It's Sunday, and I've mastered the Anti-Bloat piece of the FBD with about 80% accuracy - if I had a dieting IEP, I would have met this goal. The only two hiccups came in the evening, when invited to delicious places with friends. Tuesday, Tall Friend and I had Pies and Thighs in Williamsburg. The ultimate thing that may deter my success in my pursuit for a sleeker me is this very fact - I will always choose good time with friends. And, frankly, if that's what stands in my way, that may be something I just have to accept. However, I was feeling great at the end of Day 4 on Friday (I completed an additional, less successful day on Saturday as penance for straying on Tuesday) as I was weighing in at 145.5 lbs. 3 pounds in 4 days felt really great.
Something must have happened yesterday, however. It was a pretty typical Saturday, both eating and events-wise. Saturday school, nap, SoHo for Christmas shopping, then a delightful mani-pedi followed by tacos and guacamole at Mercadito Cantina. Perfection - and full of avocados, which according to the FBD, are a great thing. I know, obviously, that eating these high-fat, high-calorie fruits should come with moderation, so that may be where I went wrong, but when I awoke this morning and stepped on my scale, I was back to 148.5. My waist is indeed an inch smaller and the book touts that water weight should be discounted. But as someone always concerned with my size and how I feel, I don't actually feel 148.5 lbs big.
Today will necessitate more reading, as well as a menu design to be sure that I go into the 1600 calorie stage prepared. I started the morning with a 410 calorie oatmeal with walnuts - I feel really full, so perhaps that's a good sign. As I plug along, I'll have to get back into the yoga, and keep trying on those thigh high socks I want so desperately to sport.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Everyone's a Little Bit...
Crazy. True story. I really believe that if you take the time to really evaluate where your mind goes when you're, say, standing in a crowded room thinking, take notice of how you size people up. Try it - I think you'll find out a lot about yourself. Roommate always wonders if she's the smartest person in the room (usually yes) while Manfriend dislikes anyone taller than he is. I've had friends who fixate on clothing (i.e. writing off people in asymmetrical tops or sunglasses indoors) or drink choices. I even have a friend who will wait to see how long a girl takes in the bathroom before approaching her in a bar. Who knows what you notice about other people (and ultimately how you judge them) but mine has been (thus the purpose of today's post) literally sizing women up by size for as long as I can remember.
Who knows where this started, but I know that for at least 10 years I've been comparing my size to the other random women around me at any given moment. College was my only real respite because as a rower (and at 5'7" a short rower) I knew that mass moved mass. I knew I lacked height, so had to make up for that with muscle. Therefore sure, I was physically more intimidating than my friends on the men's tennis team, but I knew that my size held a purpose. I rowed boats, and I was constantly working to row them faster. There was nothing more gratifying than hearing the thud from my dropped power clean bar resonate around the weight room. While there were certainly times when I wasn't happy with my steadily increasing weight, I took solace in being able to bench more than many of the guys I dated. Being buff was awesome.
But then, like all college athletes, senior year passed and I was left with a body that no longer served a purpose and released back into a population that didn't necessarily understand competitive athletics. My Vegas Roommate remembers only two things about me from our first meeting in the Teach For America intro session: I was wearing a Ralph Lauren halter top she liked, and I had the largest shoulders in the room - including all of the men. (In hindsight, maybe a halter was a poor choice.) But without the lifting and constant eating, the muscles and my weight started to slowly deflate.
Fast forward to now - I'm 28 and as my Hip Colleague has pointed out, something strange happens at 28. When she told me this, I assumed as I usually do, that I would be immune to aging and any of its adverse affects. However, she's totally right. Suddently weight management isn't as simple as being sure that I don't over-eat. Also, the combination of both getting married and being in love with clothing (read: a touch vain) has sent me in search of a real diet plan. A friend suggested The Flat Belly Diet, so over the next month I'll be documenting any changes and the journey itself as I attempt to become a lither version of myself.
In the interest of honest documentation, I started their 4-day Anti-Bloat plan yesterday and began with measurements of:
Weight: 148 lbs
Waist: 31 inches
Thighs: 21 inches
Let's see if if nothing else, this helps cure a little bit of my crazy...
