I have to admit, I have seen some benefits since I’ve become more focused on getting fit and losing weight. There is the obvious one, I am getting fit and losing weight. There is the fact that I can lift more, walk further, stand longer and move more easily, all of which are nice benefits. I also can’t neglect to mention, better heart function, reduced heart size and lower blood pressure, all good things. I have to admit, though, that I expected most of those benefits. I’m grateful for them, but I don’t find them surprising.

There is one benefit, however, that has come as a surprise although, in retrospect, I’m not sure why. When I think about it, this benefit seems entirely logical, but it never occurred to me until I actually experienced it.

Simply put, I save money because I eat less.

Back in the bad old days, when I gave more thought to what I would eat and when than I did to how much I was eating and why, I could polish off a bag of potato chips or a bag of cookies in a single sitting. I’d order a medium pizza and eat the whole thing myself. I didn’t even know such a thing as portion control existed, and I probably wouldn’t have cared if I had. I was eating to fill an emotional hole, not a physical one, and it seemed eating an immense quantity was the only way to do that. So I did.

Once I started paying attention to what I ate, and how much of it, I started noticing that the bag of chips that once disappeared in a sitting could now last for weeks. The pizza that would have been devoured as a single meal now became four or five meals. A carton of ice cream, sweet, creamy crack though it might be, would last long enough to get a small sheen of ice crystals on the last scoop. Food actually lasted long enough to go bad. What a concept!

Since I wasn’t eating a week’s worth of meals at one sitting, I actually had leftovers, which could be used for additional meals. Instead of buying lunch every day, I could take something from home. I could make a pot of pasta on the weekends and have lunch for the entire next week. As my body started to slowly get smaller, my grocery bills did too.

Like any person who used food for comfort, I won’t claim I don’t still have my moments of wanting to devour everything in sight and I also won’t deny that sometimes that urge gets the best of me. I will say, however, that the urge has gotten a lot rarer and the carnage done to my refrigerator and pantry stops a lot sooner. I suppose learning moderation with food is a lot like learning moderation in anything else, you have to keep your eyes on the goal and be constantly vigilant.

All I know is that I’m enjoying seeing my grocery bills, and my body, get a little smaller.

I’ve spent a lot of years of my life apologizing for myself. Maybe I didn’t actually say the words, but my whole demeanor was one big apology. Everything I did, my wardrobe, the way I acted, how I spoke, basically shouted don’t notice me, I’m not worth noticing. I put up with poor treatment because I wanted people to like me and I didn’t feel I deserved better. Now to be fair, not all of my self abasement was because I was fat, but that certainly didn’t help.

When I was growing up, the emphasis was on being thin. I get that my parents wanted me to be healthy. I get that my mother wanted me to be pretty and popular. I understand why things were the way they were, but the unintentional message I got was that fat equaled unworthy. If you wanted to be loved and noticed and worthy of respect and admiration, you needed to be thin.

When I had my dark year, one of the side effects was that I didn’t eat. Either I couldn’t be bothered or I didn’t have the cash, but I would often go days without eating. Toward the end of that year, I can remember celebrating getting into what was for me, quite a small clothing size. The weird value judgments of that moment have stuck with me to this day. I may be surrounded by the burning wreckage of my life but I could get into a small dress size, and that was the important thing. I was thin so therefore I was worthy.

It took me years of being treated badly by others and by myself before I figured out that my weight is only one thing about me, and that a number on a scale will never make me less worthy. My body weight is simply that, the weight that my body is at any particular point in the day. My dress size can only tell you what size clothing is necessary to cover my body, it won’t tell you whether I’m smart or funny or loving or a thousand other things. My body size doesn’t make me worthy or unworthy. It simply makes me a person who is a certain weight and a certain size.

Like everything else, learning to see my worth as unrelated to my body size has been a slow process. Some days I believe I’m fabulous no matter what size I am. Other days I believe I’ll be fabulous when I reach a certain dress size or a certain number on the scale. I have come, however, to always believe that I am worthy. Whether it’s being worthy of love, respect, consideration, admiration, anything at all, I can look at myself and see my worthiness before I see my body weight.

