I haven't written anything lately. Here's why. My wife has been in the hospital with preeclampsia. She had the babies yesterday, S, who was 5 lbs 3 oz, and C, who was 4 lbs 2 oz. Almost 9 1/2 pounds. Everyone is mostly fine, though the babies will have to be in the hospital for a while.
More later, but that's the story.
Wow. I'm somebody's dad!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Positive stuff--No, really
So, this was going to be a letter to my scale, which does not budge. But it's going to be something else. Some good news.
I got turned down for life insurance, and it really made me mad. But such is life. I haven't been focused on dropping weight for a while now. I've had a lot going on. I haven't gone insane or anything, and I have not gained (which is a win in my world). But I'm working more now. I'm eating a little cleaner. I'm moving more (walking to the train, committing to working out more regularly). I feel pretty good.
I'm getting looks occasionally from women on the street. This is kind of cool. I know what this looks like because--well, I just do. They aren't really lingering looks. They are glances. But they're there. I like it, even though I am not on the market in any sense.
Yesterday a friend I haven't seen in a while came over. "Hello, skinny!" she said. Who me? But that was fun.
Today, I had a really nice experience at the clothing store. I've needed some khakis for a while now. I'm kind of particular sometimes, and I wanted a particular color (shade, really). He showed me a stack of folded pants, said of some pairs, "These are too small, and these are too big." The too big ones? My size. I told him. "Really? You sure?"
Well not really. I haven't tried on clothes in a while. I've been on the cusp of a lower size, too. And as you probably know, not all clothes marked with the same size are really the same size. But I tried on a smaller size and they fit. Amazing. And I bought a linen suit, too. I've been wanting a summer suit.
Here's what I think. I'm shrinking. I kind of wish I'd been tracking measurements. I really would like another twenty pounds to go away this summer. That would put me solidly into the lower size. (I know size is just a number, but the selection sure gets better as you get smaller.)
I got turned down for life insurance, and it really made me mad. But such is life. I haven't been focused on dropping weight for a while now. I've had a lot going on. I haven't gone insane or anything, and I have not gained (which is a win in my world). But I'm working more now. I'm eating a little cleaner. I'm moving more (walking to the train, committing to working out more regularly). I feel pretty good.
I'm getting looks occasionally from women on the street. This is kind of cool. I know what this looks like because--well, I just do. They aren't really lingering looks. They are glances. But they're there. I like it, even though I am not on the market in any sense.
Yesterday a friend I haven't seen in a while came over. "Hello, skinny!" she said. Who me? But that was fun.
Today, I had a really nice experience at the clothing store. I've needed some khakis for a while now. I'm kind of particular sometimes, and I wanted a particular color (shade, really). He showed me a stack of folded pants, said of some pairs, "These are too small, and these are too big." The too big ones? My size. I told him. "Really? You sure?"
Well not really. I haven't tried on clothes in a while. I've been on the cusp of a lower size, too. And as you probably know, not all clothes marked with the same size are really the same size. But I tried on a smaller size and they fit. Amazing. And I bought a linen suit, too. I've been wanting a summer suit.
Here's what I think. I'm shrinking. I kind of wish I'd been tracking measurements. I really would like another twenty pounds to go away this summer. That would put me solidly into the lower size. (I know size is just a number, but the selection sure gets better as you get smaller.)
Monday, June 6, 2011
Getting turned down
I once had a bunch of life insurance. Ten years ago, I had a boatload. Then I moved away, became self-employed, and got divorced. I let it go. There was no reason to have it. I was never going to get married again. I sure wasn't going to have kids. I was already pushing 40.
So here I am, several years later, married and with twins on the way. Who would have guessed?
I need some life insurance. Something more than the $50k I have through my job. Happily, I received in the mail a solicitation for group term life insurance through my alumni association. I applied. The basic application asked for medical history, height, weight, that kind of thing.
They sent a guy out to take more history, draw blood, take a urine sample. Typical.
Then they turned me down. Why? Height and weight. I'm too short for life insurance. What I don't understand is why I had to go through the process of giving blood (and urine) if they could have turned me down based on the first thing I sent them.
Maybe the thinking is, "He can't be that fat. Let's send someone to see."
