conscious decision to begin my new lifestyle on a Tuesday. In the past, Monday had been the day I would start a diet or return to the gym. In the past, I had always ended up giving up at some point—usually by Friday. I knew that this time was different, and I was determined to start it differently.

I laughed and sang along to the radio as I drove into the office. I greeted my coworkers with a smile.

“Charmi, we need you to come over to Human Resources.”

I smiled as I made my way across the building. I was due for a raise and had just worked myself silly on an international project. I hadn’t expected the recognition to come that quickly but I was happy that I was going to be rewarded for my efforts. And what a day for it to happen!

“Sit down, please.”

I looked into the face of the HR representative and continued to smile. Finally, payoff!

“Charmi, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m not going to beat around the bush. We’re letting you go.”

It wasn’t until later that I could actually recall what the HR representative had said during the rest of our meeting. My mind took in what my heart couldn’t hear at the time. I walked back to my desk, retrieved my purse and left the building. The first day of the “best” of my life had taken a sudden turn in an unexpected direction.

I don’t remember driving home. I don’t remember changing out of my business suit. I don’t remember a thing between leaving the office and standing in front of my TV. Much to my surprise, I found myself standing there in the living room watching the start of my new exercise video. I glanced over my shoulder toward the kitchen, and in that moment I made the decision of my life. I turned back toward the television and began moving to the music. The sweat pouring from my face mixed with angry and confused tears. When the video was over, I sat on the floor and cried some more.

With that one simple decision to exercise rather than get something to eat, I took full control of my future. As the days wore on, I held fast to my decision to honor myself by honoring my new lifestyle. Maybe I did it out of desperation—it was the only thing that I felt I had any control over in my life. Maybe I did it out of fear—what if I couldn’t get a new job because of my weight? In the end, all that mattered was that I did do it. More importantly, that I chose to do it.

There were several ups and downs—both emotionally and on the scale—over the next sixteen months. But in less than a year and a half, I had moved back to my hometown, found a fabulous job and had lost 127 pounds.

That was several years ago. Since then I’ve changed jobs a few times, moved twice and have gained weight. A lot of weight. I woke up one morning not too long ago and found myself back where I had been, both physically and mentally, on that Tuesday many years before. I pulled out my exercise videos and got them ready for when I got home from work

After a very healthy breakfast, I headed for work with a renewed attitude. Shortly after lunch, HR made an announcement.