What it comes down to is this. If you want to get thinner to be healthier, go for it. If you want to get thinner because you feel you’re unworthy, be prepared for a shock. A thin you will still be the same you, and the feelings of unworthiness most likely won’t go away because you’ve dropped a dress size or ten. Personally, I think it generally works the other way around. First you realize you’re worthy and then you do what is necessary to get healthy. You have to lose some negative ideas about your self before you can lose the weight. It’s really that simple.

I’ve never been what you’d call a very physical person. If there’s a choice between doing something that will make you sweat and sitting quietly and reading a book, I’ll have my nose in the book every time. I’ve never thought sweating was all that attractive in general, and it certainly isn’t attractive on me. I’m not one of those women who sweats with dainty glow, I tend to sweat like a horse. At the end of an exercise session you’d probably find that I resemble a drowned rat more than a dainty creature with a slight healthy sheen.

Because I’ve never found sweat that attractive, and because I was told on numerous occasions when I was growing up that I had all the grace of an elephant with a wooden leg, I tend to be really self conscious about moving my body in public. My few excursions into a gym setting did not go well. Not only were there other people in the gym, but there were generally a lot of mirrors as well. The only thing worse than other people watching me exercise is me watching me exercise. Being confronted with a wall of mirrors was enough to plunge me into self loathing for days.

Recently, however, I’ve found that I’m coming to like exercise and even to miss it when I don’t work out. The change was a gradual one, but I think I’ve finally found a formula that works for me. I thought I might share what I’ve discovered in case there are other people who have similar issues with exercise. If you are having the same problems that I had, here are some things to consider.

Item 1: Exercise sessions can be private – No one says you have to work out in a gym or anywhere else where there are other people. If you’re self conscious about how you look when you exercise or how you move, simply keep your sessions private. Exercise at less populated times, or exercise in the privacy of your own home. If you have a family, ask them to honor your desire to keep your exercise sessions to yourself.

Item 2: Any movement is good – If you’re new to exercise or have to force yourself to get started, set a time limit and tell yourself you can stop once you’ve reached that limit. Make it a reasonable limit, like fifteen minutes, so that you do get some benefit, but don’t force yourself past that point if you simply don’t want to go any further. Just remember you need to keep increasing that limit if you want to get fit. If you constantly quit at fifteen minutes you’ll never see any results.

Item 3: Celebrate each small victory – Reward yourself each time you finish a workout, lose a pound, or conquer a new type of exercise. The reward could be a latte from your favorite coffee place, a new piece of clothing, a new gadget or book you’ve been wanting, something that has meaning for you. It doesn’t have to be a big reward, but make sure it is something that will help you stay motivated.

Item 4: Set a schedule and stick to it – For some people the schedule works best if they set certain times and days they will exercise. Other people, like me, do best if the goal is to exercise so many days per week. Setting a goal and checking off your progress helps keep you motivated.

Item 5: Vary the type of exercise you do – Lift weights one day. Do an aerobic work out the next. Try yoga or a stretching workout once a week. If you do the same thing day after day, you’ll get bored. Trying new things will also help you discover that your body is capable of much more than you thought it was. This discovery is another thing that will keep you motivated.

There tips have helped me, and I hope they’ll help you as well. While I can’t claim that my record as a dyed in the wool exerciser is perfect, it’s much better than it used to be, and the strategies I outlined above are part of the reason.

For years I’ve thought that things would be so much better if I were thin.

I’d be more outgoing.

I’d meet more men and they’d be more likely to fall in love with me.

I’d feel more confident.

I’d feel beautiful.

The list could go on and on.

The problem with my theory, and yes I am aware there is probably more than one, is that even if I were a perfect size eight, I’d still be me. I’d still be shy in new social situations. I’d still be a dork around men that I’m attracted to, and I’d still be gun shy about entering a new relationship. I’d still have doubts about whether I was interesting enough, talented enough, just enough. I’d still look at myself in the mirror and see the gray in my hair and that my nose has a funny shape, and that my hands are too small and my toes are crooked. I’d still be me, I’d just be in smaller clothes.

The truth of the matter is, I won’t be happy at whatever size I am until I’m happy at whatever size I am at the moment. Until the size of my body stops being the measure of my worth it doesn’t matter whether I’m a size 26 or a size 6. Until I can look at myself and see my talent and my goodness and intelligence before I see my belly or my thighs or my chin, it doesn’t matter if I diet and exercise myself down to the point of starvation. No matter what size I am, I’ll still feel like I’m not quite good enough.

