I read on a blog today that this is National Infertility Week.

I’m not one to usually pay any attention to the days/weeks/months that draw focus on an issue. I think that the sheer volume of special days/weeks/months make them not special at all and doesn’t really draw focus to anything at all.

But when I read about this week, it made me catch my breath. I hold this one close to my heart.

I was thinking today about my blog. About Questions for Dessert. About how different I have become through my time blogging. About where the title comes from. And about a phrase that comes not too much later.

***

You may never be or have a husband.

You may never have or hold a child.

You will learn to lose everything but your temporary arrangements.

***

If I could go back in time to Krissie of QuestionsforDessert Day 1, this is what I would tell her about 2010.

All those things you thought you wanted? Yeah, life hasn’t quite turned out like that. You won’t be practicing as a therapist. You won’t still be living in that big house you just bought. The house won’t be filled with your kids. You’ll watch your grandfather die.

But everything is okay. Everything is better than okay. Your life is beautiful. You are beautiful. And you are happy.

You and Nathan are the perfect little family. Warm, cozy, loving. You two are enough. You believe that because it is the truth. You don’t need anything that you don’t have.

Your family is complete enough.

***

For those of you struggling with infertility, I wish you peace. I hope you find your own strength and your own peace. I wish I could give you mine. Just know that it is possible.

Although I do still hope. Every day. But I have found joy – so much joy – in what I already have.

I pray the same for you.

So I’ve figured out what is key for me: cooking.

I always look forward to eating. I mean, really, don’t we all? I looked forward to minestrone all morning. And during my afternoon slump and my run, I looked forward to green chicken curry. I get really excited when it’s good food. I’m not meaning to toot my own horn here, but I know if I cook, it’s going to be good. I know what is in what I cook (and that appeals to the control freak in me). I know the quality of ingredients because I buy them. I’m not going to make things that I don’t like. Cooking requires a plan and a schedule and I love that.

Also? I love to cook. It’s a stress relief for me. I get to see the fruits of my labor and I get to enjoy them immediately.

And? It takes up my evening. I cook, I clean up, I eat. It’s an event. An event I love. And it keeps me from snacking because my hands are busy.

I haven’t counted calories, I didn’t take the time to figure out the counts for today’s eats. But I know I was on. Spot on. And it felt great.

Kinda strange how what I love to do helps me stay on track, huh?

And watch out for new recipes over on my food blog! I’m hoping to have them up by the weekend!

My eating? Yeah. Today? Outside of plan? I had two chocolate concoctions (haystacks, I think?) that someone brought in. And Nathan and I split popcorn and a beer at Woodsongs. And I had a bowl of coffee ice cream when I got home. Not exactly sure why. Just that it was there.

There is good news in this, though. I haven’t gained any more.

I was really focused for a while. But when the uber-focus was over, I got lazy. For good reason, I think. After the half-marathon and when Lent was over and when we went to Asheville, I gained 6 pounds. 6. I wasn’t too bothered by that. I knew I could get it off.

Well, it’s been a month. And I’ve gotten rid of 2 of those pesky pounds.

I should be more frustrated, right? But really I’m not.

In that month, I only got back to running for the last 2 weeks. For the two weeks prior, I did nothing. Nothing. And I ate pretty much whatever I wanted. Cheesecake. Cereal after dinner. Handfuls of pretzels. Very little cooking. Food that was (mostly) good for me, but in quantities that didn’t promote weight loss.

And that’s okay. Because I maintained. Without counting calories for almost a month. Sure, I’d record a meal here and a meal there, but not a single day of counting every bite. And that makes me feel really good about my ability to maintain my weight once the maintenance time comes.

I understand that my motivation will come in cycles. And right now, I’m motivated to run. And I’ve put all the actions in place to keep my eating in check starting tomorrow: I made a menu, shopped for groceries, have a plan to cook. Dinner leads to leftovers for lunch.

I’m on my way back. In the near future. Getting a little closer every day.

And I’m okay with that.

**********************************************

For those of you that might care, I’ve fallen in love with a new musician thanks to tonight’s Woodsongs. Go check out Gregory Alan Isakov. Kinda reminds me of a younger, more rough-around-the-edges David Gray. I just bought a lot of his stuff on iTunes. I think you’ll like him.

