I always thought that there was a "magic weight" that would instantly relieve me of all my body insecurities. When I was 13, that number was 128 pounds. I'm not exactly sure why I chose that specific number. I think it's because my mom (who is just five feet tall) weighed about that much and I thought she was the perfect weight--neither thin nor chubby. I figured that if I could achieve 128 pounds, I would finally stop worrying about my weight and move on with my life. While I never did reach 128, I did hit 136 for a few weeks, and I don't recall feeling particularly thin or attractive. I just remember agonizing about getting into the 120s. Of course, I'm about 4-5 inches taller than my mom with a totally different figure (I have broad shoulders and a larger bust) but I still wanted to be the same weight as her. If that makes any sense...
Lately, I've been teetering in the 171-172 range, pretty damn close to hitting the 160s, a decade I haven't seen since high school. And yet, I still feel (at times) overcome with body issues, especially when it comes to being naked with someone new. The other day, I was trying on jeans at this boutique shop in Richmond called Buckle, which by the way has a great selection of jeans, and I kept freaking out about how the tight jeans were making my stomach rolls stick out. The cute 23 year-old salesperson kept telling me about Spanx and how a pair would change my life.
But I don't want to have to rely on spandex to feel comfortable in my own skin. I don't want to have to camouflage my worrisome body parts. Haha, now I know that the only way to really work on those "lumpy issues" is to really commit to an exercise regime. And the only way to really commit to an exercise regime is to quit smoking and eat healthier meals. Now, don't get me wrong, I've been eating pretty well for the last few weeks, in terms of the fact that I haven't binged in over two weeks and I've been limiting my portions. But, by no means, have I been eating healthy, well balanced meals. Case in point, on Friday, I had oatmeal for breakfast, popcorn for lunch (6 points total) and then a cheeseburger, french fries, and a few beers for dinner. All in all, I didn't really consume too many calories that day, but I felt pretty low energy until I had dinner. And then once I had finished the huge meal, I felt stuffed and sleepy. Not exactly an ideal diet for working out. And I'm not sure what to say about my smoking habits...I've been really bad with that this past week, due to the massive amount of stress I've been under.
So, to sum up this scattered post, I am pleased that my weight is slowly but surely going down and I'm excited to see the 160s (for the first time in nearly ten years!) but at the same time, I really need to work on making activity and health a priority in my life. Just simply being a lighter weight will not automatically make me feel like a healthier, more confident person. A few months ago (okay, maybe six) I wrote about feeling confident enough to climb a mountain or go on a jog. These days, I'm hesitant to go on a long bike ride, because I'm worried I'll get out of breath. That's what I need to work on. So, step one, throw out the cigarettes (done!) and step two, go food shopping and plan some healthy meals (that needs to wait until this evening).
Do you (or did you) have a magic weight? And do you ever struggle with focusing more on the number on the scale than your healthy goals?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Rule Breaker
It may not come as a shock to you to learn that I'm not great at following rules. All you have to do is look at my flip flopping posts on the Weight Watchers plan to glean that I am pretty resistant to following a plan--even a respectable one like WWs--unless I 100% agree that the plan fits into my way of thinking.
I spent this past morning in traffic court among hundreds of other like-minded individuals--a.k.a the miscreants of society. During my four hour session in traffic court, I learned a few interesting facts about the rules of conduct in traffic court and life in general:
1. Apparently, it's not okay to read a novel in traffic court. I honestly thought that the court system would tolerate reading because (a) it's quiet and (b) shouldn't we be encouraging literacy among the nation's delinquents? So, I brought my book--a guilty pleasure by Rosamunde Pilcher (FYI--if you haven't read Shell Seekers you are missing out)--and commenced to read it while leaning against the wall. Just as I was getting comfortable, an angry looking policeman gestured wildly in my direction, pushing his hand down to mimic closing the book. He kept gesturing and making scary faces at me until I was forced to close my book. Strike one.
2. According to a stimulating case I overheard about a guy who got busted with cocaine and a concealed gun, Thursdays between 5 pm-7pm are a "drug running" time period. Here's why--people like to sell/ buy drugs for the weekend and rush hour is the best time to do those transactions without getting caught by the cops. Hmm...
3. I learned that carrying a bottle of corked wine does not mean you're carrying an open container of alcohol. This gem of information took 45 minutes to figure out. If you're curious about the reasoning...the judge said a corked bottle of wine did not constitute an open container of alcohol because restaurants routinely send people home with corked bottles of their unfinished wine. Thus, if upper class, law abiding folk do it legally, the same should apply for everyone--even scruffy, hipster college kids (i.e. the guy who got a ticket for walking home with a corked bottle of wine).
