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Guest Post: Paolo on Time Travel!

I’m really happy to introduce my blog friends to Paolo, who is one of the youngest and most energetic members of my solo performance community. His show is amazing, and in many ways strangely echoes my own, even though I’m like old enough to be his grandma (okay, maybe his mama). He’s also a fitness blogger and I am excited for you all to get to know him. Take it away, Paolo!!

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June 2009: 220 lbs

I’m slightly obsessed with time travel mechanics, and recently I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do if I had access to a time displacement machine. I’d go back ten years to when I was a freshman in high school. Specifically, high school boys PE class.

On good days we’d have open gym (which was code word for talking about DSL connection speeds in the weight room with the other nerdy kids). On bad days we had organized sports (sometimes with the girls PE class – score?). But before that knowing what we’d be doing for the day, we’d run the mile. And by mile, we were running around the block four times. I used to huff, puff, wheeze and sing Sex Pistols songs while trying to survive the mile. To which I was usually assailed with snide remarks about my lack of fitness.

So back to that time displacement machine. Upon reaching the desired temporal destination of ten years ago I would confront of smug a-holes with, “HEY! THIS IS PAOLO FROM TEN YEARS IN THE FUTURE AND YOU’D BETTER KNOW THAT A DECADE FROM NOW I’LL BE ABLE TO RUN A MILE AND WILL HAVE THE EQUALIVANT OR GREATER FITNESS OF AN AVERAGE HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN. Also, all of you will die in a tragic bear raping incident in a rock quarry in 2008.”

That last part would just be me screwing with them. Although, who knows, I might have be able to influence that time line by planting the idea in their head. Kind of like going back in time to stop the Great Chicago Fire, only to inadvertently start it.

Needless to say, I can run a mile just okay now. I never was the ‘fit’ kid growing up, and after working for a year (consistently, I might add) at this losing weight business (and keeping it off), life recently is feeling like that montage in the first Spiderman where Peter Parker is discovering his powers for the first time. Going up the steps to my therapist’s office and NOT getting winded? Not breaking out in a flop sweat after walking ten minutes to Walgreen’s? Being able to fit in medium sized shirts after years of wearing extra large? Able to run a mile okay without cursing the world? What in the world?

To borrow a quote from The Simpsons:
Skinner: Bart Simpson on the side of law and order? Has the world gone topsy-turvy?
Bart: That’s right, man. I got my first taste of authority…and I liked it.

And this is after all the years of false starts and stops, poring over Men Health’s at Borders, grandiose plans relayed to my family of a sweeping lifestyle reform, that one time I thought I wanted to be a fighter and got kicked in the face, compromises reverting back to bad habits because I could fit into a large shirt and not feel like a stuffed sausage, the one time I ate an entire Popeye’s 24 piece family meal by myself. I would like to add that unemployment is terribly conducive to weight loss.

Maybe as a twenty-three (four in…two weeks [as of this writing]) year old, and as a former fat kid, there is something…I cherish about finally being able to do things now that would have been flights of fancy for me less than a year ago. And not taking it for granted. Which means keeping myself accountable for what I do/eat – although I am not above bacon cheeseburgers with two grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon inside them as buns. Not above at all.

I don’t talk to those kids from my old high school at all, but there’s a tiny part of me that hopes that despite their athletic abilities and state championship game winning basketball shots in high school, that they’re working at a gas station with a belly swollen with fat and unfulfilled dreams. Or, killed in a tragic bear raping incident in a stone quarry. Oh, youthful arrogance.

August 2010: 160 lbs

Paolo Sambrano is a solo performer whose debut full length show, “Bi-Poseur” premieres on September 2 in San Francisco. When he’s not attempting to blog on his ‘performer’ page at PaoloSambrano.com, he’s talking about making bacon cheeseburgers with grilled cheese sandwiches (with bacon inside) as buns or working with kettlebells, at his health/fitness/food Tumblr, I Get Wet. He’s also on Twitter, @paolo.

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Guest Post: “Body Image, Schmaty Image”

I’m excited to welcome Jennifer Robinson as a guest poster while I am off hiking, biking and running away from grizzly bears. Thanks for stepping in, Jen!