I don't know. But I'm annoyed. And I guess I'd better not die.
So here I am, several years later, married and with twins on the way. Who would have guessed?
I need some life insurance. Something more than the $50k I have through my job. Happily, I received in the mail a solicitation for group term life insurance through my alumni association. I applied. The basic application asked for medical history, height, weight, that kind of thing.
They sent a guy out to take more history, draw blood, take a urine sample. Typical.
Then they turned me down. Why? Height and weight. I'm too short for life insurance. What I don't understand is why I had to go through the process of giving blood (and urine) if they could have turned me down based on the first thing I sent them.
Maybe the thinking is, "He can't be that fat. Let's send someone to see."
I don't know. But I'm annoyed. And I guess I'd better not die.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Shrinkage
It's not what you think. This is about therapy.
I am nothing if not well-counseled. What I have learned is that childhood is very important, that the injuries you suffer then are injuries you carry with you for life. If you are self-aware enough, have some help, and do the work, you can get beyond them. They still happened, but they don't have to continue to cause you anxiety or rule your behavior.
I take this on faith, because I'm not there yet. My inner second-grader guide me more than I think. I'm trying to be aware of these things. I've been thinking about that kid lately. As a kid, I felt pretty bad about who I was. That hasn't changed. As a kid, I ate to medicate. Some people do drugs. Some drink. I ate, mostly. My parents sent me to my first shrink when I was ten or eleven. His goal was, I think, to make me thin. I am pretty sure he was a Ph.D. I'm sure he came highly recommended. I went one time. Here's what he did: he hypnotized me. I kid you not.
I had to look at a flickering light, then close my eyes and concentrate on whatever flickering I could see through my eyelids while he convinced me that I wanted to be thin enough to wear a new, blue bathing suit. I think he suggested that I ride my bike for 30 minutes a day. I remember being antsy.
The guy was not unkind. But even then I thought it was bullshit. I thought hypnosis was silly, and I didn't feel as though I was in whatever trance I was supposed to be in. What I knew was that I was supposed to be serious about the process. It was for my own good. My folks were concerned. I have always been a pleaser, a good do-bee, and I was there, too.
There are two things that strike me about this now, more than thirty years later. First, I figure my parents thought it was bullshit, too, since I only went one time. Second--and this is probably of primary importance--I wonder why the shrink didn't explore why I was overeating so much. It seems so obvious. I was eating as a kind of medications. Think about the line in Mean Girls, when Tina Fey's voiceover is itemizing the various lunch groups in the school cafeteria. One table is full of (fat) girls "who eat their feelings." It's funny because it's true. It's also heartbreaking.
My reading about depression tells me that the concept that kids can be depressed is a recent development. The idea was that depression is rooted in childhood injury and that children cannot develop depression while still children. Something like that. That belief no longer carries the day. I assume that's why the guy didn't ask about my eating. I am appalled, though at what passed for therapy. Mostly I ended up feeling like a disappointment. I hope my parents didn't pay too much.
I am nothing if not well-counseled. What I have learned is that childhood is very important, that the injuries you suffer then are injuries you carry with you for life. If you are self-aware enough, have some help, and do the work, you can get beyond them. They still happened, but they don't have to continue to cause you anxiety or rule your behavior.
I take this on faith, because I'm not there yet. My inner second-grader guide me more than I think. I'm trying to be aware of these things. I've been thinking about that kid lately. As a kid, I felt pretty bad about who I was. That hasn't changed. As a kid, I ate to medicate. Some people do drugs. Some drink. I ate, mostly. My parents sent me to my first shrink when I was ten or eleven. His goal was, I think, to make me thin. I am pretty sure he was a Ph.D. I'm sure he came highly recommended. I went one time. Here's what he did: he hypnotized me. I kid you not.
I had to look at a flickering light, then close my eyes and concentrate on whatever flickering I could see through my eyelids while he convinced me that I wanted to be thin enough to wear a new, blue bathing suit. I think he suggested that I ride my bike for 30 minutes a day. I remember being antsy.
The guy was not unkind. But even then I thought it was bullshit. I thought hypnosis was silly, and I didn't feel as though I was in whatever trance I was supposed to be in. What I knew was that I was supposed to be serious about the process. It was for my own good. My folks were concerned. I have always been a pleaser, a good do-bee, and I was there, too.
