Physiognomics

Saint-Andre and Alpine Rose Rustic Swiss

2008-01-21T16:06:00.000-08:00

Saint-Andre: 75% butterfat, mild, creamy, lovely. Too much of this would kill you quick, but what a lovely way to die. Yay for triple cremes!

Alpine Rose Swiss: a raw-milk Alpine? State-side? At a Byerly's? No way. But Gourmet Retailer says so, and also says

The Von Mühlenen family has been producing and marketing traditional cheeses in Switzerland since 1861. They were instrumental in the creation of the AOC labels for Le Gruyère Switzerland and Emmentaler Switzerland products. Centered near Fribourg, the company relies solely on pure raw milk and traditional ripening methods that date back 140 years. They have now released a magnificent new cheese called Alpine Rose Rustic, a genuine raw-milk Alpine cheese that is matured inside a thin wooden rind of spruce for a full five months. In that time, and with the help of the pine rind, it develops a spicy flavor with a gentle note of evergreen. It has a creamy texture and strong character that is well-suited to fondues, soufflés and gratins, as well as rich red wines and port.

One doesn’t really notice the spruce so much while eating, but if you sniff, it’s definitely there and not at all unpleasant.

Accompaniments: nicoise olives (ok) and balsamic marinated onions (perfect with the Saint-Andre).

Istara Chistou

2008-01-20T15:55:00.000-08:00

Or, cheese experiment #1.

Googling informs us that this is a French Basque cheese. The Cheese Lady says:

Known for cheeses made with milk of sheep, Chistou is created using an interesting twist; it is a blend of 50% cow and 50% sheep, both pasteurized and BGH-free. The two milks combine for an exceptional taste. The semi-soft / semi-firm,
supple body is encased with a natural rind, typical of Basque cheeses. The flavor is tender with fruity nuances, smooth and pleasing, and will delight both novice and connoisseurs alike.

My novice palate didn’t pick up the ‘fruity nuances,’ but it was indeed semi-soft, smooth, and pleasing. Mildly tangy, but easily accessible for those who are suspicious of stinky cheeses. We’d both eat it again.

why I love teaching on an Ag campus

2007-10-22T18:45:00.001-07:00

I've been grading client memos all day. One of my Dairy majors is proposing a study on new mattresses for her family's cows. After describing their third-generation farm and operations, she wrote

I feel I need to do this proposal because one of my own cows is lame at the present time and I think that if we get new mattresses in the stalls that she might get better, and not be in so much pain. It will also assist the other lame cows we have in the barn as well.

This breaks my heart, language issues aside. She's a very fresh-faced redheaded girl who looks young for her age. Skinny and in love with cows. I love having kids around who really care about something.

portents

2007-08-10T08:47:00.000-07:00

Every time I'm writing something that proves significant in my life, I end up hurting my eyes or hands. It’s never on purpose, but evidently my subconscious plots against my progress. When I was working on my master’s thesis proposal, which ended up as part of my PhD writing samples, I managed to accidentally pour contact cleanser into my right eye instead of saline solution. That put me back in my glasses for a week. That same semester, I was working on a seminar paper that also became a writing sample, and I burned my fingertips right when I needed to be typing the most.

Since then, I've become accustomed to such things to the point that they don’t really stick in my memory. But these past two weeks, I’ve been working on what might become my first published article. It’s certainly the first article anyone has invited me to write based on a conference presentation. Last week, I managed to run into a doorjamb and whack my left pinkie, which is still vaguely unhappy. And earlier this week I somehow slept on my eyelids wrong, with the end result being that I woke up with my eyelids more or less turned inside out and one eye pressed directly against the cotton pillowcase. Much unhappiness and grossness has ensued.

(This also explains why I only went swimming on Tuesday this week. There’s no way I’m getting chlorine in that unhappy eye.)

I’m choosing to believe that maybe all this nonsense means that this piece of writing will also prove significant for me. We’ll find out.

some days, you surprise yourself

2007-08-07T13:40:00.000-07:00

Today I swam for 30 minutes without stopping, 14 full laps. It was an awesome swim, and I just never felt like taking a break, so I didn't. I alternated crawl and my funky, wildly inefficient backstroke.

I don't really understand why I was able to go almost double my previous distance without the breaks that I was taking before, but I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth either. I had protein for breakfast instead of yogurt and fruit, so that's one thing that was different. And it suddenly occurred to me to make sure I was breathing all the way through, which is, you know, helpful. And I was burning off energy from a concert last night.

Whatever. It was awesome.

2007-08-03T11:45:00.000-07:00

Also swam Wednesday (30 minutes, not sure how many laps — 6?) and today (7). Would have gone further, but for the fact that I bruised the hell out of my left pinky and the resistance irritates it, and I need the finger to type the article that's due in 10 days.

I ordered goggles. It was time.

In other news, all the lab results came back and it turns out that I’m healthy. My cholesterol has dropped 45 points since we moved three years ago, down to 161. Blood pressure is good, blood sugar is good. No thyroid problems, no elevated hormones. That still doesn't explain the joint tenderness and general fatigue, so I need to have more blood drawn for more tests, but there's nothing Big and Systemic the matter.

swimming

2007-07-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

It’s been about six years since I last swam, but I went down to the campus pool this morning and started right in back and forth across the lap lanes. It feels good to know how to do something, even badly.

Lots to learn, starting with how to breathe. But I got over my fear of buying a suit, of the campus gym, and of running into colleagues while dressed in said suit, since that happened as soon as I rounded the corner into the shower room. I have a membership for the rest of the summer and a locker.

I liked it. The pool area isn't as pretty as my old pool, but it has big windows and enough lanes. I went back and forth for a little more than 15 minutes, which was about 8 ~~laps~~ times (I lost count for a minute), mostly my funky backstroke. The ankle doesn’t hurt, but the hip does. I’ll have to remember to stretch quite a lot.

I feel much looser, which is good. I don't feel energized, though. I feel very, very tired, much more than 15 minutes worth of tired. This has been getting progressively worse over the past few weeks, but the lab results should be in on Thursday. I’m looking forward to finding out what the hell is up.

i heart the CSA box...

2007-06-15T17:06:00.000-07:00

...because things just appear, and then you have to eat them. And then you feel like making a list of what you ate today, because there were a zillion micronutrients in there.

Hashbrowns stuffed with onions, peppers, and mushrooms
2 eggs, over easy
guacamole (avacado, tomatillo, onion, cilantro, lemon juice)
2 peaches
some red grapes
Stir fry (sugar snap peas, garlic scapes, kohlrabi, napa cabbage, red bell pepper, mushrooms, scallions, shrimp, jasmine rice)
and a very lot of water.

Bisexual Barbie

2007-04-08T14:13:00.000-07:00

— Denise Duhamel

One of ten Barbies is left-handed,
another ten percent are lesbian.
But it's hard to keep track of the bisexual ones —
their orientation often secret, or if overt,
still undetectable. Barbies dress in front of one another
and statisticians think nothing of it.
Two Barbies often share a sleeping bag or double bed
because there are twice as many Barbies as Kens.
Two Barbies live in one Furnished Glamour Home
when each could easily afford her own.
When a Barbie closes her eyes, it's hard for her to tell
if she is reaching out to another Barbie or a Ken.
Female or male, the plastic doll-skin
is equally cool and smooth. Bald seamless crotches,
equally dry and unresponsive to touch. Both
have hard chests and legs that resist being spread.
The giveaway is always the hair—Ken’s
is simply a splash of paint over his scalp.
But how many lonely Barbies—who’ve taken sophisticated trips
to Greece, New York City, and Italy—can be so straight
as to let a blond ponytail get in their way?

progress is progress

2007-03-28T08:29:00.000-07:00

I weighed myself this morning for the first time since I got serious about writing The Prospectus. 230. So down 2.5 pounds from the last weigh-in in January. Not a lot, but also not a gain, which is good considering the strange stress that has been this semester.