4. Apparently, talking (even whispering) is a huge no-no in the courtroom, even when the judge is making everyone wait an hour to discuss one case. I learned this the hard way, since I (and my partner in crime) were sternly asked to leave the courtroom and wait in the lobby by a not-so-friendly cop. Now, the cop may have thought this was a punishment, but from my perspective, it allowed me to talk as loudly as I liked and read my book in peace. Plus, I got to sit on a comfy couch as opposed to stand up against a wall. Score.
Well, that's about all the knowledge I acquired from my morning in court. In the end, I missed half a day of work and ended up having to pay $100 in fines. Not so much fun. On the bright side, I must have looked cute in my conservative court outfit because a fellow miscreant asked for my phone number. Unfortunately, the court cops were not so entranced by my beauty. In fact, one cop threatened to throw me in jail if I didn't stop talking, and I was JUST trying to tell him my name and spell out the letters. I mean, Photiadis doesn't exactly roll of the tongue, which is why I treated him like a four year old and said, P, as in popsicle, H, as in hat, O, as in octopus. He did not find that very amusing, and I didn't get past O.
Anyway, since this is a health blog and all, I figured I should mention this week's weigh in result. 173, baby! That is, if I'm reading my scale correctly. But my weight seems to be going in the right direction =) Well, that's it for now. Wish me luck on my drive home from work. I honestly don't think I'll survive another day in traffic court. Do you know those scenes from My Cousin Vinny, where the judge keeps throwing Vinny in jail for being in contempt of court? Well, I could definitely empathize with that this morning, so I thought I'd leave you with a few lines:
Judge Chamberlain Haller: I don't like your attitude.
Vinny Gambini: So what else is new?
Judge Chamberlain Haller: I'm holding you in contempt of court.
Vinny Gambini: [to Bill] Now there's a ****ing surprise.
Judge Chamberlain Haller: What did you say? What did you just say?
Vinny Gambini: Huh? What did I say?
I spent this past morning in traffic court among hundreds of other like-minded individuals--a.k.a the miscreants of society. During my four hour session in traffic court, I learned a few interesting facts about the rules of conduct in traffic court and life in general:
1. Apparently, it's not okay to read a novel in traffic court. I honestly thought that the court system would tolerate reading because (a) it's quiet and (b) shouldn't we be encouraging literacy among the nation's delinquents? So, I brought my book--a guilty pleasure by Rosamunde Pilcher (FYI--if you haven't read Shell Seekers you are missing out)--and commenced to read it while leaning against the wall. Just as I was getting comfortable, an angry looking policeman gestured wildly in my direction, pushing his hand down to mimic closing the book. He kept gesturing and making scary faces at me until I was forced to close my book. Strike one.
2. According to a stimulating case I overheard about a guy who got busted with cocaine and a concealed gun, Thursdays between 5 pm-7pm are a "drug running" time period. Here's why--people like to sell/ buy drugs for the weekend and rush hour is the best time to do those transactions without getting caught by the cops. Hmm...
3. I learned that carrying a bottle of corked wine does not mean you're carrying an open container of alcohol. This gem of information took 45 minutes to figure out. If you're curious about the reasoning...the judge said a corked bottle of wine did not constitute an open container of alcohol because restaurants routinely send people home with corked bottles of their unfinished wine. Thus, if upper class, law abiding folk do it legally, the same should apply for everyone--even scruffy, hipster college kids (i.e. the guy who got a ticket for walking home with a corked bottle of wine).
4. Apparently, talking (even whispering) is a huge no-no in the courtroom, even when the judge is making everyone wait an hour to discuss one case. I learned this the hard way, since I (and my partner in crime) were sternly asked to leave the courtroom and wait in the lobby by a not-so-friendly cop. Now, the cop may have thought this was a punishment, but from my perspective, it allowed me to talk as loudly as I liked and read my book in peace. Plus, I got to sit on a comfy couch as opposed to stand up against a wall. Score.
Well, that's about all the knowledge I acquired from my morning in court. In the end, I missed half a day of work and ended up having to pay $100 in fines. Not so much fun. On the bright side, I must have looked cute in my conservative court outfit because a fellow miscreant asked for my phone number. Unfortunately, the court cops were not so entranced by my beauty. In fact, one cop threatened to throw me in jail if I didn't stop talking, and I was JUST trying to tell him my name and spell out the letters. I mean, Photiadis doesn't exactly roll of the tongue, which is why I treated him like a four year old and said, P, as in popsicle, H, as in hat, O, as in octopus. He did not find that very amusing, and I didn't get past O.
