spiritual growth

My Best Race Ever

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Warning: some of the information contained in this post will be considered TMI by some readers. But, this is me… what else would you expect?
Today was my 5th running of the mile Crim in Flint. It is I really where, why and how my running life began at the age of 41. I think I am far more tortoise than hare, to begin with, but today’s finish was by far my slowest. It was also the best damn Crim I’ve run.
I waited at the start line with my running posse. Susan and I stuck together until about mile 4. I told her I needed to do the earbuds- and “focus”, instead of talking because this was going to be my year to not come in LAST place in my age group. I had big dreams of a personal record.
At mile 4.5, I had the mortifying sensation that I was going to pee my cute little running skirt. I carefully “pulled over” and sat on someone’s lawn, as if taking a little break and just peed. What are you going to do? It’s one of the many things that happens in your 40’s that NO ONE warns you about. (You can thank me later).
At about mile six- heck yes, I kept going- the sensation hit again. I was right by a frat house and straight up told the guy, who looked like the life of the party, about my imminent crisis. He brought me inside and let me have at least a shred of dignity in their facilities.
At this point, I knew I was probably out of contention for the top three finishers in my age group- I was actually never in contention for that, but I built up my expectations. After two full marathons and nearly a dozen half’s, I had to bang out a big finish at some point, right? The most likely result of most of our expectations is disappointment. There are some things we just can’t predict or plan for.
Suddenly, at mile 7, I stopped sweating and was covered in goosebumps. I felt really dizzy. There were some paramedics. They invited me to sit down and they checked out my vitals. They were calling over an EKG cart. All I could think was, “oh, hell no. I am finishing this thing. Just about then, my friend, a nurse, named Debbie, appeared out of nowhere. We walked the rest of the race. According to my Garmin, I finished in 2:24. I haven’t looked up my official Crim time because, who cares, really?
At the end of the race, all that mattered was all that ever has truly mattered I finished. Things did not go the way I wanted them to. I did not break a personal record. I did not finish with a dry running skirt. I did finish.
I think the biggest mistake I make in life is building up expectations. I don’t want to bum out the Dale Carnegie crowd- setting goals and achieving dreams are important to our growth. But, I’ve come to find that it’s often the things that don’t quite go as planned or hoped bring about the greatest rewards. Sometimes, you are going to pee your pants and plans change, but that will only ruin the experience if you let it.
My spirit expands every time I accept that I really don’t have control over the universe, life- and sometimes now, not even my bladder.

Thanks to all of the 11,000 plus participants in the Crim today. Each of you inspire me, every single year.

The Choice is Ours

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two-choices-panic-crush-itIf you had the chance to do it all over again, would you choose the same career? If not, what would you do instead?

I find myself at one of those times in life when I am faced with either the opportunity or the necessity to re-invent myself. Which of those positions I am in is contingent on whether I am in glass-half-empty or half-full mode at any given moment.

Losing a job is certainly life-altering. Since I just lost mine, I have had a lot of people tell me about their own experiences with this great curveball of life. What I am learning is that whether you see it coming, are laid-off, “not renewed” or just plain fired, it does not feel good. It is really an assault on every aspect of your life. Your finances take a hit, as do your sense of security and your ego. Oh, much of the time, the ego stings the most.

With all of that said, I am learning that if I can choose to see it as a blessing or an opportunity, I am not only going to survive, I will thrive. The trick is keeping myself in that enlightened state. So, here I am, returning to my safest form of release- my keyboard.

I have been fired before. Burger King and I parted ways at the end of a rather stressful shift at the drive thru window. It was hardly my dream job, but it paid for cute tops and nights out with my high school girlfriends, so I wanted to keep the gig. Alas, the drive thru is not a job for the faint of heart. If you crack under pressure, especially on short-turn around shifts, the drive-thru at any fast food restaurant, and its built-in requirement of a customer-friendly disposition, are not for you. Let’s just say I was not customer friendly, and leave it at that for now.

