Why I'm Not Going to the Million Women March (Or, an Exercise in Finding Balance)

As of 12:00 PM today, the United State of America has a new President. This new President is a man who I experience as a hateful, impulsive, misogynistic, narcissistic, megalomanaical chucklehead. In short, not someone whose actions or values I can respect in the role of President of the United States.

On November 8, an estimated 50% of the voting population in America felt the same way I did. Unfortunately, it was not the right configuration of 50% to win the electoral college and continue leading the White House with progressive values.

So, nearly two and half months after the election of 2016, I find myself contemplating how to live life with an ass-hat reality star as the leader of my country.

Tomorrow, thousands of women and men, mothers and daughters, sisters and brothers, sweethearts, and friends will contemplate this reality while marching together in solidarity, affirming their commitment to protecting the rights of women, people of color, people who identify as LGBTQ, immigrants, and the poor. Thousands more women and men will don pussy hats, pink knit caps with little kitty ears, in an effort to reclaim that word from our new President, who has been accused multiple times of sexual assaults, and has bragged about his ability to force women to interact with him sexually. And yet thousands more will be sharing progressive social content through Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and the like.

Me? I'm not marching. I'm not wearing a pussy hat. I'm not going on Facebook. Instead, I will be visiting a friend from long ago to have my energy and chakras realigned. After then, I will take a long walk through a city I once called home, en route to my favorite tea shop to pick up my favorite tea.

While I have extraordinary ambivalence about the decision to not participate, I also have extraordinary clarity about why I'm not going.

I've lost my center in my grief and anger over what the election of He Who Must Not Be Named to the Presidency.
I see this in the emergence of disordered eating habits long ago buried, the resurgence of sleeplessness, which results in extreme exhaustion and crabbiness. I'm aware that attending a march, even the local one expected to be attended by 40,000+ people, is likely to exacerbate my anxiety about the state of the country, rather than helping me to feel empowered. Tomorrow, I need to find ways to nurture myself so once again I can find my center.

As an introvert, I am not typically energized or comforted by large crowds.
This is ironic given that I have masters level training in Community Organizing, but I typically do not find mass gatherings to be a good use of time. The "group think" mentality - even if it is group think aligned with my values - freaks me out, and I often feel claustrophobic. I know I'd spend a majority of my time looking for an escape route, trying to hear what is happening, or plotting the most efficient route to the subway station so I could get home.

When I'm ready to "do something", I know where to find information and communities made up of people organizing for change.
I don't need to attend a march to connect with people making a difference, or to be held accountable. I'm angry enough to keep myself accountable for making waves. And, I'm an active participant in the #injusticeboycott, have firm connections to the Unitarian Universalists, am a major donor and active follower of the Southern Poverty Law Center, and follow Pantsuit Nation/Action Together Massachusetts on Facebook. I know where to go to get information I trust, and to identify actions I can take with others that will make a difference.

I need to rest and relax now, so I'm ready to step up when my time is right. 
Right after the inauguration was over, my cousin-in-law posted on Facebook - 1,459. That's how many more days there are until the next President of the United States is sworn in. Four years. Four long years. Those of us standing on the side of love have a long haul ahead of us. I have an impressive history of fighting until I've spent every last drop of energy I have, which leaves me permanently depleted. This is partly driven by an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, and a lack of understanding of the ebb and flow of individual contributions to collective good. By not going to a march tomorrow, I'm acknowledging that I am not alone in this battle, and that I can't participate in this fight without taking at least one break. And I need my first break now.

As I watch and read coverage of all you beautiful people marching together, this is what I know:
We're standing together in our hearts.
We have each other's back in this marathon towards justice.
When you you need your break, I'll be ready to step in.

Welcome 2017!