The snow is finally gone now, and I went out for a walk on Monday with no fear of slipping and sliding along. The Husband and I are actually working together on making some changes in our eating habits. I’m surprised (although I shouldn't be) at how much difference it makes to feel like you're working with someone on a project like this instead of dealing with all the baggage alone.

on A Fat Rant

2007-03-24T08:19:00.000-07:00

All the diet blogs are talking about A Fat Rant. On the one hand, I think it’s fabulous: of course we should love ourselves. Of course we shouldn’t put off living our lives because we weigh more. It’s been years since I bought anything — shoes, accessories, anything — from a store that doesn’t carry clothes that will fit me. I look at Joy Nash, who weighs very close to what I weigh and wears a size that I wore until just a few months ago, and I think she looks good. I wonder if I look that good and just don’t know it? Maybe. I know several people who would say so.

But when does acceptance cross over into complacency? Is it helpful to remind everyone that 98% of all diets fail? (Where does that statistic come from, anyway? And how does it account for folks like YP and Shauny?) We should be kind to ourselves and understand that we are beautiful, but at the same time not use these things as an excuse not to exercise, or to eat unhealthily because we think trying won’t make any difference. As I’ve been reading the stories of people who have maintained significant losses, it seems that trying again and again is part of what makes it work, much like with smoking cessation. If you keep trying, your chances of succeeding increase.

note to self:

2007-03-24T08:18:00.001-07:00

The corner of 7th and Arcade: tacos al pastor, tacos asada, tacos lingua.

the pleasures of being a n00b

2007-03-24T06:30:00.000-07:00

I’ve only lately discovered coffee after several years of tea snobbiness. (Coinneseurship, snobbiness, whatever.) My parents sent over some Costa Rican coffee in November, and I figured I’d try a cup just to see what was what. Then I started having a cup or two each Saturday, and that’s pretty much where it’s stood. Sometimes one in the middle of the week, but generally not. I’ve been drinking them pretty much the way The Husband takes his: iced, with steamed milk and sweetener.

I finally got to the end of the Costa Rican, which was good because it was getting stale stale stale. (Ground coffee, four months old? Quel horror!) I decided I wanted to buy different coffees in small amounts so I can try more kinds more quickly. My best friend recently went to Africa, and fell in love with Ethiopian coffee. She's asked me to keep an eye out for it in my city, since she can’t get it in my hometown. I’d been looking for the past month or so, but only found Kenyan, and that’s what I shipped to her last week.

So Mister Husband and I were out and about last night, and we stopped by White Rock Coffee. They had not one but two kinds of Ethiopian coffees: organic, free-trade yirgacheffe and regular harrar. I bought a quarter-pound of yirgacheffe beans and looked them up on the Internet after we got home. Apparently, my instincts are unerringly hoity-toity: yirgacheffe is hand-picked, wet-fermented, and then meticulously dried and roasted. I ground some this morning and brewed it up in a French press. I am surprised at how different it is from the Costa Rican I’ve been drinking. Thinner, and delicate. It doesn’t need milk or much sweetening; I added a scant spoon of raw sugar and left it at that. Amazing.

I suspect I am launched on a coffee odyssey.

things I still don't understand, and can't forget

2007-03-13T18:04:00.000-07:00

I was an only child. An only grandchild on one side of the family, and the first-born, only girl grandchild on the other side. And I nearly died from illness when I was two. I was, accordingly, spoiled. Good girl, nice kid, but spoiled.

***

I am 10. My parents have just announced their pending adoption of three second cousins I never knew I had. My mother and I are driving home from my piano lesson. “There’s this emptiness,” she said. “Part of our family isn’t here. I feel so incomplete.”
“But what about me? You’ve got me.”
“No. They’re not here, and they’re part of us now.”

***

A year later, it was clear that the new arrangement wasn’t working out. There were lots of reasons, and it was everyone’s fault. Mom wanted to interrupt the adoption, but Dad insisted that we not because it was clearly not God’s will. About once a year thereafter, the topic of interruption would come up and be squelched on religious grounds.

***

I am twelve or so, and all six of us are sitting around the breakfast table. “Your father and I were talking about killing ourselves“ she says. “It would just be so much easier. But we won’t, because it wouldn’t work.”
“It’s not God’s will,” Dad says. “And if it’s not God’s will, he won’t let you die. You could blow your own face off and still be alive because it’s not your time.”
The four of us kids sit there speechless, staring into our bacon.

***

Another couple of years pass. Mom and I are driving somewhere on a weekend. We are rarely in the car alone together, so I’m enjoying the one-on-one time. She looks over at me and asks “What would happen if I drove into that concrete piling over there?”

***

I haven’t thought about all this in years, but lately it’s been running through my head. And in the past few days it occurred to me that as all this was happening, I was becoming more and more depressed myself. My mother couldn’t image why and refused to let me find counseling, because if the family insurance paid for it then my grandmother would see it on the company insurance reports and think my mother was a bad mother.

I’m a little bitter about this lately.

desire lines

2007-02-10T09:27:00.001-08:00

A desire line is the abstract line that represents the airline distance between an origin and destination, and shows where people want to travel. ... They are manifested on the surface of the earth in certain cases, e.g. as dirt pathways created by people walking through a field, when the original movement by individuals helps clear a path, thereby encouraging more travel. ... Desire lines can usually be found as shortcuts in places where constructed pathways take a circuitous route.

How appropriate that a desire line would be the shortest way to you.

Watching Young Couples with an Old Girlfriend On Sunday Morning

2007-01-31T06:28:00.000-08:00

— August Kleinzahler

How mild these young men seem to me now
with their baggy shorts and clouds of musk, as if younger brothers of the
women they escort in tight black leather, bangs and tattoos, cute little
toughies, so Louise Brooks annealed

in MTV, headed off for huevos rancheros
and the Sunday Times at some chic, crowded dive. I don't recall it at all this
way, do you ? How sweetly complected and confident they look, their faces
unclouded by the rages

and abandoned, tearful couplings of the night before, the drunkenness, beast savor and
remorse. Or do I recoil from their youthfulness and health ? Oh, not recoil, just fail to see
ourselves. And yet, this tenderness between us that remains

was mortared first with something dark, something feral, we still refuse, we still refuse to name.

progress!

2007-01-30T15:00:00.000-08:00

No weigh in last Friday, because I was so bloated and icky-feeling. But! Today I noticed that I can put on and take off the size 22 jeans without undoing them. That must mean something.

The next step will be to be able to do that when they’re straight out of the dryer.

snails and brussels sprouts

2007-01-25T18:17:00.000-08:00

There are nights when all I want is a mac and cheese or fish sticks, but I notice that I'm also becoming that person that orders scary grown-up food. Like, food other grown-ups won't order. The other night, my friend C and I went out for the sort of dinner where there are white linen tablecloths and multiple courses. I talked her into escargot for one appetizer, and she ordered brussels sprouts for the other. Then I had boar sausage with braised red cabbage and root vegetable puree. And then mulled cider for desert.

I have no idea how I became this person.

weekly weigh-in

2007-01-20T07:18:00.000-08:00

232.5. If I hadn’t had a remarkable amount of sodium in the past 48 hours, I might have done better than that.

scented

2007-01-19T13:56:00.000-08:00

I used to wear Cashmere Mist all the time. It was my scent for years, but then I met Mister Husband and quit wearing perfume. So I’ve been smelling like Me for four years now. I smell pretty good, but sometimes a girl wants more.

So when I found out about Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and their imp’s ears, ordering was a moral imperative. It took forever for them to show up: I ordered in late November and the box came this past Tuesday. (Remember when 4-6 weeks shipping time was conventional and reasonable?) It was worth the wait, though, and I love almost everything.

