Toxic Foods

Weight!  What an evil word.  Weight gain, those two words are even more dreadful to speak and hear especially for those of us who are desperate to kick the gain away.  For me, my disdain for the little devil has fluctuated back and forth, much like my weight has since having children.  In my younger years, I was loathe to lose weight.   I was picked on for being too skinny, and my six feet frame only seemed to exacerbate my low weight.   Back then metabolism was also my enemy.  I could easily devour a large supreme pizza, a bag of Doritos and a 2 liter Pepsi and my weight would actually DROP!   Huh!?!?!?  Imagine that.  Growing up in the South, with some of the best cooking in the country, I didn’t exactly eat healthy.   We were a meat and potatoes family, with the occasional green beans (my favorite) and corn thrown in for good measure.   The food was fried and super delectable, and, boy, could my mama cook!

As the years went by, metabolism continued to remain my enemy just in an adverse way.  I found myself having to eat less, although I didn’t necessarily eat healthier, and I started running.   Mind you, none of this happened until I was in college.   Damn you, Freshman 15!  Fortunately for me, since I was already super skinny, the Freshman 15 actually made me look good!  I went from 135 pounds, at 6 feet, to 150 at 6 feet!  I started to look like a buxom broad.    Well, maybe I’m going to far with that statement, but I started developing the appearance of a female, with the curves instead of the toothpick I was always compared to.

After college, I stayed in pretty decent shape, but of course metabolism started to unfriend me.   I suppose since I had treated him so poorly for so many years, then this was naturally payback.   Is it too late to make up and become friends again?  It seems so.

When I became pregnant with Davey, I was probably at the healthiest weight I’ve ever been, 175.  I was toned and capable of running a 5k race in 26 minutes.  I worked a lot, didn’t exactly eat well, and I was also a smoker.  Yes, yes, I picked up that terrible habit to impress a boy nearly 20 years ago, gave it up for another boy, and then picked it back up again just to have something to do.  Ridiculous, I know!  Don’t worry, I gave up smoking well before I became pregnant with Davey.

At the peak of my pregnancy with Davey, I weighed 200 pounds.  I gained 25 pounds.   I had girlfriends asking me if that was healthy and shouldn’t I weigh more.   My doctor assured me that there wasn’t a problem with my weight.   After Davey, the weight fell off pretty quickly.  I didn’t get back to 175, but I got close, fluctuating between 180 & 185.   Two years later, I became pregnant with Henry and at that point I weighed exactly 185.   At my peak with Henry, I weighed 206, that’s just a mere 21 pounds of weight gain and both of my boys were pushing the 9 pound mark when I gave birth to them.

After having the boys, I had a period of eating healthier since I was breast feeding.  I didn’t want whatever I was eating to osmosis its way some how into my milk and upset the boys, so I cut out some of the fried foods and starches, but not my beloved mayonnaise sandwiches (which by the way can only be made with the best – Dukes Mayonnaise).   I immediately began working out after both boys, but unfortunately all of that stubborn weight from Henry seemed to hug every square inch of my body like a leech.   I resorted to taking laxatives, increasing my fiber intake, and even starving myself.   I relished the days I had the stomach flu, because it was a guaranteed 5 pound weight loss, but it didn’t stay around for long.

book
Rocco DiSpirito’s Negative Calorie Diet

This summer, I’ve been miserable.  I started the summer weighing the exact same weight I did when I gave birth to Henry.   I cried myself to sleep at night.  I apologized to my husband for the fact that his beautiful wife was now resembling Jabba the Hutt.    I took more laxatives, exercised twice as much, and degraded myself in front of anyone who was around.   On top of that, I became Cruella DeVille to my two boys.   So, what was I going to do about this?

smoothie
A sampling of the smoothies…cucumber strawberry.

