Refuse To Regain

Transformational Thriller

By Barbara Berkeley

Television’s roster of reality shows seems to be increasing with every season. For networks, these shows have been a godsend; cheap to produce and enduringly popular. Like most everyone else, I have my favorites. As a frustrated dancer, I can’t get enough of the vicarious thrills provided by Dancing With the Stars. My daughters love Top Chef and Project Runway. And of course, American Idol.

Reality shows can take many forms, but they seem to be anchored by common themes: adversity, emotional upheaval, competition, and most of all…transformation. Think about it:

America’s Top Model: Ordinary pretty person becomes celebrity glam queen
Top Chef: Unknown cook becomes the next Bobby Flay
Survivor: Regular people become lean, mean survival experts
Dancing With the Stars: Uncoordinated celebrities lose tons of weight and become ballroom dancers
American Idol: The high school kid next door morphs into Carrie Underwood
The Biggest Loser: The caterpillar emerges as the butterfly

Human beings love transformation. We are fascinated by it. We all love the moment when the guy on Extreme Home Makeover yells, “Move the bus!” and reveals that the shack is now a palace.

Transformational themes have been part of our cumulative psyche since Hans Christian Anderson turned a duckling into a swan and Cinderella went from ashes to the ball. Transformation is thrilling and offers us hope about the human condition. Nothing is fated. We have a hand in our own destiny. We can remake ourselves.

In the past several months, I had a small taste of personal transformation and discovered a bit about its heady power. My own mini-change occurred when Karen, my long-suffering hair stylist, announced that she could tame my ultra frizzy hair with a process that irons on keratin. I don’t want to get into my whole hair story, but suffice it to say that I spent the younger years of my life trying to iron, roll, and chemically brow-beat my hair into submission. After years of this, I had reached a point in life where I accepted that I had a lot of hair and most of it had a mind of its own. My frizz became something of a personal emblem. I even enjoyed it, except on days when things got so out of hand that my daughters would tactfully remind me that I had “Bozo hair” and should try a little gel or something. Despite the fact that maturity had included making peace with my follicular challenges, Karen’s offer awoke old dreams. Why not try it? I thought.

On the big day, I had to devote three hours to the process which involved getting a lot of chemical gunk brushed onto every hair strand, lots of waiting time and a prolonged period of heating each section with a flat iron. At the end of it all, I left with stick straight hair that felt almost plasticized. It was as if I had grown a head of doll’s hair overnight. Karen carefully instructed me not to wash or wet my hair for three full days. She needn’t have worried. For the first time in my life, I had hair that wasn’t going to do anything but lie there like an obedient, shiny blanket. I wasn’t messing with it.

On the way home, I continually checked my car mirror to see if I knew who I was. The change was remarkable, even to me. As soon as I got in my house, I realized that my clothes no longer fit my hair. I started to try on things in my closet by combining them in novel ways. Sure enough, I found that the pieces looked completely different on the “new” me. It was as if I’d suddenly inherited a whole new wardrobe. Drunk with the power of transformation, I had the ultimate thought. What if I stopped wearing my glasses? I had an old pair of contact lenses in my bathroom drawer. I somehow got them into my eyes and stepped back to survey the result. The first reaction was horror. There was my whole face, no longer camouflaged by metal rims and tinted glass, with the lines and bags that I’d avoided confronting. What the heck? I was so intoxicated that I didn’t care. I raided my daughter’s dresser and pulled out a pair of glamour sunglasses – the kind I’d never been able to wear because of my own glasses – and went out.

The baristas in my local Starbucks, who see me every day and know my life story as well as my rather complex coffee order, failed to recognize me. What a hoot! The women I play doubles with thought I was a new member of the tennis club and several actually came over to introduce themselves. I was due to give a presentation to the senior hospital staff later that day. When I arrived, literally no one knew who I was. I met my mother-in-law at the mall and she didn’t recognize me until I got within 10 feet. Even better, most people said that I looked younger. For about a month, I had a ball going out every day. My transformation had made me the center of attention – a hot topic – and everyone wanted to discuss it.