There are two things that strike me about this now, more than thirty years later. First, I figure my parents thought it was bullshit, too, since I only went one time. Second--and this is probably of primary importance--I wonder why the shrink didn't explore why I was overeating so much. It seems so obvious. I was eating as a kind of medications. Think about the line in Mean Girls, when Tina Fey's voiceover is itemizing the various lunch groups in the school cafeteria. One table is full of (fat) girls "who eat their feelings." It's funny because it's true. It's also heartbreaking.
My reading about depression tells me that the concept that kids can be depressed is a recent development. The idea was that depression is rooted in childhood injury and that children cannot develop depression while still children. Something like that. That belief no longer carries the day. I assume that's why the guy didn't ask about my eating. I am appalled, though at what passed for therapy. Mostly I ended up feeling like a disappointment. I hope my parents didn't pay too much.
Friday, May 6, 2011
I've gotten some sleep lately. The Ambien helps. So that's good.
I am the same weight I was in August. Now, people close to me--and I may have said it before--have pointed out that I've had a lot going on since, say, Thanksgiving. Staying the same is, therefore, a win.
It is a win. I know that. Given how I've lived in the past, a plateau is a decent thing. I wish I'd been keeping better track of my measurements, because I get the sense that I'm still shrinking a bit (everywhere but the waist). I'm still frustrated.
It's possible that I'm not eating enough for my size, but I find that hard to believe. I eat plenty. I really do.
Lately, I've had some slippage into the not so great for you items (a scone or two, that kind of thing). Calorie-wise, I'm fine, but I really do believe that crappy food is a hindrance to the goal.
My kids are due in August. I'd love to drop 20 by then. But there's no race. I'll keep doing what I'm doing. (Oh, and after several weeks off, I'm getting to the gym pretty regularly. That won't hurt.)
So, more plateau, but not gains. Yay me.
I am the same weight I was in August. Now, people close to me--and I may have said it before--have pointed out that I've had a lot going on since, say, Thanksgiving. Staying the same is, therefore, a win.
It is a win. I know that. Given how I've lived in the past, a plateau is a decent thing. I wish I'd been keeping better track of my measurements, because I get the sense that I'm still shrinking a bit (everywhere but the waist). I'm still frustrated.
It's possible that I'm not eating enough for my size, but I find that hard to believe. I eat plenty. I really do.
Lately, I've had some slippage into the not so great for you items (a scone or two, that kind of thing). Calorie-wise, I'm fine, but I really do believe that crappy food is a hindrance to the goal.
My kids are due in August. I'd love to drop 20 by then. But there's no race. I'll keep doing what I'm doing. (Oh, and after several weeks off, I'm getting to the gym pretty regularly. That won't hurt.)
So, more plateau, but not gains. Yay me.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Sleep
A long time ago, say ten years ago, I had this idea that sleep was a wasteful activity if you wanted to drop weight, because it's not an active thing. You're lying down, not moving much, not breathing much, etc. I figured you'd be better off to stay up late, especially if you were doing something active (I was never, however, one to go out dancing into the wee hours).
Of course, they (who are they? I don't know) tell me that I was wrong. Sleep is an integral part of life, and lack of sleep does more than give you a bad mood. It fights your weight loss activity (both by making you hungry and by jacking with your metabolism). In fact, a doctor once told me not to exercise if it meant missing sleep. I sort of think I remember reading that lack of sleep is associated with higher levels of cortisol, the stress hormone. Cortisol also fights your efforts to trim down.
For the last five or six weeks, I have been waking up anywhere from 2am to 4am and then been unable to go back to sleep. (It's possible that I'm dreaming I'm awake or am in some strange light sleep, but it's not flat out unconsciousness.) It's troubling because I know I'm not functioning at my peak. I also tend to fall asleep about 8pm, which can't help. Ambien has only helped sporadically. I have actually taken an Ambien and only been able to sleep for five hours.
Sure the possibility of a psychotic break worries me. But I need all the help I can get to drop the next 20 and then another 20 a few more times. Sleep is a pleasant way to help with the loss. I like working out fine, but wow, sleep rocks.
