Running

Went to Nordstrom's today and found a running bra that actually fits.

Big deal, you say? No. It's usually impossible. I usually resort to my patented double-bra-with-a-T-shirt-in-between method. That cuts the bounce considerably, but it's still a problem. Plus, it's hotter than blazes, particularly when doing cardio. When I was with my sweet young trainer, he'd blithely suggest something like jumping jacks and then wonder why I was turning my back to him while I did them. I didn't want him having the visual of my clutching my cleavage, as I had to look him in the eye later, but I didn't need the chest pain that kind of jumping would cause without a lot of additional extra support.

Anyway, now that I have proper equipment, I went for a run. First time in at least 15 years. It was amazing! I ran without worrying about pain or black eyes or excessive bouncing. For once, I wasn't fighting a losing battle with my anatomy.

It still wasn't pretty. I can't do it for very long. But I did it.

I had the great idea to walk over to the park, so I could run on the softer turf instead of concrete. I wasn't counting on the buff soccer men hogging the field. Athletic-looking men intimidate me a bit, and I definitely don't run in front of them if I can avoid it. I'm pretty secure in many ways, and I know I've been blessed with many talents. But, when it comes to coordination and athleticism, I'm below the curve, and I don't mind admitting it.

So, I ran home instead, most of the way. I opted not to run past the fire station as well (more semi-athletic types).

I have limited vanity anymore, but I don't like my struggling to be a source of amusement for people who don't know how far I've come.

Clothing

Finding clothes that fit has taken a newly bizarre turn. At my largest weights, I would shop off the Target clearance racks, where most of the Size 18s or 20s would fit and look adequate. Most of the time I wouldn't even need to try them on.

I'm suddenly much more fussy.

It's also weird because I can't simply pull clothes off the rack anymore and have them look decent. Something might say it's my size, but it still might look odd or not really fit. There's also the complication of my constantly changing shape. For the first 50 pounds I was able to wear most of the same clothes. I did wear smaller pants, but underwear and shirts still fit.

Now, it feels like what fits changes frequently, almost from week to week. I have to be careful, too, because v-necks will drop suddenly into immodest territory from one wearing to another.

Power

While I lament new kinds of attention, I also revel in it. 

That's embarrassing to admit, but is probably obvious to everyone but me.

It's mind-blowing that in losing nearly one-third of myself, I have gained so much social power. I'm not sure that what that says about humanity is a good thing.

I schlepped all around L.A. with four children who were 8 and under, including an infant and a 2-year-old, largely unassisted and undoubtedly looking pathetic more often than not. I rarely got offers of assistance, and when I did they usually came from middle-aged women who had Been There. 

Now, I just have to look slightly overwhelmed or confused, and there's some chivalrous type, usually a dude in his 40s or 50s but sometimes a younger one,  ready to come to the rescue. The only thing I offer in return is a thank you and a smile, and that seems to be enough. 

Before and now (well, a month ago)

The pic on the left is from October 2007. The one with the goofy shades is from August 2008.

Cool things I can do now

1) Wear heels all day. Let's face it -- wearing heels at all was a challenge when I was well over 200 pounds.

2) Easily paint my toes.

3) Wear eyeliner without my eyes disappearing.

4) Outrun my kids.

5) Put on a swimsuit without embarrassment.

6) Sleep without snoring.

7) Sit in front of any kind of chocolate, candy, cake, cookies without being seriously tempted.

Things that have freaked me out ...

... in ascending order of discomfort

4) The friend of a friend who suddenly talks to me when he never did before, despite our traveling in the same circle for years.

3) When a friend's husband kept asking when I would show him how I looked in my red 4-inch heels. (I put off his multiple requests. I was too shocked to come back with anything, as that has never been our relationship.)

2) New male friends who are pointedly cautious about being friendly with me, out of respect for their wives. That didn't happen when I weighed 250. Now that I've figured that one out, I make sure I bring up how a) into my husband b) Catholic or c) completely unwilling to mess up my marriage I am. Or all of the above.

1) The 6'6" 350-pound man at the gym who greeted me by bellowing "Oh, mama, come to me!" (I pretended I didn't hear, and he was gentlemanly the next time I saw him.)

And -- please! -- you have seen the pictures. I'm not all that, particularly in comparison with all the gorgeous women out here. It was nice to not have to deal with that garbage while I was fat, but I'm no longer willing to sacrifice my health in order to avoid other people's goofy reactions, which I don't have control over and that don't mean much anyway. Some of it is just male posturing, a way to put women in their place; even that, though, seems to be largely unconscious. I'm only freaking out over these things, even though I intellectually recognize they're not that big a deal, because they're things I haven't dealt with for at least a decade.

The reality is that as I get older I'll have less of that foolishness to deal with anyway.

Book review: Hungry by Allen Zadoff

There's a bunch of books out there right now with a basic "Food Addict Loses Weight" theme.

My favorite is Hungry by Allen Zadoff. I also like Passing for Thin by Frances Kuffel, which has a dramatically different style. Confessions of a Carb Queen by Susan Blech covers similar terrain, although I worry more about her, as she seems even more in denial than I was, even after she's lost a ton of weight.

What I love so much about Hungry, though, is its restraint. I can identify with a lot of the stories the women tell, but only to a point. Once they get too personal, they lose me a bit in the drama. I have my own food issues and my own recovery, which I admit looks ugly and messy, even though it appears controlled on the outside. Getting too much of peak inside, as both Kuffel and Blech give on occasion, can leave a bad taste.

Zadoff's story reveals a lot of his struggle, but it also steps back a bit, which allows the reader to step in and fill in his or her own blanks. His style is spare and wise and comforting. He's also writing more than 10 years after his significant weight loss, which means he can and does focus on the big issues without too much attention to every little psychological burp along the road.

That's not to say the book ignores psychological issues, as Zadoff links his compulsive overeating with life frustrations. He doesn't get into detail or even allude to what those life frustrations were, however, and that ultimately strengthens the book. He talks about his excessive emotionality, but he doesn't portray it in all its undoubtedly annoying manifestations, so the reader doesn't start judging him for it. It's too easy to blame people for getting freaked out about little things -- when we don't share the particularly neuroses.

He calls himself a "food junkie," and his book allowed me to realize I might be able to admit that as well. I have long resisted the idea. I can admit I have behaved like a junkie, where I have a block is in the feeling that there's a lack of personal responsibility when one calls oneself a food addict. Zadoff's Hungry explains food addiction in a way that makes me recognize that a complete abdication of personal choice doesn't have to be part of the definition.

I also have firsthand experience in the reality that when I don't eat sugar, wheat or flour -- when I go "cold turkey" -- I can eat pretty sanely.

Back in the saddle

Never stopped the diet (of course!), but I was being very neglectful on the exercise, except for the strolls with Paul. Today, I got in 20 minutes on the treadmill -- 15 minutes of it with the heart rate in the 145-155 range. 

Slacking

I've had a bad week for exercise. I've gotten in just my walks with Paul.

Today, I've got some time, so we'll see.