I read an article about Mediterranean diets one day, which led me to Rocco DiSpirito, which in turn led me to his Negative Calorie Diet book.   Not eager to waste any money on the purchase of a book that I may not stick with, I checked out a copy at the library.   I read through it, shared it with my husband, and determined that we could both do this, especially if we considered it a lifestyle change and not a diet.

frittata
This was the kale, red onion, and sundried tomato frittata made with egg whites. We actually had this for dinner one night. We’re big fans of breakfast for dinner at our house.

The first 10 days had us on a cleanse, which consisted of 3 smoothies a day and soup or salad from Rocco’s book for dinner.   We had to cut out coffee, dairy, breads, starches, and refined sugar.   And, oh yeah, those evening cocktails we had on the back porch after the boys went to bed, those had to go as well, at least for the first 10 days.   I thought, 10 days, why not?  I could do this.   Easier said than done.

dinner 1
This has easily been my favorite dinner, by far. Flank steak, with sautéed collard greens, onions, and mushrooms with horseradish.

The first two days were sheer misery for me.   I have spent the better part of my adult life thriving off of my coffee every morning.  It has always been the first thing I’ve started my day with, not to mention the fact that I’m a huge fan of Starbucks, and there’s just something about those mocha lattes that hit the spot.  I suffered debilitating headaches for two days, brought on by my caffeine cleanse.   It was as if caffeine had become my drug, and now I was detoxing.   Miserable is an understatement.  I was tired, cranky, and my kids drove me bonkers just by breathing.   The first two days were not for the faint of heart.

chef salad
Chef salad is phenomenal. I will be making his cranberry vinaigrette dressing for ALL of my salads moving forward. No more store bought dressing!

Of course, there was also the fact that I felt like I was starving because I’m not a huge fan of green veggies and all of the smoothies were calling for greens of some sort.  I wanted a bowl of pasta.  I wanted my mayonnaise sandwich.  I wanted those chocolate chip cookies, and while will power has always deserted me when I needed her most, she hung tight this time around.   By day three, I was feeling pretty good.

meatballs
Another favorite has been the meatballs with the kale and mushroom “gravy”.

In the first week, I lost 8.6 pounds, and that had me really reviewing my past food intake and what was going on with my body.  Until this, I never really knew just how toxic certain foods are to the body, mind, and spirit.   I always thought as long as I kept my portions down, then I could eat anything I wanted.  Not true.   I found that once I was eating the whole fruits and veggies and cutting out the sugars and processed foods, I legitimately had more energy throughout the day.  I enjoyed doing things with my boys.  I wanted to go hiking with them, to go blackberry picking, to go to the pool.  I wanted to get out in the backyard with them, and I was able to focus more.   I was able to keep my patience more in check and I was able to sleep more fully at night.   So, all of this time, it wasn’t the quantity of food, but the QUALITY of what I was eating.

mustard chicken
This was last night’s dinner. Chicken with mustard greens, quinoa, and oranges.

We’re two and a half weeks into this lifestyle change and I’m down 13.5 pounds, my husband is down 18.6.   I’m happier, less hungry, and more focused.   We make our dinners at night, and while the boys are required to try everything, I always have a standby for the two of them.   We have; however, found that Henry is a huge fan of collard greens and mushrooms!   Another perk to this lifestyle change.

spinach pasta
And finally, I know how to make spinach pesto pasta. We didn’t follow Rocco’s tomato sauce recipe, but instead used my husband’s. We substituted Monk Fruit in the Raw for sugar.

Do yourselves a favor, my friends, and look at what you’re consuming every day.    Ask yourself is it really worth it?

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The Pleasure Principle

There are times in your life when you regret certain financial decisions.  Perhaps you shouldn’t have purchased that luxury car, or maybe that flat panel 60″ tv wasn’t such a good idea.   Of course, there’s those $500 Manolo Blahniks you convince you’re husband you’ll wear everyday and with every outfit, only to find out that they hurt your feet so much, that you’re spending the same amount of money on daily foot massages.   And then there are days like today, when you realize that perhaps you jumped the gun just a bit when you decided that it was ok to finally have your hair colored, obliterating that mocking gray hair that has begun showing it’s nasty claws.

