Vegetables Taste Like Dirt

Men and Their Muscle Mass (Can Bite Me)

2010-05-01T09:16:00.000-05:00

So, I'm engaged. To a really handsome, fit guy. He works out (of course he does). He actually likes to exercise. Sick, I know.

He can eat just about anything and get away with it because he has a lot of muscle. Does it make me a bad person that secretly I sometimes want to spit on his cheeseburger because I resent his ability to eat it (and wash it down with a strawberry shake) and work it off with a few good sneezes?

Probably.

Ok, I'm exaggerating. But only a little.

He does lift weights and he does have a pretty physical job, which help him. If he feels like he's overdoing it, he will eat more salad, drink more water and politely pass on dessert. He quit drinking pop for the most part. It just seems like it's so easy for him to maintain a healthy weight and compensate for overindulgences. It's all that muscle. Men.

Please pardon me while I throw myself on the floor now and pound my fists as I wail at the injustice of it all. I do, after all, need to get in my workout for the day.

I Should Be the Oreo Poster Child

2010-04-28T16:45:00.000-05:00

So far, I'm having really good day. I'm drinking water, exercising, eating lots of fruits and vegetables. I even have a healthy supper planned.

It takes a truckload of effort to have a really good day. I have to think about everything I eat and drink and when I'm consuming it and when I'll fit exercise in and on and on and on. Good flippin' grief!

My fiance bought Oreos the other day. I saw the package on the counter when I came in and thought, "Why?! Does he secretly hate me? Is this a test? He doesn't even like Oreos very much!"

Oreos, along with Cheetos, are to me, what Kryptonite is to Superman. Have you ever dunked one in milk until it's almost soft all the way through but not soggy? And then put the whole thing in your mouth until it disolves into a delicious chocolatey glob? I could down an entire package of Oreos in an afternoon like that, without even thinking about it.

So, there they sit. On top of the microwave. Unopened. I'm safe as long as they remain unopened. I won't open them. If I open them, he'll know I opened them. If he opens them, there could be trouble. If he opens them, he will eat some of them and then I could sneak some of them and shake the package around to conceal the fact that some extra ones were missing. But that only works for a few of them. I don't know if I could stop at a few...

For now, I'll drink another glass of water and choke down another handful of carrots and tell myself that it's worth it (despite the fact that in my head I'm screaming, "I want Oreos!").

Someday, when I grow up, Oreos won't scare me at all.

Houston, We Have a Problem

2010-04-26T10:21:00.004-05:00

I got an email from someone today who pointed out to me that I'm a failure. I haven't reached my goal yet, haven't written my book yet, I blew it. These critics seem to be coming out of the woodwork, lately, to let me know I've let them down.

I wish I could say this is a big shock, but it's not. I have always known there were people out there who thought I was failing (because they like to write me and tell me so) and those out there who just flat out wanted me to fail.

What do I think of this? Simple. The way you view any given situation is likely a direct reflection of how your own situation unfolds. I know this from my own personal experience. At the times I've struggled the most, I've been viewing myself (and everything around me) negatively. It's not an easy rut to get out of, I'll admit.

When you assume you will choke, you usually do. How many times do you hear the gold medal winner in the post-event interview saying, "Wow. I never thought I'd get here. I really didn't think I could do this. I thought my competitors were all so much better than me and it's a complete shock that I won. Not in my wildest dreams did I think I could accomplish this."

Never.

Am I supposed to apologize for struggling? For setbacks? For lessons learned the hard way? Don't hold your breath. I never set out on this journey to become a television celebrity or even a famous author. This was a journey of personal self-discovery and an attempt to recover the ability to live my life like a "normal" person.

I do know one thing, when you focus on what you don't have, haven't accomplished, can't seem to do, you highlight what you lack in your experience. If I've learned nothing else, I've learned that much.

I guess it's a good thing the crew of Apollo 13 didn't accept taking up residence on the moon as the only possible outcome of the mission, or Tom Hanks wouldn't have been able to star in the movie!

That's how I feel about the spectators and critics. I'm on the mission while they are waiting for the movie version to come out.

So, this to the critics and nay-sayers: You can sit and wait. As long as it takes. This journey is mine. The challenges I face are mine to face. The mistakes I make are mine to make. I'm not doing this for you or the masses who might be inspired by my story. I'm doing it for me.

It won't work any other way.

The day I fail, is the same day I say, "I quit.", and that my friends, will never happen.

Ups and Downs

2010-04-21T11:55:00.003-05:00

The past year has been full of ups and downs and not just on the scale. There hasn't been an area of my life that hasn't been impacted for better and worse. The play on words was intentional. In January I got engaged. He proposed under the Campanile on the Iowa State Campus (his alma mater) at midnight. This was definitely an "up" moment.

It got better as his kids and mine expressed their delight at us being a "real family". I also discovered how truly dedicated my fiance, friends and family are to me and my reaching this goal, despite the challenges I've faced.

There have been some big "down" moments too, however, involving my health, my finances and one very heart-breaking loss of what I considered a die-hard friendship.

So, now what?

Simple. I get up. I put my walking shoes on. I keep going.

Stay tuned.