Here’s what I got, with descriptions from the site:
Alice: Curiouser and curiouser. Milk and honey with rose, carnation and bergamot.
White Rabbit: Strong black tea and milk with white pepper, ginger, honey and vanilla, spilled over the crisp scent of clean linen.
(I could have sworn I also ordered Jabberwocky — an earthy yet buoyant scent: pine, eucalyptus and orange — but apparently not.)
Baobhan Sith: The ghostly White Women of the Scottish highlands. They seduce unwary travelers by night with their unearthly beauty and mesmerizing dancing. They engage their victims in a wild, hypnotic dance, and once they reach exhaustion, exsanguinate their partners with their vampiric kiss. Grapefruit, white tea, apple blossom and ginger.
Dublin: The scent of misty forests, damp alder leaf, and the gentlest touch of white rose.
Dragon’s Hide: Flame-kissed, warm, smooth, and highly protective. Dragon’s blood, leather and a hint of smoke.
Vicomte de Valmont [Quite possibly my favorite so far]: I promised her my eternal love, and I actually thought that for a couple of hours.Rake, scoundrel, demon in a frock coat. Devilishly seductive, ultimately tragic; a villain undone and redeemed by love. Based on an 18th century gentlemen,s cologne: ambergris, white musk, white sandalwood, Spanish Moss, orange blossom, three mints, jasmine, rose geranium and a spike of rosemary.
Vixen: Lascivious, flirtatious, and vampy as hell. A true heartbreaker’s perfume. The innocence of orange blossom tainted by the beguiling scents of ginger and patchouli.
Tombstone: A celebration of one of the first commercially produced perfumes of America,s Old West. A rugged, warm blend of vanilla, balsam and sassafras layered over Virginia cedar.

So far I’ve worn a different scent everyday. And they’re so much fun — teaching persuasive oratory while wearing Vicomte de Valmont or going to a meeting wearing Dragon’s Hide does lend something to the proceedings.

ow.

2007-01-18T05:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the first First Day of teaching that I’ve not had dry heaves. Excellent. But instead I got a terrible awful headache. This happened the first day of Orientation in September, too. I like my job, I like my department, I like teaching, so I have no idea what’s up with this particular physical reaction.

Fortunately, I have a lovely, lovely husband who put me to bed and brought me aspirin and juice and went to the grocery store and brought home dinner. He’s a keeper.

The Self

2007-01-16T10:29:00.000-08:00

— Adam Zagajewski

It is small and no more visible than a cricket
in August. It likes to dress up, to masquerade,
as all dwarves do. It lodges between
granite blocks, between serviceable
truths. It even fits under
a bandage, under adhesive. Neither custom officers
nor their beautiful dogs will find it. Between
hymns, between alliances, it hides itself.

holy protein, batman!

2007-01-12T15:15:00.000-08:00

Friday weigh-in: 234. No change.

So since I’ve been paying attention to exactly how much stuff I eat, I’ve been appalled. I usually start the day with fiber: oatmeal or a bowl of cereal. Then I’m peckish all morning and usually eat two snacks before lunch. (If I was doing the whole 6-small meals per day thing it would be different, but I’m not going anywhere near that yet.)

It occurred to me that if I ate considerably more on days I accidentally skipped breakfast, I could probably further control the rest of the day by changing up breakfast. What if I concentrated more on protein? So today I had two eggs and two small slices of dry pumpernickel toast. It took about as long as making oatmeal and tasted wonderful. And I wasn’t hungry for the rest of the morning! I had a bowl of plain potato soup for lunch and a mid-afternoon snack that consisted of a few dried apricots and a handful of peanuts-in-the-shell. There was also a yogurt cup, but that was boredom. Still, that’s much less food than I would normally rootle through.

Hmmm. Protein!

Physical Chart

2007-01-11T15:02:00.000-08:00

i die. in the rain.

2007-01-11T10:54:00.000-08:00

Perhaps the beginning of an Effort isn’t exactly the time to go shopping for clothes. Be that as it may, I needed to replace some sweaters and buy another pair of jeans, since the last pair wore out in the thighs a few days ago. (This has been the fate of all of my jeans since I can remember.) I discovered that I have gone up a size all around, which means that I've gone up TWO sizes in pants since this time last year. If I gain any more weight, I will be completely limited to Lane Bryant and their hideous bedazzled clothes.

Remember, remember, remember: something is better than nothing and all progress is incremental. We are learning one small skill at a time this go-round so that they may stick.

wanting another condition

2007-01-10T11:59:00.000-08:00

Via iDiet, a Gandhi quote:

As long as you derive inner help and comfort from anything, you should keep it. If you were to give it up in a mood of self-sacrifice or out of a stern sense of duty, you would continue to want it back, and that unsatisfied want would make trouble for you. Only give up a thing when you want some other condition so much that the thing no longer has any attraction for you.

More later, after I make more progress on the current writing project.

eyeballing

2007-01-10T11:48:00.000-08:00

What does 200 calories look like?

Slightly-Longer-Than-Weekly Weigh-in

2007-01-05T07:01:00.000-08:00

Current Weight: 234. Down six pounds from last time, which was a first-day-of TOM weight.

Current measurements:
Bicep: 13.5
Breasts: 46.5
Waist: 43
Belly: 50
Hips: 48.5
Thigh: 29
Calf: 16.5

So: down some pounds, yay! Largest belly measurement ever, hrm!

Exercise of late: walking with Husband on Wednesday, 70 steps yesterday. I love living in a place with a real winter, but I hate the fear of icy walks. Which is a problem, because I love to go for walks and I hate gyms. Am investigating options, though, and working on thinking of this as a process of learning skills.

Inches

2007-01-04T12:30:00.000-08:00

Whilst cleaning my study today I found my measurement sheet from last spring's attempt. I'll put them here so I can find them easily again. And tomorrow I'll measure and weigh myself, so help me God.

Late February
Bicep 13.5
Breasts 46
Waist 43
Belly 49
Hips 48
Thigh 28
Calf 16.25

March 13
Bicep 13
Breasts 45
Waist 42
Belly 46.5
Hips 47.5
Thigh 27.5
Calf 16.25

Late March
Bicep 12/5
Breasts 45
Waist 42
Belly 47
Hips 48
Thigh 24.5
Calf 17

advice to remember

2007-01-01T13:48:00.000-08:00

From Pasta Queen:

Healthy living is a skill, just like crochet, that you will get better at with practice.

This makes a lot of sense to me. I wonder if it was a skill I just never learned, because I traded it off for high literacy skills? I was a sick little kid who was often not allowed to go outside and play. Instead, I learned to stay inside and occupy myself quietly by reading and writing and making up games.

And if it’s just a skill, then I can learn this. Can’t be any worse than getting a PhD, which also has a ton of emotional pitfalls attached to the process.

Happy New Year

2007-01-01T09:44:00.000-08:00

I notice that the years when I make a point of clarifying what I want to do with my energies are more directed than others. Actually, I find it works best if I do this twice each year: once now-ish, and once in the summer. So this post is me figuring out what the general goals are this time around and what in the world they might mean.

1. Continue to have a life. I’ve gotten pretty good at this in the past couple of years, but I could be better. “Pretty good“ means that I make time to hang out with The Husband, to go to lunch or dinner with friends, to have massage work done, to read books that don’t have anything to do with my job. This is all excellent, and I think I’ve discovered a reasonable ratio of work:play. “Could be better” has to do with the fact that I often spend some or all of my play time feeling guilty and/or angry about not working. When I play, I want to be all in the moment of playing and not dragging other shit into the mix.

2. Continue with the career progress. In 12 months, I’d like to be most of the way through the Next Big Project. I’m scared to even talk about it for fear of jinxing myself, but my actual goal is to have an entire but shitty draft by the end of September. ~~I’d also like to~~ I will also finish up my current Greek project and get it out the door.

3. The always-present Be Healthier Goal. This is nebulous and needs definition. What the hell does be healthier mean?

It means being able to eat reasonably and intuitively. I refuse to cut entire classes of food out of my life, but I want to be eating reasonable portions of real food that seriously feeds me. Steps to this would be: figuring out what actual portion sizes are and applying them to meals. Making sure to eat a wide variety of whole foods. Packing in enough servings of fruits and veggies.
It means finding out just how pain-free I can be. This means staying properly hydrated. It means regular stretching in a variety of different ways. It means continuing with massage and chiropractic as necessary. It means losing weight and moving around consistently.
Finding an activity that’s actually fun and that I want to do consistently. I hope this means learning to ride a bike. I already like going for walks. I need to find something to do in serious winter weather, which is a lot of the year where I live.