2016 was a weird fucking year. Consider the following things that happened just in my little corner of the world:

• A neighbor crashed his car into my car while it was parked in my driveway
• A con man posing as a landscaper stole nearly $1,000 from me
• On-going health issues with BMG led to two long hospitalizations and one surgery 
• The Downton Abbey series ended on PBS
• "He Who Must Not Be Named" was elected president of the U.S. in a weak victory in November
• A dear friend was raped and murdered by an apparent stranger on Christmas day

Reflecting on this list, I can see why I'm feeling so vulnerable today. Many of these experiences are big. And largely out of my control. Ugh.

I want 2017 to be a hopeful year, a year that offers life-affirming adventures, So, I also want to look at the bright spots from 2016, to see where I can draw power. These include:

• Losing (and keeping off) nearly 25 pounds through hard work, a healthier diet, and a new found commitment to exercising
• Learning I have only an ulcer, and not heart disease or stomach cancer
• Being reminded of how great my community is when a retired neighbor took pity on me after the landscaper con and helped me finish a major gardening job
• Purchasing a kayak rack after six years of kayak ownership, finally widening my boating circle exponentially
• Taking a BMG-free trip to DC in October to visit with family and to be reunited with two dear college friends
• Receiving multiple forms of recognition at work for excellence on the job, including be nominated and accepted into a regional women's leadership program

Analyzing this list I see that my power lies in making life affirming choices, working hard, and connecting with the positive people around me. 

Tonight, as I raise my flute of champagne in honor of the earth finishing another trip around the sun, I'll be wishing for another year of adventures, made possible with the strength I find from within, and from the people who help make my life complete.  

Welcome 2017!

Favorite Foods

Hello! My name is Clownface and I'm a bulimic.

I think of my bulimia like many people think of alcoholism. While I've been in recovery for more than 20 years, my eating disorder will be with me for my entire life.

I actively and regularly binged from age 16 to age 21. It was only after I finished college and was living on my own that I figured out the magic of purging. I stopped purging at age 25, at the same time I stopped living by myself. I knew I couldn't keep my behaviors a secret, and because my shame about my behaviors was so great, I knew I couldn't bear being confronted about them. So I quit. Cold turkey.

Twenty-one years later, I can read my emotional triggers when I start to crave my favorite binge foods. These were:

• Anything from McDonalds or Burger King: I used to drive home from my part-time job in college, motoring through every drive-thru window along the way, eating a complete meal. In the 20 minutes it took to get to my house, I'd easily have consumed at least 2,000 calories. One of the few memories of my dad involves him bringing home McDonald's for family dinner. I've since come to realize that the McDonald's binge is about daddy. 
  
  
  
• Cookies: When I was a little girl, I thought people who ate store-bought cookies were rich. (We always had homemade cookies.) Nevertheless, my mom would occasionally have a secret stash of Oreos or other store-bought treats. As soon as I figured out where they were, I'd have my way with them. And at Christmas time, my mom always made more Christmas cookies than one family needed. She'd store them in weathered holiday tins in our front vestibule, which was so drafty that it functioned as sort of an icebox for us. I used to sneak into tiny "room," sit down, and eat. As an adult, I love to bake but I also know I need to get the food out of the house as quickly as it has cooled to remove any temptation to binge. I've since come to realize that the Oreos binge is about my longing for my mom and the feelings associated with material goods being out of reach.
  
• Ben and Jerry's: In college, I could toddle down to the on-campus convenience store, purchase a pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, and eat it all within 10 minutes. All of it. Several times a week. Luckily, I'm now lactose intolerant. Unluckily, Ben & Jerry's dairy-free ice cream is as good as the real stuff. When I want ice cream now, I know this means something is up on the feelings front. 
  
• Ground turkey mixed with mushroom soup and white rice: This was an easy and quick family dinner we called "glop." In my early twenties, I would make and eat an entire pan of it in one sitting - pound of ground turkey, two cans of soup, heaps of rice. I've since come to realize this binge is about longing for family. And I still make this recipe. But, when I crave it, I'll restrict myself to 1/4 pound of turkey from the butcher, a dairy-free soup, and I'll add green beans instead of rice, making a comforting mash-up of "glop" and green bean casserole. 
  