I read a post today written by Courtney Kendrick of C Jane Enjoy It. I started reading this blog a while ago, and while C Jane’s life and mine are completely different, every once in a while she writes something that really hits home. Her post on Saturday was about learning to accept where you are and acknowledging that right now, in this moment, dealing with the circumstances you have in front of you, you are the best you can be. It doesn’t mean you stop trying to be better, it just means you acknowledge the good you have in that moment and accept that where you are is where you are and that’s not a bad thing. You don’t spend time waiting for “when” you simply enjoy the good in the now.

Right now the skin I’m in covers a bigger body than I’d like it to cover, but that body works reasonably well. It walks and talks and runs and sweats and and houses a heart that can love and a brain that can think. It may not be the killer body I dream of having, but now, in this moment, it’s not half bad.

Now, in this moment, I’m reasonably pleased with the skin I’m in.

And that, my friends, is a step in the right direction.

When I was a kid, or so I’m told, I was a very affectionate little thing. I loved hugs and kisses and cuddles. I thought nothing of running up to a new uncle by marriage and throwing my arms around him. This, I was told, was shortly after I’d run up to him and thrown my dress over my head to show him the new surgical scar that was a result of my heart surgery. I had no fear and I expected, for the most part, to be loved. I thought if I reached my arms out to embrace, people would be eager to reach out in return. The world hadn’t, then anyway, taught me that isn’t always so.

Fast forward to today and I rarely hug anyone. The last time I kissed anyone, so far as I can remember, was giving my father a kiss hello and that’s been several months ago. The last time I kissed someone romantically is so long ago there are cobwebs on the memories. Somehow the loving little kid of yesteryear got lost in the rather austere woman of today. It was a gradual process, but I can see how it happened.

First, of course, is the gentle caution that not so little girls, pre-adolescents who developed early, shouldn’t be so eager to hug people all the time. Then there’s an affectionate young teen who develops crushes, and who has a crush brutally exploited by a man she was supposed to be able to trust. After that, we have a series of the wrong men, all of whom I wanted to shower with affection, and most of whom were anything but eager for me to do that. I learned not to touch because my touch wasn’t wanted, and the only thing sadder than not touching at all is having your touch spurned.

Add to that the fact that my body got rounder and fatter and I started to think that it wasn’t worth hugging. Most of the time I tried to ignore my body, so why would I want anyone to put their arms around it? They would only notice how squishy it was, how far their arms had to reach and the whole experience would be uncomfortable. It was just easier to be reserved and limit my reaching out to those I was sure would be receptive. After a while, when being sure someone would be receptive became a chore, it was just easier not to reach out at all.

The problem with not reaching out, however, is that eventually people get the idea that you aren’t reaching out because you don’t want to reach out. If they don’t know your story, and they never knew that loving little kid, they may think you’re reserved, or cold, or snobbish. The truth of the matter is that we all need hugs and kisses, we all crave tangible expressions of love and affection and to get those things you have to give.

So, I guess that’s what I need to do. While I don’t think I’ll be running up to anyone with my dress over my head so they can see my latest heart surgery scar, I do think I’m going to try to reach out a little more. I’m not sure what form that reaching out will take yet, as my public display of affection muscles are beyond atrophied, but I’m going to let the spirit move me and see what happens.

It may be uncomfortable at first but, as I said in the title, we all need more hugs and kisses and that goes double for me.

I play with words and phrases for a living, so I’ve come up with several that describe the state of my body.

I’m
Zaftig
Voluptuous
Round
Abundant
Curvy
Entirely boobs, hips and butt
Somewhat out of shape
A Big, Beautiful Woman

The list could go on and on but what it comes down to is that every word and phrase on that list is a vain attempt to avoid the one word that I don’t want to say or associate with myself in any way. That word, of course, is

FAT

The reality of the situation though, however little I may like it, is that I am fat. The other reality of the situation is that as much as I hate that word and being associated with it, being fat, and what I think that means, dictates almost every action I take in my life.

