Entry 5: My Heroes

I have never been much of a hero-worshipper or follower.  I suppose I have my mother to thank for that.  When I was eleven or twelve I found myself in a classroom with some cool girls.  The problem being that everyone, including these two girls themselves, thought they were cool.  Everyone, except me.  One of the girls’ followers really blew my eleven year old mind with her fawning over the two cool girls during recess.  You would have thought they played a really great game of jacks, had discovered the cure for cancer, all while walking on water.  I remember being embarrassed for the fawning followers.  I was at once stunned, amused and perplexed.  For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what was so great about these two girls so I asked my mother about it.  Mom gave me the best and worst advice of my life.  “Diann”, she said, “those other girls who are following Kathy and Liz around are followers; they’re sheep.  You don’t want to be a sheep.”  It was the best advice in the world in that it freed me up not to follow others mindlessly.  It was the worst advice in the world because at times it can be awfully lonely when you are not a sheep.  Sheep in a flock seem to be content even if they do run in a new direction every time a chill wind blows.

Before my weight loss journey I had read a number of books, each touting the diet plan that would work wonders and provide the magic bullet that would put an end to my time of obesity.  I dismissed some plans as not being sound nutritionally but there were three authors I admired whose plans and science made sense to me.  I’m not sure why, but
it seems to baffle men that we women can be absolutely convinced that a method or course of action will work and yet we fail to follow that course of action.  They don’t understand that.  I couldn’t explain it myself until I realized one day that we women, despite our power suits, smarts and power perfumes are really creatures of the heart.  That is not to say that our brains can’t master anything the male brain grasps, that is to say that when a woman has given her heart, be it to another person, a company, an ideal, even a country, she will move heaven and earth to achieve what her heart tells her to do.  When you possess a woman’s heart, you have harnessed the ability to move mountains, including those she has created on her own.  We can know that an eating plan is nutritionally sound but it is not until our heart is involved that the mountains in our lives can be moved. What moves a woman’s heart is different from one woman to the next for therein lies both our complexity and mystique.

My heart had been broken open to a newfound desire so I reached for books by three authors who I had come to respect without actually following.  I’ll elaborate on each author separately in depth in future postings but for now allow me to give a brief overview of their
highpoints in my eyes.  The three books I used as a foundation for formulating my eating plan were Eat Right For Your Blood Type (D’Adamo), The Perricone Perscription (Perricone) and The Fat Flush Plan (Gittleman).

Dr. Nicholas Perricone had first grabbed my attention when I saw him on PBS discussing the dangers inflammation posed to the body and how inflammation plays a key role in the aging process.  Now, I’m sure Dr. Perricone probably mentioned other diseases that inflammation can cause or trigger but all I heard was, “Blah, blah, blah –AGING.  Blah, blah, blah – AGING.”  That’s where my focus was at the time so I promptly went out and bought his book The Anti-Aging Diet and thus began my education on the dangers of inflammation. In learning about inflammation through this book and others by the good
doctor (The Perricone Perscription, The Perricone Proimise) I also learned that there are foods that can be considered inflammatory and foods that are likewise considered anti-inflammatory.  [A stark, basic rule of thumb is that starches and sugars equal  inflammation which equals aging which equals death.  That is my ever so tactful summation of the good doctor’s far more eloquent admonitions about the topic.]  The consumption of these foods either triggers a good (anti-inflammatory) response or a deadly (inflammatory) response in your.  (I’ll post a separate entry with a list of those foods and the diseases inflammation can cause later.)  What I took away from the
Perricone books was that women in America eat far too many foods that increase the
sugar in their blood system.  Increased blood sugar means increased insulin and increased insulin levels tell the body to store fat rather than use it as a fuel source.  According to Perricone, American women also don’t eat enough quality protein like wild caught salmon and that when we sit down to eat a meal we should always eat our protein first to avoid triggering a glycemic response that will increase your insulin and signal your body to store
fat.  A nice bowl of cereal with sliced banana will send your blood sugar level through the roof and the milk you pour over that cereal will trigger an inflammatory response in your cells.  The breakfast of champions is little more than death in a bowl.