By the way, you can find my new blog featuring recipes and meal ideas here:
Dishing the Dirt

A Blatant Rip-off of a Holiday Classic

2009-12-24T20:13:00.000-06:00

(orginally published 2007)

'Twas the night after Christmas, when all through the kitchen,
No holiday treats leftover to slip in.
The apples were piled in the fruit bowl with care,
In hopes of a new smaller size that I could wear.
The veggies were nestled all snug in their bins,
While visions of grapefruit, danced without sin;
And Bo in his corner and my gear near the door,
Remind me each day to seek to be sore,
When out of my mouth comes complaint, noise and chatter,
I remind myself it's a quick slide to fatter.
Away to the gym I trudged like a troll,
Bitterly whining about the size of this toll.
The parking lot dusted with new-fallen snow
Gave rise to excuses of why not to go,
When, what to my anguished eyes should appear,
But a shadow in streetlight, of my sizable rear.
With my middle-aged butt, so lively and quick, (not what you want your butt to be--think about it)
I knew in a moment to start working out quick.
As painful as working the muscles could be
(I especially cursed resistance level 3)
"Now, biceps! now, triceps! now, crunches and lats!
Oh, torture! Oh struggle! While losing the fat!
From the start of each day! To the end of the week!
Sacrifice and effort are required to peak!
As much as it hurts to admit this is true,
There is less in the "thinking" and more in the "do".
So more of the veggies and pushing and sweat,
There's a place in my head I know I must get.
To know that these changes are lasting and real,
To know that I want them, to change how I feel.
As I drew in my gut, and was turning around,
A gasp left my throat with an unusual sound.
In the mirror, in sweats from my head to my toes,
The image I caught, though it comes and it goes,
A woman changing, improving and smaller,
Or as Julie would say, "You look a bit taller."
My eyes -- how they twinkled! My body less scary!
My face aglow, with less weight to carry!
A body image distorted, there is no way to know,
But a belief and a hope that someday that goes.
And then it was gone, in a flash back to square one,
Oh well, there's next time, and for a moment it's fun.
Reappears the broad face, the more rounded belly,
That shakes, when I laugh like a bowlful of--oh forget that, it hasn't moved like jelly in months!
I feel chubby and plump, but not a disabled old self,
And I cry when I see her, in spite of myself;
A quick blink of my eyes, and a tilt of my head,
Sighing bangs off my forehead, thinking more pain to dread;
I'm not there yet, but willing to fight,
Avoiding simple carbs, everywhere in sight,
And laying my hand on the side of my hip,
And giving a nod, and a smirk with my lip;
I pick up my stuff and silently smile,
For the steps to the goal can be measured in miles.
And I heard her whisper, the one with the insight,
"You'll get there, my dear." and I believe, she is right.

Ho Ho Blah

2009-12-16T09:25:00.000-06:00

Here I am again, dreading doing all the things I know are good for me. Today, I'm doing them anyway. I'm not really sure why it's such a challenge every day. Maybe I'm just not driven enough. Maybe I'm not smart enough to do what's in my best interest. Maybe I'm just an insufferable masochist. Maybe I have a terrible attitude. Maybe I'm afraid to actually succeed at what I've set out to do. Maybe I just don't enjoy it and never will.

I don't know. What I do know is that the reasons why I don't like it are no longer important. I might never figure out why it's such a struggle. I still have to do it. At times like these it's probably better to just turn my brain off and stop concerning myself with the "why" and just "do".

You can chuckle to yourself as you imagine me complaining to myself, whining, raging, cussing and crying about the unbearable trek on the treadmill and how tortured I feel to have to get up and do it again today.

My tantrum-throwing inner child wails, "Why do I have to do this? When does it end? When can I just loaf around and eat Christmas cookies all day in my bikini body?!"

Grow up, Pamela.

When I committed myself to making these changes and reaching my goal, I knew it would involve taking a lot of steps, most of them on the treadmill. I had better get moving. If I've learned anything at all in this process, it's that the steps won't take themselves and Christmas cookies make me look more like Santa Claus than a beach bunny.

Coping with the Holidays

2009-12-15T08:35:00.001-06:00

During the holidays, it seems the only thing I attempt to exercise is my stress management skills, resisting temptation and managing overindulgence. This year has been no different. My treadmill is covered in so much dust I'm pretty sure recovery of it will require an archaeological team. For personal reasons, I've spent very little time at the clinic and I'm sure that is not working in my favor either.

The good news? I'm not losing ground. The bad news? I'm getting way too comfortable on the ground I'm currently standing on. Time for something to change, move, bend, twist. By "something" I mean my body. With Christmas just ten days away, I've decided not to put off the traditional New Year's resolution. Why wait? It's always the same thing. Lose weight, get into shape.

Today I'm getting on the treadmill, drinking water and eating a huge salad for lunch. I must really love Square One--because I continually return to it.

I'm curious to know what you're doing to this year to manage the holiday food, stress, temptation. Let me know. We're in this together. Right up until I reach my goal, publish my book, become famous and roll around naked on my bed covered in money.

Then I don't know any of you ;)

Going forward

2009-12-02T06:54:00.001-06:00

I tried to publish this last night but due to some technical difficulties, I guess this morning will have to suffice. You might have wondered over the past month where I've been. It seems like a lot longer than a month to me to be honest.

I've been trying to recover from some breakdowns; personal relationship breakdowns, financial breakdowns, motivational breakdowns. They all blur together. I'm not sure which one of those dominoes fell first.

I'm not out of the woods yet in some areas, but things are better now.

When things like this happen to me, exercise and eating right are the first things to go. I will know I have truly made it when that is not the case. When taking care of me isn't the first thing I abandon when things get rocky. I'm not there yet.

So, now what?

I get up again and pick up where life left me flat on my ass. Today I sweat.

I never said this was going to be easy for any of you to watch.

More to come.

Freezer Monsters

2009-10-31T10:01:00.001-05:00

Originally published November 2006
Sometimes I like to revisit these articles to remind myself of where my head needs to be.

Learning to eat right and control how and when I do it has been difficult, to say the least. Many times over the past few years I have wished I could quit eating altogether. It would be easier than trying to manage something that feels, on a good day, like a test and on a bad day, like an addiction.

