I always feels like somebody's watching me

198 pounds
Dave and I just got home from a two-week trip to visit family . . . first his family in Cincinnati and then mine outside of Chicago. Two weeks is a L O N G time to be away from home, and we were feeling a bit weary by the time we returned.

I've always been an emotional eater. It's not something I've talked about much on this blog, but it's a fact of my life.

When I'm moody, I eat.

When I'm stressed, I eat.

The only emotion that doesn't make me eat is extreme sadness. For some reason, when I'm really and truly down, food does nothing for me, which I think makes me pretty average. True misery can't be solved by a gastrointestinal feast, but a temporary bad mood can be pretty much wiped out with a quick trip to Jimmy John's.

So when I came home from our exhausting trip the other day, I wasn't surprised that all I wanted to do was eat.

I wanted to eat cheese and crackers. I wanted to eat sliced tomatoes. I wanted to eat roast beef. I wanted to eat salad. I wanted it all.

(I never said I wanted to eat crap; I just said I wanted to eat).

The whole time I felt this way I was aware that my hunger was really about my emotions. They were saying, Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!

But when I really thought about it, I was surprised that the emotion I was feeding wasn't a typical one. Rather than eating because I was down, I was eating because I felt like I hadn't been able to eat in peace for days . . . even weeks.

That's because whenever I eat around other people these days I feel like I'm being watched. Don't get me wrong—I don't feel like my friends and family are consciously watching me. I just feel like I don't get enough privacy during meals with others.

Every time I looked across the table while we were on the road, there was someone else looking back at me. It was maddening.

And, as a result, the entire time I felt like I couldn't eat what I wanted to eat. I was reluctant to go back for seconds, I was anxious about big servings, and I certainly didn't want to indulge in any high-calorie meals while I was around family.

Seeing someone else across the table may seem normal to you, but I live with just one other person. And he's usually got his face in a book or his eyes on the TV while we eat. He certainly doesn't watch me consume my three daily meals.

So when I got home the other night, I felt as if I'd been freed from culinary prison—finally I could eat whatever I wanted and not worry that anyone else was paying attention. Finally I could go back for seconds or pick up food with my fingers or eat a little of something and then put it back without finishing it. I could eat any way or however much I wanted.

It was liberating. Truly liberating.

But now that all that is over, now that I've returned to my quiet routine of being the only person who pays attention to what I put in my mouth, I can't help but wonder why I don't feel as comfortable eating with other people and what that says about me—as an eater and as a person.

All I really know is the answer is probably more disturbing than I'm willing to admit.

Read all about it

198 pounds
My husband and I have just finished editing an amazing collection of stories about commuting and travel called Commutability: Stories about the Journey from Here to There (pictured to the left).

Though the theme of this book isn't directly related to this blog, there are several outstanding stories that relate to body issues, and I want to mention those here in case any of you are interested in buying the book—which is available for pre-order at the low price of just $9.00 until this Saturday, July 31st.

These stories include the following:

• "Lactational" by Sara Holcombe—I think it's safe to say that many women feel like their "girls" are lacking in some way. Some of us think they hang too low, others think they're too small or too big, and many of us wish we could change them in some way. It's one of the few body issues that I find women of all sizes share, which is one of the reasons I find this story—about women who sell their breast milk to health food stories for an impressive sum—so entertaining. FINALLY, we can make a profit from our bodies at any size.

• "Scream Queen" by Ed Gorman—What would happen if Lindsay Lohan disappeared from society and showed up at your local video store? This story imagines just that by following a geeky twenty-something video store clerk who figures out that one of his regular customers is really a famous B-movie actress who has recently disappeared from the public eye. Though he is initially disappointed in her obvious weight gain, the clerk—and his loser friends—eventually become infatuated with her, proving that beauty really does come in all sizes.

• "Who Loves You" by Eric Goodman—There is a long history of stories and novels about adultery—Anna Karenina anyone?—and this story continues that literary discussion from the point of view of a woman who has recently decided to forgive her husband for cheating on her. But her willingness to do so is challenged when she and her husband spend time with an old friend and his new—younger, thinner—girlfriend, challenging her belief that her husband still finds her attractive and wants to be with her.