Through Perricone’s books I also learned about supplements such as Alpha Lipoic Acid, CoQ10, L-Carnitine, Acetyl L-Carnitine, OPCs and GLA.  (A list of the supplements I took on my weight loss journey will also be listed in a separate entry.)  The one issue I didn’t
agree with Perricone on was the issue of red meat.  Dr. Perricone always suggested we limit our intake of red meat.  Because of my belief in my second hero, I actually increased my intake of lean beef and, I believe my weight dropped dramatically as a result.

My sister introduced me to a book by Peter D’Adamo titled Eat Right For Your Blood Type and that book has had the most profound impact on me.  I used it as the foundational mainstay for my hybrid meal plan.  It’s interesting to me that in the Old Testament God tells the children of Israel not to eat any meat that still has its lifeblood in it.   Blood is life.  (We Pentecostals frequently sing about the power in the blood of Christ so the notion that blood is life and plays a key role in our health has never been a stretch for me.)  I was stunned to read that the AB blood type has only been on the face of the earth for the last nine hundred to one thousand years.  When you consider all the years that mankind has walked the face of this planet, the late arrival of AB is amazing to consider.  D’ Adamo wrote that, according to anthropologists, the first blood type was Type O.  At one point all humans had only one blood type back when we were hunters and gatherers.  As mankind progressed in development new blood types came along.  Type A was later followed by B, then AB.  That explains why Type Os are the universal donors since we came first in the history of man and likewise why ABs can receive the blood types that preceded it in man’s development.  D’ Adamo puts forth that, depending upon your blood type, foods fall into one of three categories: foods that are seen simply as fuel by your body, foods so good for your blood type that your body almost regards them as medicinal in their invigorating nature and foods so bad for your blood type they must be avoided at all costs because they lead to disease and weight gain since your body views them as toxins and reacts accordingly.

As a blood Type O, I took great interest in the fact that beef was listed as beneficial for my type while wheat and potatoes were listed as not beneficial.  When I was a teenager, the adage was for women and girls to watch their starches and not over indulge in pasta, bread, corn or potatoes in order to keep their weight down.  Suddenly, while I was in college, pasta was crowned king by the government and the media.  If pasta was king, bread, corn and potatoes were the queen, crown prince and princess in this court from hell.  The food pyramid was everywhere but in the realm of truth and reality.  “Hey girls, pasta is your friend,” women’s magazines purred, “It’s not the potato that’s bad, it’s what you put on top of the potato that’s bad.”  My personal favorite?  “All things in moderation.”  [May I digress here for a minute?  Girlfriend, the only person who says that and believes that has either never had problems with her weight, is in denial about her weight or is on the road to regaining the pounds she lost and doesn’t know it yet.  There are simply some foods that can’t or shouldn’t be eaten in moderation.  Forget all things in moderation and begin to use the word rarely and don’t be afraid to use the word never.  There is something incredibly empowering about using the word “never”.  Foods that you never eat either have power over you or you have power over them.  At one point in my life I never ate asparagus.  It was green and it was a vegetable; ‘nuff said.  Now, having learned that it is thermogenic, which means it burns almost as many calories to consume it as it
contains, I eat it all the time.  On the other hand, I rarely eat corn and I never eat cereal.]

Ever since I was a kid, I noticed that whenever I felt my energy fading, if I ate steak or hamburger I would bounce back immediately.  When I heard friends or coworkers talk about how hard beef was to digest, I’d shrug that off.  I loved beef, I felt great after eating beef and I never had a problem digesting it.  Now I know why.  According to D’ Adamo,
Type Os have enough stomach acid to digest beef without any problems and it is one of our power foods along with buffalo, kale, plums and broccoli to name a few.  While on my weight loss journey I rarely or never ate foods listed on the avoid list.  Most of the starchy and simple carbohydrates were on that list.  The exception for Blood Type Os is rice; it is considered neutral.  However, from Dr. Perricone’s writings I know to limit my use of rice and have no more than one half cup at a meal in order to keep my blood sugar from spiking.