Anyway, since this is a health blog and all, I figured I should mention this week's weigh in result. 173, baby! That is, if I'm reading my scale correctly. But my weight seems to be going in the right direction =) Well, that's it for now. Wish me luck on my drive home from work. I honestly don't think I'll survive another day in traffic court. Do you know those scenes from My Cousin Vinny, where the judge keeps throwing Vinny in jail for being in contempt of court? Well, I could definitely empathize with that this morning, so I thought I'd leave you with a few lines:
Judge Chamberlain Haller: I don't like your attitude.
Vinny Gambini: So what else is new?
Judge Chamberlain Haller: I'm holding you in contempt of court.
Vinny Gambini: [to Bill] Now there's a ****ing surprise.
Judge Chamberlain Haller: What did you say? What did you just say?
Vinny Gambini: Huh? What did I say?
Friday, February 18, 2011
Do Brunettes Have More Fun (Part 2)?
It's official, I am no longer a blond. As you know, I've been fretting over the idea of dying my hair darker for some time. Part of me wanted to continue shelling out $100 bucks every three months to continue the illusion that I am a "cute blond." The other part of me wanted to make the economically sound decision and spend $10 on a box of hair dye and be done with it.
Quite uncharacteristically of me, I decided to make the economic decision and ditch the blond (see, I'm already acting like a brunette, haha). Since I have NEVER ever dyed my hair at home, I decided to call my former hairdresser Darria and ask for advice (yes, I have that kind of blessed relationship with my hairdresser). She gave me some useful instructions. She told me to forget about the box color and instead go to Sally's and buy the following: two tubes of color (that matched the shade I wanted) and some violet toner to mix with it. But when I arrived at Sally's last night, the store was closed.
Instead of driving home and trying again the next day (like a reasonable person might do), I headed next door to the CVS, where I walked up and down the hair dye aisle for about an hour, agonizing over the exact shade of brown to buy. I called Darria for help but she told me to go to Sally's the next day, and when I refused to listen, she pessimistically said she didn't want to get the hysterical phone call when my hair turned green.
Despite this foreboding prediction, I was determined to change my hair. ASAP. So I stumbled back and forth in the hair aisle, trying to figure out the difference between the shades (light brown, red brown, black brown, chocolate brown) and tones (warm, cool, normal). Fortunately, I met a girl in CVS, a cosmetology student and fellow Weight Watcher named Ariel, who turned out to be a life saver. She helped me to select a shade and didn't mind having to reassure me 100 times that it wouldn't turn my hair green. And she very patiently looked at the millions of nearly identical brown colors that I picked up before I settled on L'Oreal's Medium Brown, Cool. That was really nice of her =)
Afterward, my friend Brandi was kind enough to dye my hair, and here is the verdict:
That's a pretty big difference, right? Bizarrely, because I really wasn't trying to do this, I actually kind of matched my natural shade, so I have hopefully (fingers crossed!) ended my dependence on hair dye. It came out a bit lighter than I expected, even though the color on the box looked pretty dark.
Please tell me your honest opinion. Too boring? Too gray looking? Since going to the dark side, two things have happened--one, a guy at the convenience store this morning called me "Ma'am," and two, a random guy last night yelled up at my balcony and complimented my cat. Hmm...I'm not sure what this means for my future as a brunette...
Quite uncharacteristically of me, I decided to make the economic decision and ditch the blond (see, I'm already acting like a brunette, haha). Since I have NEVER ever dyed my hair at home, I decided to call my former hairdresser Darria and ask for advice (yes, I have that kind of blessed relationship with my hairdresser). She gave me some useful instructions. She told me to forget about the box color and instead go to Sally's and buy the following: two tubes of color (that matched the shade I wanted) and some violet toner to mix with it. But when I arrived at Sally's last night, the store was closed.
Instead of driving home and trying again the next day (like a reasonable person might do), I headed next door to the CVS, where I walked up and down the hair dye aisle for about an hour, agonizing over the exact shade of brown to buy. I called Darria for help but she told me to go to Sally's the next day, and when I refused to listen, she pessimistically said she didn't want to get the hysterical phone call when my hair turned green.
Despite this foreboding prediction, I was determined to change my hair. ASAP. So I stumbled back and forth in the hair aisle, trying to figure out the difference between the shades (light brown, red brown, black brown, chocolate brown) and tones (warm, cool, normal). Fortunately, I met a girl in CVS, a cosmetology student and fellow Weight Watcher named Ariel, who turned out to be a life saver. She helped me to select a shade and didn't mind having to reassure me 100 times that it wouldn't turn my hair green. And she very patiently looked at the millions of nearly identical brown colors that I picked up before I settled on L'Oreal's Medium Brown, Cool. That was really nice of her =)
Afterward, my friend Brandi was kind enough to dye my hair, and here is the verdict:
That's a pretty big difference, right? Bizarrely, because I really wasn't trying to do this, I actually kind of matched my natural shade, so I have hopefully (fingers crossed!) ended my dependence on hair dye. It came out a bit lighter than I expected, even though the color on the box looked pretty dark.