Who knows where this started, but I know that for at least 10 years I've been comparing my size to the other random women around me at any given moment. College was my only real respite because as a rower (and at 5'7" a short rower) I knew that mass moved mass. I knew I lacked height, so had to make up for that with muscle. Therefore sure, I was physically more intimidating than my friends on the men's tennis team, but I knew that my size held a purpose. I rowed boats, and I was constantly working to row them faster. There was nothing more gratifying than hearing the thud from my dropped power clean bar resonate around the weight room. While there were certainly times when I wasn't happy with my steadily increasing weight, I took solace in being able to bench more than many of the guys I dated. Being buff was awesome.
But then, like all college athletes, senior year passed and I was left with a body that no longer served a purpose and released back into a population that didn't necessarily understand competitive athletics. My Vegas Roommate remembers only two things about me from our first meeting in the Teach For America intro session: I was wearing a Ralph Lauren halter top she liked, and I had the largest shoulders in the room - including all of the men. (In hindsight, maybe a halter was a poor choice.) But without the lifting and constant eating, the muscles and my weight started to slowly deflate.
Fast forward to now - I'm 28 and as my Hip Colleague has pointed out, something strange happens at 28. When she told me this, I assumed as I usually do, that I would be immune to aging and any of its adverse affects. However, she's totally right. Suddently weight management isn't as simple as being sure that I don't over-eat. Also, the combination of both getting married and being in love with clothing (read: a touch vain) has sent me in search of a real diet plan. A friend suggested The Flat Belly Diet, so over the next month I'll be documenting any changes and the journey itself as I attempt to become a lither version of myself.
In the interest of honest documentation, I started their 4-day Anti-Bloat plan yesterday and began with measurements of:
Weight: 148 lbs
Waist: 31 inches
Thighs: 21 inches
Let's see if if nothing else, this helps cure a little bit of my crazy...
Monday, December 6, 2010
Single Living
In all meanings of the word I am single - but just for tonight. Roommate is out of town on a training and Manfriend is back in Ohio. I'd only lived alone for a year, and hated it, so I'm surprised at how much I'm enjoying a short bit of alone time. Since birth I've always wanted to surround myself with as many friends as would have me and been fortunate enough to have entirely pleasant roommate situations dating all the way back to my freshman year at UB. I arrived home after a lackluster yoga class in the East Village (it's usually awesome, it was a total fluke) and some grocery shopping, fully anticipating a lonely evening where I slip into bed as quickly as I could.
Much to my own surprise, I found the time guiltily luxurious. I did a little laundry, drank a little wine (no, really. Just a little.) and cooked delicious food for the next several meals. I put on some Mumford and Sons (thanks to my super hip colleague) and enjoyed an atypically late night in apartment 19.
Oddly enough, this feeling of slight liberation in isolation lead me back to a conversation my best friend and I have been revisiting over the past several weeks. She is married, living the dream in Denver with two beautiful boys and is - shockingly, as I imagined how mature I'd be at this age - one of my only married friends. While lifestyles and life phases have found us on the opposite side of the coin in so many debates (Red or Blue? Knock-off bags? Importance of personal appearance? White or red?) we've been able to deepen our adult-version of our friendship through the simple question: What kind of wife do I think I should be? Her newly-cemented faith drives many of her feelings, and my wishy-washy-wistfulness for the grounding faith used to bring colors mine more than I'd like to admit, but the idea remains - how does one do this new phase? What do we do with these new roles? How do we decide what is best for our new families?
While I don't pretend to have any real answers (I'm not even actually married yet) I've found a lot of solace in the ideas New Jersey Friend has sent my way via A Practical Wedding - it's a lovely, well-rounded collection of thoughts from many women working through the same questions I am. What if the wedding isn't the only thing I want to talk about? What does it mean to be married/ engaged/ committed to someone while maintaining a sense of self? While I have no idea what this next, precipice-like stage of my life will look like, there are some things I do know: I will want and need smart-women time, with or without children. I will want and need great mothers and wives in my life so I can model my development after traits they embody that I admire. And I will want and need a good deal of great food, great wine, and the company of close friends. Because if there's something I know, it's that late-night alone time is precious, but it creates anew the longing for wisdom, wit, and cheeky banter from the brilliant people in my life.
The whole wife/ mother/ matriarch thing? We'll have to wait and see what opinions will surface in that new stage.
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