Refuse To Regain

Life on the Island

by Barbara Berkeley, MD

No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main….. John Donne, 1572-1631

As John Donne famously observed, each of us is connected to the other and to the larger world.  In free societies, our belief in personal liberty often obscures this point.  We are free to choose, or so we believe. But our freedoms are enormously affected by the influence of the culture in which we are immersed, by the very connections that make us human.  Are we choosing or are we being led?  At no time is this question more pertinent than in an election year.  Our political choices are based on the information we learn from PACs, Super PACs, newspapers, TV pundits, the opinions of friends, and finally...our own observation.  How free is our choice?  Pure freedom of choice depends on the degree to which we want to unearth and establish the unvarnished, un-spun truth.  This kind of fact-finding requires a serious amount of focus, time, and commitment. 

And so it is with our dietary choices.  We may feel that we have the freedom to choose how we eat.  We are certainly told that we do.  If we choose to eat badly, it’s our own fault isn’t it?   But I observe a quite different reality.  In fact, our freedom is severely tested and influenced by the enormous weight of a food culture that condones, encourages, and normalizes a quite different message.  Eating is a sport, a right, an ultimate enjoyment to which we are all entitled.  Further, modern food is not bad... it’s GOOD.  It is only our choice that is poor.  Swimming away from that cultural current can be like opposing the force of the ocean.   The water looks calm, but we are actually caught in a rip tide.

This is the reason that making an analogy between successful maintenance and life on an island so appeals to me.  In order to avoid the influence of the food culture, we have to absent ourselves from it.  We have to live, to some degree, outside of it.

How is this done?  Some do it by becoming fierce proponents of diets that don't look anything like the modern American plate: vegan, vegetarian, paleo.  Others become immersed in the world of nutrition and fitness.  They blog, take courses, become trainers, write books, become experts.  But for the vast majority of maintainers, it's a matter of applying a set of mental blinders.  They doggedly focus on the road ahead, follow their plan, and try not to be overwhelmed by the flood of food messaging.

Maintainers can feel both proud and lonely.  They sit on an island while the rest of the world swims in a sea of food all around them.  Often, it’s hard to avoid jumping back in the water.  It looks like so much fun that it’s easy to forget what it took to get up on dry land.  It's hard to remember that we once felt like we were drowning. 

Since we are social beings, connected to one another whether we want to be or not, it’s easier to stay on our island if we know that we are not alone.  Those who belong to a diet subculture (like the vegans, vegetarians and primalists referenced above) have websites, books, and mentors to follow.  But for all maintainers, a vital task is finding other people who live on the island.

As you know, I run a monthly group for maintainers in the Cleveland area.   After a couple of years of meetings, those of us who participate have discovered that we never run out of things to say.  For many in the group, the maintenance of a significant weight loss is the defining challenge of their lives.  They never tire of discussing the process.  They also enjoy sharing their observations of what’s going on off-island. Viewed through the eye of the group, the behavior of the rest of the world seems nonsensical at times, almost incredible.

Month after month we repeat the truth to one another.  It’s the truth of our island culture, not the truth of the world according to the Food Network.  We congratulate each other, support each other when we venture a bit to close to the water’s edge.  It is an enterprise that I highly recommend to those of you who are maintaining out there on your own.  I offer my support if you would like to try starting a group in your area.  Email me and I'll help as much as I can. 

Form a group.  Define your culture.  Meet your neighbors.  An island can be a pretty beautiful place to live, as long as you are not alone.

 

Maintenance is a Marathon, Babe, Not a Sprint

By Lynn Haraldson

My friend Colton is always reminding me, “Life’s a marathon, babe, not a sprint.”

The same can be said for maintenance. Only I forget sometimes and fail to see the big picture when I’m living inside my bubble of scale-watching minutia.

In maintenance (to paraphrase Newton), for every emotion, there’s an equal and opposite “remotion.” Since reaching goal four years ago, I’ve been challenged/bored, frustrated/encouraged, confused/crystal clear and obsessed/aware. Thankfully, however, for every moment of obsession, I seem to have a moment of awareness, usually sparked by a fellow maintainer.

Ellen of Fat Girl Wearing Thin posted a blog recently about the betters and worsts of maintenance. She begins, “Maintenance is a bit like experiencing the ups and downs in a long-term relationship. There are good days when everything is going along just fine and dandy. But then, there are other days when there is a bit of, how shall we say… inner turmoil?”

When I was no longer pursuing a scale goal and the compliments died off because everyone got used to me looking the way I do now and very few people – let alone me – understood how to stay the same weight, the question I had to answer was, “Now what?” I spent more than two years pursuing the bright light at the end of the tunnel (my goal weight), but when I got there, no one handed me the light and said, “Here you go, hon! You’ll always know where you’re going now.”