My demons don't have horns nor do they breathe fire. They are often found in the freezer section of the grocery store, bearing names like "Coffee Heath Bar Crunch" and "Pistachio, Pistachio". That's right. My demons are named Ben and Jerry.

There are times when I'm shopping for food that I feel weak. Around every corner is temptation and for some reason my cart full of produce, lean dairy and whole grains doesn't seem to quite captivate me in the same way that all things smooth, sweet, rich, creamy, salty, chewy and crisp do. Most of the time I'm able to get out of the place only breaking into a moderate sweat as I pay for my nutritious items and bolt for the parking lot. Usually, there isn't much reason to venture into the chip aisle or the frozen food section, so I can often avoid the whole scene.

Then there are days when I am utterly helpless. I could no sooner avoid going into the ice cream trenches than I could avoid my next breath. I find myself staring down the neatly stacked pints of premium frozen treats and going over all the points of justification in my head about how this isn't the worst thing I could do, it's just one indulgence, I can recover from this little fall.

When all the self-defeating voices have chimed in with their convenient and compelling arguments, I arrive at the place I know I need to be. The voice in my head that asks, "Will this choice get you where you want to be or will it keep you where you are?" I have literally broken down in tears, staring down ice cream sandwiches. What a tight grip they still have on my emotional comfort. Walking away from them when I'm in need of that crutch feels so bad, yet it's the only thing I can do to move forward.

I've come too far now to let ice cream win. I know my days of standing in the freezer section, carefully working my way out of that trap, are not over. It's been a love-hate relationship from the start but it's time I put this particular comfort food in its place.

This is what I continue to work toward. My Zen ice cream place. On a good day, I see it. On a bad day, any self-respecting Dreamsicle could kick my ass.

Yard Sail

2009-10-26T06:50:00.001-05:00

Last Thursday I was coming out of my house with my arms full, lugging a suitcase behind me. It was early so it was still dark. It was raining. Two steps out my front door, my shoe caught a divet on the concrete of the top step of my front porch. I did nothing short of a backflip. Ok, maybe it was a flop with a half twist. I'm not exactly sure, but I'm glad there is no chance of it ending up on You Tube.

I felt my ankle bend. I mean really twist, as I was going down. (If you imagine a slow motion, horrified fall, you probably get the idea.) I ended up flat on my back on my wet leaf-laden lawn staring up at two rather stunned teens, mouths agape.

The fall hurt. My knee hurt, my ankle hurt, my hip hurt. As I was laying there trying to assess the damage and destruction to my middle-aged body, shooing my children as they asked if I was alright, I thought, "Oh gawd, this is bad. This is really bad. I really wiped out. This may involve torn ligaments, maybe broken bones. Concussion?"

Then something really unexpected happened. I got up. I stood up. I brushed wet leaves off of my pants and pulled a twig out of my hair. I felt sore, but okay. I put weight on my ankle and walked around on it. It was fine. Minimal pain.

Four years ago, that fall would have put me in the hospital, I'm certain of it. Sometimes when I'm frustrated that I still haven't figured out everything I need to figure out to get to my goal and put the weight behind me, I'm reminded that I've come a long way. There is no shortage of evidence that the distance I've traveled has already dramatically changed my life for the better.

Exercise has made my body stronger and more resilient. Losing well over one hundred pounds has reduced so many risks of injury and health problems. Life is better. It made me feel grateful to realize this.

I was not terribly grateful while searching with the kids for my car keys, which flew out of my hand and into an unraked lawn full of wet leaves, however.

Boo! I'm still here.

2009-10-21T13:25:00.000-05:00

Another week gone. Still not off the caffeine, although I've cut back significantly. I'm not in the groove. Just not feeling it. The upcoming holidays seem intimidating to me for the first time in years.

I'm looking forward to the holidays themselves because we have great plans with the kids this year. Could be the absolute best Christmas ever. It could also prove to be stressful and full of holiday temptation.

Lately one of my biggest joys has also become one of my biggest challenges. We spend lots of weekends on my boyfriend's farm with his family and this almost invariably involves big family sit down meals. Don't get me wrong. I mentally thrive in that environment. When my mother asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I specifically remember telling her, "I want to be a mom." She looked at me and said, "I know but what else do you want to be?" I thought, "Why do I have to be anything else?"

I am completely in my element when I'm in the kitchen listening to the kids in the other room chattering away. One of my favorite things to hear when they all come in from playing outside is, "What's for supper?" or "When do we eat?". There isn't anything about big famiy meals together that I don't love except the problem of managing myself around all the food. I find myself distracted and "tasting" and nibbling and sometimes it really kicks my butt.

Holidays are especially challenging because of all the extra special things being prepared, baked goods and sweets. They also represent the most likely time of the year for a downward spiral of setbacks to begin. I really want to avoid that this year.

People have suggested that I just stop doing it. Nope. I figure the holidays and family gatherings are a part of life. They are a part of my life. I have to find a way to manage it, make better choices and cope with the temptation because to sacrifice those times would be too great of a loss to me.

I'm writing about this topic now because Halloween is just a bit more than a week off. Candy season begins. I know many of you reading this will understand me when I say, I'm not buying Halloween candy this year until minutes before I have to pass it out. Just too great a risk to buy it when all the retailers promote it at dirt cheap sale prices (knowing you will eat all of it before Halloween and have to buy more).

Overall, last week was mediocre. My head is not in the game. I'm hoping this week is better. I'll keep you posted.