4. Find ways to be more frugal. The first goal with that is the grocery bill, which is entirely out of hand. Also, I spent some time yesterday setting up Quicken so as to track spending and figure out where the hell else our money is going.

5. Travel as much as responsibly possible. Especially locally, since we won’t get to live here much longer. My grandparents lived an entire life of “Oh, we always meant to do that” and “We never got to do that.” My parents did too for a long time, but they’re better about it now. I refuse to live my life this way. If you want something, it’s your job to find ways to make it happen.

strawberry shortcake

2006-12-30T19:44:00.000-08:00

During my last foray at The Body Shop, I ended up with a sample of strawberry body butter. I love their butters (so much that they’re my primary reason for going there), but I would never have picked out strawberry. Hey, it was free.

Now, having rubbed my way through all the olive body butter that I actually paid for, I’m working on the strawberry. It makes me smell exactly like a McDonald’s strawberry sundae. If I was 8 or so, I would be positively enchanted. But I am thirty. And I stopped wanting to smell sweet quite awhile ago. It’s fun for a change, but I won’t buy it when I go back for more buttah.

Exercise: walk with The Husband
Breakfast: croissant and cafe au lait
Lunch: Southwest Turkey Stromboli at Old Chicago
Dinner: Bacon, mushroom, and swiss quiche. A glass of pinot noir, followed by much water once the first twinklings of a headache hit.

laundry day

2006-12-29T15:00:00.000-08:00

Today was drizzly and cold, so we stayed in. I’ve been doing laundry and updating one of my spring courses.

Exercise: 70 stairs, some yoga

Breakfast: woke up too late, then got busy. Too stupid to eat.
Lunch: Turkey sandwich with swiss cheese, guacamole, and sprouts. Three baby dills.
Snack: vanilla yogurt with fresh blueberries
Snack the second: banana, T of peanut butter
Dinner: grilled chicken, cheese tortellini with pesto, steamed broccoli

I know I said this yesterday, and I know it’s not news at all, but I’m fascinated by seeing the food all listed like this. It makes it so obvious what’s going wrong, and it also makes me think about healthier choices during the day. For instance, could have had potato chips. Had a banana and peanut butter instead.

The “Gone to Apple Valley Edition”

2006-12-29T07:48:00.000-08:00

So lots of walking yesterday, albeit it not at a very fast pace. The drive down goes across pretty wetlands, and I got to spend the afternoon hanging out with my very best friend in the whole wide world.

Breakfast: banana, T of all-natural crunchy peanut butter
Lunch: 1/2 turkey sandwich with 1/2 slice swiss, guac, and sprouts; small handfull potato chips, 3 spears pickled okra
Unfortunate Snack: medium Dairy Queen cone
Dinner: blueberry pancakes with butter and light application of maple syrup, 2 sausage links

Wow, that’s a lot of fat in the diet. Interesting to see it all listed like that.

Whatever Works

2006-12-27T13:03:00.000-08:00

I’ve always resisted using this place as a straight-up What-I-Weigh, What-I-Ate diary, but maybe that’s what’s needed for now. I’ve been rummaging around in Marla’s archives, and it looks like that was what kept her going at first. Worth a shot, anyway. And this is Start #3 in the past two and a half years. My start weight the first time, post-thesis, was 230. My second start weight, a year ago, was 225. This time, post-exams, it’s 240. I hope this is like quitting smoking — the more times you try, the higher your chances of actually succeeding.

This time, I’m working on adding in healthy habits incrementally rather than trying to change everything at once. I do consistently well enough already with water intake. So my current goal is simply to add in movement every day and remember to take my vitamin. I’m working on making decent choices in eating, but not being anal-retentive about it yet. Mostly, I’m aiming for an intake of primarily whole foods, which isn’t all that much different that what I usually aim for. That will change later, when I worry more about portion size, fat/protein intake, and whatnot.

So today:
Breakfast: oatmeal with blueberries, maple syrup, and soy milk.
Lunch: turkey sandwich with swiss cheese, guacamole and sprouts.
Snack: two apricots, handful of potato chips with low-fat onion dip
Dinner: Pork roast, green beans, and couscous.

Exercise: hour-long walk with the husband.

cleaning up

2006-11-25T14:45:00.000-08:00

I just finished the major work in a Professional Rite of Passage. There's a couple more legs to go, but six months of worry and work is beginning to be behind me now.

I woke up this morning, submitted the materials, and then went back to bed until nearly 11. Eventually I wondered into the bathroom and took a good look in the mirror. Eyebrows ahoy! And hair that hasn't been cut since August, although I did color it sometime back in October. The last time I exercised was the bike ride I wrote about in that last entry. I’ve been bemoaning the weight gain, although I’m not sure how much it really is. My pants are tighter, but they still fit.

I did some things right — paid attention to water intake and kept up my massage appointments. I got a healthy amount of sleep every night. But that’s it. I wonder why it’s so easy to revert to brain-on-a-stick mode when I’m working on projects like this? I did the same thing when I was writing my master’s thesis, and I don’t think anything is gained from it. In fact, some things are lost, because when the body isn’t feeling well the brain can’t work at peak capacity.

After this Rite is finished, I have some time off. And then I begin another major project that will last at least a year, most likely 18 months. I’m determined to teach myself to integrate care of the mind with care of the body, because I can’t spend years like this. I don’t want to be a creaky old woman later, and I certainly don’t want to be one now.

bicycling

2006-09-29T12:29:00.000-07:00

I went on my first bike ride yesterday. First bike ride ever, at 30. Went about a mile and a half around the lake near my house.

30, you may ask? Well, I actually learned to ride when I was 11 or so. But I had a bike several years before that - blue, with a banana seat and Charlie’s Angels silhouettes plastered all over it. With training wheels, of course, and no gears. Somehow it ended up living in the abandoned chicken shack at my grandparent’s place. I’d haul it out to the field and ride it up and down a little rise along the fence. Back and forth and up and down over the grass. I don’t remember anyone really helping me much, but my grandpa sometimes kept an eye on me from his riding mower. (Of course, it’s also highly probable that refused any help offered.) Everyone thought that was a good place to learn, because my mother had learned there 20 years before and had ridden her bike all over the uneven turf.

I eventually got bored with the back and forth. That bike ended up rusting in the chicken house until I was older, when it got hauled back to my parents’ house. We had adopted three second cousins by then, and they all came equipped with bikes. I made the mistake of expressing interest, and so everyone determined that I would learn to ride. It was an entirely negative experience, involving much crying and yelling by all involved. I learned to ride well enough that everyone decided I would go up to the top hill in our neighborhood and ride down it. There was fresh gravel that hadn’t been well-tamped, and some dirt-bike riders who blew by close to me. I fell off and skinned everything. That’s what bravery will get ya, kid. I rode back and forth and up and down in the dip in front of our house for a few weeks, and then put the bike in the shed to finish rusting out. The next year I got a pink 10-speed racing bike for Christmas, or maybe a birthday. I had thought that with a different bike I’d be more interested, and that more gears would help with the hills in my neighborhood. But I hadn’t counted on being thrown so off-balance by bending over the handlebars, and that bike rusted out too.

That was the end of me and bikes. For 20 years.

This summer, my parents took up riding, and brought their hybrids up with them to visit. They’ve been enjoying it a lot, and are noticeably more compact after several months of riding the trails. I was curious. And they were patient. I rode up and down behind my garage for about an hour last weekend, and on Thursday Mom and I went around the lake. I white-knuckled it the entire way, chanting Don’t hit the lake. Don’t hit the tree. Don’t hit the people. I had to walk a little bit, since I didn’t entirely figure out shifting on hills and short-circuited over riding on a section that was street on one side, hill down to lake on the other side, and partially blocked by a utility truck. But I did the rest of it and didn’t fall over and didn’t end up in the lake or on top of any joggers. It was fun, all things considered. At the tail end of the trail, I even relaxed enough to notice there were trees around me.