Bulimia will always be with me; I definitely still feel the urge to binge today. On the rare occasion, I give myself permission to this, I try to control the caloric intake by eating things like popcorn, salted, steamed vegetables (e.g., broccoli, carrots), or raw cucumbers. 

This week in the 52 Lists Project, BMG and I are blogging about our favorite foods and treats. What are your favorite foods and treats? Let me know in the comments section below. 

Not My Circus

"Not my circus, not my monkeys" is one of my favorite tropes.

Often described as a Polish proverb, to me, this saying acknowledges that drama exists in every person's life. And the drama from other people's lives can be very entertaining. But, at the end of the day, we can only responsible for directing our own circus. 

Which brings me to this week's 52 Lists Project writing prompt, which invites me to: 

"Make a list of the things you will try to ignore."

Now ignore is a tough word, because, by definition, it calls on me to pretend something isn't there. 

Perhaps a result of my commitment to honoring the inherent worth and dignity of every thing, but there are very few things one can actually ignore in the world. On the short list, MAYBE:

1. Paranormal claims, including sightings of the Loch Ness Monster and other mythical beings

2. Conspiracy theories espoused by people with documented and severe mental illness

3. "No-see-ums" and other pesky bugs that potentially annoy, but can't hurt me

4. Dogs barking and other animal noises that are an innate part of their species' behavior

5. Noises - usual and unusual - made by cars either driven by me or near me; I am masterful at simply turning up the volume on the radio

However, I think the spirit of the writing prompt is seeking a different kind of list. I believe this prompt is inviting me to consider making a list of things that distract me from my true north, from being my best self, so that I might try to become impervious to their meddling influence. 

At the top of this list is people and their drama that neither hurt me, nor offer me any discernible opportunity for growth, insight, or other benefit, including:

• Men at work who constantly undermine my success by redoing or challenging projects other men have called "done" 
• Anyone who's last name is "Kardashian" 
• Fights between friends of friends of friends
• Friends who do not have the self-awareness to get unstuck, and have neither requested nor seem receptive to loving feedback
• Co-workers' trials and tribulations with their friends and family
• Bad drivers
• Judgments made of my weight, my housekeeping, my style of dress, my car, my cooking, or any other immaterial aspect of who I am and how I present in the world that comes from a position (conscious or unconscious) of malice or jealousy

This is the list of things I will try to remain immune to, so I can keep my focus on achieving my goals and living my values. 

What is on YOUR list of things you will try to ignore? Of things you will strive to be impervious to?

Words to Live By

What are your favorite quotes?

This is the question the 52 Lists Project is asking this week.

I'm a words person. I keep printed quotes around me - hanging on the walls of my workplace, my home office, even my bedroom and laundry room. I surround myself with inspiring words to help me stay centered, and remember how I wish to be in the world.

I have quotes I wish I remembered and lived by, like the one I keep at the top of this blog:

And then there are quotes I actually remember and often use to help me stay centered.

The most frequently used quote is this:

The first time I heard this quote, it was referenced as a Quaker saying. Since then, I've learned it has been attributed to great thinkers like Oscar Wilde, Ralph Waldo Emerson. As someone who has long struggled with giving myself permission to enjoy life, I use this quote to remind myself that it is okay to sometimes let go of my manic control of life in the interest of having fun.

A new favorite is one I discovered while on vacation in Sanibel, FL. I found it printed on the cover of a journal in a tchotke shop.

I love this quote. It gives me permission to be be my best introspective and introverted self.

The last quote is one I use in my work as a writer and strategist. I've seen it Mark Twain, Thomas Jefferson, and the Roman philosopher Cicero.

I use this quote to remind myself that thoughtfulness takes time, and to give myself an excuse when the work I've done is sloppy. Like this blog post.

Cookie Monster: An unrequited love story

I love cookies. Chocolate chip cookies to be exact. In fact, I love them so much, they made my Facebook list of 10 foods I would want with me if I were stranded on a desert island, (The others are turkey, eggs, olive oil, rice, spinach, lemons, coconut, cheddar cheese, and coffee,)

But chocolate chip cookies don't love me back.