The third book I looked to in formulating my eating plan was Louis Gittleman’s Fat Flush Plan.  The message I took from her book was that we need to take care of my liver like it was a late model Porche.  The liver can actually heal itself and get back to doing its job in helping cleanse our bodies of toxins and burn fats if we take care of it.  Our lymphatic system also plays a key role in helping us metabolize and process fats.  Take care of your liver and lymphatic system and they will take care of you.  Gittleman suggests drinking cranberry water (4 oz of unsweetened cranberry juice mixed with 32 oz of water) throughout the day to cleanse accumulated wastes from your lymph system.  Supplements I learned about through Ms. Gittleman in addition to the cranberry water include CLA, GLA (as a Blood Type O, I get mine through black currant seed oil) and lipotropic herbs such as turmeric and milk thistle which help support and regenerate the liver.  CLA
(conjugated linoleic acid) helps convert fat to lean muscle tissue and helps your body promote the use of body fat as energy.  GLA (gamma-linolenic acid) oils can mobilize brown fat, boost energy and trigger fat burning as opposed to fat storage.  An added bonus?  GLA also helps prevent slackened skin due to weight loss.  Gittleman’s book also
introduced me to Stevia, a plant based sweetener sweeter than sugar that does not play havoc with your glycemic level.  Gittleman suggested the use of lemon water as a natural diuretic on those days when you’ve had too much salt.  The juice of one whole lemon in a glass of water, iced or hot, with a packet of Stevia as a sweetener and you are good to go.

One of the greatest tips I took from Gittleman was dry brushing my skin to help cleanse and stimulate the lymph system.  To dry brush, take either a soft brush or loofah and start to brush your skin in quick brush strokes towards your heart from your toes up your legs, up your torso to your bra line.  Next, brush up your hands and arms to your shoulders.  Your arms in particular have several lymph system sites.  I am convinced that I do not have any flaps or folds of skin to contend with, even after losing 162 pounds in less than twelve months, due largely in part to my daily ritual of dry brushing first thing in the morning.  (Always moisturize afterwards.)

As mentioned earlier, I will go through these authors key points in more depth in future postings.

Posted in Practically Speaking | 1 Comment

Entry 4: The Brass Ring And a Love Story

     My widower father was getting married.  I suppose under different circumstances, this would be a joyous occasion but my father had the beginning stages of Alzheimers and his bride had her eyes on his bank account.  Had I had the courage I would have stood up during the ceremony and recited all the reasons the two should not be joined together and then I and the other guests could have escaped the painful spectacle, the veritable train wreck, being played out in front of us.  But, coward that I was, I stayed silent even as the bride responded to the pastor with a “Sure, why not?” when asked if she would take my father. 

   I studied the face of the bride.  Although not as heavy as I was, she was probably a good 60-80 pounds overweight.  Even in her sixties, she would have been quite striking had she been a normal weight.  She had a pretty face and must have been a knockout in her youth.  I sat there watching the ceremony and tried not to shake my head at what must have possessed this woman to think that my father was her last chance at the brass ring.  Her desperation was incredibly sobering and I vowed that I would never be this lonely, this desperate.

     On the flight back to the mainland I decided to crack open the second book in the Twilight series.  It was filled with angst and anguish until the end when the hero and heroine were reunited.  The first book had been sold out at LAX on the trip over to Hawaii.  I felt like I had missed something and was sufficiently intrigued enough by the second book to want to read the first to see how all this angst had come about.  I hadn’t read a romance novel in decades and was totally unprepared for the profound effect it would have on me.  The persona of the hero was particularly well crafted.  He was tender and kind, protective and generous.  The day after landing in Denver I was felled by a virulent cold but nevertheless drug myself out of bed and braved the crush of last minute Christmas shoppers to buy the first, then the third and then the fourth book in the series.  The desire to see the happy ending had captured my imagination but it was the hero who captured and ultimately broke my heart.  And that’s when I began to cry.

     I cried until I choked.  This wasn’t a four hanky movie where the heroine dies at the end, this was my life and the specter of the emptiness of it rose up like a nightmare in the night.  I sobbed like a child without hope who could not or would not be comforted.  Broken, coarse, ragged sobs shook me and sounded alarming even to my own ears.  In the books, the heroine was constantly being held and kissed.  I had forgotten what that felt like.  When you see yourself beyond the realm of physical affection, you push those memories out of your head and heart out of sheer self-preservation.  Initially you hang on to the words of family and friends that “there’s a man out there who will love you for you”, but at some point in your heart of hearts you know that those words ring with false hope.  I cried because I finally knew the truth and it was killing me.

     Two seemingly unrelated characters: a grasping, desperate, greedy woman and a fictional romantic hero.  Stark reality and winsome fantasy melded and collaborated together to bend my mind and assault my heart until I was hell bent not to become the one while desiring the other, with my entire being, at any cost. 

