Lost Dog

I wrote recently about my dog, Grendel, who had bladder cancer.  By the time he was diagnosed, it had gone into his prostate.  This is bad because the prostate blocked his elimination functions.  If you can't go, you're a goner.

I loved this dog.  I got him in March 2001 when he was six weeks old, five pounds.  My ex got him for me, and he was my dog right away.  He was with me when I moved to California to be a screenwriter, through the divorce, through a couple of years of being that angry guy you've probably met a time or two, through meeting my new wife (and her pets!) and through nine months when I went back to school in a different city and he and the other dog stayed with my now-wife.  Even when I was scared and lonely, that dog never doubted me.  (I know it's in the nature of dogs, but I appreciated it anyway.)

So he got cancer, and I realized later that what I'd thought were signs of aging and maybe (treatable) diabetes were signs of the prostate enlarging.  We put him on chemo pills, and he was supposed to live for four to six months.  He lasted just about three weeks.  He started to slide last Thursday, refusing to eat.  By Sunday morning he could barely stand up by himself.  It was time.  Even the vet cried.  She thought he was a great dog.

On Sunday, after having been up all night and then taking him to be put to sleep, I found myself unable to sleep at all.  I could, however, eat.  I ate.  I ate a lot, probably more than I have in nine or ten months.  I knew I was doing it, and I didn't care.  I had the sensation that I was punishing myself, as if my dog's death wasn't enough.  I suspect I was punishing myself for failing to understand what was happening to him.  If I had caught it sooner, he might have responded to treatment.  He might have lived longer.  At least, I think that's what was going on with me.  But it was a clear feeling--every time I went to eat something, part of me said, "bad idea," and another part of me said, " suck it up and eat it."

So I did.  It didn't feel good, and it didn't comfort me.  It just made a sucky day suck worse.  Who knows?  Maybe we need to feel like shit sometimes.

I've been doing better the last couple of days.  Right where I wanted to be yesterday, today, a little over.  But not out of control.  Not actively trying to hurt myself.

I have not drawn any conclusions here.  I'm just watching.  But here's some advice:  If your dog is deathly ill, avoid "Please Don't Go" by KC and the Sunshine Band.  Trust me.

Been awhile

There's a lot going on at my house.  I've written about my dog, and that continues to be a drag.  He gets to eat anything he wants, and the other night he ate ten chicken McNuggets.  That was good.  But he wouldn't eat any last night.  I don't know if it's the illness or the meds, but he doesn't want to eat.  I think he knows he's sick.  At least, he knows he feels crappy.

The other thing that's going on--now it can be told--my lovely wife is pregnant.  With twins.  And let me tell you, she has been sicker than you can imagine for weeks.  She can't keep much down, but she needs the calories because of the kiddos, so she's eating full fat/full calorie versions of everything--lots of ice cream, mac and cheese, cookies, peanut butter, pop tarts.  Everything.  Lots of carbs, too.  In short, the kind of diet that got me where I am.  She has lost five pounds.  Puking will do that.  Morning sickness for her is about 23 hours a day.  She is on an anti nausea drug that they give to chemo patients.

What this all means is that I do just about everything around the house--laundry, meals (she can't even go into the kitchen without retching), etc.  On the plus side, my dog and my wife are eating a similar diet (and boy are the other dogs pissed off!).  This has all made me just a little overwrought.  I work pretty long days with a long commute, and then I come home and try to keep everything together.  I know it's temporary, but I suspect it's training for when the twins (girls) get here.  Even so, I'm frazzled.  And a little fragile.

What does this mean for the weight?  Well, I've learned that if I don't try the mac and cheese, I won't feel the need to eat it.  But one bite = one plate.  Also pop tarts.  I had forgotten how compelling they can be.  And what I've figured out is that when I'm exhausted and frazzled and overwrought, it's easy to succumb to the available sugar fix.