Scenario #1: You see a photo of yourself that you think is highly unflattering. In fact, you wouldn’t show it to anyone. What you really want to do is throw it into the fireplace and be done with it. But let’s say you show it to someone important to you and she looks at it and exclaims, “What an adorable picture of you!” This leads you to a couple of possibilities: a) You look that way all the time and so therefore maybe it really is a good picture of you or b) Maybe you’re being too hard on yourself.

Scenario #2: You’re dressed up and ready to go out. You haven’t been anywhere at night for a long time because you have small children at home and you’re always exhausted. But tonight, you’re ready to have some fun. You put on your most flattering outfit. Granted, you don’t look like you did when you were 21, but whatever. You and your friends go to a restaurant/bar/bookstore and then you spot her. She’s you ten years ago. Seeing her ruins your night and you go home depressed.

Scenario #3: Each week, you notice that your pants are getting tighter. It’s the pants, you think. Not me. You go out and buy new pants in a size up.

I’m sure that many women can either relate to one of those scenarios. I’m no exception. Two years after my daughter was born, I came to a chilling realization. Over those two years, I had not lost weight (the nine months to put on, nine months to take off rule definitely didn’t apply to me). Instead, I had gained weight – about 30 pounds! It was awful…but I kind of knew how it happened. I had been so busy taking care of my daughter that food took on absolutely no importance. I ate whatever was there, when it was there. The weight had crept on. And now, looking at myself, I wanted it off.

But life doesn’t work that way, so I decided to try Weight Watchers. After my first weigh-in, I was ready to dive in full force. I was completely obsessed with the Points system. Before I could eat anything, I would calculate the points; you could name any food and I would know the exact count. After the first week, though, when I saw I had lost some weight, I started being easier on myself. It became like a game or contest. How many recipes could I make that contained the lowest points possible? What was the highest fiber food I could find? And could I really eat WW ice cream and still lose weight?

Over the next several months, I lost about 40 pounds and went down three sizes. I felt like the Incredible Shrinking Woman as more came off each week. It was amazing.

Now it’s three years later and ta-da! I’m still at my goal weight! That’s not to say that I don’t struggle with the above scenarios (and many, many more), but I’ve recently realized a few things that I wanted to share:

1. We’re too hard on ourselves about how we look. So many of us base our self-worth by a number on the scale – but that’s not a true measure of who we are.
2. Everyone ages. That 21-year-old girl? One day, she’ll be where we are now. So why not embrace the aging process and do it gracefully?
3. If you feel good about yourself and have genuine confidence, it will come through. There’s no such thing as a bad picture. There is such a thing as too much self-judgment. And who has time for that?

Maybe the trick is to re-write our own scenarios. If we have the power to get in body negative mode, we also have the power to take ourselves out of it.

Jennifer Robinson is tickled pink to be entering into the blogsphere. Her writing has appeared various magazines and literary magazines including Writers Monthly, The Readerville Journal, Full Circle: A Journal of Poetry and Prose, Long Story Short, Looking Back: Stories of Our Mothers & Fathers in Retrospect (New Brighton Books, 2003), and 2DO Before I Die : The Do-It-Yourself Guide to the Rest of Your Life (Little, Brown & Co., 2005). She lives with her daughter and husband in Southern California.

1

Fake It Till You Make It

Trainer DJ and the mad ropes

I’ve been all kinds of wiped out/off track/tired/disoriented since coming back from camp last week. I’ve been majorly “off my game” so to speak.

But I’ve been trying really hard not to let my inner Stuff get in the way of my outer Behavior. So even though I haven’t particularly been EMBRACING the idea of fitness or eating really well, I’ve been trying to do it Anyway. The “fake it till you make it” approach. And I think it may be working just a bit.

On Monday evening I went to the cemetery for trainer workout. I was sooo soo soooooooo not feeling it. But I felt like if I waited till I felt like it, I could end up not working out for weeks or more. So I went, and told myself I would go at whatever pace I felt like. It would be okay to be The Last One (my customary position during all of elementary, middle and high school phys. ed.).

I started out last. We were doing a 3.5 mile circuit up and down hills, at very fast racewalking pace. When I got there, I needed to go to bathroom BAD. But the cemetery public restroom, in the main building, was closed. Wahhh! Trainer told me there was a port a potty about halfway up the first hill. So I stopped there. The rest of the group kept going. Which put me at a good 2-3 minutes behind the whole crowd. Greeeeeeeeat. I gamely attemped to at least keep them in SIGHT.