     Could such a man really exist beyond the imagination of the woman who wrote the books?  There was no way to find out while I tipped the scales at 312 pounds.  The allure of the possibility of such a man, even one who was a whisper, a shadow, an image of an image of that ideal, was so powerful that it broke my heart with desire and sharpened my mind with a determination I had never known.  The pain and the desire broke through whatever depression and carb-induced fog I had been living in for the last decade or so.  I cried and I prayed.  There were no lofty thees and thous, just a straightforward, “I want this”, cried out to the Almighty.  “This” being the hero, “this” being a new life, “this” being the chance to hope.  I wanted my knight in shining armor. I wanted this.  The day after that night of tears and sobs and harsh reality, I threw out every single starchy carb in my house.  The journey had begun.

Posted in Before The Journey | Leave a comment

Entry 3: Who The Hell Is That??? (Reality Tries Again)

            It was December 2009.  My sister and I had returned to our home state of Hawaii to help our father clean up his overstuffed retirement community apartment in anticipation of moving out after his pending wedding.  Everyone at work was thrilled and envious.  Wow, a trip to Hawaii!  Lucky me.  Little did they know that this was going to be a working trip.  Emphasis on the word WORKING and, as I would come to realize later, emphasis on the word TRIP.  Hawaii was lovely and the palm trees and the trade winds were all in full sway while we were there.  Due to the humidity, my skin plumped up with youthful dewiness I didn’t normally see back in Denver.  I remember looking at myself in the bathroom vanity mirror and wondering if I could pass for a woman in her thirties.  Those vainglorious thoughts quickly left my head when I encountered the wall of mirrors.

     It’s so easy to walk or text our way through life and bypass those things that reflect back to us who we really are.  Mirrors aren’t always made of glass.  If we are looking we can see our true selves looking back through the eyes of others, life events or things that cut through the sugary frosting we use to ice over the bitter truth in our lives.  Sometimes mirrors are walls and sometimes they are simply glass.

     The retirement community where my dad lived provided apartments for family members who had come to visit residents.  Every day for a week I found myself staring at my reflection in a wall of mirrors that surrounded the elevator lobby.  The elevator’s pace matched the speed of some of the retirement home residents and I had plenty of time to look below my neck and take into account the part of me that makeup could not hide or change.  I bulged and bloated out of my tank top and shorts like a corpulent tick.  By the second day the only thought resounding in my head was, “Who the hell is that fat, old grandma?  Please God, tell me that isn’t me!”  But the fat old grandma blinked when I blinked and took a breath when I did and Reality whispered in a roar, “Yep.  That’s you, babe.”

     I hadn’t been a fat kid; never struggled with my weight as a teenager.  In college I had gained the freshman ten but lost those when I moved out of the dorms.  It was later as an adult, when life took the wind out of my sails and sucker-punched me and blindsided me with loss and disappointment and more loss, that I battled my weight.  It was a war of my own making since I filled my heart and my belly with the cheap comfort that food afforded.  The more loss and disappointment I suffered, the poorer my choices were in the food I used to feed my soul.  Of course it probably didn’t help that I chose to interpret a friend’s gentle encouragement to, “Be good to yourself”, as meaning I was free to toss back Dove milk chocolate pieces like they were Valium while in the throes of grief from losing my mother, my heart and friend to lymphoma.  Unfortunately, by the time I’d lost my mom to cancer, I no longer gave a damn.

     I like to think that we evangelicals and Pentecostals can kill ourselves with guns, drugs and booze like anybody else but, boy howdy, I think our favorite poison is fried chicken, mashed potatoes and chocolate cake.  And like that little bit of biblical leaven, sugar and fat permeates the soul of both soulfood and church picnics.  I often wonder if starchy and sugary carbs have become the new opiate of the masses.  If so, this opiate knows no partiality towards color, creed, tribe or tongue.

     While many fat women have never known life as a thin woman, I had known the joys of fitting into a size 4 and being able to feel my hip bones through my jeans.  As I gained pound after pound through the years I struggled to maintain the persona of the slender woman I had been.  I kept up on my makeup, enhancing my eyes even as I lost all sight of my cheekbones.  I squeezed my thighs together as I walked so that I walked strong and did not waddle like those other fat women I saw on the street.  I saw myself as thin but with a bit of a “weight problem” and I continued to eat as I lied to myself about who I was becoming and what I was doing to my body.  I lied and pretended until I stood before a wall of mirrors and had nowhere to hide from the truth.