Consider this checklist of qualities that the Kelley and Thibault model of relationship commitment, as described by Psychology Today, suggests are essential to a successful long-term relationship:  

Both consistently meet and do not frustrate our needs
FAIL. Chocolate chip cookies DO meet my needs for the delicious combination of sugar and fat, particularly when I'm feeling sad, hormonal, or have low blood sugar. HOWEVER, they do not care enough about me to minimize the way they frustrate my efforts to be fit, sleep well at night, and not feel like an out-of-control pig. 

Are more attractive than other potential relationships or ways of spending our time
FAIL. I love chocolate chip cookies. But, they have not done enough in our relationship to prevent me from cheating on them with potato chips, dark chocolate-covered anything, or commercially prepared peanut butter. And none of the Ashley Madison foods I have in my Rolodex are doing me any favors. In fact, if I were to cheat on chocolate chip cookies, I'd be better off cheating with a trip to the gym, a brisk walk, or a phone call to one of my sisters.

Would lead one to lose valuable resources if the relationship were to end
FAIL. Again, What am I going to lose if I were to leave my love affair with the chocolate chip cookie? I would guess about 15 pounds.

This checklist makes it clear that chocolate chip cookies are doing nothing but hurting me. For more than 45 years, I've continued to turn to them in times of joy, sorrow and anger, only to have my short term needs fulfilled with no promise of a fulfilling, long-term relationship

So, chocolate chip cookies, in the interest of my health, I am breaking up with you.

(Unless, of course, you'd be willing to hook up every now and again, maybe at parties or other special events. I mean, I'd be open to that.)

Fat Girl

Just this week, I told my husband and mother-in-law that, in spite of having recently lost 30 pounds, I still feel exactly the same. While I lost the weight primarily for health reasons, not emotional ones, I'm aware that I have struggled with being a "fat girl" my entire life.

With that revelation still spinning around in my heart, I found myself drawn to click on an NPR article posted to Facebook, offering reviews of two works of fiction that "tear down" stereotypes about fat girls.

The Facebook rabbit hole being what it is, this article next led me to a PBS Newshour link about a poet, Rachel Wiley, who penned this:

For Fat Girls Who Considered Starvation When Bulimia Wasn’t Enough

Mom says that my teeth are perfect
Perfect brother has just gotten braces on his top four front teeth
A tiny railroad bridge connecting nothing
And mom says that my teeth are perfect.
At last my quiet mouth, the overlook, the swallowed feelings have all paid off
and cultured something perfect and mine.
My mouth is a music box
stuffed with pearls.

Perfect brother is tall
And lean eats whatever he wants
One time a whole box of oatmeal cream pies.
but it is more clear each day that my baby fat is no longer baby fat
but just fat
It is more clear each day that I will not be a ballerina
I had wanted to be a ballerina.
My mouth is a music box
A small girl spins gracefully at the back of my throat
On point
I am sure if I can just reach far enough back I could still have her grace
I reach for her every night after dinner while the bathtub fills.

Until one day the health teacher shows us a photo
of a mouth crammed full of broken, yellowed dishes
says that a side effect of Bulimia
is ruined teeth
but Mom said that my teeth were perfect
And my perfect is a ransom I cannot bring myself to pay for the spinning girl
So I swallow her
and then nothing more for 4 whole days
My mouth is a music box, plays a low gear grinding that puts me to sleep.

When I do not wake up any closer to the spinning girl encircled in pink tulle
but rather still a ravenous hollow encircled in overgrowth
I sneak down to the pantry and devour an entire box of oatmeal cream pies in the dark
before going upstairs to brush my perfect teeth 1 at a time.

What happened next? Well, I cried. 

I cried for the little girl in me who wanted to be a ballerina but was instead told, "You'd be so pretty if you could just lose some weight." I cried for the young adult in me who thought she was a genius when she discovered bulimia, without knowing the word for it. I cried for the adult in me who knows that this eating disorder is like an addiction in that it will be with me always, in spite of having beat the behaviors long long ago. 