What a headache

2009-10-14T06:46:00.000-05:00

I have to be careful of what I proclaim here. A couple of weeks ago I declared I would never keep a food journal. I am now attempting to keep a food journal. Two days ago I claimed that there was nothing that could make me give up caffeine. Yesterday I underwent more exercise testing at the clinic, fully caffeinated, and Chris discovered that my metabolism is resistant to burning fat (it prefers to burn carbs) and the caffeine might be a major player in that equation. He's still crunching the numbers but it might be a clue as to my slow progress. He would like me to get off caffeine so we can do another test next week. Good grief. What next?

So. Today. I will reduce my caffeine intake by half and work toward being caffeine-free by next week. We will do another test and attempt to figure out what can be done about my metabolism. Yipee. Can you feel the excitement? Sorry, I can't get too excited without caffeine. I'm not sure my heart actually beats without caffeine. I do know when I try to go off caffeine, I get a headache that begs relief by execution. This should be interesting.

I will be working out this morning and then going out of town for a long weekend but I will update while I'm gone. The weekend will provide other challenges as well and I will keep you posted.

Blood, sweat and tears, heavy on the tears

2009-10-13T08:11:00.003-05:00

Here we are again. Another day in the life of a fat woman on a diet.

Chris and I have been locking horns this week. He's really dissatisfied with my progress. He's busting his hump trying to figure out why things are moving so slowly and I'm willing to admit I'm not exactly taking it easy on him. The problem: He thinks I should have made much more progress by now and I would like to have, but I am pleased with progress I am making. It's progress. It's slow, but we have managed to turn around a trend that lasted 18 months and cost me a 40+ pound setback. The conflict stresses and frustrates me. Him too.

He doesn't see how I will make my goal by my birthday at this rate and it's important to him. I don't think it's critically important to him that I actually reach the goal by February 11th, but he would like to see me make a really big move in that direction. He wants me to be well on my way. He is very dedicated to me and my progress and when Chris commits to something, he gives himself to it wholly. I really love the guy for this (when I'm not despising him for other things, like kicking my butt around the clinic).

Last night we had a text message "fight". He's going to have me undergo more exercise testing today to try and better determine what my metabolism is doing so the trainers can figure out a more precise caloric number for me to consume versus how much I burn. I am already sick to death of the word "calorie". I absolutely despise the micromanagement of every bite of food I'm eating. It makes me feel like a prisoner in my own head. (Look, if you were ever in my head you would understand it's not a place you want to be held hostage.)

This is painful on a number of levels. No amount of quoting inspirational posters on the walls of the clinic is going to make me feel better today. Today I feel like I'm failing. Oddly enough, so does Chris but for different reasons.

If you have ever watched The Biggest Loser, you have probably seen the relationships that develop between the contestants and the trainers. Often issues that don't have anything to do with diet and exercise surface and together they figure out how to remove those mental and physical blocks. It's difficult to watch sometimes because it's just not pretty. That's what you're witnessing here on this blog (without the television producers and editors running around behind the scenes trying to induce ample tugging of heart strings).

I'm pretty sure when I write my book, it's not going to be about the weight loss or exercise. It's going to be about the relationship between Chris Coffey and myself. No one has ever been this committed to me in my life. It's pretty clear to me we are in this together and success is the only acceptable outcome.

I just wish the process didn't have to suck so much.

Sometimes Chris makes me feel like kicking puppies

2009-10-12T10:16:00.003-05:00

Wow. Almost two weeks since I've written here. I really didn't think it had been that long. Sorry. I won't let it happen again. Suffice it to say, it's been a crazy couple of weeks I guess. On to the updates.

Remember when I said I would never keep a food journal? Chris read that and guess what? Yeah. I am now attempting to keep a food journal. I haven't been very consistent with it (big shock) so I'm thinking that I might have to start keeping it here on the blog. Wait. I've not been very consistent with that either. Hmm. I'm starting to see a pattern developing.

Remember when I said I didn't want to know the numbers and that scales have defeated me my whole life? Well, I'm paying attention to the scale again and I know the numbers (they make me a little suicidal but I'm dealing with it**). The trainers and I talk about the numbers often. I think Chris would like to see the numbers go down a little faster and he drives me crazy by wanting to know what I weigh at different times of the day.

Personally, I'm glad progress is being made even if it's slow in coming. It's a new trend compared to the past year and a half and I'll take it. It's something to build on and things are moving in the right direction so it's a change I can live with.

Over the past couple of weeks I've been working out with the trainers, albeit, inconsistently. (Why does that word keep popping up?) My strength is improving. I am smaller. I have more muscle. I have less body fat. I feel better. I think I just wrote my new mantra.

I'd like to take a moment to report about "the mocha incident". Last week I went to one of those trendy five-dollar-per-pop coffee places and ordered a mocha. Now, I would like to say in my defense, I ordered a small mocha with two extra shots of espresso, skim milk and no whipped cream and I didn't even drink the last half inch of syrup out of the bottom of the cup!

When I came into the clinic with said five dollar trendy beverage, Chris behaved as though I had just punched a baby. I'm not kidding. We argued about the mocha for roughly two hours and entirely through my workout. He looked it up online only to discover I had consumed roughly 150 calories. I didn't really think it was a huge indiscretion. He has other ideas.

Did I mention I was premenstrual at the time of the mocha purchase? I would just like to state that there are times, as a woman, with hormones, that I crave specific things. Chocolate smothered in caffeine is one of them. Let me state this very clearly: If anyone attempts to get between me and my chocolaffeine prior to my body doing it's middle-aged, peri-menopausal psycho cycle, you do so at your own risk.

