It appears that writing regularly solicits discipline from the same spot in my brain that my restraint to healthy eating resides. ARGH! It's been one week since my last confession, forgive me Father...
Lie #5: Discipline is genetic and I don't have the gene. It must be, right? (At this particular moment, I am pausing with the hope that a booming voice will rain down on me saying "YES, IT IS GENETIC.") My husband is very disciplined; he has the gene. He does this thing where he makes choices based on what needs to get done verses what he wants to do. A stacking of need vs. want. He was probably one of those kids in elementary school that hurried home to do chores and homework before he went out to play. WHATEVER!
I, on the other hand, have the polar opposite gene. It is called the "I want it now" gene. Or in the scientific community, it is referred to as "insta-gratifica". I don't apply a hierarchy to my needs. I simply want what I want and I want it now! hmmm, makes me sound like a spoiled child when I put it that way. Judge me if you must. I can't help it. It's genetic.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Tall, non-fat, one Splenda added, cup of Truth
Starbucks coffee may have a double-use as a truth elixir. I haven't heard of this before, but it might be true.
Last weekend while sitting outside Starbucks in the early fall sun, my sweet friend and I were enjoying a cup of truth serum. It is the first time that I am sharing with her (really anyone) that I have begun posting my lies for all to see. She is encouraging. So much so, that she begins to share some of her lies, which she sees as common "truths" between us.
K and I are the same height, basically the same age, we both have two boys (who are the same age), and coincidentally we have both married men younger than we are. And, yes, we weigh about the same. So, when she says to me "...and, you know, we'll never be skinny", my heart sinks. Now that I am thinking back, I'm not sure she used the word skinny, but that's what I heard. ARGH! The words from her mouth floated into my ears, down my ear canal, and are registered by my brain. What she has said stings me in a way I can't properly articulate. I feel a lump in my throat, and disappointment fills the pit of my stomach.
I talk to people all the time who live on both sides of this particular lie (let's call it the eye lie). The one where you don't see yourself as others do. Side one is "I am bigger" than reality, and side two is "I am smaller" than reality. But K revealed another level to the lie for me...the "never will be" subset. For once, this is a lie that I am not willing to believe. I am not willing to buy into the lie that says I am genetically predisposed to be my current shape. My mom is a slim build, my grandma's as well, so why am I different?
I don't recall a time that I haven't heard something to the effect of 'you are just big boned'. In fact, I remember my dad saying (not long after he moved to Wisconsin, and we were discussing the idea of me living there - I was 15) "all the women here are bigger. you know, there are cold winters here; they need the extra fat. so you'll fit right in. you'll be slim by comparison". And yet, I'm NOT willing to believe this lie.
The Starbucks coffee may have eeked out a truth, but it won't make me believe.
Last weekend while sitting outside Starbucks in the early fall sun, my sweet friend and I were enjoying a cup of truth serum. It is the first time that I am sharing with her (really anyone) that I have begun posting my lies for all to see. She is encouraging. So much so, that she begins to share some of her lies, which she sees as common "truths" between us.
K and I are the same height, basically the same age, we both have two boys (who are the same age), and coincidentally we have both married men younger than we are. And, yes, we weigh about the same. So, when she says to me "...and, you know, we'll never be skinny", my heart sinks. Now that I am thinking back, I'm not sure she used the word skinny, but that's what I heard. ARGH! The words from her mouth floated into my ears, down my ear canal, and are registered by my brain. What she has said stings me in a way I can't properly articulate. I feel a lump in my throat, and disappointment fills the pit of my stomach.
I talk to people all the time who live on both sides of this particular lie (let's call it the eye lie). The one where you don't see yourself as others do. Side one is "I am bigger" than reality, and side two is "I am smaller" than reality. But K revealed another level to the lie for me...the "never will be" subset. For once, this is a lie that I am not willing to believe. I am not willing to buy into the lie that says I am genetically predisposed to be my current shape. My mom is a slim build, my grandma's as well, so why am I different?