Please tell me your honest opinion. Too boring? Too gray looking? Since going to the dark side, two things have happened--one, a guy at the convenience store this morning called me "Ma'am," and two, a random guy last night yelled up at my balcony and complimented my cat. Hmm...I'm not sure what this means for my future as a brunette...
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Reason I Sucked at Science Labs
In order to weigh in on the old fashioned (read: non-electronic) scale that my parents gave me, I had to first adjust the arrow to zero. I jiggled with the knob to the best of my ability, but I still wasn't quite sure that I was dead on.
Then I stepped on the scale, naked, with my contacts on, and peered as hard as I could at the tiny lines between the 175 marker and 180 marker. I'm guessing I'm at about 176. But it could be 175 or 177. For some reason, this bugged me.
So I repeated the process, and came up with a similar result. I'm calling my weight 176, which means that in the course of a week, I've lost three pounds. That is, if I measured my weight from last week correctly...
I'm not neurotic, I swear, but I miss the "exact" results from my former Weight Watcher weigh-ins. And I'm very suspicious of losing three pounds when, in the course of the week, I ate a whole box of Reese's Puffs (in one sitting!) ate a whole pint of Ben and Jerry's, and ate cookie dough. Now, I know that I am occasionally blessed by the Weight Watcher God, but this just seems too good to be true.
So of course, I had to double check the situation. Even though I had to leave for work in 20 minutes, I started rifling through my closet, pulling out former fat clothes and trying them on. Yes, all of the fat clothes still felt large, but not quite as large as I like. Then, I grabbed my completely non-stretch pair of size 12 Ann Taylor pants. They felt okay. But, again, not quite as loose as I'd like. I'm not really sure what's going on. Am I losing so much muscle mass that I've gotten to a low weight but still look fat? Or have I been staying at roughly the same weight for the last couple of weeks and fluctuating five pounds back and forth, depending on my water weight? Admittedly, the second answer makes more sense.
And then there's this gem of common sense: In the past, when I've gotten fatter, I've usually gained weight. That should console me...but unfortunately, I don't feel entirely confident with that either. How do I know I gained weight if I never weighed myself when I was in the process of gaining weight? Okay, Maybe I need to chock up the $40 bucks a month to Weight Watchers to avoid this neurotic behavior...Or maybe I need to invest the $40 in some good therapy, haha.
So, I will tentatively say that my first weigh in was "sort of" a success. I don't feel very confident about it though. Any words of advice? For those who weigh themselves at home, how do you deal with the inaccuracies of the scale?
Then I stepped on the scale, naked, with my contacts on, and peered as hard as I could at the tiny lines between the 175 marker and 180 marker. I'm guessing I'm at about 176. But it could be 175 or 177. For some reason, this bugged me.
So I repeated the process, and came up with a similar result. I'm calling my weight 176, which means that in the course of a week, I've lost three pounds. That is, if I measured my weight from last week correctly...
I'm not neurotic, I swear, but I miss the "exact" results from my former Weight Watcher weigh-ins. And I'm very suspicious of losing three pounds when, in the course of the week, I ate a whole box of Reese's Puffs (in one sitting!) ate a whole pint of Ben and Jerry's, and ate cookie dough. Now, I know that I am occasionally blessed by the Weight Watcher God, but this just seems too good to be true.
So of course, I had to double check the situation. Even though I had to leave for work in 20 minutes, I started rifling through my closet, pulling out former fat clothes and trying them on. Yes, all of the fat clothes still felt large, but not quite as large as I like. Then, I grabbed my completely non-stretch pair of size 12 Ann Taylor pants. They felt okay. But, again, not quite as loose as I'd like. I'm not really sure what's going on. Am I losing so much muscle mass that I've gotten to a low weight but still look fat? Or have I been staying at roughly the same weight for the last couple of weeks and fluctuating five pounds back and forth, depending on my water weight? Admittedly, the second answer makes more sense.
And then there's this gem of common sense: In the past, when I've gotten fatter, I've usually gained weight. That should console me...but unfortunately, I don't feel entirely confident with that either. How do I know I gained weight if I never weighed myself when I was in the process of gaining weight? Okay, Maybe I need to chock up the $40 bucks a month to Weight Watchers to avoid this neurotic behavior...Or maybe I need to invest the $40 in some good therapy, haha.