Yes, I'm up a tiny bit.  And yes, I will be more careful going forward.  But this is good information for me.  In the not so distant future, there is going to be food around that I don't want to eat, and I'm going to be harried and tired and vulnerable.  I want to figure out how to avoid that.  It might mean cooking more on the weekends for the week.  It will also mean having some low cal dessert options around.  It will mean being disciplined and attentive.  I hope I can do it.  I think I can.  I haven't really been bingeing.  More, I've been lax.  Loose.  Not careful.

I also realize how much going to the gym can improve the way I feel physically.  When I'm stressed out, my neck tenses and hurts.  This leads to headaches that feel oddly like sinus pain.  A good workout staves off such feelings.  So that's useful.  I'm trying to take the lessons here and not freak out.  So we'll see how it goes.

Food Porn

Is it eating more or the little rotating staircase that kicks my ass?  Either way, I'm down a bit.  Yesterday was a BIG day.  HUGE.  In terms of eating, anyway.  I would not call it a binge, because it was not driven by emotion.  Rather, I just gave myself a day away from the obsession.  Pizza with my stepson figured into it.

Speaking of emotion, however, because I often do.  This has been a pretty challenging week.  The biggest deal to me is that one of my dogs--the first dog I ever had as an adult, in fact--has bladder cancer.  He's a goner.  He's on chemo pills which are supposed to stop the progress of the disease.  The vet says that will buy him four to six months of good quality of life.  (Reading between the lines, I assume this means the pills will not actually arrest the disease process.)

This is the kind of situation that would historically throw me off the rails.  What I've found, though, is that I have mostly not been interested in eating when I've been upset about this dog.  In fact, there have been instances in which I could barely bring myself to eat because I was sad about him.  I consider this the zen miracle. 

I guess that my  eating habits have really become habits.  Friday, someone brought doughnuts into the office.  I like to go look.  I consider looking at the goodies food porn.  But Friday I was in a state--overtired, overwrought--and I thought, fuck it.  So I went to look, with every intention of taking at least one doughnut back to my desk.  But I was unmoved.  Nothing there looked that good.  Don't get me wrong--they were fine-looking doughnuts.  I just didn't care.  Apparently, the porn quality to them was plenty satisfying for me.

So there it is--movement of a sort.  I can be sad without eating.  Who knew?  I hope that it will apply in all areas of my life at some point--stress, boredom, whatever.  Maybe it already does.

Eating a lot

Here's what I find, periodically, when I don't track my food regularly.  I can eat a lot.  Years ago, my doctor, who was also my friend, told me she found it very hard to eat 2000 calories a day.  She was a little tiny woman.  I told her in all seriousness, I could do that at lunch.  Dinner for sure.  She was amazed.

Three years ago, when I started Weight Watchers and lost the first 50 or 55 pounds, I realized I had been eating a lot.  I also realized that when eating good food, I was rarely seriously hungry.  Some hunger, sure, before meals, but not starving.  (I actually like feeling hungry.  It makes me feel as though I'm eating appropriately.) 

When I don't track, I end up eating a lot.  But I don't want to.  I see "diet articles"  and ads for diet plans or products talking about how much you can eat if you only eat xyz.  It's true that you get more volume if you stay away from heavily processed food.  Two hundred calories of chicken takes up more space than two hundred calories of candy. 

But I don't want to eat a lot.  The Weight Watcher meetings I most disliked were the ones in which people talked about recipes and figured out how to eat lots of food at the lowest possible point level.  Some people need that.  I rarely did, if ever.  I just want to eat normal amounts (I know, I know--what's normal?) and be happy with it.  If I listen to my stomach, I know that I don't have to eat tons.  That's because I don't get that hungry.  I feel compelled to eat the most when I'm overtired or agitated.  (For example, last night, when my dog was at the vet overnight, I ate a lot (and I didn't beat myself up over it.)  He seems to be fine. :))  I don't want to feel like that.  I want to eat when I'm hungry until I'm not.  That's it.

Another promise I see a lot is that you can lose weight without hunger.  This might be true, but not from taking a pill or eating a magic something-or-other.  In my experience, as I eat less, I become used to less, and I don't suffer.