They offered to buy me a bike, but there’s only about 3 weeks left in the riding season up here. I don’t have a proper place to store it, either. But those things will be dealt with by next spring, and that’ll give me time to do some more research and figure out what’s really needed this time.

Dude. I rode a bike.

Her Kind

2006-09-02T05:41:00.000-07:00

— Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I hae ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

is there such a thing as a grease hangover?

2006-09-01T14:28:00.000-07:00

We went to the fair last night. And that means fair food:

Key lime pie on a stick
Cheese on a stick
Lemonade
Corn dog
Polish sausage with lots of onion
Italian donuts
Coffee ice cream

We each ate a couple of bites of everything, with him eating more of the sausage and me eating more of the corn dog and ice cream. If something didn’t live up to expectations, then it got thrown away. (Which meant neither of us ate much of the pie or cheese.)

Today, I feel terrible. Besides the predictable gastrointestinal disturbances, I have no energy. None. I feel kinda achy. I'm vaguely depressed.

I wonder if there’s such a thing as a grease hangover? When I was younger, I would have eaten all that and not felt a thing. Now I feel sorta like I've poisoned myself. So there’s been lots of water and vitamins and healthy food today. And I hope to hell this wears off by tomorrow.

monkey mind

2006-08-31T06:03:00.000-07:00

My mind perched on top of my head like a spider monkey and thought of more things that could go wrong at dinner, and whose fault those things would be. I tried to drop my attention from my head to my heart, which is actually an ascension of sorts. ... Still, my mind chattered on, as if the spider monkey had taken acid. My mind is my main problem almost all the time. I wish I could leave it in the fridge when I go out, but it likes to come with me. I have tried to get it to take up a nice hobby, like macramé, but it prefers to think about things, and jot down what annoys it.

Anne Lamott, Plan B, 259

Alterations

2006-08-20T06:41:00.000-07:00

So the name has changed here, from Fried Butter to Physiognomics. The former struck me as a funny name for a diet blog, but I don’t think anyone else really got it and I’m not so interested in straight-up diet blogging anymore. I wonder if, statistically speaking, diet blogs have the quickest burnout rate? So many people start them and abandon them. I’ve read them for years now, and the ones that were on the original sidebar were the most consistently updated back in February, when I started this thing. Now two of them are updating. And while my primary blog has been cooking along for almost four years now, I haven’t written here since June. Losing weight just isn’t all that interesting unless it’s your all-consuming passion (and there’s nothing wrong with that!). The problem for me is that my all-consuming thing right now has to be finishing my Ph.D.

But there are still things I want to write here that I can’t write there, all the things about the body: weight, birth control, hair, pain and the management thereof, depression and the management thereof. The title refers so Aristotle’s Physiognomics, which attempted to classify physical aspects of humans and animals and the meaning each aspect contained. Here’s an example from 1.6, a "selection of signs with regard to men is as follows":

Buttocks pointed and bony are a mark of a strong character, fat fleshy buttocks of a soft character, whilst lean buttocks which look as if they had been rubbed bare, are indicative of a mischievous disposition, as in apes.
A loose build round about the belly indicates strength of character, as in the male sex, whilst the opposite is by congruity indicative of a soft character. [Yay! I have strength of character!]
Suppleness of the clavicles signifies quickness of perception, for when the collar-bone is supple, stimulation of the senses is rendered easy. Contrariwise, a stiff collar-bone indicates dullness of sense, because then it is difficult to apprehend sense-stimuli.

And so on. This strikes me as hilarious stuff, and I’m mired in Hellenic texts right now anyway, and so therefore the new name. More anon.

shrinky dink

2006-06-14T15:51:00.000-07:00

This is very strange. When I was home, meaning Arkansas, I figured out that I needed to go buy some more professional clothes. Back when I had packed for the trip, we had only planned on staying for two days of the conference in Memphis, so I only brought two days of work clothes. Then we decided to stay for all four days.

So I hied myself to Dillards, which was the best available choice but still totally sucked. Wall-to-wall soccer mom clothes. I finally ended up with wheat-colored slacks and crisp white shirts, my usual standby. I tried stuff on and my usual sizes did not.fit.at.all. So I ended up with larger stuff, and marveled that I had managed to gain that much road weight.

Now we've been back for two weeks, and all of that stuff is two sizes too big. The shirt I thought was fitted is gaping at the waist, and when I lie down, there's a three-finger gap in the waist of the pants. I haven’t been dieting or anything. So is Southern food that full of sodium, that I could retain that amount of water? Did I spontaneously gain and lose ten pounds? I’m not going to get on the scale right now, so hell if I know. But it is irritating to have $180 worth of brand-new clothes that don’t fit.

mobile

2006-06-12T04:51:00.000-07:00

So I’m working on becoming more self-propelled and less reliant on engines to get me where I want to go. That’s gotta be better all the way around — for me, the environment, the city, etc etc. A friend of mine from undergrad and master’s work was all about this and I was entirely less than interested at the time (partly because it’s a very impractical thing in Arkansas, which is only set up for cars). But the Twin Cities are better set up for this sort of transportation, the weather here is excellent during the summer, and I’m at a place in my life where I want to be outside and moving around. (I really, really, don’t want to be inside a gym right now.) So there you go.

The thing is, I can’t jump in whole-hog because of the ankle. Gotta let it work up to whatever I want it to do. So I’m starting with walking while I think about what kind of bike I want. The campus I’m working on this summer is made for lots of walking. It’s pretty easy to get around on the campus bus system, but it’s just as easy to walk, and sometimes quicker now that the busses are on summer schedule. Last week, my goal was to park in the back lot every day and walk to my office, then across campus to the library, and then back to my car. I only ended up going to the library on one or two days, but I did park and walk every day. (Part of that is because I’m getting used to my first-ever pair of orthotics, and was warned not to go too far at first.) I have no idea how far it is back and forth. Saturday the husband and I spent the afternoon walking the maze of skyways in downtown Minneapolis, and I know we covered several miles then. I should take my pedometer this week.

I remember Diet Girl’s idea of mini-missions from awhile back — assigning yourself little things that will develop new habits that will add up. Last week my goal was to walk in from the far lot every day. This week I’ll wear my pedometer and add stairs. And I’ll keep researching bikes while I wait for the check for some freelancing I did to show up.

drop the needle in the groove

2006-06-04T15:59:00.000-07:00

So between the end of coursework and a then a 16-day vacation, I pretty much undid all the weight loss from the spring.

Not all is lost, though: we rarely ate fast food on the trip, preferring instead to eat actual things. The problem is that Actual Things in the South aren’t necessarily healthy. I had forgotten how hard it is to eat vegetarian there. I wasn’t particularly trying, since I wasn’t going to pass up my yearly chance for decent catfish, gumbo, barbecue, and etoufee. But there were some days when I didn’t want it and was out with friends at Thai restaurants, and everything on the menu had meat in it. Tofu wasn’t even listed as an option. I asked for it at one place and ended up with four little cubes in a big plate of pad thai that was more like peanut butter linguini. The second time (in a different state), I didn't even ask. Just ordered green chicken curry, which required an interrogation by the waiter, who wanted to know if I was aware of what I’d ordered. (Yes. I eat it every other week, just usually without meat.) Two colleagues noted that Memphis is a hard place for a Jew or a vegetarian to eat, and I suppose they’re right. I ate lots of greens and black-eyed peas, but they all had some form of pork in them. The squash comes loaded with butter, and the okra is usually fried. (I’m the only person I know these days who likes boiled okra.) So I ate things that had some decent nutritional content, but they also came loaded with fat. No matter — I was happy, and I was conscious of what I was doing.