• "Outbound Bus" by Yelizaveta P. Renfro—If we are being honest with ourselves, we have to admit that it's difficult for any of us to look at someone who is severely obese and not judge them in any way at all. Yes, we know intellectually that obesity is caused by many things besides over-eating—such as genes and chemicals—but this is also an issue people still struggle to comprehend on an emotional level, which is why Renfro's story about a woman who was once married to a severely obese man is so profound. We all know what it's like to try to hide our so-called flaws, and this character's attempts to literally hide her entire husband is both moving and chilling.

• "Strawberry Fields" by K. Terese Pampellonne—This touching story begins with a familiar premise: boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, but in this version, rather than lose the girl, this teenage boy gets his girlfriend pregnant, causing the two of them to run away together. As the story progresses, we find out that he is less interested in his girlfriend once she becomes "fat." Sure, his attitude is completely offensive, but that's why it's good to read and share stories like this—so we know why this kind of perspective is so wrong, making it a great story to have all your guy friends read. I tell my students that the best characters are the ones we like despite their flaws—think of Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs—and the protagonist of this story is another outstanding example of a wonderfully flawed character.

There are more moving stories that deal with body issues—"Completo" by novelist Faye Moskowitz comes to mind—and much more, but I'll keep the other stories a surprise for those who decide to buy.

Click here to order a copy of Commutability: Stories about the Journey from Here to There.

Why I will not give into temptation

196 pounds

I guess it's time I talked about my recent weight gain. I was hoping the pounds would have disappeared fast enough that I wouldn't have to admit they were real, but that seems out of the question now that they've been here for almost two months.

This isn't to say that I'm feeling defeated by these five or six pounds, but I am being more honest about it.

As I said back in late March, I thought that I had picked up four pounds over spring break because I had been traveling a lot during that time and having a harder time sticking to my routine. I even asked my doctor about it, and like everyone else, he told me it was probably water weight and that once I was home for a few weeks, my weight would go back to where it was before.

So I did what I always do—eat well and exercise as much as possible. School is still in session right now, so it's pretty hard to exercise twice a day, but I did fit in a two-a-day at least once a week after that. And, as always, I was exercising at least an hour a day when I couldn't do that.

But the scale wasn't budging.

And a couple of times it moved up a pound or two more, which really, really frightened me.

In fact, it has gotten to the point where if I indulge even once a week (which to me is the minimum), that indulgence shows up on the scale the next morning in the form of a pound or two. (A punishment I've noticed is never doled out to my husband for some strange reason.)

This isn't typical behavior for my body. Whenever I eat well and exercise, the number on the scale always moves down or basically stays the same. I've prided myself on this for years. I've always told myself that even if I am overweight, at least I'm moving in the right direction.

But all of a sudden things have changed. The numbers are moving in the wrong direction. And what's infuriating is that the only other time I have EVER gained weight is when I've almost completely stopped exercising—either because of an injury (after I tore my ACL in the winter of '96), a diet (in the fall of '98 after my only diet), or stress (during the 2007-2008 school year when I was worried about the future of our jobs). Otherwise, as long as I've exercised, I've been able to keep the numbers going down.

Obviously I've become pretty concerned over the past few weeks when I finally realized I was living the way I should be, but my body wasn't listening.

So what do I do know?

I'm not entirely sure. More two-a-days once school is out, for sure. Even a few three-a-days. Maybe more prayers. (I'm kidding, by the way.)

But definitely, no matter what happens, no dieting. I won't deny that the idea is incredibly tempting right now, but I keep telling myself what happens when you diet. The last time I went on a diet—the ONLY time I EVER went on a diet—I gained thirty pounds after the diet was over.

It just cannot be worth it.

Are you still with me???