So, I will tentatively say that my first weigh in was "sort of" a success. I don't feel very confident about it though. Any words of advice? For those who weigh themselves at home, how do you deal with the inaccuracies of the scale?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Who are YOU doing this for?
Last night, when I jumped into bed with my two cats at the very respectable hour of 10:15pm, it struck me that lately my health/ weight goals have shifted over the past several months...in a bad direction.
I had just spent the last several hours, hanging out with friends and agonizing over whether I looked as "good" as I did a few months ago. I couldn't help but feel the jiggle in my arms, the emerging double chin, the rolls of my belly, the massive expanse of my thighs which makes it difficult for me to cross my legs. I remembered the day when my friend Josh called me "beautiful" and couldn't help but think that these extra 5-8 pounds had transformed me from a hot tamale to a frumpy, chubby girl.
These are not good thoughts. As per usual, I vowed to make tomorrow a better day. I promised myself that come hell or high water I would break a sweat, resist sweets,and try to follow the Weight Watcher plan. But let's face it--impressing people is not good motivation to lose weight. It doesn't work for more than a day or two (for me, at least) and it never seems to work the way you want it to. You end up spending quality social time looking for praise or judgment, instead of just focusing on having a good time.
And more importantly, it's placing an unnecessary burden on my friends. I mean, I would be annoyed if one of my friends felt it was my duty to inflate her self esteem. I hardly ever notice if a friend gains or loses five pounds, wears make-up, dresses up, cuts her hair. Why would I expect anything different from my friends?
So, at the end of the day, this journey has to be a personal one. I have to want to be healthy because it makes me feel happy and good--not because others will think I'm attractive. Let's face it--no matter how much I weigh there will always be people who find me attractive and those who don't. Getting to a magic number doesn't ensure that I will be the most popular girl in the room. Plenty of guys liked me when I weighed 240, and plenty of guys like me now. I fell in love with a guy when I hit Onederland (198 officially) and he thought I was beautiful and sexy.
I need to find a way to see this journey for what it is--a personal road towards self improvement and self love. I need to stop worrying about how people perceive me and focus on how I perceive myself. I need to make decisions that make me feel good, whether I opt for a salad or a piece of cake. I need to love myself, flawed body parts and all.
I had just spent the last several hours, hanging out with friends and agonizing over whether I looked as "good" as I did a few months ago. I couldn't help but feel the jiggle in my arms, the emerging double chin, the rolls of my belly, the massive expanse of my thighs which makes it difficult for me to cross my legs. I remembered the day when my friend Josh called me "beautiful" and couldn't help but think that these extra 5-8 pounds had transformed me from a hot tamale to a frumpy, chubby girl.
These are not good thoughts. As per usual, I vowed to make tomorrow a better day. I promised myself that come hell or high water I would break a sweat, resist sweets,and try to follow the Weight Watcher plan. But let's face it--impressing people is not good motivation to lose weight. It doesn't work for more than a day or two (for me, at least) and it never seems to work the way you want it to. You end up spending quality social time looking for praise or judgment, instead of just focusing on having a good time.
And more importantly, it's placing an unnecessary burden on my friends. I mean, I would be annoyed if one of my friends felt it was my duty to inflate her self esteem. I hardly ever notice if a friend gains or loses five pounds, wears make-up, dresses up, cuts her hair. Why would I expect anything different from my friends?
So, at the end of the day, this journey has to be a personal one. I have to want to be healthy because it makes me feel happy and good--not because others will think I'm attractive. Let's face it--no matter how much I weigh there will always be people who find me attractive and those who don't. Getting to a magic number doesn't ensure that I will be the most popular girl in the room. Plenty of guys liked me when I weighed 240, and plenty of guys like me now. I fell in love with a guy when I hit Onederland (198 officially) and he thought I was beautiful and sexy.
I need to find a way to see this journey for what it is--a personal road towards self improvement and self love. I need to stop worrying about how people perceive me and focus on how I perceive myself. I need to make decisions that make me feel good, whether I opt for a salad or a piece of cake. I need to love myself, flawed body parts and all.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine's Day Woes
Good morning everyone. As you are probably aware, today is Valentine's Day. Now I'd like to preface this post by saying, I have absolutely no problem with Valentine's Day. I like chocolates, flowers, and dinners out just as much as the next person. In fact, I have gone out of my way to wish happy "couple-y" people a a happy valentine's day. I have even, albeit halfheartedly, asked what their plans are.