I was 16 when I lost my drive thru crown. I am 46 now. Sure, a small percentage of my current pay check went to buying cute tops, but that is not the really hard part here. The hard part is that it is kind of scary to be middle-aged, and let go from a job in a career you have had for 24 years. Sure, I can look for another job in my field, but what if I want to change gears? Isn’t this the perfect time? There is one key thing standing between me and this “when one door closes, another opens” mentality: fear.

So, as fear attempts to slither its way into this situation, faith is whispering in my ear that this is all going to work out. As much as I want to tell myself that I can not help being fearful or emotional, I have to remember that I do get to choose how I respond here. I can lean into my faith or be overcome by fear. Faith is actually easier, once you get past the whole “trusting the universe will see you through” thing.

Just as I was about to let fear take me down, something pretty amazing happened. While reading many posts on my facebook newsfeed about the passing of the great Maya Angelou, I came across a quote of hers, “we may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated.” I can be overcome or overcome. It is a choice we all get to make every minute of every day.

God… I Think, and I Thank

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I know a lot of people have a tough time during the Thanksgiving/Christmas season because they lost loved ones. This is my holiday, I suppose. Easter week is usually tough for me. I lost my Grandfather Cam the day after Easter, after spending that entire week watching him slowly devoured by the final stages of cancer. Taurus, THE dog who sparked my passion for the entire, amazing canine species, was shot and killed by my crazy neighbor, just days before Easter.  My robustly healthy, vibrant, smart, sassy Grandmother Edith lost her battle with cancer just days before Easter. This year, while the hurt is still there,  the season is different for me.

My failed attempt at sticking to a self-inflicted Lent kind of had me feeling down on myself.  In fact, a friend asked me today how my Lent has been. She wondered if I had any sort of epiphany. I said no, and beat up on myself a little, using some of my traditional snarky, self-defeating lingo, “I suck…” blah, blah, blah. It is so easy to just say, “I suck”, and throw this Lent experiment into the “failed attempts” junk drawer- er, closet- in my psyche. How convenient. I could even pull a, “well, this is the saddest time of the year” card out of my back pocket. I could. I will not.

I guess I have had my epiphany. I decided, on a whim, to take a crack at Lent. I had perfect fodder for a few blog posts, to get me back in the habit of posting regularly. It was to be yet another start in my revolving door of fits and starts with this thing, followed by another, “what the heck happened” post, riddled with chippy, one-liners. I am not going to do it this time. If it seems like I am doing it, I am not.

I guess I have had my epiphany. What the heck happened was, I started yet another “thing” with great intentions, but zero drive and no honest desire. More than that, I started without a real plan. This was not really about giving up my favorite snacks to show some contrived empathy for  what Jesus suffered. At least, I know that can’t really be what this whole thing is about. Right? While not eating white bread and chocolate cake, etc. may feel like I am being tortured, it is hardly a crucifixion. Perhaps that is the real story here. We make these things- things that are not even really good for us- so important in our lives, when they really aren’t. The whole torture of giving them up is all in our minds. This stuff is important because we make it that way.

Life is what is really important. How did I live my life? How did I love? Did I give? Was I selfish? I think of the three significant lives that were snuffed out of my own, personal universe during this season, and I know that whether they were able to give up cupcakes or Milk Bones, for that matter, were not really what was on my mind after they were gone. Today I still remember them for how they lived. 

So, my dear friend Mary, in answer to your question: I guess I have had a moment of clarity. How am I living my life? I hope my only legacy will not be that I was not able to resist the divine temptations of simple carbohydrates during Lent. What is my life about? It seems like more of a question than an epiphany. For me it is still growth. It is a more enlightened question than, “does this bag of Dove chocolates make my butt look big?”