As I commented in Laura Jayne’s recent post on maintenance, when I reached goal at 138 pounds, my body took me down to 128. Then I started thinking 120 might be even better. I got to 125 before I understood how obsessed I’d become with losing AND how afraid I’d become of gaining. I stopped losing, but I took that obsession into the gym and began over-training. I paid a high price physically, injuring joints that were already battling osteoarthritis.

Two years ago, I allowed myself (albeit reluctantly, I admit) to sit in my obsession and to take my exercise routine down several notches to see what happened. And what happened was...not much. I maintained for a year before I had knee surgery (which was a year ago tomorrow…wow…has it been that long already?). Then perimenopause hit like a ton of bricks late last year. The result: I’ve gained about 10 pounds from my ideal weight of 130-132. Coming to terms with my ever-changing body at age 48 has been the biggest maintenance challenge so far.

In maintenance, it’s imperative we direct the positive, determined energy we had while losing weight to other goals. To meet the challenge of my changing body, I decided last spring to concentrate my energy less on losing weight and more on exercise goals.

My first goal was to, by Labor Day, do a 20-mile bike ride with no more than a 5-minute break. Because I rode 19 miles in 1 hour, 35 minutes on Sunday (I was so proud of my knees!), I’ve changed that goal to 25 miles.

My second goal is to walk a 5K in 36 minutes, breaking my personal best of 38 minutes. So far I’ve walked 3 miles in 41 minutes, so I have a ways to go. But my thighs are strong and that makes me happy. I get outside and that makes me happy.

The other part of the challenge is, of course, food. I still watch my food intake, definitely. But I’ve loosened up some of my hard and fast rules, at least the ones that directed my obsession. For instance, I used to hate going out to eat. Was afraid to try food that – oh no! – might contain some fat! *eyeroll*

Now I love discovering new restaurants with fresh menus. I’m in love with Mad Mex and their pepita hummus, and their Overtly Masculine Grilled Portabello with Foo-Foo Tofu fajita is seriously fabulous. In my super-obsessed restrictive days, tabouli was taboo and tzatziki sauce was a no-no. Now, they’re my “usuals” at Greek Stop. It’s all about moderation and control and having the strength to get all Mom on myself when I beg for more than I need. Just as strong thighs make me happy, so does a good food find.

Maintenance doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Maintenance is part of the fiber of my life, and like everything in life, nothing stays the same. My body will change. My mind will change. These things happen over time. And time, as Lyn from Escape from Obesity wrote in a recent post, is the true measure of success.

Maintenance is a marathon, babe, not a sprint. There will be equals and opposites and obsessions along the way. But there can also be clarity and awareness that can take us on longer bike rides and faster walks, and lead us to some really excellent enchiladas and gyros if we just step outside the minutia and into the big picture. 

March 12: My Rebirthday

By Lynn Haraldson

A monarch caterpillar weighs 8 grams by the time it spins its cocoon. It emerges a butterfly weighing a mere half-gram.

I weighed 296 pounds when I started spinning my final cocoon and 138 when I emerged.

“So, do you suppose I’m done?” I asked my doctor.

“I think you can stop now,” she said.

I weighed 138 on March 12, 2007. (My body lost another 10 pounds after goal). I’d lost 160 pounds in two years, two months, and 12 days. I was now a butterfly, but one in danger of being caught and pinned on velvet since I didn’t know the first thing about flying.

Maintenance was never something I’d taken seriously.

The last time I kissed 138 was in 1990 after losing 40 pounds. A doctor told me I needed to lose at least another 10. I lost the doctor and found some food.

“Finally, I can eat again!” I said and drove through McDonalds.

Every time I lost weight it was like I was a senior in high school. I couldn’t wait to graduate and leave home, so sure was I that life would be easier without homework and parents. Then I paid my first rent check. And electric bill. And car repair. Real life was not sexy.

Neither is maintenance. This time I knew it wasn’t smart to celebrate with a Dairy Queen Oreo Blizzard and a corn dog. A sleeve of Thin Mints wasn’t a reward. But what rewards were left? I looked the same every day and people forgot I’d lost weight. Compliments came fewer and further in between. I felt like last year’s prom queen.

I realized maintenance had to be its own reward. Instead of celebrating with food, I got in the trenches and found three other women who were maintaining 100+ weight losses. We formed a small online support group (the Maintaining Divas) and became best friends. Barbara discovered my blog and asked if I’d start a maintenance blog with her, and I did.

Transforming into a butterfly was always the easy part. Learning how to use the wings…that was the real challenge.