But inevitably, reality set in. After several weeks, everyone I knew had seen me in my new incarnation. One morning, I woke to find that my doll’s hair was looking a little fluffy, a bit frizzy. Bozo was beginning to battle the chemicals. Although I determined to stay with my new style, I saw that it would take some doing. That was ok, but what nagged at me was a sad sense of let-down. I felt mournful, like someone who had discovered that the guy they had big crush on was just another human being. In short, dear friends, the thrill was gone.

You can probably see where I’m going with this.

Weight loss in America is a transformation game. Many of the successful dieters I’ve met over the years started to fall apart as soon as the change got old. The let down allowed them to become uncertain. Was the whole thing really worth it? Were they really going to have to do this forever?

The period of transformational high after weight loss and its subsequent let down can be destructive. It reminds me of a tennis analogy. When I hit a really good shot that gets my opponent on the run, I have the tendency to stand and watch. The shot seems so good that I believe the ball will never be coming back. My husband calls this “Admiring the ball” and it drives him crazy when I do it. “This is where you get beat,” he tells me. The moment you hit the good shot, you need to run in and take an offensive position so you can anticipate the next ball. If you stand around, an unexpected return will rocket right by you. In tennis, this is so true. And it’s true also for weight loss. At the end of a diet, we stand around and admire the ball way too much. We do this at the very moment we need to be preparing to go on offense.

As we approach the New Year, tens of millions of people will be resolving to get thinner. Although the vast majority will never act on their resolution, some will succeed and will be rewarded with that sublime moment when they become someone they no longer recognize; someone new. For awhile, the skinny clothes will fit, the jealous glances will come their way, and everything will be magic. But after awhile, their new persona will become just them and life will go on. For most, the cycle will repeat itself. If the thrill comes only with transformation, we can only get it by starting all over again. That means regain.

Those of you who are keeping weight at bay have discovered another kind of pleasure and you’re not falling prey to the transformation cycle. You’ve figured out that the thrill that lies there will break your heart. Perhaps you’ve traded in that big, addictive jolt for the quieter joy of continual, small transformations. Successful people seem always to be adding to their personal portfolio. Did they do pilates? Now they’ve started learning yoga. Did they figure out how to lose weight? Now they’re running a weight loss group. Did they start walking? Suddenly they’re running a 5K. This is better known as personal growth.

Take it from me, there’s nothing wrong with the big thrill. I enjoyed it for a moment. But the slow steady pleasure of adding to our biggest accomplishments? Now that’s a thrill we all! can live with.

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NOTE: On December 21, Barbara was a guest on "Good Company" on WKYC in Cleveland. Click here to view.

All Or Nothing…Or Something In Between

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

Here’s how I wake up most days: Sit up, move the neck in a circle (crack, crunch), twist the lower back side to side (crack, crunch), stretch my feet (cramp!), stretch my arms over my head (oh THAT’S where that rotator cuff tear is!), and ask, “How do I feel today?”

My workout clothes are usually laid out on the dresser – optimistic leftovers from the night before. I gather them and my Blackberry – which laid obediently on my nightstand all night – and walk downstairs to the office and turn on my computer.

I sit down at my desk and think about my workout intention for the day. I have a plan. I always have a plan. It’s carefully laid out, minute by minute, on an Excel spreadsheet. But my plan doesn’t take into account a swollen knee or tendonitis that sprouted up overnight, or the plain old restlessness of busy mind, which is the worst for my exercise plans. I can’t take Advil to relieve restlessness.

There are countless times I’ve felt some pinch of pain and decided not to do a work out, or have gotten on the elliptical only to be 10 minutes into my workout and unable to continue because my mind says, “You MUST do this or that or the other thing you planned!” Sometimes these are legitimate excuses, but I confess that many times they are not.

Sure there are days when the physical takes precedence over the need to exercise. Pain and inflammation is real and I take it seriously. But in every instance I have to honestly assess if it’s real pain or my head making excuses for not wanting to work out. Damn arthritis. It’s a double-edged sword. There are days, no doubt, when arthritis pain SHOULD prevent us from working out. But there are many more days, I would argue, when moving (within moderation) would be of more benefit than the heating pad.

Most days, when I move I feel better. Trying to convince my brain of that before a workout is 99 percent of the battle, however. So I’ve developed a new strategy: instead of doing all or nothing of what I’ve planned on my nifty spreadsheet, I do a little. I try five minutes at a slow, easy pace. If that feels good, then I up it a bit. Staying mindful, I adjust accordingly. What a change from the days of, “My schedule says I HAVE to do 30 minutes at high intensity today!” and when I couldn’t, I’d feel guilty. Now, I do whatever intensity my body says I can do on any given day, despite what the spreadsheet says.