When we got back and finally ventured to the grocery store, all I was interested in was the produce section. And then this morning I had to go to the Farmer’s Market for the first time this year, and came home with more baby bok choy and tomatoes than was reasonable. The campus I’m working out of this summer is just made for a ton o’walking, and I’m getting closer to buying a bike (but ain’t there yet). My job (and the future of my career) depends on a large amount of ass-sitting this summer, but I’m going to work in some outdoor exercise whenever I can.

snap, crackle, pop

2006-04-30T07:49:00.000-07:00

So I had a full set of lower-back xrays done, and it turns out that one of my hips sits 14 millimeters lower than the other. (Anything more than 5mm is considered a significant variation.) This, combined with a visible old injury that you can still see on one of the lower vertebrae, is a good reason for all the years of back pain, the tendency to rest all my weight on my right leg, and the transferred upper back pain, which in turn transfers down my right arm. There are other reasons for the upper back pain, too, of course, but the hip is a, ahem, central one. (Rimshot!)

My Sainted Dead Grandma also had one leg that was shorter than the other, although it also wasn’t evident to the casual observer. I don’t think she ever did anything about it. And that makes me sad, because we started me off with a 5 cm lift this week, and it’s already made a ton of difference. I can’t even tell it’s there, but I feel more ... right. We cast me for custom orthotics on Friday, which should also help correct my overpronation.

So there’s that, plus adjustment twice weekly. I’m a bit achy sometimes, both from the cracking and from the weight distribution being evened up with the orthotic, which is shifting more weight to the repaired ankle. But mostly I feel great. My neck, which used to pop multiple times per day, hardly pops at all. All of the muscles in my back are pliable, which is very strange. I lay in bed last night kneading my shoulders, mostly out of surprise that they were kneadable! The massage therapist was shocked by how little pain I had on the table, and says that there are just a few more spots to deal with (calves, mostly, since we never get to them) and then I can switch to a maintenance schedule.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m hoping all of this will make exercise more doable or bearable or something. I know that chiropractic and massage don’t cure laziness, but I also think that everything is better and more fun when you’re not hurting. This summer I’m working about a block from one of the country’s best campus athletic facilities, and Mister Husband and I are talking about getting bikes after we get back from our summer trip next month. I’m rather excited about everything.

control

2006-04-16T14:53:00.000-07:00

In the last month, I’ve maintained my inches lost, but not lost any new ones. I’m down to 215, which is two pounds away from my lowest weight after ankle surgery last year. No tremendous strides here, but I suppose there’s something to be said for not totally backsliding, either. I am doing something exercise-y each day, but not necessarily aerobic. So I’m not burning the calories I need to burn in order to get things humming again.

Part of it is that it’s That Time of the Semester. Three weeks to go, with grant apps and papers and grades due. Part of it is that it’s suddenly Spring here, which means that I haven’t been able to talk myself into going inside my drab, seriously ugly gym when I’d rather be outside, or at least right next to my office window. I’ve been stretching and yoga-ing and walking along the river. Eating well, getting my water. Continuing with weekly massage, and am now starting with a chiropractor. It turns out that my spine curves and the muscles are fighting with each other to keep things balanced. So we’ll see where that goes. I’d headed for x-rays this week.

There’s more I want to write here, if I can carve out the time. This is meant to be a place to write about all sorts of bodily stuff, not just weight, and I want to write about my current issues with birth control. I want to write about how this blog is helping me keep my “professional” blog professional, and thus maintain a bit of distance and balance. I want to write about travel and philosophy of leisure. When I get back from Going Home in May, I want to write about the Farmer’s Market. I want to see how veggie I can get this summer.

Right now, I really, really want summer. I am done with this semester.

varied ponderings

2006-03-31T16:43:00.000-08:00

Three weeks since I’ve been to the gym. Without exercise I’ve begun to feel quite a bit of pain again — so much so that it alarmed the massage therapist this week. So if for no other reason than just not aching, I need to set the needle back in the groove. Tomorrow is a new month. It occurs to me to challenge myself to go every day in the month, but I wonder if that's not such a large goal that I’m setting myself up for failure. More reasonable to challenge myself to exercise every day this week, be it outside, yoga, or the gym. Then I can string the weeks together to make a month.
***
One morning last week as Mister Husband and I were walking to the El, an old man leaning on a cane stood in the middle of the square and started yelling to us. “Your hair, it’s so pretty! You’re the best thing I’ve seen all day!” It was oddly sweet. Hey, the day you stop looking is the day you die.
***
After we finished teaching today, we took off across town. Ended up in an unfamiliar neighborhood in a familar section, and then in a new-to-us park. We spent about an hour tromping around and taking photographs, and my ankle went uphill and downhill and all over uneven grass and felt mostly fine. It was grey, a little drizzly and brisk. Perfect. We had a great time.

sweet home Chicago

2006-03-29T06:31:00.000-08:00

We were in Chicago, one of my favorite cities, almost all of last week for work-related stuff. And man, I had forgotten how much better the food is there — especially compared to the Twin Cities. Minnesotans are not renowned for their cuisine, which tends toward the bland and lifeless. The story I always tell to illustrate this involves a Minnesotan friend of mine who once served me chili that contained no chili powder. Her spice rack consisted of an old can of pre-ground pepper and some long-dead onion flakes. Not everyone around here is like that, but I still find that it’s best to not eat the white-people food. And with so many great ethnic restaurants around, that’s pretty easy to do.

So anyway, Chicago: land of famous hot dogs, pizza, and steaks. I don’t think I ate anything untasty the entire time I was there. I had given myself permission to order pretty much whatever I wanted, so long as I watched my portions. It turned out that I was quite surprised by what it was that I wanted. Usually I eat consistently horribly when I travel. This time was much ore schizophrenic. Sometimes I felt like onion rings and red meat, but other times I felt like a salad of baby greens with apple, pear, gorgonzola, and raspberry vinagrette. Sometimes I felt like half of a veggie omelet with hashbrowns, and sometimes I felt like a bagel with egg and red peppers. I kept turning down sausage with breakfast, although I did eat meat at various other meals (but not always). And I never ate to the point that it hurt. So some of the good habits really are seeping in! I gained one pound while we were gone, which is acceptable to me provided that it comes back off pronto.

on or off the wagon?

2006-03-19T06:52:00.000-08:00

Am I on or off the wagon this week? It’s difficult to tell. I haven’t been to the gym in ten days, and I hate that. I had a houseguest, and two days of blizzards, and then The Husband came back home and of course I wanted to lounge around with him in the morning rather than suit up and wade through the snow to the gym. But that only takes me through last Thursday. Why haven’t I been on Friday or Saturday? Or today? There’s really no excuses for that. I’ve done yoga once, but that’s it.

I think this is somehow all involved with some sort of bizarre pre-disgust that I won’t be able to go to the gym next week, since we’ll be at a conference from Tuesday until Saturday. If I can’t go then, why go now? (That's entirely ridiculous.) The hotel has an exercise room, though, and I will remember to bring clothes for that. And we'll be walking all over Chicago. And I can take exercise bands with me for the room. And yoga is very portable.

Eating has been interesting as well this week. Ovo-lacto except for a piece of fried fish on Tuesday and a small portion of corned beef on St. Patrick’s day. There’s been beef broth in a couple of soups as well. I haven’t necessarily been trying to avoid meat, but I just don’t want it. I got veggies on my half of the pizza we ordered on Thursday, and have turned down many opportunities for sausage. Last night, the Husband decided that IHOP would make an appropriate birthday meal, so off we went. I had half of a veggie omelet and more of an order of hash browns than I had planned on. (Formerly I would have had biscuits and gravy and sausage and eggs and hashbrowns.)

What else? Not many sweets. But I have been eating quite a bit of dairy, and not skim or half-fat stuff either. Goat cheese and crackers. One 120-calorie cups of yogurt each day. Sharp cheddar on avocado and sprout sandwiches. The pizza had full-fat cheese, of course. Some mixed nuts, but a reasonable amount.

Looking at this, it’s not as dismal as I thought. I’ve also kept up on water and sleep and massage. Things could be better exercise-wise, but they could also be much, much worse overall. Maybe I’ll get up the courage to weigh myself in a minute. I notice that my wedding ring is suddenly much looser, so maybe some of the water has come off.

Update: Weighed! And yep, back down to 217ish. When I went back to school about this time last year, I was 213 and could wear Mister Husband’s jeans. I just went and put a pair of them on, and they’re actually too big, so 217 must be generally accurate. (Depending on how I stand on the scale, it reads anywhere between 208 [preposterous] and 225 [which strikes me as high].)