This is just to say, that I am not trying to be a Valentine's Day grinch. However, I feel obligated to warn you of the following: If you are in a happy, upbeat mood and want to stay in your mood, maybe you should skip the rest of this blog post.
I am not exactly in the Valentine's Day spirit. This past weekend, I had some pretty frustrating conversations with men that resulted in me burying my face into a squirmy dog's tummy last night and wishing that more men were like Max (the dog). But then again, who hasn't done that?
All of the conversations revolved around the same issue--I'm looking for a meaningful relationship (or at least looking to being on the path towards a relationship) and both guys are freaked out by that very notion and wish that we could just keep things more casual...and have sex of course. At that point, we would reach a sort of stalemate because I have made (and am following) a new rule not to sleep with guys I'm just casually dating. So the conversation went something like this:
(In the middle of making out)
Me: Wait, we need to talk about this. What are we doing here?
Guy: What do you mean? I think we're having a good time.
Me: No, seriously. I'm really concerned that we're headed to the "friends with benefits" zone and I really don't want that.
Guy: No, of course not. You know I like you. (Then, he makes attempt to smother my questions with kisses)
(But I am not so easily deterred)
Me: So are you saying you think you could see a future with me?
Guy: Katie, Katie, Katie...(Bizarrely, both guys used that exact expression.)
Me: Look, I'm not saying I want a relationship now, but that's what I ultimately want.
Guy: (Mumbles something and then successfully distracts me with making out.)
Now the stupidest thing about this whole exchange (and believe me, I know how ridiculous these conversations were) is that if both of these guys arrived at my apartment with roses and a card that said, "Will you be mine," I'd probably freak out and feel that they were pushing the commitment issue a little early. I'd probably start to wonder how much I really liked them.
So, the real problem isn't the guys (or their frustrating habit of wanting to have sex rather than talk about the future), it's me. What on earth do I feel that I will accomplish by jumping into a relationship? A relationship, while it may come with regular sex (if I'm lucky) and may ensure that I always have a date for Valentine's Day, won't complete me.
Sometimes I feel like I'm the most confused person in the world. I'm still trying to figure out who I am, what kind of music I like, how I like to eat, how I like to exercise, how I like to socialize, etc...I get into a groove for a while (socializing and drinking like a maniac/ acting like a hermit and eating dinner alone with my cats) and then I decide things need to change and I spiral in a different direction. I spend nights drinking too much with friends to feel relaxed enough to be myself. I (often) mismanage my biweekly paychecks, so that I occasionally end up paying for gas with quarters. I have over three loads of laundry hidden in the back of my closet. I run out of clean underwear. I sometimes spend entire days, sprawled out on my couch, eating raw cookie dough and watching some arcane television show.
But distracting myself from my problems with men doesn't solve the deeper problem, and in fact, as this weekend has shown, sometimes it makes me feel even worse. So, as per usual, Valentine's Day is shaping up to be a dismal 24 hours. I'll try to avoid eating the Valentine's Day candy (from considerate coworkers) on my desk.
Sorry for the downer Valentine's Day post. But I gotta say, it can be a rough holiday for single people.
This is just to say, that I am not trying to be a Valentine's Day grinch. However, I feel obligated to warn you of the following: If you are in a happy, upbeat mood and want to stay in your mood, maybe you should skip the rest of this blog post.
I am not exactly in the Valentine's Day spirit. This past weekend, I had some pretty frustrating conversations with men that resulted in me burying my face into a squirmy dog's tummy last night and wishing that more men were like Max (the dog). But then again, who hasn't done that?
All of the conversations revolved around the same issue--I'm looking for a meaningful relationship (or at least looking to being on the path towards a relationship) and both guys are freaked out by that very notion and wish that we could just keep things more casual...and have sex of course. At that point, we would reach a sort of stalemate because I have made (and am following) a new rule not to sleep with guys I'm just casually dating. So the conversation went something like this:
(In the middle of making out)
Me: Wait, we need to talk about this. What are we doing here?
Guy: What do you mean? I think we're having a good time.
Me: No, seriously. I'm really concerned that we're headed to the "friends with benefits" zone and I really don't want that.
Guy: No, of course not. You know I like you. (Then, he makes attempt to smother my questions with kisses)
(But I am not so easily deterred)
Me: So are you saying you think you could see a future with me?
Guy: Katie, Katie, Katie...(Bizarrely, both guys used that exact expression.)
Me: Look, I'm not saying I want a relationship now, but that's what I ultimately want.
Guy: (Mumbles something and then successfully distracts me with making out.)
