I concede that I’ll never be called “skinny,” or “svelte.” or “slender,” or “thin,” and I’m very much okay with that.
I’ll also never be called “gaunt,” or “anorexic” or asked by mere acquaintances when picking up my mail at the post office if I’ve lost weight because I have cancer, or some other horrible, body-shrinking disease.
All I want is to feel healthy, have enough energy and stamina to tackle everyday life, and be able to buy clothes in the “normal range” of sizes… You know, the ones without an “X” (or two or three) on the label.
So a few days more than six months ago, I began honoring my body in such a way as to optimize health. Food became fuel, and only fuel. And for all this time, despite numerous obstacles and challenges (four deaths, including my own mother’s, six funeral/memorial services, four extended stays at a friend’s hospital bedside, and one two-week vacation in Maui, just for starters), I have managed to “Stay the Course.”
Friends have asked what my diet secret is, and I tell them there is no D-I-E-T. The first syllable of diet is DIE, and I refuse to go there. If you go “on” a diet, it implies that someday you will go “off” a diet, and when that happens… Well, you know the rest of that story…
I attribute a portion of my success, thus far, to the fact that I keep a daily food log. In it I record not only my morning weight, my caloric intake, my exercise form and time, and the fact that I’ve taken my vitamins, fish oil and CoQ10, but also any reasons to smile about my progress.
For instance, one entry says, “Big picnic, lots of choices, no worries.” Another says, “42nd Street, chose appetizer for dinner.” A third notes that, “Briskly walking 6 times around Costco, looking for things they’ve moved, counts as exercise.” Another says, “No movie popcorn! I am a saint!”
And in all of 2013, I’ve only had to record one horrific binge. Three days after Mom’s funeral, alone and the loneliest I’ve ever felt, I gave in to the biggest sugar feast of my life. And yes, I wrote it all down, and yes, I got right back to my mantra the very next morning: “Stay the Course.”
So I continue to do what works for me, and my knees are the most grateful of all. Seventy-four pounds down equates to 296 less pounds of pressure on those damaged and mangled joints. No kidding, every extra pound on your body is four pounds of pressure on your knees. Several doctors and the Internet have confirmed this statistic.
I’m not quite “there yet,” but I’m really, really close, and this summer I’m wearing size 12 jeans and doing a perpetual happy dance… Because now I can!