I finally caught up with the last person right before the highest point. Then I figured it was my time to make up time. When we began the downhill stretch, I started slowly jogging. Surprise: it didn’t kill me. I told myself I’d keep jogging until I no longer felt like it. Surprise: I ended up passing everyone eventually, even the trainer, and ended up back at the starting point FIRST. Well, whaddya know.

I was glad I’d gone. I didn’t feel like any great endorphined ball of energy when I left, but  I was glad I’d gone.

Yesterday I just worked all day. I didn’t work out at all.

Today, I went to my semi-private session at the gym. Trainer DJ was excited because he’d gotten some brand spanking new Ropes of Doom. All I wanted to do was lie on the floor and roll on the foam roller, but he wasn’t gonna have any of that. Me and my buddy ended up doing a ton of lungey things, then 25 Burpees (UGH!), more lunges with 10-lb weights (bicep curls into straight up in the air presses, while lunging/walking), then 50 raised leg butt lifts, then crooked pushups, then… he took the brand new Ropes out of the box. Shiny white! But not as long. But HARD! TOUGH! INflexible. Yow. They were truly killer. We ended up doing a totally kick-ass workout, in spite of my lack of oomph. Again, I did not leave feeling energized, but I was very happy I’d gone.

I feel like I’m beginning to get a bit of groove back. I ate vegetables for dinner tonight. I feel like I’m on my way back.

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Guest Post: Pat Barone on Driving Permanent Weight Change

I’m happy to welcome Pat Barone to guest-post for me while I’m away this week. She’s been a great inspiration to me and I had the pleasure of meeting her earlier this year. She’s a wonderful teacher and guide for many. Welcome Pat!

Driving Permanent Weight Change

After a lengthy destructive relationship with food, I set out to lose weight one final time.  I knew I had a lot of learning to do because everything I’d ever tried in my life, literally hundreds of diets, had not kept the weight off.

But I had put my cowgirl boot down.  I would do what was necessary to lose weight, but I wasn’t taking it back.  Ever.

The lessons turned out to be profuse:  jaw-dropping scientific data, mindbending “ah-ha” moments, and deep personal shifts in my attitude and beliefs.  Literally, everything changed for me while I was losing weight and during the 10 years I’ve maintained that weight loss.

One lesson that sticks with me actually involved my car.  One day, I stopped at a local gas station and filled up my gas tank.  A while later, my car started sputtering and acting as if the engine was going to die. The car wouldn’t accelerate and I felt as though I was put-puttering along while cars all around me sped by.

I immediately connected the lack of performance with the new gas. It would run fine for a few blocks, then start the hesitation/sputtering routine again.

It was pure frustration!  It just wouldn’t go!

I continued driving the car until it was about a quarter of a tank below full and refilled at another gas station. The problems lessened but were still there.  Again, I drove it until it was a quarter of a tank less than full and refilled again. The problems ceased.

I realized I never got emotional about the bad gas (probably mixed with water) that I bought.  I didn’t blame myself for it.  I made a mental note never to buy from that particular gas station again, I did what I could to solve the problem, and I moved on.

Deeply immersed in weight loss, it occurred to me that, if I handled my own poor body fueling as sensibly, I might not have so many issues around food.

After all, food is fuel for your body. It’s the gasoline of life. That is all it is.

It isn’t an emotional caretaker, a shoulder to cry on, or a best friend.

My own poor fueling decisions usually involve carbs or sugar that set off the carb craving cycle.  This craving cycle calls up too much insulin from the body, putting stress on it internally (even if you are not diabetic).

Would the way I handled my car’s gasoline work with my own fuel?  It might look like this:

  1. Take my energy down a quarter tank.
  2. Refuel with protein.
  3. Live life until my energy is down a quarter tank again.
  4. Refuel with protein.
  5. Rinse, repeat.

Separating eating and food from negative thinking and emotions turned out to be a huge step in changing my attitude about food.  Whenever I see myself becoming attached to a certain food, or I hear “an energy buzz” around it, I know I’m putting more meaning into that food than it deserves or I want.

Then, it’s time to take a step back and remember:  Food is fuel.