Last month, I thought it was high time I should color this gray hair.   I felt the gray had worn out its welcome, as if I’d ever willingly hold open the door and allow it into my life.  I thought it was a wonderful time for a fresh start.   Henry’s two years old, I’m fixed, so there won’t be anymore little Dosers to grace this world, and I’ve begun triathlon training again, which means I’m FINALLY getting my pre-baby (more like pre-Henry, since I lost all of it I gained with Davey) weight back.     Why not get a whole new look?   Why not spend that money to get the good salon job, not the $10 “wash that gray right outta my hair” drugstore purchase?   Why not?   Let me tell you “why not”.  One word, or should I say “one name”…HENRY!

This afternoon, my darling second child decided that I needed more excitement in my life.   Apparently, he felt that either a.) he wasn’t getting his fair share of attention, b.) that I had become much too relaxed in my parenting, or c.) his pleasure principle was in overload and was taking over any and all ration thought.

This afternoon, while walking into my office, I came through our 20 foot foyer, our staircase climbing along the right side of the wall.  My idea???  I hadn’t written a blog in a while, and although I had no clue what I wanted to write it on, I knew I needed to write, if not for my followers (thank you to all of you), then at least for me.   I continued to contemplate, “what will I write about, have there been any firsts with the kids or with me?” And that, my friends, is when my darling, sweet little Henry seemed to call out to me with my latest blog post.   Yes, yes, as I walked into the foyer I heard, “Hey, Mom,” calling out from right above my head.  Was I imagining this?   He seemed so close and right above my head, surely I was wrong.  Or was I?

As I turned around and began looking upward, I saw my two year old, his feet along the outer parts of the staircase railing, his one hand grasped tightly on the spindles, and his other hand extended out waving to me.   I nearly crapped myself!  My stomach dropped, my voice rain away deep within the confines of my throat, and my mind completely went blank.   With no thoughts of what was happening, no screams of fear or worry, I jumped the gate, which was strategically placed at the bottom of the staircase, and bounded up the stairs, 5 at a time (thank God I have long legs!).   12 feet in the air was my baby, my second born, my flesh and blood, precariously climbing up the outer parts of the staircase by holding onto the railing.   There was nothing to protect him should he lose his grip.  The only thing to break his fall?   A plant and wooden table.   And God help me if he were to accidentally hit the mirror hanging on the wall above the plant.   If the fall alone didn’t break his neck and kill him, then the cut from the mirror may well do it.

It took a split second for me to reach him, a huge smile upon his face, and pull him back over to the “safe” side of the staircase.   He was smiling the entire time, until he looked into my eyes and seemed to register the fear he had forced into my life.

“Henry, what were you thinking?” I asked as I tried to prevent myself from going hysterical, the continuous thoughts of him falling playing over and over in my brain.

“I wanna go upstairs, mom,” he said so nonchalantly.

“But, you can’t climb like that.  You could get hurt,” I said as I carried him down the stairs.   He just looked at me, as if not registering what I was saying.

My boys are so different.   I try not to compare, but it’s hard when you’ve raised one who is cautious, thoughtful, and a thinker.   Davey is a “look before you leap” sort of kid.   Henry?   His pleasure principle seems to be in overload and he’s not grasping the consequences.  Not only did he stop my heart, turn all of my hair white, and age me another 40 years, but he also reminded me of how grateful I am that he is my last, otherwise I may not be alive to see my oldest graduate from kindergarten much less college.

 

Henry's daredevil
Picture my 2 year old, holding on directly above the mirror. Picture it for a moment and let it settle.

 

Hunger Games

If someone had told me 20 years ago, I would have a problem with my weight, I’d have laughed them right out of the room.   I’d have slapped them in the face with a, “shut yo mouth”.   Alas, having two kids later in life and a horrible sense of will power means I’m fighting the dreaded weight gain that seems to hit so many other 40 somethingers.

