When I was eleven, my mother signed me up for a weight loss class. Having battled the bulge for years on end, she was alarmed when, at that awkward age, I, too, started piling on the pounds. So, every week, we drove out to the local University, where a pair of graduate students conducted behavior modification experiments on a dozen prepubescents.
Thus began my war with food.
My best friend at the time was something of a jock. Taking my challenge upon herself, she ran me through her fat camp. Some days I’d jog along while she nipped my heels with her bike. Other times she’d have me perform 120 pushups. For motivation she called me Annie Bananie with the Big Fat Fannie. Or Chunk-a-Munk.
Yes. Friends like that are hard to find.
By eighth grade, I was skipping meals for days on end. I took to doing laps–200 in a row–at the Howard Johnson’s pool.
At 7 PM, I would fling myself into bed just to stay away from the fridge.
After a few weeks, the binging would begin. Two apple pies a day. Chased down with a loaf of bread.
For no particular reason, the cycle would go dormant. Only to begin again when life got complicated.
By the time I got to college, I was an expert on dieting. I counted calories in a spiral notebook, did aerobics, and swam each morning. At 5’2″, 120 pounds, I was hardly the fat girl. But, in my head that’s just who I was.
As an adult, my focus on food refused to wane. With each of my pregnancies I packed on 50 pounds. Because, knowing my belly was going to grow big, I figured I might as well dig in. But, being fat terrified me. After giving birth, I quickly starved myself back to my normal state.
In Iran, it was easy to keep slim. Without a car, without entertainment, I pushed a stroller 10 miles a day. There was no such thing as convenience foods, the sweets held no appeal, and the meat I bought was usually covered in flies.
For the first time in my life I turned my nose up at chow.
And, of course, back in the States, the pendulum swung right on back. I ate anything placed in front of me, and I did this with some zeal. To lose the 30 lbs I gained, I tried every kind of diet. There was Weight Watchers and South Beach and who could forget The Zone.
To deal with my eating disorders, therapy helped. Running made me appreciate the beauty of my body. I learned to speak my truth instead of stuffing it down with food. Despite all that, I still hear the siren’s song.
It should come as no surprise that I’m a fan of fitness books. But, at this stage of the game, after thirty+ years obsessing, a new offering has to teach me something new. It has to focus on balance and philosophy, not another form of abuse. I want to stay young and vital, and I’m convinced much of that is about holding down the weight.
The Secrets of Skinny Chicks, by Karen Bridson, was written for me. I loved the premise of her book from the very first page:
While I was strong and fit and healthy fifteen pounds ago, I wanted to see just how fit and fabulous I could get….I studied…for details on what the chicks with fabulous bodies actualy did to look the way they do….What I hadn’t expected, however, was just how hard it would be…I marveled at just how ill-informed the rest of the world is about what these women with fabulous bodies do to look that great…Behind every pair of size 5 jeans is a woman who exercies daily and counts her calories. She is conscious of what she needs to fuel her body properly and how to feel good about herself every day, even when she slips up…You may look at these women who work out two or more hours a day and eat just 1600 calories most days and say ” I will never, ever be willing to live my life that way.”
So, Bridson went out and interviewed spectacular women– body doubles and supermodels and beauty pageant competitors. These women work hard–have to work hard– at perfecting their bodies. Compiling all the data, Bridson pinpointed 50 “secrets” to their success. If you want to be successful, model successful people. Here are a few tips that have really made the difference for me:
- Plan meals and shop to fit your plan.
Now, for someone who doesn’t know what she’s doing the next minute, the concept of planning ahead for the week is downright alien. But I have learned that this trick works. Every Sunday, we choose a week’s worth of healthy recipes. Then we go to the grocery store. And we buy exactly what’s on our list. Because what you put in your cart is what you put in your mouth.
Which feeds into the next tip.
- Keep a clean food environment
If I don’t buy ice cream. I won’t eat ice cream. The kids didn’t die when I stopped buying Oreos. When Walt insists on M&M’s, he buys a bag and then hides them in a cabinet. If it’s left where I can see it, I will eat it. Just as surely as winter follows fall.
- Find yummy replacements for the bad stuff.
I love chocolate ice cream. Stonyfield Farms makes chocolate yogurt. Shake it up, stick it in the freezer, and you’ve got the perfect replacement. If you don’t do dairy. Soy yogurt is a fabulous alternative.
- Think ahead about risky outings.
Walt and I travel all the time. We’re rarely home. Vacations, restaurants, parties, they happen all the time. Odd as we may seem, we bring our own food to events. We look up restaurant menus and the calorie counts online before we dine. And we carry bottled water in our hands so we don’t pound cheese.
- Learn what your body’s metabolic rate will allow.
When I became a runner, I made a common mistake. I thought, hey, I’m a runner, and runners can eat what they want. Years went by before I understood the truth. That a three-mile jog burns a measly 300 calories. No wonder I wore hot fudge sundays across my butt. Now that I realize what it actually takes for me to hold a weight, I don’t feel sorry for myself, the way I did.
- Make salad your friend.
I stopped eating meat. And dairy. And wheat. Not 100%, but pretty damn close. The beauty of salad is that I can eat loads and loads. I add chickpeas or white beans, avocados or nuts. I discovered the most amazing recipes in the Moosewood cookbook. There are ideas online to match every taste. When dinner is primarily salad, the weight falls off.
And the secret I think is the most important:
- Set a goal, create a plan.
Without a goal, we just meander along. Two steps forward, and then we find ourselves in Iran.
For much of my life I’ve been perfectly aimless. Wishing things were better, without naming specifics. How powerful I feel when I define what I want. Then pencil in an action plan. And check the tasks off. It’s like Karen Bridson says:
Self-esteem comes from accomplishments. Self-esteem often comes from an awareness that the requirements of a sought-after goal have been mastered.
Get fit and healthy. Stay young. Back then, my mom didn’t know any better. But, I do now.