And now my stomach hurt. I'm sure it's because of the #whole30 decaf mocha I just gulped. It couldn't be feelings.  

Desperately Trying to Find the Zone

One of the ways I managed to lose 25 pounds last fall was to eat fewer calories than I expended through my ADLs and exercise. In fact, I increased my daily physical activity by 20%. Committed to keeping my weight at a healthier level, because of my risk for heart disease and diabetes, I am continuing to go to the gym at least twice during the workweek, and every Saturday and Sunday. At least during the winter months, when it is either too cold or too dark to safely exercise outside.

And OMG, do I think going to the gym is boring.

To mix up my routine, I decided to try (for the third time) the Couch25K program to train myself to run 3.1 miles without dying or embarrassing myself.

And guess what? I also think running is boring.

I started to struggle with boredom midway this morning's "run" (Week Four/Day 2 of C25K). The self-talk that goes through my head reminded me that serious runners talk about getting into "the zone". In fact, I've felt "the zone" while biking - the feeling that all I need to be doing right now is pedaling one leg at a time to keep myself moving forward. It is a wonderful, zen experience.

But I haven't hit "the zone" with my "running." I have, however, developed some strategies for keeping myself engaged in my workout. As a gift to you, I share them below:

• Count every stride I take, and when I reach 60, check the clock to see how close the pace of my counting came to the actual pace of time. Make adjustments to syncopate my counting with real time. Repeat.
• Look around the room for words or phrases that are static (e.g., the name of gym painted on the wall, the name of the workout machine I'm using, signs that might be nearby, etc.). Make as many new words out of these words as I possibly can. For example, how many words can YOU make out of "hydromassage"?
• Silently imagine what I would say to the people within my field of vision about their exercise habits and general state of fitness. Things like, "You look unhealthy. You go girl for being at the gym! Rock it!" and "You do know that I can see you itching your butt as you crush it on that elliptical, right?" 
• In the same vein, I also tell stories about the people within my field of vision. Just yesterday I saw a man within my age range with an incredible and HUGE head of hair wearing the tiniest, tightest running shorts I've seen in a while. He seriously looked like a bobble head. I then imagined that those were his favorite shorts from his collegiate field and track days. And while they clearly NO LONGER FIT HIM, it is also clear that he is unnaturally attached to the shorts, perhaps as a symbol of his younger glory days. And every time he wears them, his spouse yells at him to get rid of those ridiculous shorts because, the tiny shorts make him look ridiculous and sad and what if he runs into someone they know, and so on.  
• Inspire myself  by repeating the following mantra over and over again, "No one gets better at anything if they quit. I can do this. I can do anything for (however long I have left in the workout or the interval) minutes." Then I start wondering about all the things I might not be able to do for xyz minutes left in my workout. Like endure water boarding at the hands of terrorist captors, or swim in an alligator-infested swamp, or tolerate Donald Trump or Ted Cruz as President. 

It's not my knees or my general state physical fitness that will end my running career. Instead, it is the boredom.

So I ask you, before I make yet another trip to the gym where I'll rearrange the letters in "Judgment Free Zone" (men, gene, jug, mug, dug, tug, zen..." to entertain myself:

• Are you a runner who gets into the zone? 
• What does it look like or feel like? 
• How do you get to that place?
• What advice do you have for a novice runner? 

Help me!

SFS Fall 2015: Eating Your Cake and Having it Too

I'm doing a six-week holistic diet with Liz Vequist in an effort to start feeling fit, active, and inspired. The diet started on Monday, October 26, 2015. 

*****

Tomorrow is the 6th and final week of the diet. If you look at the numbers, my experience so far has been successful. 
1. I've lost 15 pounds
2. I've lost an inch in all the places I've measured
3. I'm comfortably down by one full size
4. I've reduced my caffeine intake by 50%
5. I've reduced my refined sugar intake by nearly 90%. 
6. I've reduced my weekly alcohol intake by nearly 75%
7. I've reduced my typical daily calorie intake by 15%, from 1,750 day to 1,450 
7. I've reduced my use of OTC sleep aids by 95%, from up to four times a week to once a month
8. I've increased my daily steps by 20%

As far as I'm concerned, this has been a valuable group and one I would recommend to any person who seeks to feel healthier, stronger, and more at peace in their bodies.