This doesn’t mean I don’t really enjoy food, all types of food:  rich and mild, exotic and tame, new favorites and old.

But I’ll take my meal without the extra helping of charged emotion, or the label of “good” or “bad”, or the guilt, thank you!

Pat Barone, CPCC, PCC

Pat Barone earned her title “America’s Weight Loss Catalyst” by coaching thousands of clients toward permanent weight loss.  Her status as an expert is heightened by her own personal weight loss success.  In March, 2010, she celebrated 10 years at her current weight, which is 75 lbs. less than her highest weight.  She regularly busts diet myths in her free newsletter “The Catalyst”, available at http://www.patbarone.com and blogs at http://www.stoprentingweightloss.com.
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Stuff on my Tummy

I just had a great weekend in LA where I participated in the Mixed Roots Literary & Film Festival. I was fortunate enough to be invited to read my work which was a huge honor. One of the other writers posted a picture of the event on Facebook and when I saw it I was like…. Ahhhhhh!! I’m hiding under my manuscript!!! Do you see that?? (click on it for a closeup)

For as long as I can remember, every time I sit down I have to cover up my (ginormous, bulging, incredibly HUGE) abdominal area. (I try to be anatomically correct and not say “stomach” which is the fist-sized organ inside) When I sit down on a couch, I immediately search for a cushion or pillow to hug. If that’s not available, I’ll look for a shawl, or a jacket or coat, or a book or a laptop computer or a small animal or child. ANYTHING. I feel incredibly vulnerable having my, er, abdominal area, out there. When I am at the beach or by a pool, you can bet there’s a giant beach towel the size of Rhode Island draped across my midsection. Even when I am DRIVING MY CAR, I will often fold up a sweatshirt or jacket and lay it over my seat belt. As if. As if what, I don’t know.

So imagine my surprise/not surprise when I saw this picture and what do I see? My midsection is basically blanketed in my bright-white manuscript pages. It looks ridiculous. But that’s just how instinctive and automatic that gesture is. I’m just not going to sit there without SOMEthing on top of me, and that’s all I had – six sheets of printer paper. Jeez.

Since seeing that picture I have vowed to try an experiment. I am going to try and consciously not do this. I feel like it looks stupider to have random stuff on top of my body than to just let my body be there. You know that website, Stuff on My Cat? (it’s really silly, where people lay various items on their cats and then take pictures of them) Well, I could start a new website: Stuff on my Tummy.

I’m going to try and let it all hang out there. I’m telling you it’s not going to be easy.

13

Changing Goal Weight???????


Vintage bathroom Scale

Originally uploaded by totalrod2

So I’ve been virtually at the same weight for almost a year now. YAY.

And now that it’s been a year, I’ve been pondering/musing/obsessing over the idea of changing my goal weight. Ie, trying to lose the “last ten.”

I have some major ambivalent feelings about it. But it’s been on my mind a lot. It’s sort of like declaring a major, you know? It’s a commitment. And it’s not something I want to commit to unless I am sure.

Why do I/would I want to do this? Well. A few reasons. One, I’m beginning to realize that I’m not quite as fit and trim as I used to think I was. I mean, for much of the past two decades I would have DIED of HAPPINESS to be at my current weight. In fact, it did not even seem remotely in the realm of possibility. In fact, it did not even seem possible to weigh what my driver’s license says. (which is 13 pounds more than my current weight)

But now I’ve been hanging out here for a year. It’s good. It’s fine. I wear clothes that range from size 4 to size 12. (and yeah, I fit into all of them. How crazy is that) Also clothes that range from size S to L. I’m within a “normal” BMI. But that’s the thing. I’m very close to the ceiling of that range. Once or twice I’ve come close to hitting my head on it.

I weigh 10 lbs more than I did on my wedding day. I was hardly SKINNY on that day. I was like, regular.

I still have something of a spare tire. I still can grab large handfuls of belly fat, wayyyyy more than “pinching an inch.” I know that belly fat of any kind is not good for one’s health, and especially for diabetic people. So I think the less of that I have, the better. It’s never gonna be flat and i’m never wearing a bikini again. (those days were over 35 yrs ago)

Is it health? (a little) Is it vanity? A little. Is it a combination? Yeah.