Okay, on to the food part of Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution.

I personally thought the show was brilliant. I loved that I could recognize the area. I loved that it showed people’s genuine reactions to Jamie. I loved that we saw the people as resistant and arrogant and defensive.

Because, really, isn’t that how we all initally react to being challenged? To being told that we’re not as smart as we think we are? That we really don’t have it together? That what we’re doing isn’t good for us?

I loved Alice from the cafeteria. She despised Jamie and all he brought into her cafeteria. Because she didn’t want to change. Because her comfortable and familiar job was being challenged. Because she could see how the process would create necessary change in her daily routine, things would become harder and more time consuming. Because the changes challenged what she thought was possible and what she thought would work. Because change is scary and no one ever wants to admit that there might be something wrong with the way they’re living.

And that’s how I initially reacted to getting healthy. I remember thinking that fake food was okay. That as long as I fit in my point allowance, I was perfectly healthy. I wasn’t concerned with ingredients or where things came from or how processed it was. I was only concerned with the numbers. And if I made it fit, I was healthy. I thought I knew it all. That my way was the right way. That there was nothing wrong with a lunchable and sugar-free aspartame-loaded yogurt as long as I counted it. And I really thought that I was getting healthy the right way. Like Alice serving chicken nuggets to the little kiddies that she loved, I was putting fake food into my body. And doing it proudly. Because I thought I was doing the right thing.

I remember reading Fast Food Nation. And being shocked into significant change. Initially. But I eventually settled back into occasional fast food. I toyed with trying to find a common ground, where I could have one foot in the whole food movement but still enjoy the occasional Pepsi and a Big ‘N Tasty from McDonalds and double-decker tacos from Taco Bell. It took several years, and a lot more reading, to be committed to food that is good for me in quality not just fitting into my calorie or point requirement for the day.

I like how the last few episodes of the show portrayed this partial-commitment stage of behavior change. We saw the food director of the school board verbalize a commitment to Jamie’s way of food but still afraid that it might not work. She wanted to be prepared in event of failure and order processed food for the next academic year. She recognized the importance of change and wanted to change, but wanted to try out changing part-way, wanted to have the old familiar to fall back on in times of stress or challenge.

Fear and doubt often keep us from making a 100% commitment. On the show, we saw fear that kids wouldn’t eat healthy foods. Fear that the healthy food wouldn’t fit into the budget. Fear of the time commitment to prepare healthy foods. Fear that the food would taste terrible and everyone would be unhappy.

I could totally identify with that. What were my fears when I thought about eating the way I need to eat?  I was afraid that I wouldn’t like food and that I’d lose the pleasure of eating. I was afraid that I couldn’t afford it. That I didn’t have time to shop and cook like that. Afraid that losing the food that made me comfortable would remove some of the pleasure in my life. Afraid that a life without Pepsi and Taco Bell would be a grey, bland existence.

And that isn’t what has happened at all. I love being involved in all parts of my eating process. Shopping at the farmer’s market, browsing at Whole Foods, reading ingredient lists, getting excited when we find local sausage. Cooking in my own kitchen, with my own tools, using recipes as a guide but using trial and error to make them my own. Eating in my house, at my table, with my silverware. It may take more time, but it’s time I’ve come to enjoy and embrace and treasure. I take a lot of pride in how I feed my little family of 2.

But it was a gradual process, not a flip of a switch. Nothing Jamie Oliver could have scared me into over a few months. He wasn’t trying to change a person, he was trying to change a whole town. I’m really hoping that the fire he lit in Huntington will continue to build and maybe spread down to my hometown, 25 miles west of Huntington. I think it’s also important for us to do our part when we’re back home. Let people know what we’re not eating. Let people know about our running plans. Be open when people ask what we’ve done to lose weight.

So thanks, Jamie Oliver. For starting discussion. For planting a seed. For coming to Huntington. For starting a your Food Revolution in West Virginia.

Just in case you haven’t signed his food revolution petition, you can do so here.

I’m assuming most of you watched Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution, right?

I did.

And I have a lot to say about it. It’s gonna take more than one post.

Today I want to talk about Huntington, West Virginia. The city where Jamie’s Food Revolution took place. The unhealthiest city in America.