When I graduated high school, I was 6 feet tall (same height I am now) and weighed 145 pounds.   I was considered underweight.   I ate like a horse, though, putting away large Pizza Hut pepperoni pizzas all by myself.   I drank good ole Southern sweet tea, ate fried foods, indulged in sodas and chips.  I ate like it was no one’s business and I didn’t gain an ounce.

When I started college, there was always that whole “Freshman 15” that most college students gained.  Uh uh, not me!  I still managed to stay around 145-150 pounds, at times looking emaciated.   I was made fun of for being a stick, with no boobs and no butt.  I had no hips, so men’s jeans and pants fit me superbly.   I was super self conscious back then, but for the complete opposite reason I am now.  These days, thanks to that stupid BMI, I’m actually considered overweight.

I’ve never in my life had to struggle with weight as badly as I have over the past year.   For some reason, after having Henry, I was unable to lose the weight and actually put it back on.   Being the vain individual I am, a serious character flaw I know, I’ve allowed myself to spiral down into levels of self deprecation I never really knew existed.   I found myself sobbing at the start of the year, literally trying to find a way to get myself to just either not eat or immediately purge the food I did consume.   I tore my husband apart, as he watched me.   I think my constant berating of myself genuinely caused him pain.

I went to my doctor, who tested my thyroids.   I prayed every night for the answer I wanted, for there to be an actual medical condition for what I was going through so that I could take some pill and “cure” myself.    I wanted hypothyroidism so badly, because if that’s what I had then I could be treated, then I would know what was wrong with me.   Of course the results came back negative, which sent me even further down the black hole of self hatred.  My doctor did tell me that I could be on the outer fringes of something known as postpartdum hypothyroidism which happens in women who’ve had children.   That didn’t exactly help me to feel better.

I found myself eager to try every diet fad possibly.   I wanted to have my jaw wired shut so that I wouldn’t eat my sons’ leftovers, which I’m sure that, along with my declining metabolism, was truly the sole cause of my weight gain.  I did my best to hide my self hatred from my boys.   They were, and still are, always eager to tell me I’m pretty, but as the days went by I became more and more thankful that I didn’t have a daughter.   And maybe that’s what started waking me up.

Girls are so difficult.  We’re hard on ourselves, we judge each other, we can just be all around unsupportive at times.   I’m sure a lot of my female readers want to argue this, but deep down it’s true.   At some point or another, you as a female, have either been judged, made to feel less than what you are, or have done it to another person or even to yourself.    I can only imagine if I had a daughter and she saw me tear myself apart over my physical appearance, how it could impact her.   Thankfully, my boys are completely oblivious to it.

It’s taken months, but I’ve finally gotten to a point where I’m happy with myself.   I don’t know if I’ve lost weight, but I can easily bike 20 miles, extreme hills included, in an hour.  I can run a 5k, possibly more depending upon who’s motivating me.   For the first time all summer, I have shorts that are actually loose on me.  It’s taken a lot of hard work, work that at times I’ve talked myself out of doing.   It’s taken a lot of will power, in that I can’t eat the little snacks that my boys eat and I can’t finish their dinners for them.   It’s taken a lot of support not just from my husband, but from my friends, and my work out partners.

Here’s what I’ve learned as I’ve turned 40.   I made a decision to have children later in life, at a time when my metabolism starts slowing down.   I can’t easily drop the weight like I could 5 years ago.   I may not always feel beautiful, but I’ve started feeling good, and my husband thinks I’m beautiful.   My friends are going to love me regardless of what I look like.   They’re going to support me, encourage me, and accept me.   So, why shouldn’t I do that to myself?

I’m tired of playing the hunger games.   I’m tired of looking at those 20 something moms and comparing my overweight body to their fit and toned ones.   I’m just tired of being my own worst critic.   So, as of today, Thursday, August 27th, I have officially declared an end to the Hunger Games of my life.