That’s what I’m struggling with. I have problems with vanity dieting. Which I have said before. At the same time, I cannot deny the pleasure of shopping for and finding cute clothes that fit me. So vanity has become a weird part of my life.

It is weird when people MY HEIGHT come in to Weight Watchers. They weigh the same as me. Or LESS than me. And they are all, “UGH! GROSSSS! HOW DID I EVER GET TO THIS POINT!?” We are trained to be supportive of every member no matter their height or goal, as long as it is within the Healthy Range. But inside I am cringing and thinking, this person will never have faith in me. How can I be a leader or role model when they are so freaked out to be MY weight? I don’t say a thing. I support them. But still.

I’m never going to be at the bottom of the range. I don’t know if I will ever even be in the middle. No, I don’t think that’s in the cards either. But if I could get my head just a little fraction of a distance away from that ceiling, it would probably be a good thing.

The thing is, I’m nervous. (as if you couldn’t tell) I’m afraid of upsetting the apple cart, tipping the boat, you name it. I’ve actually gotten pretty comfortable with maintenance and I am afraid to get back onto the weight-loss road again. What if I fail? What if I try to lose and end up GAINING because I’ve put too much pressure on myself? What if I can’t do it? And my head goes smashing through the ceiling AND the roof?

All these things make me ponder. Should I let sleeping dogs lie? Should I make peace with my belly fat? Should I Go For It? (losing the last ten)

I know that people will probably have all sorts of ideas about this. And at the same time, I know that the only person who can ultimately answer this question is me.

20

A Hand Up

So my little downward spiral continued to have its way with me until I landed with a huge THUNK this morning and ended up sobbing my brains out in my car. I guess you could call that a pretty “rock bottom” point. I really felt unbelievably hopeless, helpless and also shocked that I had gotten into this state, so quickly.

This was set off in part by my taking my blood glucose this morning and finding it HIGHER than it has been since I was even diagnosed. This stunned me. Then I went to the lab to get my blood drawn for my appointment this week. I was mortified. Here my endocrinologist came to my SHOW last week, and I’ll all woo-hoo-look-at-me!! Poster Star Diabetic Patient!! OMG how BOGUS can I be?!?!?

I sent off a flurry of desperate texts to a friend who sent me a ton of support which I could only partially receive given the pit of self-loathing sludge I was drowning in. But I did hear a little bit of it and of course the one thing I heard was, “If this was me you would not be beating me up,” or something along those lines. It was so true.

I made my way to my trainer’s gym. He asked me how I was when I walked in the door. I burst into tears. We spent the entire session stretching out my incredibly tense and misaligned body. Which was necessary. He was also extremely kind to me. Which didn’t hurt either. After I finished there, I felt like I reallllllllly needed to sweat, so I went up to the gym and killed the AMT machine (elliptical-thingie) on level TWENTY (the highest) for 30 minutes. The sweat felt good, really good.

Briefly ran into my spouse. Who had read my blog post from yesterday and offered to 1) support me in going to bed earlier so I am not so freaking EXHAUSTED and 2) take a walk with me early in the morning.  Now that’s what I call spousal support.

Went to work. Brought my new ball which is going to function as my new chair. We’ll see how this goes. Allegedly sitting on a ball is a hundred times better than a chair, and burns a lot more calories. My DirectLife was not WILDLY impressed, but I do think the little green spikes were higher than my chair-sitting hours.

Went to Weight Watchers. I sort of slunk in there, feeling like, WHO THE HECK ARE YOU to be doing this, when you are so completely messed up?!? Well. I’ll tell ya.

A member came in. She had gained (less than me). She burst into tears. Then she told me about the VERY BIG THINGS she has been dealing with lately. I said to her, “If this was one of your dearest friends in this same situation, would you be beating them up and berating them?” (Hmm, sound familiar?) I gave her some Kleenex. I almost started crying myself. It was the biggest mirror ever. In fact, it turned me right around. When she left later on, I felt like she was going to go home and be nicer to herself.

After the meeting, I met with another good friend.  She asked me how I was doing. Amazingly, I did NOT start sobbing my face off. I told her. She listened. It was so good. She told me some stuff back. We pledged to support each other. Once again, honesty (especially in the hardest times) rules.