Posted in Before The Journey | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Entry 2: Reality Knocks But I’m Not At Home

     I had a friend who used to say that the Clue Phone is ringing and we need to answer the call.  I wonder how often Reality knocks on our door but we pretend not to be at home, choosing instead to sit on the couch and hope that annoying knocking will stop at some point.  Sometimes we hide behind the curtains of our soul and peer out at Reality as it tries to get our attention.  Ultimately many of us go back to sitting on the couch, if we were even at home to begin with.

     I had gone to my primary care doctor for a sinus infection and was quietly horrified that somewhere along the line I had passed the two hundreds and stepped over into the three hundred pound territory; 312 pounds to be exact.  Reality started to knock but I still wasn’t at home.  I decided to try and “cut back”.  Exactly what it was I was cutting back on was never articulated.  I may have started eating salads at lunch, even ate broccoli with my dinner for a week but in no time I was back to high fat, high carb meals and rewarding myself with chocolate for dessert.  I was one of those people who could go months without eating anything green with the exception of guacamole or the lone piece of lettuce placed on a fast food burger.  Eating broccoli was huge for me.

          When your life is full of stress, your support system consists of a bag of Dove milk chocolate and the only loving eyes you look into at the end of the day are either canine or feline, food can become a source of great comfort, reward and security.  One man’s Vicodin is another man’s mashed potatoes and both are effective at dulling the pain that life can inflict upon us.  Everyone has a crutch they lean on to support themselves as they walk through this life.  Crutches vary depending upon our coping skills and the different seasons we find ourselves in at any given time.  Some crutches are leaned on and used out in the open while others are hidden away in closets, or bottles.  Whether it’s booze, drugs, sex, food, your spouse, your Momma or God Himself; everyone has a favorite crutch.

          Sometimes if you are lucky, blessed or just have golden karma, Reality knocks your crutch out from under you and stares down at you in deafening silence.  Crutch gone, knocked to your knees, you become aware of the ringing in your ears.  It’s the Clue Phone and finally you pick up.

Posted in Before The Journey | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Entry 1: The Day I Became Invisible

      It was Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving 2009, when I had an epiphany in the middle of the my local Target Superstore (well, honestly, not all epiphanies take place in cathedrals and mountain retreats now do they).  Somewhere between the cheese straws, discount videos and the instant coffee, I realized that I had become invisible.  I wasn’t shocked or depressed by it so much as I was amused and a little perplexed by the notion.  Had I actually become so fat that my fellow shoppers couldn’t even spare me the wan, vacant-eyed, tight lipped smiles we all reserve for other carbon-based life forms we encounter while in a shopping frenzy?  You know the look, it says, “Hi, I acknowledge you as a fellow human being, another carbon-based life form and, although it may take too much effort to pull my lips back into a friendly grin, I will acknowledge you with, at the very least, a lifting of my eyebrows and, if I can manage it, a tight-lipped smile as I recognize you to be a fellow sojourner in the quest for pre-Christmas sales and bargains.”

     Had my girth exceeded the realm of the visible and thrust me into the group of Americans so obese that they weren’t even acknowledged by their fellow human beings as being, well, human?  I pondered on this as I walked to a checkout lane.  Maybe I shouldn’t have used real cream and butter in those mashed potatoes I had made for my solitary Thanksgiving feast.  The Invisible are not seen and yet paradoxically, you can’t miss them.  Fat people; you can’t walk through them, gotta walk around them and yet they are never “seen”.  If you are merely pudgy, “overweight” or have to lose a few pounds, you still garner a wan, vague smile but there are no such acknowledgements for The Invisible.  That day I became invisible and being invisible I didn’t really see myself as I truly was; that came later.  A little less than twelve months later to be exact.

   I found myself celebrating Thanksgiving 2010 with family and new friends; I had lost 150 pounds and by the end of 2010 I had lost 162 pounds.  One hundred sixty two pounds in little less than a year.  This blog contains reflections on that journey and transformation with the hope that I can encourage even one other fellow human being who has come to the sad realization that they too have become invisible.  I want to inspire you.  I want to let you know that you are not alone and it is never too late to once again become visible and be seen.

Posted in Before The Journey | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment