Hapy New Year!

Hubby has a really bad cold. We're staying in tonight. He's enjoying a Vicks-D induced coma and I'll get on-line and chat with some buddies while waiting up for the teens to come home. There's nothing in the house that sounds good enough to indulge/celebrate/cheat with. It doesn't matter how well you structure and plan your food to avoid feeling hungry during the day if you stay up late. The problem with staying up late is running out of calories long before running out of day. So much for eating every 2-3 hours. I avoided the pizza the rest of the family had for dinner. *pats herself on the back* Ok, Ryan Seacrest...distract me from my tummy.

Spin Me Right Round

I've been spinning for over seven years now. It's the only "sport" I've loved since gymnastics. I never dread it even on days when it's hard to make myself get out of bed and go to a class that's earlier than convenient. I think it harbors back to my childhood. I learned to ride a two-wheeler late in kid years. I was seven, nearly eight years old when most kids learn about age four or five. I have no memory of my parents helping me. Those were the days when my father was still building his career and working very long hours or travelling. Mom was trying to hold down the house in his absence and wasn't exactly the athletic type. Eventually, my friend Susie and I made a trade. She taught me to ride my bike and I taught her how to rollerskate. I'd say I got the better end of the deal. Getting on that bike was a freedom I hadn't known since I was maybe three years old.

When I was very small, I had a tiny tricycle. At least it's tiny in my memory. It was small enough to be very comfortable for a three year old anyway. We lived in an apartment complex in Hayward, California that was U-shaped with a pool and the rental office in the middle. We lived at one end of the U and my best friend lived at the bottom. It was a long walk for my short legs. I remember being a speed demon on that trike. I had tiny legs and it had tiny wheels so I can't imagine it went that fast, but it felt fast when the wind was on my tiny face. Learning to ride a two-wheeler brought back that sense of speed.

Back in September I got certified by Mad Dag (the original Schwinn creator of spinning as a group exercise). I was so proud of myself that I bragged about it to a few people. The same question always followed however, where I was going to teach? Who gets a certificiation and doesn't use it? I truthfully had no desire to teach. I liked knowing I could, that I had some authority over or experise above the average class member.

One day the teacher for the class I regularly attend didn't show. The class of hardcore mommies was not going to go without their sweat session so they turned to me and asked me if I would lead the class. I was terrified, but it was exhiliarating. Some weeks later it happened a second time. Following that class, all red in the face, I approached the hiring staff at my health club and asked if I could teach for experience rather than cash. I didn't need money, I needed confidence. I needed to not feel like throwing up everytime I walked to the front of the class and they looked up at me ready to be led. The club needed subs, badly apparently. Rapidly and uncerimonially they had me fill out paperwork and put me on staff. Today I taught my first official class and got paid for it. What a high. I forgot what those endorphins felt like. I could feel them most of the day and was even aware of when they started to ebb. I think when I was a teenager, I felt like that most days. I miss that level of energy and happy perspective. In recent years when I've exercised reguarly, that energy is tempered by the fatigue and cracks of "old age." The balance is easy to throw off. A warm bed, a busy day...too many reasons not to fight off the down and go searching for the up.

Electronic Diary

Because of the hassle factor, it is a sad fact that people who journal thier food are more likely to stay on track with their dietary goals. The problem is I cheat and I'm good at it doing it "within the rules." I did lose on Weight Watchers, but I learned to work the system so my loss wasn't especially healthy and depended too heavily on "diet foods."

I first learned about Calorie King by using their free on-line food database. Since then I've used Calorie King's software. I find it keeps me honest because I can't cheat the realities of the way my food is disributed. Without paying attention to the variety and make-up of the food, the way it's cooked, or the time of I day I eat, I can't hit percentage benchmarks each day of fats, carbs and proteins. Even more significantly it gives me weekly percentages. Most people don't gain weight in a day. They do it little by little over weeks. Weekly percentages let me see how the little overages of dressing or dessert add up over the course of a week.