Noticing

2006-03-17T06:22:00.000-08:00

When the massage therapist and I were doing the pre-pummeling inventory yesterday, I was commenting on bodily things that had happened in the past week that I thought were strange. An eight-pound water-retention gain, for instance. The fact that I suddenly have a very, very low tolerance for meat. (More on that later.) The fact that I’m sleeping wonderfully in spite of quite a lot of work stress. [No, there’s not the remotest chance I’m pregnant, so don’t ask about that.]

Then, once I was on the table, it occurred to me that perhaps none of these things is really strange in itself. It’s the fact that I bothered to notice them that is strange. There’s a phrase in academia, “brain on a stick.” It refers to the scholar’s tendency to ignore their body in favor of nurturing their brain, and it explains all the poor health and bizarre haberdashery and coiffure that goes on. In the past, I’ve been very bad about that. I make a point of wearing clean, appropriate clothes, keeping my hair cut and dyed, and keeping up with hygeine, but I have a tendency to ignore the way my body feels. I can ignore pain (especially the kind that comes from inactivity), thirst, sleepiness, whatever, when I’m working through a semester.

I was jolted out of that mindset last winter when I broke my ankle. All of a sudden, I was forced to be very in tune with my body and how it felt and what it needed. When I was recovering, I promised myself that I would maintain that awareness, that it would be one of the good things to come out of that accident. And I have, although it’s been a very gradual process over the past year in order to make it a daily habit. But now I know when something hurts or I need to drink more water, and I almost always do something about it. That’s a huge difference.

flirting

2006-03-13T08:25:00.000-08:00

I should point out from the get-go that I’m happily married. I adore my husband, and he adores me. It’s wonderful to be married to someone who absolutely gets you, and who accepts all of your faults and celebrates your good attributes. There’s nobody else I would rather be with.

But still, the ego likes to be stroked. The other day, I went across the street to the grocery store in my pajamas (with a coat on over) and no makeup whatsoever. The early-20s cashier flirted like mad with me while I was checking out. Fun, put a little kick in my day, but I quickly forgot about it. Can’t even remember what he looked like. But still, it’s nice to be noticed.

March measurements (and Sunday weigh-in)

2006-03-13T06:53:00.002-08:00

So I weighed myself this morning (a day late, because I forgot yesterday until after Charlotte and I had eaten lovely potatoes and cauliflower and broccoli). Usual fetishistic procedure: naked, freshly emptied, same place on the kitchen floor. The scale insists that I am up eight pounds since last week. Methinks I need a new fucking scale. Although we've been eating chili and other things that might make me retain water. And I have no idea where in my cycle I am, since I’ve taken myself off birth control pills and thusly things are funky right now.

So, in a fit of desperation, I ran in the bedroom and grabbed the Tight Jeans, which are freshly laundered. I've been wearing them again since I began to get into them about ten days ago, even though they give me muffin top. They’re straight out of the laundry and therefore as tight as they get, and I could zip them without any struggle at all.

So then I decided it was time to measure myself, since it’s been about a month. Here’s the results of that:

Bicep: - .5 inches
Breasts: - 1 inch
Waist: - 1 inch
Belly: - 2.5 inches
Hips: -.5 inch
Thigh: -.5 inch
Calf: Entirely the same. But I noticed some new muscle definition there the other day, while standing in the correct light

Shrinkage all over! I can calm down a bit. Damned scale!

I suppose it’s useful, though, because I have now revised my breakfast plans from buckwheat pancakes to oatmeal with banana.

the current status

2006-03-11T15:07:00.000-08:00

I hadn’t intended to do this sort of a post — the one where you say how much you worked out and how things are changing and what you weigh. But so many others who are further down the line have written about how it helps them to look back and see their progress. Here goes:

I weigh once a week, on Sundays. Last Sunday, I weighed 217 pounds. That's 13 pounds down from my all-time high weight, and about 9 pounds down since the holidays. I’m averaging about a pound per week, although that’s not the way it’s come off. I lost five pounds in January, then nothing or a slight regain when I started at the gym because I was eating out of nervousness, and then several pounds each week since I’ve been serious about the water and massage. (Which have in turn calmed the eating.) I’m really not sure what I’ll weigh tomorrow. I’ve done well the water this week, had more deep-tissue work done, but only been to the gym twice and done yoga once. But both of those gym trips were full-out with cardio and weights. I’ve eaten relatively well, and mostly ovo-lacto except an adventure with a few slices of an extra-lean meatloaf. My massage therapist can tell a difference in my body — more flexibility, less pain, better tissue consistency. I definitely feel stronger and have much less pain.

In spite of the consistent progress I’ve made, actually being able to sustain loss seems so remote to me. Earlier this week, and today, I was feeling confident that I was making progress. My mini-goal is 200, which I should theoretically be able to make by summer. But then I started playing around with a BMI calculator, and figured out that I need to be 196 in order to be merely overweight and not obese. To be at the high end of the “normal” weight range would put me at 165 or so. That’s lower than my high school weight. It doesn’t even seem feasible or possible. 200 seems farfetched enough.

So it helps to read the archives of someone like YP, who has been through all of this and made it. Reading her is particularly inspirational because she also broke her ankle and had plates and things installed, and now she’s a runner. I thought that was something that was completely outside the realm of possibility for me, but apparently not. I’ve never, ever been in the shape to run, but I’ve always had running dreams. Then I broke my ankle 13 months ago, and figured that was it for the idea of running. But maybe it’s still possible! I’m determined to drop off enough poundage and build up my fitness enough to find out.

drunk on bergamot

2006-03-04T15:51:00.000-08:00

Years ago, I got interested in aromatherapy and started using essential oils in the bath. Somewhere in the process, I got addicted to lavender. Although I read somewhere that too luch lavender could lead to a sort of internal metaphysical imbalance, I loved it too much to quit. Lavender in the bath, in my lotion, on my sheets. And eventually, I did start to feel ... off. And then very off. I was drunk on lavender. So I backed off it and then things were fine.

Lately, I find myself similarly bewitched with bergamot. It started with some double-bergamot Earl Grey. Then this week I picked up a bottle of bergamot body wash at Body Shop, and it makes a lovely bubble bath. I’m looking for a bergamot body scent, I think. I am drunk on bergamot, at least for the time being.

lessening

2006-03-02T17:07:00.002-08:00

Tonight was my second deep-tissue massage appointment since I started this project. It turned out that it was evident that I had made changes: less pain in my arms, thighs, and back. All the water and stretching and movement shows. But somehow, all that extra pain has gone to my glutes. Hurty hurt hurt.

Still, just the fact that there are changes is enough to keep me going right now.

40E

2006-03-01T17:00:00.000-08:00

So I’ve had stomach flu for five days, and now I’m down a size. Funny how that happens. Funny how it won’t last. Especially since I haven’t worked out since last Friday.

Another thing I did Friday before I got sick was go and get refitted for bras. Mine have been out of whack for quite awhile now — you know, that thing that happens when they get too small and the underwires don’t fit against your rib cage anymore, and so you get a little wire shelf in between the boobs. Hott.

The last time I was fitted was back in HomeTown, by a tiny Argentine named Elsa. She’d been fitting me for about five years. When she first got me, she was mortified by my Victoria’s Secret bras and the shape (or lack thereof) they conferred. I’m well-endowed by genetics, and the added weight adds even more. As she fitted me, there was lots of “You poor girl!” (sympathetic, oddly comforting), lots of measuring and hauling back and forth of bras. She must have put me through 15 bras before she was satisfied, and by that time she knew so much about my upper half that we could have gotten married. I left with a 38D Bali minimizer, and was very happy for awhile. By the time I left that town, I was a DD. Now I find that I’m a 40E (after having lost a few pounds). I bought two molded Fantasie bras at $66 each, which make things look great. The problem is the bras themselves look like they belong to a very large drag queen. (Perhaps Harvey Fierstein’s sidekick in Torch Song Trilogy.) I also bought two minimizers that were around $50, partly because I couldn’t figure out how to travel with the other ones. They’d need their own luggage.