I am so very very fortunate for my friends and community. The church I (occasionally) go to has a prayer that says “we are weaving a tapestry of love we call community” and that is how I feel about the people who are surrounding me and holding me up on this journey.  Thank you.

6

A Little Downward Spiral

WOW I had a crazy tough week last week. Why do I always get surprised by hard times?

So the week started out sad because after my very exciting and fun weekend with Shannon, she went home. I went back to my hugely packed work schedule.

My fabulous trainer was out of town for the week. Instead of planning for alternate forms of exercise, I just said, “Oh well,” and I ended up just letting that time get absorbed by more work.

I was so stressed. My new job is a huge learning curve, a lot of new information and also straining to remember old information that is tucked away in some brain wrinkles that haven’t been activated in almost 20 years. I even broke down and cried at my desk on Thursday. That was a real low point.

My eating went a little haywire, off and on during the week. This ended up (of course) in a gain. I first realized this on Sunday RIGHT BEFORE I was going to the theater for my show. NICE! I felt like, oh my god, what an idiot, what a fraud, what a… freaking EXPLETIVE and who do I think I am, etc etc etc.

I woke up Sunday morning with one of my big toes all swollen and red and hot from an ingrown toenail. My mind went into freak-out overdrive and immediately I thought, “My diabetes! It’s gonna get infected! They’re gonna amputate my foot!” and the like. Thank GOODNESS in that moment for Twitter. I reached out to my dear friend Dr. Mo, who just happens to be a podiatrist. She was both concerned and reassuring in the right mixture.

I got through the show without completely melting down. I think my heightened emotions may have helped, in fact. My mom and my trainer and my doctor all came, plus some great friends.

But I’ve been feeling kinda shaky. And it scared me (as it always does) to realize how little it takes for me to “go there.”

There’s a scene in my show where I’m sort of scoffing at these Other diabetic people who have just let themselves go all to hell and they have every medical complication in the book. But this week I had a tinge of that. Some panic mixed with failure/shame/giving up. It was terrible. I even, for the first time in YEARS, almost pulled into an IHOP. I wanted pancakes. Big, fluffy white-flour pancakes dripping with syrup! I mean, it was crazy. The good thing was that I did not actually enter the IHOP *or* eat the pancakes. But the mere fact that I *wanted* to, made me upset. And it made me see how people can get into that spiral and just.. give up.

Tomorrow I see my trainer again. I have the feeling I’m gonna cry with relief. It’s going to tip back in a good way, and I’ll start climbing up those steps again. But man. I don’t like weeks like this.

18

Other People Saying Awesome Things

photo by Christine Zilka

It’s a crazy week. I’m so so so excited that Superwoman Spirit Shannon is coming to visit me TOMORRRRRRRRROOOOOWWWWWW! and will be here through my show on Sunday night. Life is a whirl. I don’t have time to blog a fraction of the things going through my head, but I’ve been reading some awesomeness out there this week.

I’d like to bring your attention to two particularly great blogs I read recently.

Dave Kirchhoff, the incredibly amazing CEO of Weight Watchers International, wrote a blog post this week that just knocked me out of the water. Last week he wrote about his “Guilt-o-meter,” and I was like, What Dave? WHAT? WE ain’t peddling guilt at WW! and he just addressed it all in the most honest and thoughtful way. Read it and wow.

Old Me:  “I completely screwed up this week, and I’m up five pounds.  I am a lowly person.  I deserve to be pelted with rocks and garbage.  I shall flog myself furiously with a Cat o’ nine tails in the form of a spartan healthy meal regimen.  That will show me.”  New Me might say:  “Well, that wasn’t the smartest way to spend last week.  I know I feel better when I’m eating healthily/moderately and exercising lots.  Therefore if I will start making those better choices, and I can look forward to feeling great.”

Then, my friend Christine wrote an equally mindblowing post about her relationship with her body. Wow. Just wow. Think about it. What is the relationship with YOUR body? How has it evolved and changed over the years? Think about it. Then maybe write your own.

My body was the cause of psychic pain: in grade school, a very ungifted child at any form of athletics (except hula-hooping, and I’ll get to that later), I was always picked last. When you get picked last time after time, you learn to divorce yourself from the source of that pain, and that pain was my body. There are students who fail in school, and after awhile, they remove any self esteem from academic success.

This is the kind of deep thoughtful work that makes life changes.

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