Thank God for small stuff- and it is all really small stuff. (I stole that last line)

Lent, Week 1 Down, Down…

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Panulirus_ornatus
Yes, I titled this with “down, down”. Yes I am hearing “Rock Lobster” in my head, right at the part where Fred Schneider is singing “down, down” and picturing people at one of my high school dances sinking to the floor.
How? Why? What? Yes, well, perhaps it has something to do a certain Nutella and pretzel scoops incident this week. Yes, I cheated on Lent. I made a promise to God and broke it. Does it really get much worse?
Actually, yes, it does. It does get worse. It happened more than once. But, it also gets worse than cheating on God. In fact, I did not cheat on God. I did not cheat on Lent. I simply cheated myself. I broke a promise. I am not hurting God. I hurt me.
While I explore all of the underlying meanings of this violation, I can laugh at myself.
Suddenly, it all makes sense to me.
My first thought was to pretend I never even started this stupid blog and just quit updating it.
“No,” I thought, “you have done that a bunch of times. You always come back to this, so some part of you wants to do this.”
Having established that I would, in fact, update this thing, I had to figure out how to finesse this whole “cheating” thing. My knee-jerk solution: just leave it out. Yes, a nice lie by omission. Nothing screams, “spiritual growth” like dishonesty.
So, here I am, telling on myself. I am getting back on the bike and pedaling. It is not exactly the first time in my life that I have started something, and gone off course, and simply swerved back on.
Something about not doing it perfectly makes it all sort of dirty in my mind- like a dress with a spot right in the middle of it. My first reaction is that my Lent is ruined.
Actually, it is not ruined at all. It is better because I get to look at why I went there- to Nutellaville. This is a time of renewal and growth. If everything moves along placidly until Easter Sunday, then I pound down an industrial sized jar of Nutella, what have I gained?
If I find out why I tend to listen to the voice that says, “c’mon, it’s just one time. It’s Nutella, it’s like a nut-butter really”, then what have I really lost?
I will take the counsel of that self-defeating voice, even when my higher inspiration is screaming to my psyche, “hey, what are you doing? You are just going to feel bad about this right after it happens- probably even while it is happening.”
Meanwhile, I am sticking to and thriving with the “spending time with God” part of my Lenten journey. I kind of think this Nutella incident is just part of my spiritual growth.
It made its point. Now, I am here, telling the truth. I am not little Miss Lent 2014, Chaste Princess of Virtue. I am just a chick, trying to connect to God, and to grow. That is all still happening.
Until next time.

All the Judgmental Ladies—Now Put Your Hands Up!

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beyonce

“If you don’t like it you don’t have to say a thing about it… if you don’t like it you don’t have to say a thing about it… “
Okay, I’ll cut it out.
I was having a conversation with a female co-worker today about… Beyonce. I know, I know. This is not about lip syncing or Super Dome power outage conspiracy theories or even the quality of her Super Bowl performance. We discussed her looks. Yep. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?
She looked gorgeous, but did she have to show that much skin? Prince did not do that. The Who stayed covered up for their half-time performance.
Here is the deal: at the end of the day, Beyonce showed her buff body because that is the way it is. It is, isn’t it? Madonna has been doing it since the 80’s. All the Mickey Mouse Club girls do it as soon as they are old enough to drive. It is what we have become.
To me, what we are showing is less important than what we are saying- no matter how “covered up” women are. The worst thing is, we women are the worst offenders. We are the judge and jury of too fat, too thin, too tight, too old looking, too young looking, too wrinkled, too much make-up, not enough makeup.
“Why is she wearing that?”
“Wow, she’s getting big.”
“Wow, she’s too thin—she looks anorexic.”
Then, we are appalled about how there is too much emphasis on looks or weight. Who is emphasizing it in the first place? We are! It is too easy to blame this on men.
This is not about men telling us we are too fat or thin. God knows, this is not about men telling us our shoes do not go well enough with our purse- because most men do not notice that in the first place.
In my nearly 23 years in television, I can assure you that letters, emails and phone calls have come from- with very few exceptions- other women. They are the ones who feel they need to berate me for my hair, makeup, clothes, weight, where did my boobs come from- are they real? (yes, they are, they are 99% fat- hello- they are real- I woke up and there they were, along with other pockets of fluff that I accumulated along the way.)
But I digress. What does it matter where my boobs came from, whether I have a little belly or a bad hair day? Why do we women do this? We do it to ourselves. We do it to each other.
WE are the ones looking at magazines, movies, etc and manufacturing an ideal for ourselves- and everyone else. We are the ones wanting validation, then offering condemnation.
“Don’t be too pretty- but don’t look bad. “
My favorite victim of this whole “beauty police” mentality is Jessica Simpson. First she is trying to be too hot and sexy with that whole Daisy Duke thing and just being on too many magazines and stuff. Skinny bitch. Blah, blah, blah.
As soon as she puts on a little post-divorce and subsequent other breakup weight she is suddenly the media’s favorite fat girl. Why do we even focus on this in the first place?
Men, the media, Beyonce (who looks great, by the way), none of them tell me what is beautiful. None of them tell me how I think I should look. I come up with this stuff in my own little head.
If I want it to stop, I can stop it. If I want society’s message about body image to change, I can start by changing myself. By that, I mean, I can start by building other women up, instead of going out of my way to find fault. This includes even the successful, rich, talented mega stars who “ask for it” just by being famous. We women have to stick together.
I guess the real starting point is with me- the woman in the mirror. There is nothing wrong with wanting to look your best and be the best you that you can be. Build yourself up sky high. While you are at it, offer your sisters some bricks. Don’t throw them at her, help her stack them.