Now the stupidest thing about this whole exchange (and believe me, I know how ridiculous these conversations were) is that if both of these guys arrived at my apartment with roses and a card that said, "Will you be mine," I'd probably freak out and feel that they were pushing the commitment issue a little early. I'd probably start to wonder how much I really liked them.
So, the real problem isn't the guys (or their frustrating habit of wanting to have sex rather than talk about the future), it's me. What on earth do I feel that I will accomplish by jumping into a relationship? A relationship, while it may come with regular sex (if I'm lucky) and may ensure that I always have a date for Valentine's Day, won't complete me.
Sometimes I feel like I'm the most confused person in the world. I'm still trying to figure out who I am, what kind of music I like, how I like to eat, how I like to exercise, how I like to socialize, etc...I get into a groove for a while (socializing and drinking like a maniac/ acting like a hermit and eating dinner alone with my cats) and then I decide things need to change and I spiral in a different direction. I spend nights drinking too much with friends to feel relaxed enough to be myself. I (often) mismanage my biweekly paychecks, so that I occasionally end up paying for gas with quarters. I have over three loads of laundry hidden in the back of my closet. I run out of clean underwear. I sometimes spend entire days, sprawled out on my couch, eating raw cookie dough and watching some arcane television show.
But distracting myself from my problems with men doesn't solve the deeper problem, and in fact, as this weekend has shown, sometimes it makes me feel even worse. So, as per usual, Valentine's Day is shaping up to be a dismal 24 hours. I'll try to avoid eating the Valentine's Day candy (from considerate coworkers) on my desk.
Sorry for the downer Valentine's Day post. But I gotta say, it can be a rough holiday for single people.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Binge: A Definition
Binging is one of the most self-destructive things a person can do. According to the Mayo Clinic, binging is defined as, "A serious eating disorder in which you frequently consume unusually large amounts of food...When you have binge-eating disorder, you may be deeply embarrassed about gorging and vow to stop. But you feel such a compulsion that you can't resist the urges and continue binge eating." Binging is the most common of food disorders, according to the Mayo Clinic.
But for those who struggle with binging, you know it's not really about the food (because you eat it too quickly to really enjoy it) and it's not really about feeding an actual hunger (because you eat so much you feel sick). It's an experience that's hard to explain, even to yourself. After I binge, I usually look at the discarded boxes of crap (aka, ice cream, cookies, crackers, etc...) and wonder why I really needed to eat that much. Wouldn't a bowl of ice cream have sufficed? Why did I need to eat the whole carton?
There's so much shame associated with binging that it's hard to talk about, despite the fact that it's a common eating disorder. Now, I'm going to make an imperfect comparison here--perhaps binging is somewhat similar to self mutilation. Just to be clear, I've never struggled with self mutilation, but I want make the comparison because they seem to have some similarities. Both are destructive. Both are compulsive acts. Both are shrouded in shame. And both are typically about control. As someone who has never struggled with self mutilation, it's hard for me to imagine take a sharp object and cutting my skin. Likewise, it's probably tough for someone who has never binged to imagine compulsively stuffing yourself until you want to throw up.
But I have binged several times in the last few weeks, and right now it's a daily struggle for me to fight the compulsion.
Last night, I randomly came across a passage by one of my favorite contemporary authors that described the binge experience really well. Anne Lamott, in Grace (Eventually) Thoughts on Faith, writes the following:
Until a few weeks ago, I had been scootching along pretty well for a while in size-ten pants, having lost a little weight, feeling I'd nailed the food and weight and body-image business, when all of a sudden my foot met air, and I was unmoored. Within minutes, I was on the edge of a full-on food binge, assault eating.
I can definitely relate to this sentiment. When I had lost my first 50 pounds and was fitting comfortably in a size 12, I really thought I'd nailed the weight/ binge/ body issues that I'd struggled with for the past decade. My recent struggles with binging have been a wake-up call for me. It's so disappointing to learn that six months of healthy living doesn't wipe out years of unhealthy behaviors. But it makes sense.
She goes on to describe the binge:
All I could think to do was what every addict thinks of doing: kill the pain. I don't smoke or drink anymore, am too worried to gamble, too guilty to shoplift, and I have always hated clothes shopping. So what choices did that leave? I could go on a strict new diet, or conversely I could stuff myself to the rafters with fats, sugars, and carcinogens. Ding ding: we have a winner.
It's fascinating how similar binge eating is to strict food deprivation. In some ways, the two opposite courses of action stem from the same urge--the urge to control your life through food. I've had the same thought several times. I'll come home in a terrible mood and feel like (a) either starving myself for the night as a punishment or (b) like eating until I can't feel anymore. And like Lamott says so succinctly, the eating option is usually more appealing.