So that's what's going on here. Trying to sleep, trying to take care of myself appropriately.
Of course, they (who are they? I don't know) tell me that I was wrong. Sleep is an integral part of life, and lack of sleep does more than give you a bad mood. It fights your weight loss activity (both by making you hungry and by jacking with your metabolism). In fact, a doctor once told me not to exercise if it meant missing sleep. I sort of think I remember reading that lack of sleep is associated with higher levels of cortisol, the stress hormone. Cortisol also fights your efforts to trim down.
For the last five or six weeks, I have been waking up anywhere from 2am to 4am and then been unable to go back to sleep. (It's possible that I'm dreaming I'm awake or am in some strange light sleep, but it's not flat out unconsciousness.) It's troubling because I know I'm not functioning at my peak. I also tend to fall asleep about 8pm, which can't help. Ambien has only helped sporadically. I have actually taken an Ambien and only been able to sleep for five hours.
Sure the possibility of a psychotic break worries me. But I need all the help I can get to drop the next 20 and then another 20 a few more times. Sleep is a pleasant way to help with the loss. I like working out fine, but wow, sleep rocks.
So that's what's going on here. Trying to sleep, trying to take care of myself appropriately.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Checking In
I haven't tracked in at least a month. It was one more chore, and I couldn't make myself do it when the wheels came off. In fact, I couldn't make myself do much of anything.
I have worked out twice since Saturday. That's a win. I understand that regular exercise is comparable to or better than meds for overcoming depression. The standards for "improvement," however, are pretty low. You can be improved and still miserable.
I've been reading Undoing Depression by Richard O'Connor. He's a therapist who is also a depressive (his word). His theory is that depression can become a habit, and the best way to overcome it is therapy and a change in that downward spiral of thinking that is symptomatic of the disease. (He calls it a disease, and I'm ok with that. Hell, I embrace it.) Meditation is likely to help. He also encourages (repeatedly) regular exercise. Who am I to argue? So now that I am functioning and sleeping (more or less), I'm back on the wagon.
I have not gained any weight. I haven't lost, but if anything, I'm a little smaller. I have been eating for hunger only (well mostly only), and I've been lucky. I assume this means that nearly a year of not eating my feelings has become a habit. This I like.
I'm traveling for work right now, and last night I was able to forego the fries. This morning at the hotel, I had cereal and fruit instead of the waffle. Tonight for dinner I avoided the chips and guacamole I like so much. I guess my point is that I'm taking care of myself in ways that do not include eating for comfort. This is a huge change in my life. In fact, I wonder a bit if not eating for comfort helped spur my bad period a month ago. Emotion has to go somewhere. Happily, it's not on my ass. Unhappily, I have to learn to deal with it in other ways. I guess I'm growing up. Ha.
I have worked out twice since Saturday. That's a win. I understand that regular exercise is comparable to or better than meds for overcoming depression. The standards for "improvement," however, are pretty low. You can be improved and still miserable.
I've been reading Undoing Depression by Richard O'Connor. He's a therapist who is also a depressive (his word). His theory is that depression can become a habit, and the best way to overcome it is therapy and a change in that downward spiral of thinking that is symptomatic of the disease. (He calls it a disease, and I'm ok with that. Hell, I embrace it.) Meditation is likely to help. He also encourages (repeatedly) regular exercise. Who am I to argue? So now that I am functioning and sleeping (more or less), I'm back on the wagon.
I have not gained any weight. I haven't lost, but if anything, I'm a little smaller. I have been eating for hunger only (well mostly only), and I've been lucky. I assume this means that nearly a year of not eating my feelings has become a habit. This I like.
I'm traveling for work right now, and last night I was able to forego the fries. This morning at the hotel, I had cereal and fruit instead of the waffle. Tonight for dinner I avoided the chips and guacamole I like so much. I guess my point is that I'm taking care of myself in ways that do not include eating for comfort. This is a huge change in my life. In fact, I wonder a bit if not eating for comfort helped spur my bad period a month ago. Emotion has to go somewhere. Happily, it's not on my ass. Unhappily, I have to learn to deal with it in other ways. I guess I'm growing up. Ha.
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