A Life Half Full

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glasses

Six pounds. I did it. I was hoping for five pounds in four weeks, and I got a bonus. That works for me. I am thrilled. I also set my next goal: five more pounds by March 4.
It feels good to set a goal and reach it.
You know, it is funny. I remember, when I was a kid, I would try to imagine what I would be like at various “old” ages- like 45. Getting excited about losing 6 pounds was never one of my scenarios.
I imagined myself with a Betty Crocker hairdo (you know, from her picture one her cake mix boxes). I imagined using a lot of Ben Gay and wearing reading glasses. Boy was I spot on. Funny I did not give much thought to my future diet woes. I don’t think I thought I would never gain weight. I just figured when you are that ancient, who cares how you look. Your life is pretty much over.
Well, now that I am here- or will be in a mere two hours, 45 is not really old. It is the new 25, or 15 or something now, isn’t it? I just talked with a friend about how neither of us feels our age. A guy who overheard us assured me that I do not look my age. If not looking or feeling my age means that I am not what or who I thought I would be at 45, I guess all of the above are true.
I am not trying to recapture lost youth. I am not going to buy a sports car. Actually, I think I have that thing that people try to reassure us we will have as we mature- confidence. There is a certain peace that comes with realizing you are halfway through your life. The trick is realizing that your life is half full- and you get to live this next half with much more knowledge and understanding than you started the first half with.
My Arthritis has been giving me some pain lately. It is sort of interfering with my goal to run a marathon at the end of this month. But, it is not interfering with my goal to be the healthiest I have ever been. I may not have the knees, hips or neck I had 20 years ago, but I have something so much better: desire. I know what I want in so many areas of life that it makes everything feel exciting. I am less willing to accept my own excuses. My life is half full. I have fewer days left, and I guess that is why I know excuses and sitting “this one” or “that one” out is really just wasting opportunities to understand life and all of the things that make being blessed with one so worthwhile.

THE BIGGEST SALE EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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sale-sign

Just thought I would pass along a tip: Ann Taylor, The Limited, Banana Republic, J Crew, and in fact all of the stores are having THE BIGGEST SALE EVER!!!!!!!!!! Thought I would tip you off. It seems I am privy to this information because I am a card holder and a “valued customer”. In fact, these fine corporations are so grateful for my last purchase, they want me to come back. It does not even matter to their individual email gods that I cannot afford, nor do I actually need what they are selling.

I get sucked in every time. Every morning, I open my email and find offers. There are sales I cannot miss. This may be their last sale ever, you know?! Anything is possible. I do not want to miss out. I like to think of myself as a reasonable intelligent woman, one who is not easily suckered. BUT, when it comes to shopping, I lose all rationale. I will scour the websites desperately seeking something I “need” so that I can get in on the big savings. The stuff shows up on my doorstep and, sometimes, I don’t even remember ordering it, or what the hell I ordered.

I guess I should be grateful to all of these stores because they have probably occupied my time enough with this shopping addiction, that they have saved me tens of thousands of calories. Too bad, eating has not managed to help me save hundreds, in fact probably thousands, of dollars.