I don't recall a time that I haven't heard something to the effect of 'you are just big boned'. In fact, I remember my dad saying (not long after he moved to Wisconsin, and we were discussing the idea of me living there - I was 15) "all the women here are bigger. you know, there are cold winters here; they need the extra fat. so you'll fit right in. you'll be slim by comparison". And yet, I'm NOT willing to believe this lie.
The Starbucks coffee may have eeked out a truth, but it won't make me believe.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
If only
Sugar, flour, rice, dog food...they all come in packages of 5, 10, 20, 50 pound options. Just like me. Sometimes I carry the extra five, sometimes all 50. I never seem to be without my extra "package".
Welcome to my biggest lie. If only I could lose five pounds or 15 or whatever the number is, then I would be healthy, happy and whole. By the way, I'm not sitting here thinking 'I'm unhealthy, unhappy, or broken'. In fact, I feel pretty good. I'm fit. I'm rarely sick. I'm active. I'm very satisfied with my life. So, why must I torment and taunt myself with the illusive five pounds?
Does this mean that I am going to live on an endless treadmill? Always wanting different. A life of comparison shopping, but never owning the goods. Why am I allowing a number to preoccupy me? Imagine what I could actually accomplish if I freed up all the time I spend on diets, food, calories in and calories out. hmm...so much time...I could write a blog.
Welcome to my biggest lie. If only I could lose five pounds or 15 or whatever the number is, then I would be healthy, happy and whole. By the way, I'm not sitting here thinking 'I'm unhealthy, unhappy, or broken'. In fact, I feel pretty good. I'm fit. I'm rarely sick. I'm active. I'm very satisfied with my life. So, why must I torment and taunt myself with the illusive five pounds?
Does this mean that I am going to live on an endless treadmill? Always wanting different. A life of comparison shopping, but never owning the goods. Why am I allowing a number to preoccupy me? Imagine what I could actually accomplish if I freed up all the time I spend on diets, food, calories in and calories out. hmm...so much time...I could write a blog.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Take two and call me in the morning
Some mornings I'm lucky. I wake up before the house stirs and I feel lucky. I sit quietly (ahhhh, quiet) and I drink coffee and read. Today was a lucky day. I am drinking coffee black enough to peel paint and thumbing through a new magazine. It's not a weight loss magazine or a fitness magazine, which are often my rags of choice. I'm reading the one that was in the grocery check out line with the cute Halloween ideas on the cover and a teaser that reads "five meals in five minutes".
I turned the page and there it was, a two-page spread advertisement. The magic pill.
Did I mention I'm smart? Because I am. Or that I am in the fitness industry? Also, a true statement. And I'm still sucked in. I want the magic pill. Not just a little bit. I mean I want it bad. I'm far enough out of my weight comfort zone that I'm buying bigger clothes. The pill would be cheaper than more new clothes...so I want the pill.
More intriguing to me is that this particular "supplement" is being sold by a fitness professional whom I respect. I think this fitness person is reliable and has a good reputation. In fact, I don't see "SNAKE OIL SALESMEN OF THE YEAR" anywhere on his t-shirt...so I want to buy the pills.
I have a rational brain. My brain is quick, even this early in the morning. My quick rational brain says "no". Actually, I think what it said was "seriously? you think the pills are going to work? really?". And the answer is yes, I seriously, really want the pills.
Its not the pills per se, but the quick fix that I want. I want the 'quick fix no-effort required except swallowing a pill'. That's what I want. The ad doesn't reveal the cost of a miracle. I'm guessing it doesn't come cheap.
In the end, I've opted to not place my order or pull up the website to find out the cost. Telling myself lies about quick fixes and magic pills has subsided for today, hopefully bringing me one step closer to the truth - believing that I am the magic, not the pill.
I turned the page and there it was, a two-page spread advertisement. The magic pill.
Did I mention I'm smart? Because I am. Or that I am in the fitness industry? Also, a true statement. And I'm still sucked in. I want the magic pill. Not just a little bit. I mean I want it bad. I'm far enough out of my weight comfort zone that I'm buying bigger clothes. The pill would be cheaper than more new clothes...so I want the pill.