I will minimize the damage to my weight loss efforts by removing the coveted creamy goodness of 200 calories of whipped cream. I will even forego the fat-laden milk but if you push me to denying myself this indulgence altogether, I will start kicking puppies*** and burning bridges (Chris!). If you imagine me sitting at my desk writing this, audibly growling at my monitor, you've got the picture.

If it takes me longer to get where I want to be with the five dollar coffee, so be it. The whole process is painful enough. I will give you my mocha when you pry it from my cold, dead chubby fingers!

There is more coming this week. I have news from the farm to report. The holidays are coming which means temptation follows. Lots of news about the clinic and our Open House events to report as well, so stay tuned this week. I won't let you down. Unless you take away my occasional mocha. Then I will drop you like a sack of bricks.

Thanks for reading, following, spreading the word and being here.

** I am not suicidal. I am not a threat to myself or others. Ok, I might be a threat to Chris and Steve but I consider that self-defense. Do not e-mail me or comment that you think I need psychiatric help because I'm making suicide threats on my blog. It's a figure of speech, people.

*** I don't kick puppies. Do not contact the Humane Society. Just another figure of speech. Calm down.

If you are what you eat...

2009-09-25T13:06:00.000-05:00

...I must be a disatisfying, unappetizing mess of garden-fresh bitterness sandwiched between two slices of whole-grain cardboard. Wow. Sounds hot. That should get me some dates. Blah. I don't like dates, either.

It's been a hectic week, alternating between the clinic and home with two sick teens. I thought they were crabby with each other when they are healthy but apparently they don't get really crabby with each other until they are sick. At the same time. Joy.

I just finished working out with Steve and over the past couple of days the trainers have been talking more and more to me about what I've been eating. I think the time has come to do something I really have never been keen on doing; counting calories. I hate those words. That concept. That task. It's a round-the-clock exercise in pain management (mostly because if I'm eating to lose body fat, and doing it really well, my body protests by reminding me that I'm hungry all the time). Where do those lunatics on infomercials get off, telling me that this can be done and "never feel hungry"?!

So, it begins. Much more careful monitoring of what I'm eating and when I'm eating it. I will not, however, be subjected to the use of the torture device known as a "food journal". I just won't. I hate those things. I was eleven the first time my mother put me in Weight Watchers and I was forced to use one. I just resent it now.

I'm already bitter about having to babysit my Genetic Predisposition, my Emotional Cravings and my Lack of Discipline. They are the most unruly, misbehaved brats you'd ever want to meet. I'm not writing down every morsel of food I put in my mouth, too.

I will, however, be discussing food here more often. Things that are working for me, things that aren't. I'll pass along a few recipes of meals and dishes I don't mind eating. Feel free to contribute your favorites in the comments section, especially if it tastes marginally better than potting soil.

I will also be eating more whole foods again. It worked well for me before so I'll be discussing that as well. I sincerely hope you enjoy your weekend and thanks for following and clicking on the ads. (Click on the ads, darn it!)

My Peace

2009-09-23T21:14:00.001-05:00

Sorry I haven't updated the blog this week. I was away for the weekend on a much needed vacation with the farmer and came home to really sick kids. This was originally published November, 2006 but I think a lot of it that applies to this week. Apparently I needed a refresher course on how to make peace with comfort food. New stuff tomorrow!

It's ok to use food to comfort yourself sometimes. I did it last night. I had a very eventful and emotionally stressful day yesterday and by the end of it, I needed relief. From food.

I usually avoid eating very much late in the evenings but last night I had a huge glass of milk right before I went to bed. Not skim, either. We're big milk drinkers where I come from and I have to say, it's a very reassuring food for me. I went to bed on a full stomach which is rare these days.

I can't use food like I used to. I know that. I now reserve using food as a comfort for those times when I am having a moment of clarity and decide to do it. Like last night; I felt wiped out and strained. I told myself, "It's okay, you're inner skinned-knee toddler needs a glass of milk and a hug. Since a hug is out of the question, have a bigger glass of milk. You have my permission."

I went to bed feeling full after a long and tiring day because--I needed to. I was cradled by the feeling of fullness. I fell asleep remembering my mother lightly sweeping the bangs off of my forehead when I was a child, as my eyelids became heavy, snuggled in my bed. Now that, was comfort.

I don't indulge my emotional needs like this, every time I want to. Life is too stressful and hectic on a normal day to use food in this way any longer. I now have other outlets for relieving stress like exercise, laughter, interaction with other humans, distraction and if necessary, screaming into my pillow or crying.

Last month I was under so much pressure from various sources, I curled up in the fetal position on my bed (which I can do now!) every night for a week, and cried like a baby. I felt like I was going crazy. I mean, who does that? Then I remembered that I used to eat that stress away. That was crazy.

I nearly physically disabled myself doing that. I would have eventually killed myself doing that.

Once in awhile, I still use food as an emotional crutch. I won't lie. It will always be my favorite method of coping. I slept soundly last night (except for the two minutes it took me to go to the bathroom to pee because I drank a huge glass of milk right before bed).

I woke up this morning feeling refreshed and guiltless. I hit the treadmill hard. I weighed myself and found that I'd lost a pound. I worked to stay on track today and renewed my committment to myself that I am going to make it. There is no turning back now. I've made my peace with comfort food. It serves a purpose. It has a place in my life. It just doesn't control my life anymore.

How I came to be at I.EM.Phit

2009-09-19T07:27:00.012-05:00

A lot of people have asked me to explain more of the history behind my project and my relationship with the clinic and the trainers. It's a long story but I will try to give you a condensed version.