196 pounds

As I mentioned in my discussion of the recent Time magazine story on exercise, my grandfather had a massive stroke Friday, August 7th and died a few days later on Monday, August 10th. As soon as we heard about the stroke, Dave and I got in the car and headed for Ohio, where we spent Grandpa's last three days, staying until we had to leave in order to get back to Kentucky to teach our last few days of summer school. Hours after we left for Kentucky, Grandpa died, so as soon as we were finished with our classes on Thursday morning, we got back in the car and returned to Ohio for the viewing and funeral, a trip that was extended with side trips we had to make to Indianapolis and Cincinnati on the way home.

When all was said and done, we were on the road for three days, home for the next three, and then on the road again for five more days, meaning we were traveling eight of those eleven days. It was obviously exhausting, and I can't remember the last time I felt so happy to come home.

The day before Grandpa's stroke, I weighed 194 pounds, and the day before that, I'd bottomed out at 193—a full ten pounds less than where I started back in March. Since I hit 193 on a Wednesday, I didn't get to post that number with my blog. I also knew full well that the first time you hit a low number like that, you're bound to go back up the next day and fluctuate numerous more times before that low number becomes a reality. So I didn't make a big deal out of it on the blog—though I was happy to mention it in passing.

But now that I'm back from the trip, I find that my weight is back up to 196 pounds.

Sigh.

I don't spend a lot of time talking or complaining about the numbers on the scale because, as I've said before, one of the goals of this blog is to demystify those numbers, to send the message that the numbers don't matter as much as how we feel about ourselves and how healthy we are.

On the other hand, I also started this blog to document my weight loss. So when I have to admit to the world that I weigh 196 pounds almost five full months after I started trying to lose weight, I feel more than a little bit frustrated. I guess in some ways I feel like I'm letting you all down.

I don't want to send the message that my only goal is to lose weight because it's not. And I definitely don't want anyone to think that I believe that losing weight has to happen on a timetable because I believe that's one of the worst things we can do to ourselves. In fact, for years, I've believed that as long as the numbers on the scale are going down—even if its only by one pound a year—instead of up and the doctor says I'm healthy, then I'm doing well.

At the same time, I have to admit that I first hit 196 pounds back in April, only weeks after I started trying to lose weight, which makes me feel like I haven't accomplished anything in months. And if this is frustrating to me, I imagine it must also be frustrating to the people who tune in merely to see how many pounds I've lost.

(Mom, are you listening?)

Seriously, if you read any of the weight loss columns in women's magazines—or, God forbid, watch shows like The Biggest Loser—you're used to seeing the pounds drop pretty quickly. And if you're disappointed by how long it's taking me to get back to a healthy weight, I apologize.

But at the same time, I don't want you to give up on me. I want you all to believe me when I say I know my plan will work. It's worked in the past, and it will work again. Yes, I've had some setbacks this summer—first with my knee injury, and then with my grandfather. We all have setbacks (that's how I gained 27 pounds in the 18 months before I started this blog), and I don't want to use them as an excuse, but I do want to acknowledge them.

And maybe that's all I—or any of us—can do: acknowledge that sometimes the unexpected happens, and we can't blame ourselves if we are forced to backtrack a little when dealing with the unexpected.

A few years ago, my friend Al, who's a psychologist, listened to me flagellating myself for eating far too much after a long day at work, and he wisely pointed out that if I beat myself up for making a mistake, then I'm only causing myself more misery. Better to let mistakes go than to rehash them, Al said, and it was this advice that eventually led to my belief that we must allow ourselves indulgences from time to time.

Obviously, the important thing is to keep going, keep improving. During those eight days I was on the road, I only exercised twice, and I ate a lot more crap than normal—visits to Skyline Chili, Graeter's Ice Cream, and Frisch's Big Boy come to mind. But I've been home for three full days now, and it took me two of those days to get back to the person I want to be: a person who eats delicious home-cooked meals, a person who gets plenty of rest, and a person who exercises like a kid let loose in the schoolyard. I'll keep doing this until the next setback comes, and maybe, just maybe, in the meantime the numbers will prove that not dieting really can help people lose weight.

I believe. Do you?