But learn I did. I’m still learning, in fact. My weight has fluctuated due to surgery, stress and medications, but I’m still going strong in maintenance, largely because of the support I get from family, friends and – big time! – the blogging community. You (yes, you!) help me every day through your readership, even if you’re a silent stalker…LOL Support, advice, tough love…thank you for all of it and keep it coming!

To my Divas, thank you just isn’t enough. MA, AJ, and Sondra, we’ve been together for years now and you are my rocks, my BFFs and the best ass-kickers I know. I love you ladies.

March 12, 2007, is my rebirthday. Help me celebrate by continuing to dedicate or rededicate yourself to being the healthiest you can be. That’s the best gift ever.

“Time it was, and what a time it was, it was…”

To: 2010
 
From: Lynn
 
I’m not going to miss you. But I am grateful for your lessons, which have made me a stronger person. Just do me a favor and don’t talk to 2011 on your way out the door tonight. I’d like 2011 to come into my life fresh and without bias, OK? Thanks.

Tomorrow marks six years since I began my life-changing journey from morbidly obese to thin. It’s a road with miles of unpaved stretches, but none have been as long as the stretch of road that is (and soon to be was) 2010, a year of many “Come to Jesus” moments in which I stared dumbfounded at the crossroad before me.

Soon after the new year, my left knee started slipping and I’d grown a cyst the size of a golf ball. I also tore both of my biceps tendons…again. I was only able to exercise 3-4 hours a week as opposed to my normal 7+.
 
“Even as my body becomes more imperfect,” I wrote in April, “it remains a body in maintenance, and because I only get one body, the imperfections and maintenance must learn to coexist, and like rivaling siblings, learn to live under the same roof…

“Some days I feel like a 15th century sailor adrift somewhere in the Pacific with an albatross around my neck. I want to trust what I’ve learned in the last five years, but honestly, I’m a little worried that these ligament/tendon/joint issues might call out the old me who’s MO was to give up, give in and stop focusing when she couldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time. I don’t feel like and certainly don’t think like that person anymore, especially since I’m more attuned with my body. God knows I want more than the old status quo. But still the question lingers: What if?”
 
I’m usually a pretty optimistic and happy person, but I reached a point in May where I could no longer ignore the anger simmering inside. From my post, “On The Other Side of Weight, Displaced Anger Still Exists”:

“I haven’t wanted to explore this, mostly because there’s not a damn thing I can do about it now and I can’t change the past. But the question is begging to be asked, the question I’ve avoided since making goal three years ago: Do I have all this arthritis in my knees, shoulders, wrists and toes because I was overweight and obese for so many years? Like stretch marks and loose skin, is arthritis my daily reminder that, for years, I fed my insatiable desire for starches and sweets; gained and lost and gained and lost a lot of weight; and for the most part treated my body like it was separate from me?

“The answer is probably not a resounding yes, but it’s not no either. I am, in many ways, responsible for the shape of my body now. The choices I made about diet and exercise and the things I declared acceptable (basically ignoring the weight elephant in the middle of the room) accelerated the degeneration of my knees and feet, and perhaps contributed to the degeneration of my wrists and shoulders. And right now, that truth feels pretty shitty.

“No matter how much weight I’ve lost, no matter how far removed I am physically from 300 pounds, I am and will continue to live with the consequences of my obesity.”

I stepped up to the surgical plate in June for a knee debridement. Convinced I would gain weight, I worried. I’m good at that. If they gave degrees for worrying, I’d have a Ph.D. But like John Hiatt sings, “Have a little faith in me…” A little faith, as I learned, goes a long way.

“One of my biggest concerns about having knee surgery wasn’t the procedure itself,” I wrote in August. “Rather, it was how my body would react to greatly reduced movement and whether I would succumb to Old Me Habits. Would I become dubious? Eat more because I was immobile and feeling sorry for myself? Reward and/or soothe myself with food? (‘You’ve been through so much, Lynn, honey. You deserve some chocolate.’) While I’ve maintained my weight for more than three years, I’ve not yet been challenged. Would New Me persevere?

“I can maintain…This isn’t like the time before and the time before that and the time before that. This is New Me, not Old Me. Go New Me!”

2010 also brought with it several personal challenges, but as I bid farewell to this year, I do it with a grateful heart. I am glad for the lessons of 2010 and particularly for a resilient body, for if there’s one thing I’ve learned this year, it’s to never take my body for granted. RTR reader Annimal wrote this more eloquently than I ever could:

“I have recently taken a job as a hospice nurse. Every day I care for people whose bodies have simply given out on them. Time, wear, age or rotten draw of the genetic pool have left them unable to walk, sit up, feed themselves, talk.

“Those with intact minds pray to die in their sleep, some slip quietly into blessed unawares.