At the end, Lamott describes how she recovered from the binge:
I got myself some cool water, a pair of soft socks...Then waves of nausea and self-loathing, backtrack bog. I thought of all the times my friends have given off light in the darkness...So I was simply kind to myself...I burped my terrible Cyclops burps, which brought such relief that I remembered who I was: one of the sometimes miserable all-of-us. I was a soul, not a faulty digestive system...A woman with a few, small, unresolved issues.
To me, this is one of the best passages in the whole book. Binging can make me feel like a disgusting excuse for a human being, but when I look at myself through Lamott's eyes, I see a young woman with a few, small, unresolved issues. A young woman with a lot of good characteristics and a few challenges.
And I think that is the only way to really recover from binges--respect yourself enough to be kind to your body. Exercise regularly and honor your hunger (and your full-ness). And if you fall off the wagon, remind yourself of this passage and start again.
For those who don't binge, I hope this sheds some light on the experience. And for those who do, I hope this helps to remind you that you're not alone in this struggle.
But for those who struggle with binging, you know it's not really about the food (because you eat it too quickly to really enjoy it) and it's not really about feeding an actual hunger (because you eat so much you feel sick). It's an experience that's hard to explain, even to yourself. After I binge, I usually look at the discarded boxes of crap (aka, ice cream, cookies, crackers, etc...) and wonder why I really needed to eat that much. Wouldn't a bowl of ice cream have sufficed? Why did I need to eat the whole carton?
There's so much shame associated with binging that it's hard to talk about, despite the fact that it's a common eating disorder. Now, I'm going to make an imperfect comparison here--perhaps binging is somewhat similar to self mutilation. Just to be clear, I've never struggled with self mutilation, but I want make the comparison because they seem to have some similarities. Both are destructive. Both are compulsive acts. Both are shrouded in shame. And both are typically about control. As someone who has never struggled with self mutilation, it's hard for me to imagine take a sharp object and cutting my skin. Likewise, it's probably tough for someone who has never binged to imagine compulsively stuffing yourself until you want to throw up.
But I have binged several times in the last few weeks, and right now it's a daily struggle for me to fight the compulsion.
Last night, I randomly came across a passage by one of my favorite contemporary authors that described the binge experience really well. Anne Lamott, in Grace (Eventually) Thoughts on Faith, writes the following:
Until a few weeks ago, I had been scootching along pretty well for a while in size-ten pants, having lost a little weight, feeling I'd nailed the food and weight and body-image business, when all of a sudden my foot met air, and I was unmoored. Within minutes, I was on the edge of a full-on food binge, assault eating.
I can definitely relate to this sentiment. When I had lost my first 50 pounds and was fitting comfortably in a size 12, I really thought I'd nailed the weight/ binge/ body issues that I'd struggled with for the past decade. My recent struggles with binging have been a wake-up call for me. It's so disappointing to learn that six months of healthy living doesn't wipe out years of unhealthy behaviors. But it makes sense.
She goes on to describe the binge:
All I could think to do was what every addict thinks of doing: kill the pain. I don't smoke or drink anymore, am too worried to gamble, too guilty to shoplift, and I have always hated clothes shopping. So what choices did that leave? I could go on a strict new diet, or conversely I could stuff myself to the rafters with fats, sugars, and carcinogens. Ding ding: we have a winner.
It's fascinating how similar binge eating is to strict food deprivation. In some ways, the two opposite courses of action stem from the same urge--the urge to control your life through food. I've had the same thought several times. I'll come home in a terrible mood and feel like (a) either starving myself for the night as a punishment or (b) like eating until I can't feel anymore. And like Lamott says so succinctly, the eating option is usually more appealing.
At the end, Lamott describes how she recovered from the binge:
I got myself some cool water, a pair of soft socks...Then waves of nausea and self-loathing, backtrack bog. I thought of all the times my friends have given off light in the darkness...So I was simply kind to myself...I burped my terrible Cyclops burps, which brought such relief that I remembered who I was: one of the sometimes miserable all-of-us. I was a soul, not a faulty digestive system...A woman with a few, small, unresolved issues.
To me, this is one of the best passages in the whole book. Binging can make me feel like a disgusting excuse for a human being, but when I look at myself through Lamott's eyes, I see a young woman with a few, small, unresolved issues. A young woman with a lot of good characteristics and a few challenges.
And I think that is the only way to really recover from binges--respect yourself enough to be kind to your body. Exercise regularly and honor your hunger (and your full-ness). And if you fall off the wagon, remind yourself of this passage and start again.
For those who don't binge, I hope this sheds some light on the experience. And for those who do, I hope this helps to remind you that you're not alone in this struggle.
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