I grew up about 25 miles from Huntington. It was the biggest city close to us. It’s where we ate our celebratory meals, where we did our school shopping, where we shopped for our prom dresses.

What you saw in the show is very real. The obesity. People who are “anemic in their knowledge” of eating well. People who are sweet and pleasant but resistant to change, afraid of change, threatened by new ideas.

I left my hometown when I graduated high school. I moved to Louisville to go to college. I ended up in Lexington for grad school. And we’ve stayed in the Lexington area.

When we were looking to buy our first house, we talked about moving home. We looked at houses. They weren’t cheap. We looked at jobs. Jobs weren’t easy to come by even when the economy was good. Those that were available wouldn’t have supported a family. I called to inquire about a job doing therapy. It was a full-time position in an outpatient mental health clinic that required a master’s degree. Hourly, it would have been a pay cut from my weekend housemother position in a group home that required a high school diploma. A pay cut. It would have been considered a “good job” at home.

Sometimes I feel guilty for not being at home. Excluding my brother in Kansas, all of my family is there. Nathan’s family is there. We have a niece there.

What do we not have there? Access to organic foods, other than what you can buy at Krogers. Cooking is still the old way, complete with lard and shortening and lots of butter. When we run at home, I’m shocked about the lack of sidewalks or even traffic-safe places to walk or run.

And, most importantly, the attitudes portrayed on the show were accurate. Healthy eating = eating bland food, mostly lettuce. Exercise isn’t important. I remember sitting at a family function just a few years ago, listening to my cousins proudly talk about the walk-out they staged at the high school. The administration had attempted to take the fast food out of the cafeteria and replace it with healthy food. I don’t know what it’s like now, but at the time, they had food trucked in on different days of the week. One day, Taco Bell was there. Another day, Pizza Hut. In the cafeteria. FOR LUNCH. And the kids demanded it back. And they got it.

And the reactions from parents? Good job! Stand up for what you want! You made a difference!

I was shocked. With all parties involved.

For the last few years, I’ve been really sad when I look at pictures of my extended family. Out of 30 of us, the only ones not obese are 2 grandkids, and a few that married into the family – one aunt, my husband, and my brother’s wife. That’s it. And it’s hard to look at.

It is really encouraging for me, though, to see what my little branch of the family is doing. My Kansas brother is a runner. My sister-in-law exercised appropriately all through her pregnancy. My mom wants to run in the Turkey Trot with us in November. My dad is paying more attention to what he cooks and how he cooks. I’ve lost a chunk of weight and people notice. We are changing, a little at a time.

And the marathon we’re training for is in Huntington. I’m hoping more of my family comes out to cheer for us. And I really hope it makes a difference for my family, that maybe they see the changes we’ve made and think that they can do it too. I really hope so.

By the way, two of my best blog-buddies also grew up in the Huntington-Charleston area. Go say hello to true West Virginians, Lorrie and Sarah. So strange that some of my favorite internet people were so geographically close to me growing up! And also strange that none of us returned home as adults. (For an interesting discussion on the tendency of college-educated people not returning to the area, check out this article and comments.)

Maybe tomorrow my post about Food Revolution will actually be about food…

I realized something.

I’ve had a gradual shift in thinking.

I used to judge a food as either good or bad based on if I thought it would make me fat. I looked at fast food and cheesecake and ice cream in a negative light because of how they would make my body look. They were the enemy because they would make me fat.

I don’t see food like that anymore.

I now evaluate food based on whether it is good for me and if my body needs it. The reason I don’t eat fast food isn’t because it would make me fat, but because it isn’t quality and I don’t want to put it inside my body. The reason I eat cheesecake infrequently is because my body doesn’t need it and it’s not that good for me. I also don’t often have access to quality cheesecake. Only when Kent’s mom has brought some. And then it’s totally worth it. And on a daily basis, I stop eating when I’m full not because more would make me fat, but because I don’t need more.

I don’t have a lightbulb moment when my thinking shifted. It’s been gradual over the last 5 years or so. But I like my view. It seems much more healthy, emotionally and physically.

I like realizing things about myself. Wonder what’s next?

Maybe it’s because I’m a non-practicing therapist. Maybe it’s because I’m always looking for something to blog about. Maybe it’s because I’m hypersensitive.