“Be grateful for the five miles you can bike. The fact that you are able to check your own mail. That you can bake a cake and present it to your family. We all can rue what we feel we ‘can’t’ do anymore; it takes faith to feel blessed with what we can do.”

Do all you can to be the best you in 2011. Thank you for your continued readership and support. Wishing you good health.

Lynn

Maintenance Mind Over Matter

By Lynn Haraldson

I’m cautiously optimistic about the cortisone shot I got in my left knee a few weeks ago to help ease the pain of my torn medial meniscus. I’d prefer not to be scoped, at least not before the holidays, and thankfully the pain has subsided. But every once in awhile it reminds me it’s still there, in a misplaced step or standing in one position too long.
 
I’ve never torn my meniscus before. So I asked my doc, “How will I know when we need to do something else?” And he said, “When your mind no longer conquers the matter.”

I’m reminded time and again how weight maintenance requires the tenacity of mind over matter. I call it Maintenance Mind, the one we develop and hone and polish after finally realizing (perhaps after dozens of failed maintenance attempts in the past) that life in maintenance is not like any life we’ve led before. Every day we must make the decision that today we will stay on plan despite the bombardment of food marketing and processed food convenience, despite what others think or how others behave, and sometimes despite our inner demon (in my case, my former fat girl) telling us one bite of that won’t matter or one less week at the gym won’t hurt anything.

It’s not easy, per se, but it’s certainly not impossible, despite the odds against us or articles such as the one I read last week in Nutrition Action Newsletter. In an interview with Eric Ravussin, an obesity researcher and head of the Nutrition Obesity Research Center, some of his comments might lead people to believe weight maintenance is impossible, particularly what he said about people who lose weight are constantly hungry. (Really??)

He also said that obese people develop a resistance to leptin similar to a diabetic’s resistance to insulin, and he explained leptin’s effects that occur in the hypothalamus: “With weight loss, the body’s fat stores shrink and therefore produce less leptin. The hypothalamus responds by shifting several body systems into starvation mode. It results in urges to eat more and expend less energy, making it difficult to maintain the weight loss. Other changes, such as increased stress response and weakened reproductive and immune function, cause their own set of problems.”

I can attest to the weakened reproductive function, having struggled for nearly four years with amenorrhea (see “The Mystery of Aunt Flo”), but the other stuff left a big question mark in my head, so as usual, I ran to Barbara for answers.

“Is leptin yet another deterrent to maintenance?” I asked.
 
Barbara’s response: “It’s well known that obese people become resistant to leptin. Leptin is a ‘no’ hormone, meaning that it discourages eating. Obese people have high leptin levels, but they don’t do what they are supposed to do.

“In terms of what happens after weight loss, I think that’s all speculation. It’s certainly true that the body goes into a starvation mode during dieting, which means that it burns as few calories as it can in order to survive the ‘famine’ and encourages eating and food storage. No one knows exactly what happens after refeeding. We do know that people who exercise have been shown to have a return to normal metabolic rate (for their new size) after a couple of months. This may well be the reason that exercise is important in maintenance.

“As far as saying that people who have lost weight are hungry all the time, I don’t agree. There are people who fit this description, but I have many, many maintainers in my practice who don’t have any more hunger than the next guy. I personally don’t find myself to be excessively hungry. Only if I depart from my usual diet plan!”
 
Everywhere we’re reminded how fragile maintenance can be. Our metabolisms are against us, we lack brown fat, our hypothalamuses go nuts and our bodies go into starvation mode. These things make up the “matter” our Maintenance Minds conquer. It sounds impossible and yet…we maintain. Day in and day out, we do what we have to do to fight the powers that be, the things inside and around us that – for all intents and purposes – fight against us.

Culpability and Change: It Starts At The Local Level

By Lynn Haraldson

When he was a member of a local community-service oriented club, Larry volunteered at the club’s French fry booth during our town’s yearly fall festival. The booth offers deep fried potatoes topped with bacon and cheese, and lemonade made with a cup of sugar in each serving. When he got on the clean-eating bandwagon in 2005, he couldn’t work at the booth anymore because he couldn’t in good conscience serve food he felt was unhealthy.

I know a few folks who save up calories all week to eat the junk that passes for food at the festival and then immediately get back to eating clean afterwards, but I’d be willing to bet that for many people the food offered there is not much different than the food they consume in their daily lives.

Where do we learn to eat so poorly or make such unhealthy choices? I know the answers are as long as a winter’s night, but judging by the discussion on the Lynn’s Weigh Facebook page a few weeks ago, a big part of that answer is childhood.