More intriguing to me is that this particular "supplement" is being sold by a fitness professional whom I respect. I think this fitness person is reliable and has a good reputation. In fact, I don't see "SNAKE OIL SALESMEN OF THE YEAR" anywhere on his t-shirt...so I want to buy the pills.
I have a rational brain. My brain is quick, even this early in the morning. My quick rational brain says "no". Actually, I think what it said was "seriously? you think the pills are going to work? really?". And the answer is yes, I seriously, really want the pills.
Its not the pills per se, but the quick fix that I want. I want the 'quick fix no-effort required except swallowing a pill'. That's what I want. The ad doesn't reveal the cost of a miracle. I'm guessing it doesn't come cheap.
In the end, I've opted to not place my order or pull up the website to find out the cost. Telling myself lies about quick fixes and magic pills has subsided for today, hopefully bringing me one step closer to the truth - believing that I am the magic, not the pill.
Friday, September 11, 2009
All it takes is...$207
The cost of a small Irresistible McDonald's French Fry: $1.00
The cost of a new pair of jeans one size larger than I expected: $37.99
The cost of a fridge full of this week's "diet of choice" groceries: $189.00
The cost to reveal myself as a liar to anyone willing to read on: $207.00
Yep. That is the low, low price to start a blog and build a website, filled with stories of the lies I tell myself to stay fat and (un)happy.
I'm full. Stuffed to the gills. Can't take another bite of the fists full of lies I've been feeding myself. How many could there be? you ask. Whew! Plenty. Here's an easy one...
Monday comes every week - that part isn't the lie. The lie is "on Monday, I'll eat according to the XYZ diet". Surely that will be the right diet for me. Everyone is raving about it. And, believe it or not, on Monday I do as I had planned. Tuesday I stray just a wee bit. Wednesday is a little further off the recommended eating schedule. Then, Thursday! Look out Thursday, here I come. Thursday is one day before Friday. And Friday may as well be the weekend. Obviously the writers of XYZ diet did not intend for anyone to adhere to such a plan through the weekend. At the end of the weekend we're back to Monday - welcome to the lie.
Sound familiar? I know it does. I'm a health and wellness professional. A fancy way to say that I'm a personal trainer. Which means that I meet people everyday that are struggling with the same "story telling", "fibbing", and "fabricating" that I too struggle with. We're all experiencing the same internal chatter.
I'm here to reveal my lies. To share with you one lie after another, with the hope that you too will share, and together we'll find a way to speak the truth. No more lies (or french fries).
The cost of a new pair of jeans one size larger than I expected: $37.99
The cost of a fridge full of this week's "diet of choice" groceries: $189.00
The cost to reveal myself as a liar to anyone willing to read on: $207.00
Yep. That is the low, low price to start a blog and build a website, filled with stories of the lies I tell myself to stay fat and (un)happy.
I'm full. Stuffed to the gills. Can't take another bite of the fists full of lies I've been feeding myself. How many could there be? you ask. Whew! Plenty. Here's an easy one...
Monday comes every week - that part isn't the lie. The lie is "on Monday, I'll eat according to the XYZ diet". Surely that will be the right diet for me. Everyone is raving about it. And, believe it or not, on Monday I do as I had planned. Tuesday I stray just a wee bit. Wednesday is a little further off the recommended eating schedule. Then, Thursday! Look out Thursday, here I come. Thursday is one day before Friday. And Friday may as well be the weekend. Obviously the writers of XYZ diet did not intend for anyone to adhere to such a plan through the weekend. At the end of the weekend we're back to Monday - welcome to the lie.
Sound familiar? I know it does. I'm a health and wellness professional. A fancy way to say that I'm a personal trainer. Which means that I meet people everyday that are struggling with the same "story telling", "fibbing", and "fabricating" that I too struggle with. We're all experiencing the same internal chatter.
I'm here to reveal my lies. To share with you one lie after another, with the hope that you too will share, and together we'll find a way to speak the truth. No more lies (or french fries).
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