The same is true with restlessness, only with a twist. When I’m restless, there’s no “excuse” to not do a full workout. My new strategy with restlessness is that instead of seeing it as an enemy, I try to be friendly and compassionate. I can only concentrate for 10 minutes on the cardio? No problem. After 10 minutes, I do a strength training circuit then return to the cardio for another five or 10 minutes. What I’ve found is that not only does this break up the workout, it demands more concentration, thus disrupting that restlessness, at least for an hour or so.

In many ways I’m still an all or nothing kind of person. But I realized there is middle ground between pain/restlessness and doing nothing and doing everything just because it’s part of the plan. Just one more thing that amazes me in this world of maintenance.

The Big Gift

By Barbara Berkeley

At this time of the year I’m always searching for motivating tips that will help my patients get through the holidays. I often remind people that their new eating habits are a gift they are giving themselves. “If you are going to give yourself that gift,” I say, “then DO it! Don’t pull it back at the last moment just because of the Christmas cookies!”

I think that maintainers understand more about this gift than dieters do. This is because we have to experience a period of prolonged maintenance to “get it”; to feel the true benefits of changed eating. While staying at a lower weight is part of that benefit, it is often a smaller part than we might have expected. The gift we receive is a feeling of being in healthy harmony. This harmony allows us to enjoy powers of energy, a new smoothness of mood, a feeling of strength, and a body that stays well when other bodies fail. Escaping from the daily fear of illness – that’s probably the ultimate maintenance gift.

We know that maintenance makes us feel better. But could the gift be even greater? Could maintenance be helping us to live longer?

Recent research in the field of caloric restriction continues to be intriguing. As most readers know, cutting calories leads to longer life and slower aging in most species. But how does that happen? A study from Mount Sinai School of Medicine, looked at this question and came up with the following answer: “It may not be about counting calories or cutting out specific nutrients, but how a reduction in dietary intake impacts the glucose metabolism, which contributes to oxidative stress.” (Dr. Charles Mobbs, principle investigator).

Oxidative stress is the damage done by substances called “free radicals” which are created as a byproduct of certain body processes. You can think of these free radicals as rogue particles which shoot through cells causing injury. When we take “anti-oxidant” vitamins, we are attempting to sop up these free radicals and thus get rid of them. A better approach would be to generate fewer free radicals (and less damage) in the first place. As it turns out, overeating – the great American pastime – appears to increase free radical damage. Restricting calories means less oxidative stress and healthier cells.

The Mt. Sinai team discovered that caloric restriction increased body levels of a substance called CREB binding protein, or CBP. High levels of CBP were associated with longer and healthier lives in worms and mice. In mammals, Dr. Mobbs believes that an equivalent effect might be seen at about a 30% reduction in calories.

If CBP levels are known to be high in mice who eat less, what would they look like in mice with sugar problems – in other words diabetic mice? Mobbs’ team discovered that CBP was low in these animals, predisposing them to accelerated aging and disease. It seemed that CBP might work by blocking glucose (sugar) processing in the cells. Higher CBP might mean less glucose metabolism and less free radical damage. Most intriguing, Mobbs found that CBP levels were quite fluid and responded to changes in blood sugar within hours of feeding. Calorie restriction elevated CBP for as long as restriction was maintained.

This research is another small piece of evidence that points to the wisdom of primary diet (eating as anciently as possible). It is intriguing on two levels. First is the issue of optimal meal frequency. Paleo diet afficianados have become interested in figuring out how often our ancient ancestors ate. It appears that many tribal peoples ate one large meal per day. This means that we may be optimally adapted to spending longer amounts of time in the non-eating state. The SAD encourages us to eat constantly and in large quantity. If Mobbs’ data translates to humans, overeaters would theoretically have a low level CBP and a higher incidence of aging and disease. Maintainers generally eat many fewer calories per day than their free-eating counterparts.

The second important issue raised by this study is the suggestion that cell aging and glucose metabolism are linked. If aging and age related disease can be lessened by reducing glucose metabolism, does this mean that we can create the same effect by lowering our S Food consumption? As we know, ancient diets were low in starches and sugars (carbohydrates). Our body design seems to reflect this by having difficulty dealing with large amounts of these substances.