The discussion started with a post from my friend Joyce after she attended a Girl Scout meeting with her daughter: "I was alarmed at the food for the reception afterwards...a long table of cookies, brownies, and other sweet treats, accompanied by sugary ‘fruit’ drinks. Childhood obesity and diabetes, anyone? Nothing acceptable for diabetic parents either."

She later added: “I've been fighting a lifelong battle with my weight (I'm 44 now) and it began when I started putting on weight right around the time of puberty. Seeing these 8- to 10-year-old girls with their plates loaded down with sweets made me very sad. I was slender like most of them at their age but just a few years later I started getting heavier and heavier.”

I asked LW readers if they encountered the same thing. Here are a few of their responses:

Mari-Ann: “My good friend is a Boy Scout leader and has the same complaint about other leaders and what they teach the kids as far as healthy eating...in other words they don't foster it at all. And I think that is something Scouting would be taking the lead on, you know?”

Emily: “Yes!! Sweets are all that are offered at Ian's orchestra. It's very off-putting.”
 
Helen: “Yes, all the time. Major problem for my daughter. The concept of a sugary snack and sugary drink after a sporting event isn't helpful either.”
 
Michelle: “For my Halloween party at school I suggested healthy choices for our party. The kids are 3 years old. They will be excited just to wear their costume. But I had one mom say, ‘Well, what fun will that be?’ I wanted to said, ‘It won't be fun, stay home with her that day,’ but instead I said if she wanted to bring something else, please send it in something that the child can bring it home in...that way the parent can decide if they child can have it or not.”

Marcia: “At my monthly quilting meeting. Nothing but sweets. When my small group does the snacks, we mix in nuts, fruits, and veggies (and get yelled at for going ‘overboard’). There were a couple of months that nobody signed up to bring snacks. And we agreed now to just bring water. But seriously, will 100 people suffer horribly if there are no cookies at a 7 p.m. meeting?”

Shari: “It used to drive me crazy that parents insisted on team snacks after every sporting event. The kids play soccer for an hour and then get a bag of cookies and a sugary drink? In what world does that make any sense?”
 
Karen: “I've noticed that all the way through my kids growing up. And in their teen years...it was nachos and pizza. Equally NON-nutritious IMHO.”
 
Ruthann: “Recently I was asked to be juice to a pot luck supper. I couldn't do it. I brought a few bottles of sparkling water. No one drank any of it, but the next time there was a pot luck, someone brought juice and every bit of it was gone. Can we say sugar and calories in a glass? Ugh!”

As nutritional experts and our government try to figure out a "solution" to the obesity epidemic (see Barbara’s latest post, “Do We Have The Right To Eat Unhealthy Foods?”), it seems to me imperative that the root cause be attacked at the local level – at Girl Scout meetings, sporting events, church activities, quilting meetings and even orchestra practice. We can’t rely solely on rules and regulations from the powers that be to start heaving that rock of unhealthy eating up the hill.

But how do we make healthier food the norm when there is so much resistance? Have you implemented changes that have worked in these types of social situations?

We Are Artists

By Lynn Haraldson

“On 7 August 1974, shortly after 7:15 a.m., (Philippe) Petit stepped off the South Tower and onto his 3/4" 6×19 IWRC (independent wire rope core) steel cable. He walked the wire for 45 minutes, making eight crossings between the towers, a quarter mile above the sidewalks of Manhattan. In addition to walking, he sat on the wire, gave knee salutes and, while lying on the wire, spoke with a gull circling above his head.” From Wikipedia
 
Philippe Petit is a “high wire artist.” His walk between the twin towers of the World Trade Center was documented in the awesome 2008 film “Man On Wire.”

I was born one day and 14 years after Philippe Petit. The only thing we share in common other than we’re both Leos is that we know something about balance. God knows I’m terrified of heights, yet I’m mesmerized watching him walk across the sky on a thin cable, light as a feather, as natural as if he were walking on sand. As a weight maintainer, his artistry makes sense.

The longer I maintain my weight, the more I see the balancing act for what it is. Things change day to day. Our bodies need more, then they ask for less. Our minds revert, then they move forward. We need props to keep us balanced.

In my latest blog on Lynn’s Weigh, I reveal a part of my non-blogging life that will be a central player in my weight maintenance balancing act. My husband, Larry, and I are separating and I am moving to Pittsburgh next week. These stressors won’t derail me as a maintenance artist, but it will change the canvas for sure. Larry and I are committed to our friendship and to being the best grandparents we can, but he is also committed to keeping his status as my maintenance balancing prop. He has seen me through all of this – the gain and the loss – and has lost and maintained 25 pounds himself. I’m very glad he’s part of my maintenance posse.