But, with just a week left in the program, I've consciously stopped participating in the Facebook portion of the group.


Why?


On Thursday, I was indirectly rebuked on the group's Facebook page for giving "bad advice" when I asked a question. Bad advice, it was explained, because the question I asked was akin to encouraging people to do something that was causing people to "fail" at the intermittent fasting portion of the diet.




My question was in response to a post from a member of the group who appears to me to be struggling with being at peace in her body. At the start of the day, she posted a plaintive query about how to handle her desire to fast with her desire to indulge in a holiday celebration. So I asked, "Why can't you do both - eat sensibly/low calorie for a majority of the day, and also indulge?" I acknowledged with my question that one couldn't call this a true "fasting" day, but what was the harm in eating your cake and having it too?



I asked my question out of genuine curiosity, and from a position of ambivalence about the fasting days, particularly in light of my own experience of balancing the diet "rules" with the "rules" of living, for me, what is a good life.



If you look at my numbers, it seems that my strategy of eating my cake and having too, carefully and with intention, has been pretty successful. I don't feel like a failure at the diet.




What I think has made me a success at this diet is in not my ability to faithfully follow the rules. Instead, it has been my ability to listen to my body and decide what rules I'm going to break.

For example, two cups of coffee makes me go off the emotional rails AND inspires sleeplessness. So, when I'm having intense cravings for a second cup of the half-caf I'm drinking, I can remind myself that I don't want it badly enough to risk the jittery panicked feelings that I'll feel as a result. If the craving remains, I fill it with a cup of hot lemon water or rooibos tea. Ditto for milk-based products and enriched bread.



I'll still have a small piece of candy or a chocolate chip cookie from time to time. And when I do, I savor it and remind myself to stop at one or two unless the desire for the sweet is more powerful than the need to maintain a certain caloric intake to keep my body healthy. So far it hasn't been worth it.

All of these signs point to victory for me and my body.



So, when I felt chided for "giving bad advice," I decided it was time for me to say good-bye to the Facebook portion of the diet. I don't want to share how I've successfully adapted the rules to serve my body if doing so could potentially risk the success of others. I don't see how that is helpful. I also don't think it is helpful to be part of a virtual dialogue about being a "failure" with one's diet and exercise choices.



So, at least as far as Facebook goes, I'm done.


I'll post my numbers here at the formal end of the last week, to put up the final bookend to this experience. After the diet is formally over, I'll continue to eat a balanced, whole food diet while also considering the choices I make in the interest of feeling strong and healthy. I will always have to pay close attention to how I care for my body. I can't eat an entire package of Oreos and not feel the ill effects. But I also don't want it to become my raison d'etre, where I am daily scrutinizing every food choice to determine if THAT'S the reason I am up half a pound.


Thank you Liz Vequist, for guiding me to a place where I can eat my cookie and be ok with myself. I feel like my struggles are over.

SFS Fall 2015 - Before

I'm doing a six-week holistic diet with Liz Vequist in an effort to start feeling fit, active, and inspired. The diet starts on Monday, October 26, 2015. 

*****

I spent the last four days helping my mother downsize from the house I knew as an adolescent and teen to a new house. A newer, more manageable house in a quieter neighborhood closer to four of her six grandchildren. Thursday through Sunday afternoon I ate pizza, doughnuts, Chinese food, fast food, chocolate bars, beer and wine. 

I feel terrible. 

Tomorrow is a great day to start a whole foods, mostly vegan, definitely macrobiotic (except for that weird chewing thing they do), diet.

As part of our prep we need to take measurements and "before" photos, preferably in something form fitting. We'll do "after" pictures on December 10, when the diet ends. And hopefully, by then, I'll have new, life affirming habits. 