Four years ago I weighed 400 pounds. I had explored weight loss surgery twice and had actually scheduled the surgery both times. I had young children and I was very concerned about the risks and complications involved. I was also told I'd have to learn to eat right and maintain a regular exercise program to keep the weight off, even with the surgery. My thought was, "Well, doh. If I could figure out how to do all of that, why the heck would I have the surgery?"

As a last ditch effort, I gave up drinking pop and started walking on the treadmill for about 5-10 minutes per day, every day. A month later I had lost 23 pounds. Over that first year I gradually changed my eating habits and walked more and more. I lost about 100 pounds that first year.

To mark the one year anniversary of my little project, a few of my co-workers and I decided to make it a little more interesting by creating a project to help me get the next 100 pounds off. We erected a website and got 100 people to sign up for one pound of me and offer a motivation to get me to that specific pound. You can still find the site here: http://www.vegetablestastelikedirt.com/. If you click on "100" at the bottom of the page you can see the people and motivations involved. Suffice it to say, my friends, family and co-workers really stepped up. I still love every one of them for what they did for me. I lost about 160 pounds with their help.

The project garnered some media attention. There was a KARE11 Extra, appearances on The Rachael Ray Show, local news articles and an article in Woman's World magazine. It was the KARE11 piece that brought Chris Coffey and Steve Daugherty into my life.

After seeing the piece, Chris contacted me through the site and pestered me for 5 months until I met with him and visited The Exercise Medicine Center at Children's Hospital in St. Paul, Minnesota. I knew the minute I met him that he would be a significant and influential person in my life going forward.

About a year after I met Chris and Steve, the center at Children's closed after it had been operating for six years. It was a huge disappointment to the many patients of the clinic who had come to rely on the treatment they received.

I continued to stay in regular touch after the center and Children's closed.

On a personal note, over the past two years I have had some serious health issues and financial issues and the resulting stress caused me to stall out for a year and ultimately set me back about 40 pounds. There, I said it. I don't want to look at it anymore. It's been a rough two years.

In August, with the help of Pat and Renee Daulton and Julie Zabel of The Daulton Foundation, Doctors Cindy and Michael Garr and numerous others, whom I am depending Chris and Steve to mention in a comment post because I can't even list them all, The Institute for Exercise Medicine and Prevention (re)opened. You can visit the website here (and please do) www.iemphit.org.

When Chris informed me of the clinic's opening in St. Paul this summer, I begged him to find a way for me to be a part of it in an administrative capacity. He arranged for an interview. I met with Dani Lang, the clinic's Office Manager, and that's how I ended up working with and working out with the trainers on a daily basis.

I can not emphasise enough what a great place I.EM.Phit is and the work being done there. Please visit the site and sponsor a child or contact the clinic for a tour or appointment.

Thanks for taking the time to read this and check out the clinic. This is a subject very near and dear to my heart.

Today there were no good cops

2009-09-18T19:27:00.003-05:00

This one is going to be brief.

I ate well. I trained with Steve most of my workout and then with both Chris and Steve at the end. There was a miscommunication which resulted in me ending up flat on my face. I left the workout, really angry.

I came back after lunch.

Chris, Steve and I talked about it.

I am no longer angry.

I believe we have a better understanding of how communication needs to go in the future if I feel I'm going to actually hurt myself (or others).

No one said this was going to be easy.

No one was wrong.

Today we played The Biggest Loser

2009-09-17T18:57:00.002-05:00

Today was a "good" day. By good, I mean I drank a lot of water and ate a lot of food that tasted like dirt and wicker. Yummy stuff. I don't care what people say. All the sugar-free jam in the world doesn't make the arm of a wicker chair taste delicious. I'm sorry. I have tastebuds. They work. I'll eat it, but it is not "delicious".

I worked out with Chris and I did what? You guessed it. Squats. A lot of squats. That was my fault, actually. I asked him if we could do squats today because my back has been bothering me. He thinks squats help because they strengthen my back. I think squats help me forget the pain in my back because they make my ass hurt so much. Either way, they seem to help.

Chris texted me right before The Biggest Loser started on Tuesday, "The Biggest Loser starts NOW." So I watched it. Unfortunately Chris watched it too and now he's all jacked up on a Jillian Michaels buzz. He didn't approve of Jillian dropping the "F" bomb throughout the whole show but he loved how tough she seems this season. He has never cussed at me during a session, although he likes it when he makes me curse (he never swears, he primarily works with children and he is amazing with them). He was pretty tough on me today. Coincidence? No. I think not.

Did he see the trainers on The Biggest Loser making the contestants do bear crawls on the treadmill? Yes, yes he did. Did I do bear crawls on the treadmill today? Why, yes. Yes I did. Hmm.

Did he see the trainers on The Biggest Loser make the contestants throw up? Yes. Did he make me throw up? No. But he tried.

Despite the pain and the very unfeminine sounds I made today, (grunting, growling and one very incensed scream) I feel good about it. I am glad to work at the clinic and have the personal torturers. My body is changing and I can feel it getting stronger (and less jiggly). Clothes fit differently. I can feel my wrist bones again. I'm sleeping better and my back hurts less. I still don't know if I've lost pounds yet but I know I'm gaining something else. Self-respect.

I think I might get to work out with Steve tomorrow. I hope he didn't see The Biggest Loser this week.

The Big Fat Lie

2009-09-16T08:13:00.003-05:00

Sometimes it helps me push myself forward to go back and read things I've written in the past. Originally published, October 2006.

Over the past year, I’ve felt deprived, a lot. It’s a personal choice I’ve made. It’s necessary. People selling weight loss and fitness solutions don’t really like to talk about this much. You hear it on info-mercials all the time “I lost 30 pounds and I ate whatever I wanted!” or “I never felt hungry!” The same is true of exercise gimmicks; “It was easy! I completely reshaped my body in only minutes per day!” Whatever. What a pile of crap.