How do they suck us in? How? I say “us” because, while I do not want you to suffer or go broke, I would like to think I am not the only one. I guess I should know I am not the only one. Look at how much debt people in our country are in. Look at it. It is insane. It is loony. And, many of us, after finding a way out of that mire, turn around and jump back in.

A wise man I know once said, “when Daniel got out of the lion’s den, I doubt he went back for his hat.”

I, on the other hand, always seem to go back in and actually, forgetting my hat is securely on my head, buy a new one- from the Lion. It doesn’t make sense. But, that is just it. Addictions, obsessions, usually do not make sense.

So, here I am again deleting every email from the Lion, advertising his biggest sale ever. I guess I could change my email address, but he will find me. Maybe, next time I donate to the Good Will, I can make an itemized list, and even remember exactly what I spent on each item. I am sure the total would make me physically ill. I could tape that to my computer monitor as a reminder of what the biggest sale ever cost me last time.

The truth is, I don’t need anything. When I have to look through the sale items to find something I need- I probably don’t need it. So, the cute top or shoes or bag are really just cupcakes that I can’t eat. They will not appear on my belly as part of my, “hey… are you expecting” pile. Nope. Instead that cute top will probably be just be covering it up.

No Does Not Mean Yes!

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fries

Do you ever wonder what would happen if some new research came out and definitively proved that broccoli is really bad for you? I wonder if I would suddenly get insatiable cravings for it. What is it about the word “no” that makes my psyche want to say, “yes, yes, YES, God, yes”?

I actually did research. Okay, so I Googled “why do we want what we can’t have”. That is the modern equivalent of research, isn’t it? To think, I spent hours learning how to use the card catalogue at libraries, and I have not stepped foot in one for a good 15 years. Thank you, Google.

My “research” led me to the expected answers. I looked at several sites, but honed in on selfgrowth.com. That is where I found the following explanation.

“When something is hard to get (or forbidden) you immediately pay more attention to it. Notice that when you are on a restricted diet, you sometimes get too focused on what you “can’t” eat. This heightened attention — which can escalate into obsession — makes the forbidden food seem very important. Your inner brat takes advantage of this, and tries to convince you that you MUST have that chocolate or pizza.”

Ummmm… pizza. See? There I go. Just the though of not having it makes me want to turn this car around and get my pepperoni-hand-tossed on. (No, mom, I am not really driving and typing.) But why? Because, just as I was reading the word “pizza”, my brain said, “oh, no, girl. Pizza has gluten, you can’t have that.”

My next internal response was, “yes you can. You are an American! You can eat what you want.” My sick mind wants to turn my desire to binge-eat pizza into a patriotic event. At the end of the day, it goes back to the point the writer was making: I want what I can’t have because my focus is on what I can’t have.

Last night, I had baked chicken with green beans and brown rice. I know… control yourself. There is no such thing as McChicken with green beans. I think it probably would be hard to fit on a drive thru menu. That may really be the only reason. As I was eating, I thought, “this is good. This is better than a cheeseburger and fries.”

In my heart, I really meant that, too. I don’t know about anyone else, but I know that I have a knack for hitting the drive through during some sort of french fry vat shift change. I always get that order of fries that has some that are black on one end and still soggy on the other. Or, they are an order of fries someone brought back, and some tree-hugging kid working the drive through doesn’t want to waste food, so I reap the benefits.

My point is, when I allow myself to focus on what I can have, while trying to be healthy, it is amazing how much I do not want the things I can’t have. (I think I broke about 36 grammar rules with that sentence.)

If I can only remind myself, in those moments when I am coming up with excuses to skip a workout, or to justify eating bad food, of how good I feel when I do the healthy thing. I never get a jolt of “hell yeah” from not working out. I never feel like a super badass when I skip a run.

Can we train our brains to focus on, “yay, look what I get to do”, instead of “dang, I can’t have this”?

There is no question in my mind that going off gluten has made a major shift in my overall health. I can not even begin to describe how much healthier I feel. I have it in me to shift my focus. I know that I do.