So, here goes. 

And now the measurements. 
Upper arm (ugh) - 13"
Bust - 40"
"Bra line" - 34"
Waist - 34"
Hips - 45"
Thigh - 25"

Come back in six weeks to see how I do. 

Before - cleanse day 1

I'm doing a five-day food cleanse followed by a six-week diet with Liz Vequist in an effort to start feeling fit, active and inspired. The cleanse started on Monday, October 5, 2015.

*****

This is my cleanse "before" picture, taken Sunday, October 4.

I'm lighter than I was in high school, but feel bloated, heavy and physically tired at least 60% of the time. I'm tired of carrying extra weight around, particularly in my middle and my bottom. You can see my FitBit on my hip; I am "somewhat active," at least by the Livestrong.com standards. But I rarely free strong or energized. You can't see the bags under my eyes. I am a poor sleeper and suspect nutrition and overall health, combined with the very earliest stage of middle-age, are to blame. (And I did not "style" my hair in the morning, and, as a result, am sporting what my husband calls my "Pebbles" look.)

I am not expecting miracles over the next five days.  

However, I AM expecting to:

1. Lay the groundwork to kick my sugar addiction

2. Lay the groundwork to get troublesome lactose out of my system, once and for all

3. Learn what it feels like to invest time and money in my health.
4. Cheat on the "no coffee" rule. 

The cleanse is the precursor to a six-week "Slim, Fit & Sexy" program offered by Liz . It starts on October 22 and runs through December 10.

My expectations for "SFS"? 

1. Kick the sugar habit

2. Kick the lactose habit

3. Reconnect with fast, easy, healthy and delicious ways to eat a vegetarian diet

4. Sleep better

5. Feel less bloated, overcome with allergy symptoms

6. Lose up to 10 pounds

7. Maintain my commitment to 7500 daily steps on weekdays, 10000 on weekends 

8. Cheat on the "no coffee" rule 

9. Self-love and mercy

Stay tuned to see how I do. 

Fat, tired and uninspired

I'm doing a five-day food cleanse followed by a six-week diet with Liz Vequist in an effort to start feeling fit, active and inspired. The cleanse starts on Monday, October 5, 2015.

*****

I'm lighter now than I was when I was in high school. And certainly lighter than I was in college. In fact, I'm 40 pounds lighter than I was at my heaviest, but 20 pounds heavier than I was after my one successful bout with Weight Watchers.

I don't feel awesome. 

In fact, I feel fat, tired and uninspired most of the time.

I want to feel awesome. 

After a couple of health scares this year, I decided to get serious about slimming down. I'm losing at the rate of a pound a month using a combination of MyFitnessPal.com and a FitBit. A healthy rate of loss, but I'm filled with anxiety about gaining the weight back. This isn't great for me, my marriage, or my overall enjoyment of life. 

So, I'm trying something different, the six-week Slim, Fit and Sexy program offered by Liz Vequist, http://www.lizvequist.com. It starts with a five day whole foods cleanse on October 5. The "diet" program itself begins on October 22 and runs until December 10. 

In the spirit of keeping myself honest, I'll be blogging my progress here. Encouragement and giggles both welcome. 

My Socks Created a Blood Clot, Because I'm Fat

I haven't exercised in nearly a month. I was sick, then my mom came to visit, then I got sick again, and now it feels like all of my spare hours are joyfully spent on holiday prep.

So the fat girl inside of me is feeling REALLY fat.

I have a pair of trouser socks that have ALWAYS squished my legs. I've had them for two years, they have always hurt me, and I persist in wearing them. Why? Because to concede that the socks hurt must be an admission that I'm too fat to wear socks.

So, yesterday, while my fat self is feeling particularly fat I accidentally pull the tight socks from my drawer. And I wear them, because I have to wear them, otherwise I'm admitting I'm fat. By the end of the day my fat socks made my fat right leg physically hurt.

