Fight the fear and happiness follows

One of my favorite films is Defending Your Life, starring Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep as recently departed folks who must justify their life decisions before they can pass to the next level or return to Earth to do it again. (Also, while you’re in this way station, food is delicious and you can eat as much as you like and not gain weight. Are you sure it’s not heaven?)

The biggest reason people get sent back to Earth? Fear. Fear of taking risks, fear of facing the enemy. Anything that holds you back from doing the right thing.

My big fear lately has been to get on the scale. I haven’t exactly been eating the way I should and many inappropriate foods made their way to my mouth. Like I wrote yesterday, I got out of my good habits and reverted to some of my old ones during the holidays. But today I hopped on the floor monster expecting a gain, took a deep breath, and discovered I’d actually lost 0.4 of a pound.

So all that fear and anxiety was for nothing. In fact, I had to wear jeans that previously were too tight for comfort because my dryer broke as I was drying my 2 pairs of jeans that fit.  Now, I’m not saying these pants aren’t tighter than I’d like, and that I have a muffin top worthy of Cupcake Wars. But I survived today, and only had to unbutton them once, right after lunch. Who knew cottage cheese had so much bulk?

There’s no reason not to face what you fear. Whether I gained or lost weight had already happened, and my ignorance wasn’t going to change anything. In fact, finding out I’d lost a bit made me feel better about myself today, and who doesn’t enjoy a good mood.

See you next time.

Too much celebrating

It’s so easy to go off the track, isn’t it?

I was insistent—to myself, at least—that I wouldn’t let the holidays rattle me. It wasn’t a big event, just a gradual chipping away of routine until I feel like I’m mired in a mud puddle.

The only person who can get me back on track is me, so that’s what I’ll do. I’m so cold in the morning that I hate drinking an icy protein shake. Recently I read some instructions for making a warm shake, so I’m going to try that.

I still haven’t gotten to the gym. I did get the necessary headphones, shoes and water bottle, but I can’t find any shorts that fit. Believe me, no one wants to see me on the elliptical with my pants around my ankles. I know there must be some shorts SOMEWHERE in the mess I call my bedroom.

My recent time-suck has been planning my daughter’s birthday. She turned 19 on Sunday. We celebrated with a trip to Marukai, a Japanese market in Gardena—her choice. It was like visiting another country. My daughter bought a flavor of Pepsi she drank in Japan last summer: strawberry cream. We topped it off with dinner at an Italian restaurant in Fullerton that I dined at in college, when I was her age.

Celebrating her birthday reminded me of my pregnancy. I weighed about 30 pounds more than I do now, and developed gestational diabetes, which meant I had to check my blood 4 times a day and take insulin shots twice daily. And this was before we had insulin pens with tiny needles. Because of the diabetes, I had to follow a strict diet, similar to early Weight Watchers. After a few months of gaining weight, I gained nothing more during the remaining 7 months. After I got home from the hospital, I discovered I had lost about 40 pounds. My glee was short-lasting, because I discovered triple-chocolate muffins from a local supermarket and would eat one, sometimes two a day. Only later did I realize those suckers had about 800 calories each.  Serving size, one-half muffin. Right.

See you next time.