I hate having my picture taken because I’m fat.
I don’t like being in the spotlight because I’m fat.
I worry that people look at me funny when I exercise because I’m fat.
Nothing I wear ever looks nice because I’m fat.
I’m hesitant about meeting men because I’m fat.
I worry that people think I eat too much or I eat the wrong things because I’m fat.

Somehow I’ve let the shape and the weight of my body become the defining characteristic about me. It doesn’t matter whether I’m smart or funny or kind, it just matters what the number on the scale says and what size pants I step into in the morning. Instead of realizing that fat is not all I am, I’ve decided that my body size and shape is all that matters.

Quite frankly, that pisses me off. I’m mad at myself for thinking that way for so long, and I’m mad at a culture that tells us that size six is sexy and size sixteen is an abomination.

Of course, I also have to recognize that I do the judging thing as much as anyone else does. When I look for a date, I want George Clooney, not George Costanza. I don’t look past a person’s outer shell to see what’s inside anymore than anyone else does. So this certainly isn’t some holier than thou rant, I’d actually have to be holier than thou to pull that off. I guess, if it’s anything, it’s more of an examination of how I got to this point, and how I get out of it, and I’m taking anyone who reads this along for the ride.

All I really do know is that I’m not going to stop being unhappy with myself and my body size, I’m not going to stop being fat, until I figure out how I got to this point in the first place. Yes, some of it is as simple as I ate the wrong things and I didn’t exercise, but some of it is not. I’m going to have a go at figuring out the not so simple part. I’m hoping some of you will decide to take the journey with me.

I don’t drink caffeine.  Haven’t had caffeine since my heart surgery in 2002.

I don’t eat a lot of salt.  Salt has been banned since about the same time as my surgery.

I watch the fat.  I watch the sugar.  I try to eat more fruits and vegetables and brown rice and less cheese and bacon and eggs.  It feels sometimes like I’ve given up everything that tastes good or is fun to eat.

It’s a common paradox that a lot of people face.  Some people try to find substitutes for the high fat, high sodium foods they enjoyed.  Others simply bar certain foods or types of foods from their lives entirely, thinking, I would guess, that not being tempted is the only route to health.  Other people, like me, revamp their diets entirely, but cling to that one small thing they just can’t bear to let go.

For me that thing is dark chocolate.   I love the stuff.  Luckily, as it turns out, it can also be good for you in small doses.

The Cleveland Clinic, the very clinic where I had my last surgery, has this to say on the subject of heart health and dark chocolate:

Flavanols are the main type of flavonoid found in cocoa and chocolate. In addition to having antioxidant qualities, research indicates that flavanols have other positive influences on vascular health, such as lowering blood pressure and improving blood flow to the brain and heart, making blood platelets less sticky and able to clot, and lowering cholesterol.

According to other studies, eating dark chocolate can help lower stress,  increase the amount of antioxidants in your blood and  help reduce chronic inflammation.   Obviously, the amount of dark chocolate that is eaten has to be watched because the health benefits can be overwhelmed by the excess calories.   Medical experts universally agree that carrying extra weight is detrimental, so the amount of dark chocolate in a person’s diet should be limited.

For me, dark chocolate adds a bit of indulgence to a diet that often feels anything but indulgent.  By nature I’m a meat and potatoes, slap on the sour cream and cheese, bring on the chocolate kind of girl.  I’ve had to learn to revamp my diet quite a lot and most of what I eat now isn’t exactly in line with my natural inclinations.  Dark chocolate, in moderation, is one thing that tastes rich and exactly as it should.  A small amount satisfies my sweet tooth without expanding my waistline.  The fact that it also has health benefits is just the icing on the cake.

Anyone who has read this blog, or my other blog, Settling for More, knows that I’m style impaired and fashion challenged.  As much as I want to claim that I have a closet full of stylish clothes and that I’m always well turned out and beautifully dressed, I know that isn’t my reality.  The reality is this:  if it doesn’t have any holes and it doesn’t clash, it goes on my body.   I gave up long ago on trying to have a style,   and I contented myself with the idea that I looked clean and neat and decided that would have to be enough.

Unfortunately, looking clean and neat isn’t enough for me.  I want to wear clothes that flatter my shape.  I want to look well put together and, dare I say it, even fashionable.  I want to know how to be well turned out and proud of how I look, and I want to know how to do that without spending a fortune.   I need guidance, and so, as I often do, I turned to the Internet to see what was out there.   That’s when and where I found Cardigan Empire.