But I’m starting to notice how I read people’s reactions to me. How I automatically think they perceive me vs. how they probably perceive me. How I let my opinion of myself influence how I assume others see me.

Today I went to Panera for lunch. I ordered tomato soup (not in a bread bowl, even though I really wanted one) and a frozen mocha. (I just really wanted a taste, you know? I used to love those things.) The lady took my order and asked the guy beside her to make my drink.

He immediately rolled his eyes. Not a subtle eye roll but a i’m-surprised-they-didn’t-roll-out-and-across-the-room eye roll.

My immediate thought was that he was thinking something like this: “Really? Like that fat girl really needs this. She’s just gonna get fatter.” I immediately wanted to take my order back or leave the drink on the counter or something.

And then I realized a few things:
a) I am not all that much of a fat girl anymore.
b) His eye roll had nothing to do with me. He could feel like he’s overworked and someone else is getting off easy. He could have communication issues with the lady who took my order. He may have just deep-cleaned the blender. His shift may have been over. There coule be a million reasons for the eyeroll. But the reason was not about me.

And I do this a lot. On a typical day, I have a tendency to minimize all my awesome qualities (I can easily rattle them off, believe me) and focus on the things that aren’t so great. And I generalize that to everyone’s opinion of me, especially Nathan. Sometimes I think I can hide that from others, but Nathan obviously sees that I’m flabby, don’t keep up with housework, and have a tendency to be flippant with money at times. If that’s what I focus on, I assume that’s what he focuses on. But he doesn’t. Seriously, he just loves me. He sees me as a smart, attractive, supportive person. My opinion of myself is not how he sees me. My crazy, ineffective, incorrect self-talk is not what Nathan thinks of me.

Back to today. My frozen mocha? When I realized it wasn’t about me? I drank 1/3 of my drink and threw it away. I only wanted a drink, not the whole thing. If I’d let myself get stuck in the negative loop, I would have drank the whole thing as a comfort, you know? But with my head in a good place, I was satisfied and content with just a little.

I’m starting to see how easy it is for me to get stuck in this cycle of negative talk leading to negative and ineffective behaviors. I wonder how much of this is the root of my unhealthy behaviors in the first place. So interesting to me.

So how do you see yourself? How do you think others see you? Do you ever stop and ask yourself if that’s accurate?

Maybe you should…

Today was a bizarre food day.

Breakfast: I go to Starbucks. I had a plan: iced venti latte and one of the turkey-bacon-whole-wheat-english-muffin sandwiches. Nope. I get there and they have no good choices. I don’t have time to go anywhere else, so I end up with my typical latte and a sugar-filled banana-chocolate-chip coffee cake.

Lunch: I didn’t pack, so I jumped in my car, planning to head to Panera. But I saw a sign for Qdoba and decided that I would do that instead. My plan in the car: veggie burrito, sour cream, guac, no cheese. I’d eat half today and half tomorrow. Well, they were swamped and tossed the cheese on even though I said “no cheese.” It was a honest mistake. I picked up a cookie, but put it back. Fast forward 10  minutes to me sitting at my desk. HONESTLY, the next thing I knew, the burrito was gone. The whole thing. I wasn’t thinking about eating. I wasn’t assessing my fullness. I was distracted by my coworkers and having a good time. I was just eating. And I was stuffed.

Dinner: I went to the mall. I wasn’t hungry. Scratch that. I had absolutely no desire to eat. I was still stuffed. I got an iced latte at Starbucks.

But then I I got home and started thinking about what would come next: running. Schedule said 4 miles. Could I do 4 miles if I hadn’t eaten in 7 hours? I didn’t know, but I just knew I wasn’t hungry. So I listened to my body. But I also ran prepared:

I put a balance bar in the pocket of my handy-dandy water bottle holster. And I was off.

About 2.5 miles in, I started to feel tired. I took a single bite of the bar and it was like a rocket booster. I ran fast. I ran strong.

Because I listened to my body.

If I would have made myself eat a real meal, who knows what might have happened. I might have felt sluggish. I might have had a Code Brown. It might have been fine. But what I learned is that I don’t have to be as structured with my eating/running times as I have been. It’s okay to listen to my body. It’s what I should be doing.

