Celebrate Food Times, Come On!

So I have some questions about food and celebrations.

A diet can be hard to follow on most days. Most days you are tempted by many things, like the fluffy whip cream atop the Frappuccino that’s served right before your green tea comes to the counter. Or the swirling, lovely plate of pasta spilling over with bouncy, noodley goodness, making your grilled chicken dish look sad. Or really anything in a Panini format, with melty, crispy, lovely cheese. (Man, I’ve been dieting a while.)

But for me, the temptation is always the worst when there is something to celebrate or something to grieve. I don’t really need to spell this out, but to put a finer point on it, it’s anything from the spectrum of birthday cake to a cookie after a bad day. 

These occasions make avoiding temptation particularly hard because they come with something else that is delicious. Justification. 

“You’re only thirty once.”

“It’s Easter.”

“It’s just a little graduation cake.”

“I deserve this after the day that I’ve had.” 

“It’s a full moon.”

And those excuses have a point. What’s the problem with a little something decadent every once in a while? 

I have a decent-sized family, and we all live about half an hour’s drive from each other. This includes my parents, my two siblings, their spouses, and their children. So birthdays alone take up eleven out of twelve months. Then there are holidays, my anniversary, Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day. That’s not counting Monday holiday cook-outs and major life events such as graduations, promotions and big announcements. 

Pepper in the occasional bad days. And soon “every once in a while” turns into “every now and again,” and then eventually to “more often than not.” 

So, it serves to reason that I have to re-think how I handle “special occasions.” I’m really looking at four options here. I can white knuckle it. Have a similar sweet alternative.  Have a small amount of the special food. Or the more likely fourth option: indulge like I used to.  Let’s break down every scenario.

“White knuckling.” I have done this. And I am ok at it. It helps that my family knows my food decisions and doesn’t expect or pressure me to enjoy dessert. But it is still really hard. Sometimes I have to have something obstruct my view of the dessert. I can’t make eye contact with it. Its presence nags in the background of my brain. I’m not gonna lie; making conversation even gets hard. 

So then there is the “sweet alternative.” This usually looks like fruit or a small piece of good dark chocolate and sometimes both. This does distract my mouth and mind a bit. But it’s only a small consolation amid the plunging of forks into fluffy cake or the diving of spoons into gentle mounds of ice cream. (I really have to stop describing food.) 

Then there is the option of” indulging a little”. This isn’t a bad idea. I could keep the portion small and enjoy the little that I have. But when are the “small portion” indulgences too frequent? I mentioned that there are a lot of reasons to indulge. When do I decide indulging is truly justified? Is it the occasion, or the time that has lapsed from the last indulgence? 

I don’t actually have an answer here. But I do know in each of these scenarios, I feel like a loser. I feel like, “What’s wrong with me that I can’t handle this situation? Why I can’t handle eating dessert and looking the way I’m supposed to.” Or “Why  can’t I abstain from dessert without obsessing?” And if I do enjoy dessert I feel like a failure. I just feel like something is wrong with me that, when faced with the simple question of “Dessert?” I don’t have a clear answer.

Will this always be a struggle? Will I ever be able to get through these get-togethers without the anxiety-ridden questions surrounding frosting?

When I started cutting out the cake-eating from these special events, I realized it was one of my favorite parts of the get-together. This paints me in a lovely light, I know. But I love food. The crumb of a well made cake or the joy of a scratch-made frosting warms my heart. I just wish that enjoying the cake wasn’t always mingled with guilt and confusion.

 And I love to bake! Creating, experimenting, the beautiful fluffiness of sugar creamed in butter – am I to no longer create in this way? And if I do continue to express myself in baking, am I not supposed to eat it?

But then again, the struggle with my weight has been life-long. Maybe I need a drastic shift in how I think about the “joys in life” I feel I am entitled to. I don’t know if I am ready for that.

I feel like I need a structure that allows for some small treats but has an electric fence to keep me from going too far.

So what do you do? I don’t really have answers here. 

So tell me, what do you do? When is indulging ok? Where are the parameters? 

In short, when and how much cake is ok?

The Comeback Kid

I have walked away from blogging a little bit. I didn’t walk away completely from the overall challenge although there were some diet vacations.

Things got busy. Life got busy, and I just got fatigued by the whole thing. And once you get away it is hard to come back. 

This is true in most projects for me. Once I stop writing it is hard to get back to it. Once I go off my diet it’s hard to stare a salad in the face again. Once I stop working out I feel a little sheepish pulling on my sneakers in the morning, like somehow the sneakers know.

 “Well, well, well, look who thought she would lace us up? Are we gonna go on a little run, Steph? Is that what we’re doing now? You think you can just discard us for weeks, stick us in the corner with your uncomfortable heels? Who by the way are not the brightest pair of pumps at Payless.  Have you ever tried to have a conversation with them? Not exactly a Rhoades Scholars if you catch my drift. You think you can just discard us with Ding Bat Sling Backs over and then just pick up where we left off?!?”  (Those are some sarcastic sneakers)  

I think the problem with coming back is a problem of identity. I am trying to decide which of these actions truly defines me: am I the quitter or am I the one who tries again? Every time I pick up again after taking a break from something, I feel like the quitter merely pretending to be a doer. I feel fake, and somehow I feel like the outside world is watching me and whispering, “She’s not fooling anybody.”