One of my props that I thought was its own is exercise. Since knee surgery in June, I’ve discovered that this maintenance “yin” has a “yang”: exercise at one end and food at the other. I was concerned about weight gain because I knew I’d not be able to work out the way I was used to. What I’ve learned is that when I start losing my weight maintenance balance, I tilt the food side just a little and presto! I’m in perfect symmetry. 

This isn’t to say things haven’t shifted. My weight is up a few pounds due to extenuating circumstances (can I just get another period, please?) and my middle is where I accumulate weight first, but I’m not concerned. I was for awhile (concerned, that is), but the hand that holds the props is trust.

Living life as a weight maintenance artist requires as much physical balance as mental, and trust is crucial to that balance. If you doubt yourself, doubt what you’ve learned, doubt that what you’ve accomplished is real…that’s OK. Just don’t forget that what got you to where you are in the first place was trust in yourself…that you could do it this time.

You. It’s your most crucial balancing prop. You are who holds it all in place. You will not forsake you. You are the Philippe Petit of the weight maintenance world. If you trust that and believe that, you will not fall.

I truly believe that.

A Second Chance at Vigilance

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

Our dog Mathilda woke up lame in her hind legs on Wednesday. Because she’s a large breed and 10 years old, we didn’t want to put her through a lot of tests other than x-rays and blood work. Our vet agreed and began treating her conservatively with heavy doses of steroids to see if inflammation was the problem. On Friday we took her home, and while she’s still a little wobbly on her legs, she can walk fairly well and can go down the front stairs with a little help from us supporting her with a beach towel around her middle.

I feel like I've been given a second chance to appreciate Mathilda. While it’s never easy to put a pet down, I wasn’t “ready” to do it right now. Not that I’ll ever be ready, but at least I’ll have more peace with it when it comes because I was given a second chance. This was a wake-up call to stay mindful of the fragility of life and to appreciate what I have in the moment.

Second chances don’t come around every day, and often when we’re offered one, we don’t recognize it as such. We take so much for granted, or we allow things to happen to us without fighting back or inquiring about our role in changing what is harming us – a sort of “Oh well” approach to life – which leaves us blind to those second-chance opportunities.

Since reaching my goal weight in 2007, I recognized this time (because I’d been to “goal” before) as a second (or more accurately, a tenth) chance to figure out the right way to maintain my weight and appreciate my body unlike I’d done before. But just how does one maintain? What are the emotional mechanics involved? Lori at Finding Radiance (she’s maintaining a 100-pound weight loss) got me thinking about this in her blog last week about our impulse to eat (see “Deep Thoughts On Will Power”).

Here's a portion of what she wrote (the emphasis is mine): “There are still those days where I feel driven to eat – absolutely driven, even if I am not hungry. It’s not really emotional, either. The thoughts pop up while I am working, or watching TV, or while biking. That’s just not what genetically ‘normal weight’ people are like. It takes an enormous amount of control to not chow my way through a box of cereal or use a spoon in the nut butter jar. Sometimes I give in. I wonder why is it that I have control over this impulse (at least for now) that not a lot of people have. And how long will I have it?  Will it just get to be too tiring after a while, like it does for the majority of people who lose weight? The vigilance can really be tiring at times as it is 24/7/365.”

There are a LOT of great responses on her post, so I urge you to read it in its entirety. But what about those questions: Why is it some people who are losing weight or in maintenance have control over that eating impulse and some do not? Is vigilance the key (and if so, what else is involved)? Or does vigilance stand in the way and get tiring after awhile?

As I commented on Lori’s blog, what makes one person more likely to maintain than another is like pondering the beginnings of the universe. There are so many possibilities, and the combination of success-inducing factors for each individual is endless.

Personally, I didn’t keep weight off in the past because I hadn’t learned or accepted that the way I eat during and after losing weight MUST be different than before, and it must stay that way forever and ever. I credit (and I’m not being funny) stubbornness and my teenager-like positive response to reverse psychology for being able to maintain. If you tell me that 95 percent of people who lose weight will gain it back, therefore I probably will, too, I’ll tell you, “No way. Not me.”

It’s a quasi-obsession, and not such a bad one to have as long as I stay mindful of what is realistically possible, for instance, maintaining around 130 rather than 125 and being open to changes in my body that might take my weight a little higher due to circumstances beyond my control. I am also convinced that at some point, the kind of vigilance to my food environment and impulses that I’ve adopted will become second nature, like knowing intuitively that in order to walk I must put one foot in front of the other.