What's the point?  When people focus on eating a lot even when trying to lose weight, I think their focus is misplaced.  It's not about the food.  It's about why you're using the food the way you do (like using it to deal with the stress of a sick pet).  I've seen blog posts from people who say they're binging and can't stop.  That amazes me.  If you're in the middle of a binge, stop.  Pay attention to what's bugging you. 

Food is fuel.  Eat what you need.







Without hunger.
Look how much you can eat.

Just strange

So, I was complaining about the scale last time.  The other night, I went to bed at 330.2.  That's the highest in a long time.  I lose at night (it's all water).  This morning, after breakfast, the gym, and a post-workout greek yogurt, I was at 321.2.  So strange.  So so strange.

What to do

Ok, I'm in maintenance.  Sort of.  I'm doing everything I'm supposed to do.  I'm eating plenty (like the fat2fit guys say to do), and I've been working out pretty regularly.  But this week, as of today, I'm up.  On October 23 I was at 323. On November 27, I was at 319.2.  Last week, 322.4. Today, 326.8.

As I write this, I realize that it's not a huge swing.  At the margins, when you're this fat, six or seven pounds doesn't mean much, size-wise.  It would be a much bigger deal if I'd gone from 219 to 226.  (A man can dream.)  Even then, not horrible.  But there is no way I have had 14,000 extra calories in a week.

I've changed up my workouts this week, too.  I've been working out more, and I finally got away from the elliptical and the bike.  Now, I can do the elliptical for an hour at a good pace.  I'll get bored before I get tired.  So I got on the miniature staircase that is the new Stairmaster.  Ten minutes the first two times.  Fifteen yesterday.  That thing kicks my ass.  I will keep doing it along with the elliptical.

I think my legs are bigger after a few times of this.  I'm either retaining some water or I've built some muscle.  The former is probably more likely.  Everything I've heard and read says you can't build muscle when you're also losing fat.  I don't care so much about building muscle.  I want to retain what I have, though.

Anyway, this is very frustrating.  When I step back, I realize that my clothes fit, and I am moving well.  I don't want to do this in an unhealthy way.  But damn.  Tony (theantijared, at right) lost 200 pounds in a year.  He looks great (though he works out more than I would).  And Sean (Daily Diary at right) is down almost 300 pounds in two years.  Maybe I shouldn't compare myself, but I'm big enough that the weight should come off.

I've been trying to find articles about a body's adjustment after a 10% loss, which is what I've done (twice!), but I haven't seen anything.  I think it would be helpful if I found something that said after you drop 35 pounds, the body needs six months to regroup.  If that happens, I'll let you know.

Time for coffee.

Evolution

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/28/health/28zuger.html

If I read the article linked above correctly, one isn't fat due to sloth and overeating.  Rather, the body knows what it should look like and makes you eat and sit and gain (or not, as the case may be).

I'm not sure how I feel about that.  On one hand, I'm like anyone else.  I want to hear, "It's not your fault!  It's the genes!"  Certainly there is a genetic component.  But not everyone in my family is hugely fat (though most are nicely marbled).  If you look at Refuse to Regain (at the right), you'll see that one of the writers believes that hormones encourage overeating.  You only thought it was emotional agitation.

I guess I'd love it if it were not my fault.  I don't think I'll get there.  I'm an American from the midwest.  We pretty much believe in personal responsibility.  This kind of thinking can, I have no doubt, lead to self-loathing.  Which can lead to overeating (of the non-hormonal variety).

As a practical matter, though, I don't think I care if it's chicken-egg or egg-chicken.  Bottom line:  I don't want to be fat.  I'm doing what I think I should be doing.  It's slow going.  Lately, it's been really frustrating.  But I want to do this correctly, intelligently.  Someone asked me the other day, what's the rush?  Only that after forty years, I'm sick of being fat.  That's the rush.  Time is like land.  They're not making any more of it.

This is an addendum about the writer profiled in the article above:
http://refusetoregain.com/refusetoregain/2011/01/more-on-why-we-get-fat.html

Here's a lecture by the guy:
http://livinlavidalowcarb.com/blog/ims-lecture-with-slides-and-qa-why-we-get-fat-by-gary-taubes/8971