Why do I default to the worse of the two settings? Maybe it’s because it’s easier to walk away. So it feels like what is easier for me to do must be closer to my true self.

I want to be seen as successful. Always going forward, never flinching or wavering in the task I set before myself.

But the truth is, I waver. I am a crazy waverer. I waver so much I would fail multiple sobriety tests. I’m Waver McWaverson. I waver so much people see me and think I’ve just taken a long journey on a swaying ship. I stumble through life on sea legs, the waverer that I am.

I doubt myself. I doubt my choice of workout or diet. I doubt my resolve. I’m afraid. I am afraid to fail and to be seen failing. I think I’m afraid that if I get it wrong and don’t succeed I’ve somehow locked in “a failure” as who I am. 

I overcharge dieting, organizing, and blogging with all these self-defining feelings, so no wonder I come back with a certain amount of anxiety. It feels like facing the music, or more accurately, facing a part of my personality I’m not proud of. 

I feel like there is a debt to be paid. I am coming back and carrying the burden of the past failures. And not only do I have to face my past failures, I also have to face my past successes, because sometimes the shining gems of my past accomplishments seem to accuse me, they have turned into millstones representing all the opportunities I’ve wasted since the times I succeeded.  

So I come back feeling I have to somehow make up for and atone for all the past mistakes. Especially in the area of healthy eating. If I walk away from that, I come back literally bearing the weight.

As I thought over these issue, I came across Philippians 3:13-14.

“But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

This refers to looking forward in our spiritual walk. I’ve always been taught that “forgetting those things” means past failures and success.

I always read this verse taking away the idea that past success don’t count tomorrow. That you can’t rest on your laurels. But in the light of this current issue, I find that the idea of a clean slate, of forgetting all that is behind, both the failures that claim to define me and the successes that demand I don’t put them to waste, is a freeing concept. The idea that I can take my failures not as a cross to bear but as lessons learned.

It is also important to remember what defines me. Christ. His death on the cross that saved my life, and my purpose to glorify God. And that is it. 

And to remember what is the “goal” and the “prize” that I press on towards, which is not to be a size two. Or to stick to the strictest of diets so that I can hold it as a source of pride, but rather to glorify God.  In this situation, I am to glorify God in being a good steward of my body. 

And to put a finer point on it, to be a good steward of my body, today. Just today.  I just have to worry about the choices I make today.  Not absolving for past mistakes, not defining myself with every bite, just doing my best, today.

So shut it up, shoes. It’s time to move forward.

For the record, I’ve lost 27 pounds

Driving Through a Campus Full Memories

Clearwater Christian College

This month I got some sad news: my old college is closing its doors.  Clearwater Christian College will close at the end of June.

Although college was several years ago for me, it’s one of those unique times that gets filed away under the category of “becoming who you are.” And the choices I made there, good or bad, began the DNA of who I turned out to be.

Clearwater Christian College (CCC) is nestled on a body of water at the end of a long causeway lined with tall palm trees. The drive always feels like a classic Florida image, and out-of-state students took the drive feeling that they were going to school in paradise.  Although I love being a Floridian, I always took the drive less with rose-colored glasses and more with the knowledge that this place is hot.  But during that first drive, that first stretch over the causeway, in my parents’ minivan loaded with all my stuff, I remember feeling like that drive was full of potential.  

I’ve driven that causeway many times since.  I live only minutes from the college, and a day or so ago, as I came over that lovely bridge, I decided to drive through the campus.  

As I made my lap around the grounds, the first thing I passed was the dining hall, Cathcart.  There are several white steps leading up to Cathcart, and it’s unusual to see the steps not littered with backpacks, since students weren’t allowed to bring them inside during meals.  The idea that those stairs will be empty now drove home the finality of the college’s closing.

A little further on, I drove on past Rehearsal Hall.  Everything I loved to do happened in that place.  Choir rehearsals, voice lessons, play rehearsals, drama class, improv – the rest of the campus was just a school compared to this small building.  This building felt like a playground. 

 

Others I’m sure had different spots on campus that felt like their home away from the room.  For the sports-minded I’m sure it was the gym next to Rehearsal Hall.  For the literature majors, it was probably the library.  We all had our spot on campus where we felt like we honed our craft, for lack of a less pretentious phrase.

I eventually went past the building that held most of our classes and the smaller Chapel.  They stopped holding the campus-wide chapel services in that building after my freshman year due to the size of the student body, but I always felt there was something homier about chapel in that space.  Especially when we would sing Holy Holy Holy, and the song leader would instruct the basses alone to sing the first verse, then add the tenors for the next, then altos, and then sopranos.  The song would build with every verse, and for one moment it felt like the whole college was a choir.