When I was first fitted at 14, I was a 34C. At 20 I was a 38C, so we might assume that is my full-grown adult size. 40E is definitely news to me.

good

2006-02-24T08:25:00.000-08:00

This is the end of my fourth week of working out. I’ve been fairly consistent during that period, except for week two. (That was when I figured out that exercise time needs to be scheduled. Duh.)

Today I did cardio and all my weights. And this is the first time that I actually feel good after having been. I was upset to have to cut the cardio short, actually.

Mark that one on the calendar.

Lucky

2006-02-23T06:24:00.001-08:00

Whether or not my body type is lucky is a matter of opinion. I carry weight easily, but I also tend to carry a lot of it, so the more traditional aesthetic sense might dictate unluckiness. But there are many reasons it is lucky: I am sturdy, I am naturally strong, I’ll hold up in a famine, I am rarely sick.

I am lucky to have my husband, who always tells me I am beautiful and cute and wonderful no matter what weight I am at. He is not naturally inclined toward large women, but he still seems to revel in my curviness and sturdiness. I love that he goes out of his way to make me feel like my rounded bits are appreciated, and that the lumpy bits are negligible. I also feel lucky that he is tall and sturdily constructed himself. I never feel that I’ll accidentally snap him like a twig. I can always lounge against him without worrying about hurting him. I haven’t ever had a person who was my safe place before, so far as body things go.

I am lucky that my two best friends understand weight. One is shorter than I am and from Polish peasant stock. She walks miles and miles every day and comes and goes from yoga, watches her food, but is never afraid of a piece of cake. The other is taller than I am and from German peasant stock. In the past year, she's worked out nearly every day and changed her eating habits, but she is never afraid of cake either. Lately we’ve been lunching every week. Some days we eat tofu and vegetables, and some days we eat pizza and garlic bread with cheese and brownies. All of us know that we will never be little girls, and all of us know that we are beautiful (across the board) and healthy (to varying extents).

I should remember all of this on the days when I don’t think my body is lucky, or that it brings me lucky things.

the slow slide

2006-02-21T19:21:00.000-08:00

Thinking about how my eating habits have changed over the past 15 years.

15-18 Toyed with ovo-lacto vegetarianism, and was reasonably devoted. Then fell in love with another ovo-lacto who was flirting with veganism, and so I was strict for quite awhile. In spite of the restrictions, I did not make good choices — I remember a lot of lunches that consisted of the largest size of Arby’s curly fries, a lot of dinners of veggie egg rolls. I was sick frequently, and had pneumonia at least once during those years. I hit my all-time low adult weight my first semester of college - around 160 pounds. For me, 160 is a flat stomach and tight ass.

18 - 21 The same, but with chicken. Started eating the chicken to spite the vegetarian after we broke-up-but-stayed-friends. Then decided that I never felt sorry for chickens anyway. Back up to my high school weight, which was around 175.

22 - 24 Cleaned up my act. Lots of whole grains, lots of organic veggies, fruit, and dairy. Occasional chicken, cold-water fish on Sundays. Three liters of water each day. Isometrics and lots of stretching six days a week, and massage at least once a month. I looked great. Lots of compliments. I was about ten pounds above my high school weight.

24 - 25 Dated a guy who worked out like a manic and could use half a bottle of olive oil in one dish. My best friend was a 300-pound woman. I ate a lot with both of them, and one or the other of them turned me on to red meat again. And desserts. I quit working out, and my massage therapist moved away. Somewhere in these two years, I topped 200.

26 - 27 Quit job to begin grad school and decided that I couldn’t afford to do the organic thing any more. Met the eventual love of my life and started doing the sitting-around-and-eating-falling-in-love thing. We ate all sorts of things that were terrible for us because whenever we were together we felt like celebrating. Kept going for occasional walks, then less, then even less. Then started writing thesis and quit moving all together.

28 - 29 Finished the thesis, graduated. Moved to the snowy north, and figured that new life = new habits. Began walking again and eating better until I broke my ankle during the first winter. It’s a slow-healing injury, but I watched my weight during my three months of immobility, and lost about 13 pounds. Then we decided to get married in the summer and I freaked out and started eating. Kept eating all through the fall, right through to January. When I finished, I was still about 10 pounds below my thesis weight, so not all was lost.

Things I’m Doing Right

2006-02-21T15:16:00.000-08:00

It seems important to remind myself of things I’m doing right, since I’ve been spending a fair amount of energy beating myself up for the things I’m not doing completely right with food. (If nothing else, I’m determined this blog isn’t going just to be a place to wallow in memories.)

I’m doing cardio at least three times each week, for at least 30 minutes. For most of that period, I’m keeping my heart rate at the top of the range my trainer recommended.
I’m meeting with The Trainer tomorrow morning. This is our second session, and we’ll start adding weights to my routine.
I’m being fairly consistent with my water — at least 68 ounces each day.
I’ve committed to a regular routine of deep-tissue work for as long as I can afford it. This has helped me immensely in the past. Really, I never looked/felt better than when I was really on top of this aspect.
I’m being reasonably consistent about doing the things my massage therapist wants me to do to reduce inflammation: icing inflamed areas regularly, taking a low dose of ibuprofen, judicious hot baths. And remaining hydrated! (See previous.)
I’m making some progress toward managing my stress. Working out helps, of course. And so does semi-regular yoga. Saturday I made myself take the day off, and went to a movie for the first time since last summer.

And really, my eating is much better than it was six months ago. I’m regularly getting lots of fruits and veggies, eating whole grains every day, limiting my desserts, and backing off the meat. Plus, I’ve completely cut out my Diet Coke habit in favor of one cup of black tea each day.

Looking at this all neatly listed does make me feel better. That’s quite a lot of Things Done Right over the last bit.

immutability

2006-02-20T06:00:00.000-08:00

One of the most prominent obstacles is my lack of belief that things can change. It surprises me that I feel this way this time around, since all my previous efforts were marked by great enthusiasm. This time, I really don’t actually believe that progress is possible, even though I’ve dropped about 7 pounds this year, which is respectable enough for half-past February.

There’s a memory that keeps surfacing lately. I am seven. There is some sort of after-hours event at my school, and I have spent time picking out a dress and arraying myself for it. I think I look good. Mom and I drive down the back roads to my public school. I remember the slant of the autumn light. The dryness of the grass. And the way she looked over at me, looked down at my belly, and said, “My god, with that belly you look pregnant.”

What a thing to say to a seven year old.

You have to understand that the talk about pregnancy as an undesirable state started very early at my house. Both my aunt and my grandmother had been pregnant teenagers, and Mom was determined to avoid the same fate for me. So being pregnant was obviously a bad thing, something you wouldn’t want to be. For her to say that to me was a mark of utter digust.

Secondly, I wasn’t an obese child. Looking at pictures, I’m reasonable for my large frame. I was certainly never anything approaching skinny or thin. My peasant genes have always shown. And like many children, I puffed out and then shot up with growth spurts.

I can’t remember if I thought of myself as fat before the moment I’ve described. But I certainly have ever since, and it was reinforced on many other occasions by my mother and by others. I think this has a fair amount to do with my conception of fat as immutable.

Why write?

2006-02-19T12:40:00.000-08:00

This morning, I meant to go to the gym. Really. And on the mornings when I just go and don’t think about it, I usually get there.

This morning, I couldn’t get out of the house, and couldn’t figure out why. I had my workout clothes on. I was stretched out. I had the time scheduled. But I kept coming back to the computer, over and over, to do just a little more work. Finally I made myself be still for a bit and figure out what the hell my problem was.

I didn’t feel worthwhile enough to go work out.

And that was when it became clear that, in spite of my determination not to have yet another blog, writing was the only way out of this. I am on the brink on failing yet again, and I’m determined that I won’t this time. That is my gift to myself as I turn 30.

Funny that a cheesy anonymous Blogger account is part of that gift, after all these years of full-identity blogging and owning my own domain. God has a sense of humor.