The truth is, the whole process of becoming fit and healthy is painful and uncomfortable. I’m not saying every minute of it is excruciating, but it is truly a painful process. Eating so my metabolism is burning more effectively, makes me feel hungry more often. That’s how I know my body is working properly. I eat an apple and 30 minutes later I feel hungry. I tell myself, “You’re not really hungry. You just ate an apple 30 minutes ago. That’s just your body…working.” It still hurts. It’s an uncomfortable feeling.

Often, in social situations, at work, out to lunch, wherever there is tempting food being offered, I have to decline. I say “No, thank you.” much more often now. I have to make alternate choices that often involve broccoli. Sometimes I come prepared with an apple in hand to ward off what I know will be many offers of things I’d more enjoy eating. I do a lot of self-talk at these times and remind myself that this just how it is now. I eat apples. They eat cake. It’s an uncomfortable realization.

That’s one aspect of the pain in the process. There is also not using food as a coping mechanism. Emotional pain, I have discovered at the tender age of 38, is something a person can go through without food. I’ll never be perfect (or completely healthy--get real). There will always be those times when only ice cream will make it all better but I’ve learned that during most difficult times, things just suck, it hurts for awhile, and then it gets better. Life does that on its own, without the ice cream. Wow.

Still, uncomfortable.

There is also the physical pain of working out. When I hear someone on television boasting about how his or her home gym or workout DVD will help me become physically fit without pain, sweat or tears, I feel insulted by this non sequitur. Why would anyone believe a claim like that? Unless you are blissfully free of nerve endings, tearing down and rebuilding muscle hurts. Think about it. Exercising joints that are out of shape, weak and inflexible, hurts. Doing it over and over again day after day in one form or another is not always fun or pleasant. Just when it starts to feel ok, you realize you’re not doing enough anymore and you have to increase your effort. Some of us don’t get all buzzed and happy on post-workout brain chemistry, yet it absolutely must be done. It’s an uncomfortable demand.

That’s the heartbreaker for me. If I want to be fit and healthy, I have to eat and workout as a fit and healthy person does. It’s so unfair.

When I get my own universe, I am going to make ice cream and corn dogs “health food”. The fastest way to ripped abs in my world will be lying on the grass, watching the clouds pass overhead and gravity will actually lift breasts and make them perky. Until then, I guess I'll have to learn to cope with the rules and truths of fitness and health in this universe, where discomfort is a constant and gravity definitely works.

Why does it feel like I'm starting all over?

2009-09-15T18:45:00.009-05:00

I know what Chris will answer to the title of today's entry. He'll tell me that it feels like I'm starting all over again, because I am. Because I've done a lot of yo-yo-ing over the past year and my body is confused. I keep sending my hormones mixed messages to hold on to fat reserves-let go-hold on-let go and in an effort to play it safe, my body is now just fed up with me and has decided to hold on until it's really sure I'm ready to commit to a stable, healthy program and it can safely let go.

Ok, I get the physiological part of it. It does nothing for me mentally.

Today I was challenged by an 11 year old patient at the clinic to run a 5K with her. I'm thinking about it. It's really not fair for Chris to get the kids at the clinic to gang up on me but that won't stop him. Trainers have no shame, I've discovered.

I also tried hula hooping today. Good gawd. I'm very glad there was no video evidence of that little endeavor. The 11 year old patient did great. She took to it like a fish to water. I looked like a fish out of water, writhing around, gasping and hoping for a big wave to come along and carry me back to sea. I think I'll need more practice. Or something.

Chris has been taking it easy on me the past couple of days because I've been a bit low. I think that will end tomorrow.

Chris and Steve have made it clear: I need to drink more water. I need to plan my meals and snacks in advance and be more consistent about everything I'm doing.

It's a good thing my attitude is in the right place. Where are the cheetos?

Time to get serious? Good grief.

2009-09-14T11:53:00.020-05:00

The sweet 16 party is behind me. It was a huge success. My daughter and her friends had a blast, no one was injured, the on-again/off-again boyfriend was a saint throughout and the police were only called once due to noise. As the last guest departed shortly after midnight, my stress levels plummeted.

No more parties for awhile.

It's a good thing too, because Chris told me after reviewing my progress over the past few weeks that I'm going to have to "get more serious" about my eating and exercising if I want to make adequate progress.

More serious. Seriously?

It felt serious over the weekend when I was surrounded by a sea of chips and dips and cupcakes and treats and I turned it down over and over again all day and night (except for the half cupcake I ate in front of Chris which prompted shocked and dismayed look from him that made his wife laugh).

Chris wants me to have a plan every day. He thinks I'm a great at planning things for other people but that I don't take time to plan for myself. He's right. I don't put myself first. I wasn't brought up to do that. It feels very un-momly to put myself first. When I'm on the treadmill at my house, I'm often thinking that I should be doing things for other people and the time spent there feels like an irritation.

When I reread my blog entries to date, it feels like I've been pretty serious. It felt like I was being serious when I worked out with Steve on Friday and felt as though my arms were going to fall off at the exact same moment I was going to throw up all of my internal organs . I swore at him more than I ever have before and I even felt a little guilty about it because he's just so nice.

Chris and Steve are consulting today about what needs to happen over the next five months. I'm not sure I like the sound of that. I'll write more later after my workout.

Puking isn't cute even when babies do it

2009-09-10T07:01:00.013-05:00

Still here. You're not rid of me yet. I worked out with Chris on Wednesday and we did a lot of arms. I wonder why all the arm exercises he has me do have to be done in the squatting position? I think it might be because he's a sadist.