As I drove around, I found memories around every corner.  There was the Café where I worked for a few semesters making milkshakes, and the track where I attempted to run and earn points for Coach Denny’s killer fitness class.  I passed the dorms where I stayed up far too late and forged friendships that stuck.  I remembered the challenges I met there and the people I met there.  But I saw something else around every corner.  The memories that flooded through me the most were the times the Lord met me there.

I remembered the things I worried about and prayed about as I walked over the footbridges on campus.  I thought about the things that kept me up at night.  I can remember praying, on the way to the dining hall, about my brother-in-law, who was separated from my sister and waiting for a visa.  I remember worrying about my future after picking up a note from the post office that said I needed to schedule my graduation interview.  I remember many a discussion about when and if I would meet someone I could share my life with.  And also the general feeling that the Lord would ask things of me that were just too hard for me to handle.

Now, as I looked at the campus again, what I was struck with was that so much of what I worried about then has been answered or sorted out. I still have the feeling that the Lord asks things of me that are too hard for me to handle on my own, but I’m starting to learn that’s the point. I was never meant to handle them on my own.

I thought of the concerns I have now, the concerns for my husband’s illness, for raising up our child to know the Lord, and whether I can change the things in my life that seem to confine me.  And I wondered if someday they will just be a memory tied to a spot.  That someday I will drive down the street we live on now and again think of how the Lord met me there and how great is His faithfulness.

The Lord walked that campus with me then and now.

As I was about to pull off the grounds I thought, “Just say it.”  It was surprisingly hard but I said out loud, “Good-bye,” and I cried a little.  I guess I always believed that college was where I began to learn who I was, but really, more accurately, it was where God began to teach me who He is.  And He teaches me still.

So, I said good-bye to the little school on the edge of the bay at the end of that long causeway.  It really is a lovely drive.  It really is a lovely campus.  It really was a lovely school. He really is a lovely Savior.  Some things will never pass away.

Halfway

At the beginning of May, I had a sobering thought. “June is coming.”

June is the half-way mark for this little project.  I realized, half a year will be gone since I set some staggering resolutions, and the tally wasn’t looking good. 

 

I had moved several poms in the “stuff” bottle.  The exercise category was moving slow and steady, and it won’t be hard to keep that going.  But the “pounds” bottle had begun to grow dust.

I’d mentioned a bazillion and a half times that I had hit a plateau, a plateau that had been running on for months and months.  But when May began, I officially did the math.  Although I had lost about 16 pounds since last November when I started making health changes, I had only lost 8 of those since the start of the year.  That is 8 pounds in six months, and, to be honest, those 8 were done early on.  I had been stalling for weeks, months on end.

This was no longer a plateau.  I had the nagging feeling that this was something else. Failure.

When I first wrapped my head around the concept that my diet had failed, I decided to start running on a regular basis.  I called it “Run Away May.” (I am slightly obsessed with naming things.)  (And making themed photo collages)

But after two weeks of running, I still saw no budge in the scale.  I decided it was time to up the ante

.

I have never liked the concept of writing down everything I eat.  It felt like it would only add to my food obsession, and it also sounded like the world’s most depressing journal.  I was really hoping to avoid these trappings of conventional dieting, believing that I could somehow transcend tried and true diet tactics.  

But I was looking at failure, so I had to decide what I was willing to do to make this happen.  

What do you do on the day when you realize your diet has failed? In the morning, you eat biscuits and gravy, and in the evening, you join Weight Watchers. 

The plan was this: I am going to continue to eat as I have been (no to grain, yes to fat), but I am now going to put it in the framework of the Weight Watchers point structure to help with portion control.  

And I am happy to report that I am two weeks in and five pounds down.  

The tracking is not as awful as I thought it would be.  It helped me notice a few problem areas. Like how the amount of cream in my coffee multiplied by the number of cups of coffee I have in a day is a math problem that doesn’t come out in my favor.   You’d be surprised how many points are in salad dressing or cheese or Lorna Doones. ;)

Also, if I really want something, I track the points and try to adjust accordingly the rest of the day.  Actually, once I eat and track something, I have an easier time not obsessing about it.  It’s eaten­ – it’s tallied – it’s done.  Move on to the next thing.  

So here we are at half way and here’s the score.  

13 pounds since the start of the year and 21 pounds since last November. 

57 things I have either given or thrown away (this includes a few pounds of shredding) 

20 poms moved in the exercise bottle (many more to come)

As I look forward to the second half, I feel a need to give an inspirational talk.  A halftime locker-room speech to motivate the troops.  Something about going out on to the field as boys but leaving as men or some such. But I don’t know if I really have anything that profound to say.

Just that I haven't given up, and that grit is oddly encouraging.  My sister in law mentioned that even if my diet wasn't a good fit, I have stuck with it.  So, most likely, I will be able to stick with whatever diet I choose.  It was just a matter of finding the right one. And that sentiment breeds hope.

Hope that I can finish strong.  Hope that I can find the change I originally set out to find.  A change in my life, in my body and in my heart.  As you can tell from some of my previous posts the winds of change have already started. I think we're getting some where.

So, bring on June, July and all the rest of them and let's walk off this field as men. (or a woman... I am not hoping for that much change ;) )