I know this tide of change is well under way because of how I responded to food after my knee surgery in June. I was sad and frustrated many times (still am on occasion) and could have chosen to comfort myself with all my old favorites, but that didn’t occur to me. I just kept on eating the way I always had, adding a few more calories when I was hungry (healing from an injury, I’m convinced, revved up my metabolism). Sometimes those extra calories was adding a whole egg to my otherwise egg-white omelet or throwing a tablespoon of mini chocolate chips into a dish of fat-free strawberry ice cream. But not once did I eat too much and feel the kind of fullness that came after third helpings of dinner when I was 300 pounds. There was no reaching for Tums or regrets the next morning over any of my choices the day before. Thanks to this vigilance-turned-second-nature, the scale has held steady and my clothes still fit.

I find comfort in my food plan. It’s like the towel we wrap around Mathilda’s hind quarters to support her when she goes down stairs.

Can everyone who loses weight adopt this kind of vigilance? I really don’t know. Everyone’s physical and psychological makeup is different. Stubbornness isn’t something you learn and obsession isn’t something everyone sees as a positive attribute. Succeeding in maintenance requires each of us to find our own way to that second nature. But we won’t get there without first seeing it as the second chance that it is.

The Mystery of Aunt Flo

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

“Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Aunt Flo.”

“Aunt Flo WHO?”

“Aunt Flo! You remember! I haven’t “visited” in 3 years, 7 months and 2 days! Mwahahaha! But I’m baaaaack!”

And so it was, last Tuesday, August 31, 2010. In the immortal words of Shania Twain, I felt “like a woman” again. And I’m totally confused.

We all know that losing weight reduces our risk of heart attack, stroke, diabetes, arthritis, some types of cancer and a myriad other diseases. It can enhance our self-esteem and our energy level…all good stuff.

But there’s a dark side to losing weight. Not dark in an evil scary way, but dark as in “in the dark.” There are things “the experts” don’t tell you, mostly because they don’t know, and those of us who’ve lost a lot of weight don’t normally talk about in polite company.

Losing a lot of weight comes with some confusing surprises. There’s the loose skin thing, of course. But what doesn’t get mentioned often, if at all, is its affects on the female reproductive system. I had no clue about this when I began my weight-loss journey in 2005.

By early 2007, I’d missed two consecutive periods and knew I wasn’t pregnant, so I talked to my family physician. (For a lighter take on this, see my Lynn’s Weigh blog, "It's a Girl Thing: TMI Inside") Her best guess was that losing 170 pounds had caused my hypothalamus, the gland that regulates our reproductive systems, to go into shock. My body was still producing moderate levels of estrogen and progesterone, so I wasn’t in menopause or even perimenopause, but I wasn’t having full-blown periods. I’d get a little crabby, retain a little water, and develop a few zits every four weeks, but that was it.

After a year, my doctor put me on Provera for 10 days to see if we couldn’t get a period going. Nothing. Last year, we tried it again. It just made me mega-crabby. It was like my female parts were stuck.

Most women, when they heard I wasn’t menstruating, said, “Why do you want to start one now? Are you nuts??!” I’d say two words: endometrial cancer. Ergo, my gynecologist was trying to crank up my uterus like a Model T.

Extreme weight loss is listed as a cause of secondary amenorrhea, which is what my doctor eventually concluded I had. But there’s little information to be found about what women should do if they stop bleeding after losing a significant amount of weight. If you click the link, you’ll notice “excessive weight loss” renders a line and no explanation.

I'd gotten used to – and even appreciated – this lack of menses. For one thing, I saved a few bucks on accoutrements, donating most of my leftovers to my daughters. (Thank goodness they didn’t take them all!) I also didn’t miss the pain and mood swings. They were always rough.

Still are, I’m being reminded.

1,310 days. As my mother would say, “Uffdah.” But at least now there’s an explanation for last week’s manic cleaning frenzy, crazy carb craving, fingers the size of tree stumps and tears when I showed someone a picture of my grandson. Good lord, I forgot about the extreme emotions. Today I’ve got some major cramps – oh I did NOT miss those at all – and am wondering when Aunt Flo will visit again. Next month? Ever?

There’s a lot we can control about our bodies and a lot we can’t. We can reduce our weight and reduce our risk of disease, but in the end, our bodies are going to do what they need to do. I’d like to think my body has finally settled into this weight – 130ish for nearly 4 years. It’s no longer on high alert thinking, ‘OK, what’s she going to do NEXT?’ But if it trusts me, it’s not saying. 
 
Having our periods is something women talk about. We have a language to describe it. Men fear it. There’s camaraderie in bemoaning menstruation. But when it comes to the lack of periods – when they disappear before menopause – we retreat. It’s like we’ve done something wrong and we can’t talk about it when underneath, it’s a little scary not having a period for no “testable” reason.