He also made me throw up. Not much, just a little. In my mouth. What am I saying? The man made me throw up from working out!

I didn't tell him during the workout because I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Chris says, "Throwing up is not good or bad, Pamela, it's just something that happens." Yes, Chris. To people who are sick! I always knew there was going to be sweat and tears involved in this process but vomit?

I didn't go into the clinic yesterday. I had some family obligations I had to take care of. I was scheduled to work out with Chris. He didn't reply to my email about breaking the appointment so I think he was annoyed. Annoying Chris is a lot like wearing a red sweater to a bull fight (and wandering into the arena, looking for a Dairy Queen-and no, Chris, wearing a red sweater to a bull fight is not a new exercise to try on me so just lower that raised eyebrow).

To my credit I did get on the treadmill for a half hour. I told him I'd go an hour. I was busy! I'm sure I'll pay for it next week. I just hope it's not through the nose. In barf.

I'm working out with Steve today. Chris may have left him specific instructions to cause me great bodily stress today. Don't listen to him Steve! You're the good cop! I'm not worried. Much.

I have been busy preparing for Shae's sweet 16 party. Today I will be surrounded by more cupcakes and chocolate chip banana bread after my workout. I don't feel worried about the food part. I'm more worried about stressing myself out over all the details.

I now have 30 official followers. I'd like to thank Stefanie Rose for jumping on board. Twenty nine just hung there for awhile. It was bugging me.

Well, I have a crazy-hectic weekend ahead filled with food, teenagers and excitement (or temptation, giant children and stress, depending on how you look at it).

Paige Wagner will be dropping off some of her very cool hula hoops at the clinic on Saturday for clinical use next week, so if you're interested in checking out these awesome adult hoops please visit her site at http://www.djhoopster.com/. I told Chris and Steve I would do anything they asked me to do except hula hooping but after seeing Paige's abs, I might just have to give it a try. (Not in front of anyone, of course).

If you don't hear from me until Sunday, it's because I was trampled by 60 high-schoolers dashing for the cupcake tray. I can't promise I won't be trying to lick frosting off of the bottom of their shoes. At least I woudn't have to face Chris next week.

More soon.

Part 2

2009-09-08T17:10:00.003-05:00

Most days I really don't like to work out but today really sucked. Every minute seemed agonizing. I don't know why. Some days are so much worse than others. This blog is going to get pretty tiresome if every day is just a long-winded rant about how much I hate it. Some days working out irritates me. As in, it makes me angry. I don't get it. I just got off the treadmill after an hour and I don't have that "runner's high".

I feel ticked off. Crabby. Maybe it's just PTS. Post treadmill syndrome.

I want to be one of those peppy exercise-loving freaks. I fantasize about the day when I get it. I like it. I crave it. I just don't think it's ever going to happen for me.

I find it frustrating to work so hard at something that I derive little joy from.

I'm eating pasta for dinner again tonight in preparation for tomorrow. Chris has warned me of a pretty tough workout coming. Yippee. Can't wait.

Right now I feel like sedating myself with 3 dozen chocolate chip cookies and a gallon of whole milk.

Don't worry. I won't do it.

I think I'm officially between a rock and a hard place. I can't go back to where I was. I will never weigh 400 pounds or even close to that again. I have proven that much to myself already. The only way I get to move forward is to do things I really dislike doing and by making choices that are difficult for me.

That's it. I quit. I'm sitting down with my arms around my knees (Ok, I would do that if I could actually get my arms around my knees) and putting my head down and bawling my head off. Quitting. Like...a quitter. Like a big crybaby...who quits!

For five minutes.

Then I will get myself up, make pasta for dinner, drink water and get back in the game.

But not until I completely give up for five blissful minutes!

I'm still here part 1

2009-09-08T09:14:00.003-05:00

This is my first entry for today. I'm planning on posting another one later but I wanted to let everyone know how my weekend unfolded and what the week ahead looks like for your favorite diet blogger. I hope I'm your favorite. I'm not standing here naked in front of you for nothing, ya know.

I received some really great emails last week and over the weekend. Very supportive to say the least. I appreciate all the feedback, I truly do. Some days it makes the difference between getting off the treadmill after ten minutes because it's just no fun and sticking with it because I know people are rooting for me.

I also received some feedback which basically accused me of being an attention-seeking ass. That one was my favorite. There is nothing attention-seeking about my ass. I find it utterly ridiculous that anyone could think that posting a picture of myself, weighing 400 pounds, is something I actually want to receive attention for. I'm glad this blog is helpful or interesting to those of you who read it but I write here for myself. I posted those pictures for myself. I face the truth of this process...for myself. Owning this journey and all the ups and downs has been brutal for me.

Truthfully, this is the hardest thing I've ever tried to do. Last week when I was working out with Chris, I looked at him and said, "I don't know if I can do this. Really. I just don't know if I will ever make it to the goal." He ignored me and made me do more pull ups. Thank goodness for him. The trainers believe in me even when I falter and can't find it in me to believe in myself.

As for my weekend. I had a bug or a touch of food poisoning or something. It was a pretty unproductive three days although I did manage to go for a good walk on Saturday and got in 30 minutes of cardio yesterday. I'm sure I didn't drink enough water. The food thing was inconsistent on the days when I felt like eating but at least I didn't eat anything bad for me.

Ok, there was that cookie...

This week I'm getting ready for the big sweet 16 bash and working on some projects at the clinic. It feels like there won't be enough time to get it all done. Stress. I'll be surrounded by food all week. Temptation. I'm sure I'll look for every excuse not to do what I need to do so stay tuned.

More later after I work out.