How's this for diet math...I watched a documentary on the National Geographic television channel last night and it said,"The Second Law of Fat: The line between being in and out of energy balance is slight. Suppose you consume a mere 5 percent over a 2,000-calorie-a-day average. 'That's just one hundred calories; it's a glass of apple juice,' says Rudolph Leibel, head of molecular genetics at Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons. 'But those few extra calories can mean a huge weight gain.' Since one pound (.45 kilograms) of body weight is roughly equivalent to 3,500 calories, that glass of juice adds up to an extra 10 pounds (4.5 kilograms) over a year. Alternatively, you'd gain 10 pounds (4.5 kilograms) if, due to a more sedentary lifestyle—driving instead of walking, taking the escalator instead of the stairs—you started burning 100 fewer calories a day." There's an excellent article from their website. Apple juice doesn't appeal to me much, but I could see myself killing a hundred calories on those prepackaged 100 calorie snack packs or a piece of toast before bed. Even a glass of skim milk.

I hate food journaling. Yes, the computer software makes it a thousand times easier. It should feel rewarding to have the evidence of making good choices when my body doesn't yet show it. I still don't have to like it.

It's Sunday Again...

Thanks to my nine year old who still likes to cuddle as if he's three, I woke early this morning with a head cold. Hand washing just isn't very effective against a relentless cuddler breathing and sneezing in your face. It's not a bad cold, yet, just enough of one to drive me out of bed while it's still dark out to get verticle so my head will stop throbbing and get something hot to ease to soreness of a throat that's been dripped on all night.

As the fog of sleep cleared and my mind came awake I realized it's Sunday again. "It's Sunday again" or something like it, is the lament of every dieter. It's the realization that despite a week of sweat, hard choices and temptation avoided, I still have nothing to wear. Nothing that makes me look like Kate Becknisale just for putting it on anyway. In the math of diet and exercise, it takes a daily deficit of 500 calories to lose one pound a week. Five hundred calories is a lot in the course of a day, but one pound isn't enough to change dress sizes or really even change the way my clothes fit. I gain more weight with PMS or a night of salty Mexican food. One pound is nothing. It represents no real, tangible achievement. Is there anything more defeating than the idea that the three thousand five hundred calorie deficit achieved by sweat, hunger pains, meal planning, attempts at distraction, and watching others eat with abandon while clinging to the hope of a thinner future is just one pound? It's no wonder at all that people chase quick weightloss fads so that their hope feels justified.

I'm generally an optimistic person, but I can't good attitude myself into believing that one pound feels as good going down as it felt bad going up. One pound does make a difference on the way up. My jeans get horizontal creases and I'd rather sit than stand so I can breathe comfortably. I find reasons not to go out which means not putting on make-up, being at home around the food all day, and preferring to stay in my sweats. Not real good self-esteem builders. Then you wake up one morning and realize a week has passed and "it's Sunday again."

Perhaps I'll spend today doing the meal planning I loathe. There is power to avoid temptation when you're anticipaing the next meal. It's a hopeful way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Constructive anyway. It still doesn't get me out of the Sunday morning lament.

Not Day One

Every journey has a beginning, but I don't think today is it. I've been starting and stopping often enough over the last few years that it feels like one long bumpy road, not like today is a launching place. Today isn't "the start" of a new diet. Today is some mental attempt at getting back to doing what I know to be right. I know better. I have an extensive history in athletics, teaching exercise, and nutrition basics. There's a disconnect, however, between what I know and what I do. Maybe writing about it will help me reconnect my brain and my body.

The last time they were connected was before my 20th high school reunion about four and a half years ago. I got down to about 24% bodyfat and weighed roughly 135 pounds on my nearly 5'6" frame. Back then I paid $200/month to be part of "Major Moms," a bootcamp type program through Lifetime Fitness. I had Monday thru Friday workouts with a trainer and other mommies. They worked us hard enough that eating well became a necessity to keep up with the damands of the workouts. As a two-sport college athlete, I've always had access to coaches and trainers. I have taught gymnastics or aerobics for more than 16 years. There's always been someone around to keep me accountable whether it was a coach or students with expectations of me.

Now it's just me and a closet full of clothes I can't wear. The big question in my mind is why, with all my experience and knowledge, do I need someone to keep me accountable? Why at 42 years old am I not grown up enough to just do what I know I need to do to be healthy? To be physically comfortable in my own skin?