I think it’s time we start talking about the unknowns of weight loss. But finding our voices can be touch. I know a lot of women who, while obese, spent years avoiding the doctor or other professionals who dealt with weight issues. They couldn’t even talk to their friends about it! I certainly didn’t.

Finding the self-esteem necessary to ask questions and investigate our health takes a community of voices. You maintainers are that voice. What say you? Has your weight loss put you in unfamiliar and possibly unexplainable territory? Has it not done what “the experts” or you thought it would do (i.e. lower your blood pressure, give you all kinds of self-esteem, etc.)?

There’s more to weight loss than just feeling better and wearing a smaller size. It’s important to talk about the “other.” The dark side. The things that don’t make sense.

Aunt Flo and I are chillin’ on the deck with a glass of wine and I’m wondering why she’s here now – 3 years, 7 months and 2 days late. You can be sure I’ll be talking to my doctor about this very soon.

I CAN Paint! Ummm…I Mean, Maintain

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

“If you hear a voice within you say ‘You cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.” - Vincent Van Gogh

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted and I apologize for my absence. It’s a bumpy road, this path to recovery, but I’m doing well and have appreciated your good wishes.

One of my biggest concerns about having knee surgery wasn’t the procedure itself. Rather, it was how my body would react to greatly reduced movement and whether I would succumb to Old Me Habits. Would I become dubious? Eat more because I was immobile and feeling sorry for myself? Reward and/or soothe myself with food? (“You’ve been through so much, Lynn, honey. You deserve some chocolate.”)

While I’ve maintained my weight for more than three years, I’ve not yet been challenged. Would New Me persevere? And what about that lack of exercise? I could eat perfectly and still gain, right? RIGHT?

I made myself about sick thinking about it. However I knew the solution was not to NOT have surgery. That would be like failing before I started. Besides, what kind of testament would that be to the 170 pounds I’ve lost? How would that honor – or *gasp* show trust in – the New Me?

The day before surgery, I stepped on the scale: 132.7. ‘Okey dokey,’ I thought. ‘Let’s see what happens.’

I went to the hospital, had the surgery, and for three days was served “meals” (read: worst food EVER). To call what they fed me “awful” is an insult to awful food. My 2½-year-old granddaughter serves better fake food. Claire’s “air” cookies and “air” juice taste far superior.

But wouldn’t you know it, it was that super bad hospital food that helped me really (and I mean REALLY) appreciate the food waiting for me at home – the good stuff that I crave. That I missed fresh broccoli, spinach salads, lentils, bean burgers, and low-fat cheese boosted my confidence in New Me.

“Yeah, but…you can’t exercise,” nagged that inner voice.

My catch phrase from when I was 300 pounds was, “While you’re up…” If I wanted something from my office or down the stairs or from the kitchen, I’d wait until my husband or my kids stood up and I’d say, “While you’re up, could you get me __________.” Now that I think of it, sometimes I didn’t wait until someone stood up or was passing by. I’d say it anyway thinking I was being funny when really, I was embarrassed every time I said it. Embarrassed by a worn out body, one that ached with every move.

Fast forward to the first few weeks of this recovery. I had to rely on my daughter and husband to do almost everything for me. I couldn’t stand longer than 5-10 minutes. Long enough to fetch a few things for myself, like a yogurt cup or a carrot. But for the big stuff like a real meal, clean laundry, or a book upstairs, I had to ask for help. “While you’re up…” I’d laugh, only this time without embarrassment. I knew I would do it for myself it I could.

The physical therapist at the hospital sent me home with a list of exercises to do twice a day. Small movements, hardly sweat-inducing in even my heaviest days. But my knee had been sliced and diced and handed back to me wrapped in a scar, so one straight-leg raise raised my heart rate and sent a trickle of perspiration down my face.

It also made me hungry. And of course, I doubted myself. How could I be hungry? I wasn’t doing anything, right?

Ah…but I was, and not just small exercises. I was healing. My body was telling me to feed it so that it could mend itself. And what it wanted to be fed wasn’t copious amounts of animal cookies, mashed potatoes, pie, ice cream and chips. It wanted vegetables and fruit and legumes and hummus and a smear of Miracle Whip Light on a big old veggie sandwich. It wanted fresh basil and egg whites, homemade tomato soup and cucumber salad.

Six weeks in, it still does. I stepped on the scale today: 132.7.

Physical therapy, while not sweat-inducing, is stress-inducing. My body is responding with hunger. I feed it. I weigh the same.

Oh the things we learn in maintenance!

I can maintain, even though there’s still a part of me that doubts it. This isn’t like the time before and the time before that and the time before that. This is New Me, not Old Me. Go New Me! Old Me is silenced.

At least for now. I know she’s still in there waiting for the next time she can tell me I can’t paint.