Becoming a runner at the age of 41 took a lot of focus shifting techniques. The greatest attitude adjusting tool I have used in my short running career has been to remind myself how blessed I am to be in good enough physical health to run in the first place. I have to remember, that I quit smoking because I wanted to be a healthy person. Ultimately, that is what this is all about for me. I mean, I am relatively sure that my shot at the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Edition is up. I can’t just be after some weight loss and hot body goal.

So here I am, reminding myself that I get to eat my own home cooking instead of crappy, soggy fries and re-heated-in-the-microwave cheeseburgers. Oh, yeah, they do sometimes heat burgers up in the microwave. I am probably violating some sort of fast food privacy act provision, but who cares? Burger King fired me. It’s payback time, y’all.

Ultimately, this all points back to one thing: self-pity (or feeling deprived in some way) cannot coexist with gratitude. The two are mutually exclusive. In all areas of my life- not just when it comes to my goofy old health, I must focus on all of the legitimate “yes’s” around me, let all of the “no’s” be “no’s”.

Get Paid to Eat in Bed

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Image

 

If you could do anything you wanted and get paid, what would you do?  I am doing it, right now. Writing. I actually had no idea people got paid to blog. I mean, I have learned things from blogs. I have seen some wonderfully creative blogs. It is just so fun to sit and unload words from my brain; I cannot imagine actually being paid for it.

Here is the deal:  I do write for a living. Writing newsy stuff and writing about the junk that just happens to be in my head is not the same thing.

I did start this whole blog thing because I figured sitting in bed writing was a lot better than sitting in bed eating.  I did not get paid to sit in bed and eat, either.  Actually, that is not entirely true. I got paid in lbs. When I was a kid, I pronounced lbs, LIBS. No idea why. No matter, that was my regular paycheck for sitting in bed and eating.

So, I suppose, being paid to sit in bed and eat and write at the same time would be probably too much for me to bear.

The good news is, while I have not been writing in this “online journal” regularly enough, I am making some real progress on the not sitting in bed mindlessly eating.  Now, I sit in bed with a counted out portion of gummy bears- the real Haribo kind- not those mushy, crappy buy-in-bulk bears.  I make great sport out of biting their little heads off and making a screaming sound. Wow, that is just plain crazy.

I was trying to think of what I have really accomplished since I started this blog back in July. I have lost a solid 10 pounds. That, in and of itself is not that impressive, but when you consider that I have gained back a good 20, well… need I say more?

Okay, truth told, because so many people get annoyed by my self-deprecating humor, I have lost three pounds recently. I am really and truly off the gluten. I am really going about all of this in a way that I never have before. 

I have always been in full-on exercise mode or obsessive about some sort of calorie count or ingredient mode. Now, I am being mindful about both. Mindful. Not obsessive.  I am happy to say, that I am keeping track of my trips to the gym, and what I do while I am there. I am also keeping track of what I eat and paying close attention to how I feel during the day. I do not mean that I stop, hug a teddy bear or beat the floor with a rubber bat (a shrink made me do that once- it was super awkward).  What I am paying attention to is my energy level, my overall sense of well-being. 

The really zany thing is it is not normal to be exhausted all the time. It is not normal to be nauseated or have an upset stomach all of the time. It is not normal to be in pain all of the time. If you already had this figured out, yay, you! I did not. I cam to accept all of those things as part of adult life. That is sort of what I observed about adults when I was growing up. Being an adult was exhausting, painful and miserable. I could not wait to grow up, either. 

I think it is easy to ignore what our bodies are trying to tell us because so many people are feeling crappy; it has become the new normal. I am not going to accept that I am supposed to feel any sort of bad way because I am in my mid 40’s.  That is insane. Why on earth would anyone want to live past their mid-40’s if feeling lousy all the time was part of the deal? That is just loony.

So, here I am. I am still a little hefty.  I love the word “hefty”.  The vet referred to my female dog as “a little hefty” at her last checkup. Even the dog knew that was a rude thing to say. 