And today there is a mild bruise around the top of my right calf and I feel as if I have a blood clot behind my knee. My leg hurts and I'm afraid to say or do anything about it. Because I'm too fat to wear socks.

The Liz Lemon Effect

Did you see "30 Rock" last week? Liz Lemon and her true love, Criss Cros, get married because they want to speed up an adoption process ostensibly stalled because Liz is technically single. After deciding to get married for bureaucratic reasons, Liz rails against the "wedding-industrial complex" for causing women to lose all sense of reason in their pursuit of their "special day."

Liz shows up for her city hall nuptials wearing sweats and carrying a Duane Reade bag filled with toilet paper (hey, she needed toilet paper and the Duane Reade was on the way). Experiencing all the other couples enjoying their modest weddings causes Liz to, ironically, lose all sense of reason. Why? Because deep down inside a special part of her wants to be a princess and have a special day. She never thought anyone would want to marry her, so she sublimated this desire and chose to deride weddings as a coping mechanism. I call this the Liz Lemon Effect.

*****

Jeff asked me to marry him today. I'm wearing a platinum and diamond ring he had specially designed to look like the fake engagement ring he gave me six years ago.

I've been shaking for nearly an hour.

Because I suffer from the Liz Lemon Effect.

I'm 42 years-old. I'm of average build and looks. I bite my nails, come from a wacky family, and work way too hard. There is a tiny and yet enormous part of me who identifies as an unlovable fat girl.

And yet I'm wearing this beautiful ring on my finger. Which proves that someone loves me. And wants to marry me.

Maybe when I stop shaking I'll start crying. And when I stop crying I'll start grinning from ear to ear. And then we'll plan a wedding.

Fat Girl is Afraid to Go to the Doctor

This Fat Girl is afraid to go to the doctor.

My body is getting older. As my body gets older I find myself with aches and pains. I can't process foods like French fries or alcohol as seamlessly as I was once able. I'm sure I have an ulcer, or, worse, gall bladder cancer (that's a thing, right?). I occasionally feel tightness in my chest, which seriously could be heart disease. My feet ache nearly all the time, which is probably arthritis.

But I won't be honest with my doctor.

Because I'm afraid. Afraid that my doctor will tell me the reason my feet hurt is because I'm so fat that I've created undue stress in them. Or the reason my heart aches is because I'm so fat that every one of my arteries is clogged and I'll likely have a heart attack and it is my own fault so there is nothing they will do about it. And the problems with fatty food? "Well," I imagine her saying, "you shouldn't be eating fatty food anyway, because, in case you hadn't noticed, you're FAT."

Getting bifocals after I turned 40 was not a problem. Nor was the semi-annual schedule of mammograms because of irregularities on my baseline films. There is no way my brain can make the case that poor vision or calcifications in my mammary glands are the result of being overweight (maybe there is hope for me yet).

But these other issues, I can't be honest with my doctor about them.

Because I'm afraid they're my fault, which will cause me shame, which could result in anxious overeating, which will only reinforce those feelings that I'm a Fat Girl.

If you need me, I'll be in the corner quietly googling my health concerns, keeping your health insurance premiums low through my underuse, and wishing I could eat a cookie.

Fat Girl

I'm the miserable looking one in the plaid shirt on the right.

I'm a 42 year-old woman who grew up thinking of herself as a fat girl. Correct that. I'm a 42 year-old woman who often still thinks of herself as a fat girl.

I've had nearly 20 years of therapy through which I've come to understand my relationship to myself, my childhood understanding of my parents' divorce, and the class struggles that affected my confidence and sense of place. Through therapy I've coped with my irrational personal organization that bordered on OCD, explored why and how I became bulimic, made the transition to four different jobs over a period of 17 years, and ended one and started another long term relationship.

And still I think of myself as a fat girl.

To be fair, I'm on the heavy size of average. After losing 65 pounds back in 2000, I've lost and gained the same 15 pounds over the last six years, and my clothing size has bounced between 10 and 14 over the same period.

My point? I'm not actually fat.

But I sure do think I am.