I’m getting ready to shower and call it a night. I plan on eating a little something (yogurt maybe?) before bed, but I’m totally content not to have dinner tonight.

…and just wait until I show you what I got at the mall!

I totally had a Jamie Oliver Food Revolution moment at lunch today.

I didn’t bring lunch today. I thought about running to Krogers and picking up an Amys burrito or some Fage. But instead I wandered up to the cafeteria to check out the roasted veggie sub.

I see white bread with green sticking out wrapped in plastic (photo below). I ask what’s on the sandwich. The two cafeteria workers looked at me like I’d asked for their secret bank card code. The response? “Tomatoes and…lettuce?” I asked I’d there was mayo on the sandwich and was told that the only thing on the sandwich was vegetables. I could see a smidge of white on the plastic wrap. I stated that i don’t like mayo or eggplant. She looked at me like I was sooo high- maintenance. I asked if I could get my money back if I didn’t like it and I got the aforementioned look from the second lady.

At that point, I was curious. It looked interesting. Against my better judgement, I ordered the sandwich with “roasted” tomatoes and “steamed” asparagus.

When I saw the styrofoam, I almost cried.

The verdict? the sandwich was yummy. Wheat bread would have been an improvement, but I’ll take that hit. Bread was toasted to combat sogginess. Roasted yellow peppers, mushrooms, onions, topped with tomato slices and spinach. The white smear? the perfect amount of cream cheese. Very thin layer. The sandwich was warm and required 6 napkins. I might even recreate it at home. The sides? one bite of each. They came directly from cans. They did not pass go nor did they collect $200. They were icky. I understand this is institutional food, but I feel mislead! There was no “roasted” or “steamed” in those veggies.

Lesson learned, Krissie.

I guess I’m just a little sad. Sad that the servers weren’t informed. Sad that more people might have gotten the tasty little sandwich if it had been talked up by the servers. Sad that asparagus is ever put in a can in the first place. Sad that many people assume they don’t like vegetables because of the way vegetables are prepared in schools and hospitals and buffet restaurants. I don’t like vegetables that way either, folks.

Sigh. Jamie Oliver, what are you doing to me?

I know this isn’t going to be a popular post. I know I’m going to come across as whiney and unthankful and stuff.

But I’m not in a happy place. With my body.

I know, I know. Most of the time, I do a pretty good job keeping things in perspective. I set goals that are based on behavior: putting stars on my running calendar (which I still need to show you!), keeping my calories within my range, yadda yadda yadda.

And I’ve been very successful. I have a lot to be proud of. I’ve accomplished a lot. I’ve ran far. I’ve lost a chunk.

But I’m so much more self-conscious at 178 than I was at 237.

It just doesn’t make sense to me.

I knew I wouldn’t lose weight and look like I wasn’t ever fat. I knew I’d have issues with my stomach. And I knew I’d have old lady arms way before I hit the old-lady stage of my life. I had accepted those things. I was okay with that.

But (to chase off what few male readers I have)…the girls? Yeah. Not pretty. Deflated. So much skin. The one part of my body I always loved when I was bigger has now become the part I most want to change. My inner thighs are even worse. I’m so self-conscious of my stomach now that it seems to not match my upper body. I just look horrible in pants – anything with a snap and a zipper just calls attention to the tire I have just below my waist. (All these things I’ve been reluctant to mention here because my lovely husband reads and the last thing I want to do is call attention to something he may not have noticed.)

I don’t like what I see in the mirror when I’m not completely dressed. Not at all.

And what really scares me? I’m not done. I really want to lose another 30 pounds. I’m not in any hurry to do that because I am so stoked at what I’m able to do physically. As long as the scale continues to make it’s way down – no matter the speed – I’ll be happy. But what will my body look like at that point? I am so scared that I’ll be a marathoner and fit and healthy and secure in all other parts of myself but dislike my body. It kills me to think that I’ve accomplished so much but was more comfortable in my body when I was larger. The thought just kills me.

So what am I doing to feel better? I’m buying dresses. Lots of dresses. Dresses hide my belly. Dresses show off my legs and my collarbones. I’m balancing out extreme dislike for my unclothed self by feeling uber-hot in dresses.

And, honestly? In a dress? Feeling uber-hot may be an understatement.

I guess it’s a trade-off.