Might eating anciently raise CBP levels? We won’t know until studies target humans. For now, most research is geared toward finding drugs that can mimic the effects of caloric restriction. But here’s the problem. Drugs take years to develop and, once developed, have the pesky habit of manifesting unpleasant side effects. If CBP turns out to be a real marker for the pace of aging wouldn’t it be great to have a portable CBP monitor? Perhaps someday, people will carry an “age-meter” instead of a glucometer. If you could painlessly monitor your longevity factor and aim to keep it over a certain level, wouldn’t it be easier to wait another hour for dinner or pass up pasta in favor of salmon and salad? In the meantime, I strongly believe that the gift of longer and healthier life is there for the taking. Keep starches and sugars low, eat with less frequency and in smaller quantities and use your scale as your longevity tester. If you are maintaining weight, chances are you have things in the right balance. Enjoy the holidays with the knowledge that your heart, your eyes, your kidneys, your liver, and your blood vessels – right down to your tiniest capillaries – are sending you grateful messages of thanks.

“I” is for “Indulgence”

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

On Sunday, I wrote a blog on Lynn’s Weigh about what I ate versus what I’d planned to eat on Thanksgiving – two not totally different things, but far enough apart to make me take notice of what motivated my choices. I received a few comments from points of view that I’d like to address here to hopefully open up a conversation about one word: indulgence. I’d like to know what it means to you, and as a maintainer, how and if you engage in it. 

One reader wrote: “Get a grip, one feast day is not going to undo all the good work you’ve done. You are allowed to celebrate occasionally. You could have eaten A LOT more than you did and it wouldn't have made a dent, because with your steely determination you would have drawn a line under it instantly and been back to your, dare I say it, rigid program the very next day. Let yourself have some moments of indulgence now and then. It’s okay!”

Another wrote: “I think you should let yourself have days where you don’t plan and measure (and let’s be honest, stress about) every single bite you put in your mouth. From the outside it seems just as disordered as binge/overeating. …(T)he fact that you make your family food with “unhealthy” ingredients etc., shows that you understand the social/cultural aspects [of food], and you know one traditional one-day-a-year meal of indulgences will not kill you. To not let yourself share in that indulgence (when you obviously would like to) sends a message to the little eyes around the table as well.

I appreciate this kind of feedback because it helps me better understand food culture and invites me to look closer at my food issues. We all need to engage in that kind of mental housecleaning once in awhile.

So here’s what I know – as of today – about me and food. (Of course this is subject to change the further I prod along this path.)

Planning my food intake is essential. It is my safety net. So, too, is mindful eating. Mindless eating got me obese. Mindless eating fed my emotional issues and kept them suppressed.

So it’s safe to say that I am not one who can indulge mindlessly, and on Thanksgiving, that’s exactly what I did. (Not because of any emotional issues. The stuff was just darn tasty.) And so the problem with T-day wasn’t that I felt I couldn’t indulge, but that I didn’t think about what I was eating.

I was drawn to food that, when mindful, I know makes me feel physically ill. Within an hour of those few bites of stuffing and few bites of potatoes and more than a few bites of apple cake, my stomach really hurt. Granted it was a milder stomach ache than I regularly subjected myself to when I weighed 300 pounds and ate every meal mindlessly, but it was reminiscent enough of those old days to remind me of the promise I made when I began this journey nearly 5 years ago: to never again feel like hell after eating.

I don’t feel guilty for what I ate on Thanksgiving and I’m certainly not beating myself up. T-day was a wonderful learning opportunity, a chance to fine tune the way I engage with and relate to food.

Some folks can indulge without thinking about it and bounce right back. I need to plan my indulgences, and when I do, I indulge on food I know won’t make me sick. I had a plan on T-day that I strayed from. Mindless eating took over and my poor stomach paid the price. So while an occasional indulgence won’t kill me, without planning, it will certainly make me miserable.

Yes I know to some my eating regimen seems rigid. But it keeps me sufficiently fed physically and emotionally. Our food choices and plans are as unique as our fingerprints. My hope is that you all find or have found what works for you.

So tell me, does your plan include indulgences?