Where were we?  Oh, I am in my mid 40’s, a little hefty, with decent skin and some joint pain. BUT, I am not going to take this stuff lying down. Hey, I am all for losing weight and having a rocking body, but I want more than that. I want to feel good. I want to feel damn good. Guess what? People in their 40’s, 50’s, 60’s, 70’s and 80’s feel good. I have met some of these people.

If you have made it to the end of this entry, you may find your mind wandering back to the beginning and think, “Leslie, you not only will never get paid to sit in bed and eat; you will never get paid to blog.” 

I am good with that. I will never get paid for a lot of things. I will also never be accused of growing up and/or older miserably. I will do it gracefully. I will do it joyfully. I will also be healthy.

Until next time.

Lose 10 lbs in 5 days!!!!

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lava cake (pictured left: Heartless Tramp!)
I knew that little headline would get you to read. I have no idea how to lose 10 pounds in 5 days. Well, you could cut your head off, but it would be messy, people would miss you, and you would not be around to enjoy the new you.

I am doing something new, though. I am employing the zany practice of setting small, attainable goals. It really looks even loonier in print than it sounds in my head. Of course, I did not come up with the concept. Weight loss and fitness experts, pretty much across the board, make this suggestion regularly. It just does not sound appealing to me.

Who wants to lose 5 pounds in five weeks? That is not nearly as sexy as the “transform Your Body in 8 Weeks” or “Lose 10 Lbs. In 4 weeks”, magazine-selling weight loss miracle plans.

I have to admit, I have lost 10 pounds in a week before. I did it twice, actually. The first time, it was under the guidance of Dr. Atkins. Well, I never actually talked to him, but I read his book. I went carb-less. Hey, the weight came off so fast, I was thrilled. I am not certain what flung me off the rails with that experiment.

I have more vivid memories of my second attempt at going super low-carb. South Beach was great. The pounds came off. The food was better than on Atkins, and I was doing great. In fact, I did great for a solid 6 months. Then, along came lava cake.

So, I had a piece of lava cake and, much to my delight, I woke up the next day and my weight had not gone up. In fact, my “are you expecting?” belly did not return. I felt confident. I decided I would have lava cake once a week. That also went well. Suddenly, lava cake became a daily diet staple.

The weight came back on. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking, “I got this. I will just go back on South Beach and the pounds will drop.” They did, but not like the last time. Here is the thing: when you lose 10 pounds the first week and two pounds a week the next couple of weeks, it is easy to live with a steady diet of eggs, string cheese and sugar-free pudding.

When stuff starts getting “real” and you are losing a pound a week, on a good week, it is a different story. That voice in my head that says, “that whole healthy BMI crap is a government conspiracy” or “fat is the new thin” starts to win out. I start to get defeated, and find myself in the middle of a tug of war between the part of me that knows it is not okay to put my health at risk with my weight, and part that knows that pan of brownies isn’t going to eat itself.

So, here I am, with a short, attainable goal. I am going to lose 5 pounds by my 45th birthday, February 4 (yes, this year, smart ass). I have just under four weeks.

So far, so good. I have been to the gym, following my cardio and weight training schedule faithfully all week. Yeah, I know it is only Wednesday. I am ignoring the voice that asks each morning at 6 am, “are you really going to sacrifice time with your dogs for gym time? Your dogs love you no matter what you weigh. Those gym people just want your money.”

I am also logging my food faithfully and honestly. The honestly part is the toughie. I have a tendency to rationalize leaving some items off of it. “Hey, you only ate 3/4 or that piece of cheesecake not the whole thing. You don’t need to put that down. AND, you vacuumed yesterday, you probably burned that tiny bite off.” The “portion” always seems to get smaller when I go to log something, too.

So far, I am down 3 pounds. I may exceed my goal when this four weeks is up. If I do, great. It may be the first time in my life I manage to over achieve.

I think, if I keep setting healthy goals, the occasional one-night-stand with lava cake or the like will be just that. I will not let it throw me off the rails because it might interfere with my goal. I will not marry lava cake, I will use it, and toss it to the side like the cheap… cake it is.

Till next time.

Ps for those of you who follow: if I do have some cheap tryst, it will still be gluten-free. I know I have to keep that up. My joints and my intestines insist on it.