I love this blog so much I’d marry it.  There are a lot of reasons to love this blog, but one of the most prominent, at least for me, is this post.  I’ve made the resolution to dress better after I lose weight more times than I can count, which effectively postpones looking fashionable and pretty until sometime in the future.   As Reachel says, you deserve to be beautiful now, and dressing for your body type will help you find your good points no matter what size your body is at the moment.

For  those people who are anything but fashion savvy, this blog is a godsend.  Cardigan Empire gives instructions for determining your body type, tips on how to celebrate your best features, and ideas for how to dress your body, whatever shape it may be.  Best of all, there’s no judgment here.  No one body type or size is better than another, and the glories and tribulations of all body types are addressed.

For someone like me, who has spent years thinking her body was too big, the idea that even big bodies can be fashionable and sexy and pretty is kind of like being given the key to a jail cell.  While I won’t stop working to lose weight and get in shape, since I believe that will be healthier for me,  I am now also working to accept that my body is fine and should be celebrated just the way it is right now.  One way I’m going to find that acceptance is to keep reading Cardigan Empire.

It is, after all, clear I have a lot to learn.

Food has always been the way I dealt, or didn’t deal, with how I felt about what was happening in my life.  Someone made me angry and I didn’t get mad, I got pizza.  I was happy and needed to celebrate so I went out to dinner.  There was chips and dip when I was lonely and felt like I didn’t fit in, chocolate when I was sad or tense, and cheesy, gooey nachos drowned in sour cream when I felt completely unloved, even by myself.   Although I may give voice to my feelings on occasion, it’s far more likely that I’ll stuff them away, and stuff myself with food to keep them from coming out.

I would guess that I’m not the first overweight person that uses food as a coping mechanism.  Food has always been easy for me, especially when emotions were hard.  Food never let me down, was always reliable and was always there, in easy reach, often before I asked for it.  When personal relationships were rocky, when jobs or education or romance didn’t work out,  when I felt stressed or when the world just felt too demanding, food was a comfort, something simple  that seemed to soothe the rough edges.

Dealing with the rest of the world could be hard.  Food was easy.

One of the thing that I’m trying to do as I work toward getting healthy, both physically and mentally, is to figure out why I do what I do.  Some may argue that this leads me to some excessive naval gazing, but I find it helpful.  I’ve started to stop and think before I pick up that phone and order a pizza or before I eat that whole bag of chips.  I stop now and ask myself why I want to eat what I think I want to eat, and often the answer isn’t hunger.  Often the answer is I’m mad, or I’m sad, or I’m lonely.  Very rarely is the answer I’m achieving things or I’m content or I’m happy.

I’m starting to discover that part of the answer I’m seeking isn’t stuffing my feelings by stuffing myself.  I need to let myself feel what I feel and I need to express those feelings when appropriate.  That’s a hard thing for me to do, but I’m working on doing it more often.

And that, surprisingly enough, feels good.

I haven’t updated this blog in a while.  There are a couple of reasons for my silence.  One is the fact that I was hospitalized with double pneumonia for 10 days in the beginning of November.  When I got out of the hospital, most of my focus was on getting my stamina and strength back.  I was also barred from exercise for a while, and I allowed myself to be convinced that being sick also meant that I needed to eat to build up my strength.  Basically I gave myself a license to pork out and be lazy for the last few months.  I’ll give you one guess what the results of that were.

Now, however, it is a new year and a new start.  The good news is that most of my muscle tone has held up pretty well.  The bad news is that the pneumonia really sucked away a lot of my stamina.  It didn’t do my breathing any good either.  That means I have some ground to make up.  Some of the gains I made have now been lost, but I guess I just have to accept that.  As I generally say after any of my health adventures, it could have been worse.

I have started to get back into exercising and I’m also working on getting my eating back into shape.  Over the next few weeks I plan to share a lot of what I’m doing here on this blog.  I have some new theories about eating and a few ideas about exercise as well.  I also got some new exercise DVDs I want to review, some of which I liked, and some of which weren’t for me.

I’m looking forward to a new year and a new start on meeting my weight loss goals.  If I have any say in it, 2010 is going to be a successful and  less weighty year.