Feeding the Soul

The Mean Reds. Boy, did I ever have a case of them this week. And I assure you, my hair wasn't nearly as coiffed as Our Audrey is displaying here.

In case you haven't seen Breakfast at Tiffany's (which is a wrong that should be immediately corrected, by the way): "The Mean Reds are horrible. It's when you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of."

It doesn't happen to me often -- thank goodness -- but each experience with the Mean Reds is different. This one manifested as an almost total personal paralysis. I managed to continue business as usual, but outside of my home office I was an intolerable mess. Non-communicative; desperate for sleep, yet reverting to a third shift schedule (never a good sign); completely unable to do more than the bare minimum. How I managed to stick to eating lower-carb is beyond me, but I did. Small victories.

Sometime Friday afternoon, after hours of copyediting for a client, I noticed a shift. As inexplicably as the Mean Reds hit, they left within an hour. I finished work, took a swim, listened to preseason football, and managed to get out the door for dinner with friends. A glass of wine and some olives later, it was as if this horrible, awful, no-good week never happened.

Yesterday, The Brit and I slept in, leisurely lunched, and did a little antique hunting. Happy hour with friends turned into many hours, a dissertation of the pros and cons of dating a sea captain, late supper, and merriment into the wee hours. Today, we headed north to the Musical Instrument Museum and barely scratched the surface of their amazing collection. And I realized something, somewhere around Mozambique...

Perhaps this new way of living -- this diet or lifestyle or what-have-you -- is more than simple numbers and calculations. Perhaps the bigger part of it is also evaluating what is critical to invigorating your life force and what is, literally and figuratively, dead weight. Good people and a sense of community are as essential to me as water and breathing. As is music, some of which can stir me at such a base, primal level that I (shockingly!) can't put the feeling into words. I just know it's right and incredibly vital to who I am.

This weekend reminded me what I crucially need. And suddenly, part of that need is to get back to dance classes and movement. I'm hopefully saying goodbye to the Mean Reds for quite some time now, but I'm grateful for what this bout taught me. And for the good sense to know that everything -- even mental states -- balance out in the end.

Over and Under and Through

Recalibrate. It's what I try to do when Things Aren't Working the Way They're Supposed To. In other words, my motto of over 20 years: "You can bitch, or you can do."

Weighing in this week showed I lost 1.2 pounds, almost back to where I was before the Great Disappointment of August 8th. Better news, sure, but not good enough. After a rant and wail, I did some thinking:

• Have I been totally in line with no sugar/no flour? Theoretically, yes...but there was my birthday dinner. And my aunt's birthday dinner. And my grandma's birthday dinner. No kidding -- I have six close family members (including me) with birthdays in a 2.5 week period. Not to mention about eight friends' birthdays during the same stretch of time. HELLO LEOS!
• Eating out. That salad dressing seemed a little sweet...and I forgot to ask for it on the side, so of course ended up with drenched lettuce. The gravy...only a spoonful, but surely it contained flour. Splitting just one sushi roll is OK, right? Wrong.
• Booze. Allowing for a glass of wine, no problem. But four on a Saturday night? Even spaced over the course of many hours? Adds up, perhaps?
• Portion sizes? Snacking? Getting better, but still an issue due to habit. Or boredom. Or both.

And so, I recalibrate. I hold myself accountable. And I move back into the tried-and-true:

• Dear Diary: Today I had...a half-pound of ground beef for breakfast?! Sure, hunger kicked in big time after all-morning blood draw fasting, but who truly needs that much at one sitting? (NB: This meal was an honest one-off, but illustrative of what happens when I don't pay attention.) Keeping a food log helps me remember where I am in a day and holds me to a place of honesty. For people like me who can't grasp "don't eat unless you're hungry," it's also a way to remind yourself of what's gone into your body in the last few hours. Often that is enough to curb thoughts of more.
• Doing the Grams: 30 grams of carbs (minus fiber). 60-80g of protein. These are my daily goals. Not difficult, if you keep a diary that calculates as you go -- and shows you where you could cut back and/or make wiser choices in future, if you make an honest mistake.
• Remember the Good: Is my face more defined? (Yes.) Are my jeans loose? (Hell, yeah -- and my belt is on the second-to-last notch for the first time in two years.) Do I feel better overall? (Absolutely.) Maybe I need to focus more on this than a silly, slow-moving number on a scale.

I can be logical and do all of this and hope for the best. The struggle is truly mental. Mind over matter, especially when your matter doesn't want to help in the slightest. And patience is not your virtue.

What do you do to recalibrate or re-up yourself for the challenges ahead? What works and what are simply platitudes? I'd love to know some of your tricks.

Greedy Gobbler Redux: Now with MORE MEAT!

Well, hello again. Fancy seeing you here. You're terribly patient, and for that: THANK YOU.

I'm not going to go into the hows or whys re: my non-existent posts, except to say: Lack of inspiration. But now, the urge has returned. One including focus, always a helpful muse.

For the last three weeks, the Brit and I have been toying with a lower-carb diet. The reasons behind this are a mishmash of doctor warnings, extensive research, eye-opening science, and a last resort for me with a body that will not let go of weight when I stay on the Standard American Diet, no matter how little I eat or how much I exercise.

So far, I'm down 5.6 pounds. Hopefully a bit more, which I'll find out tomorrow on my weigh-in day. Even if half of it is water weight, this is nothing short of a miracle. Let's just say: underactive thyroid AND the start of insulin resistance = frustration.

My current food choices circle around meats, vegetables, cheese, a glass of wine, and nibbles of 75-82% dark chocolate. An occasional high-fiber bran cracker. Coffee, of course, but with the teeniest splash of cream -- it doesn't take much to get to the New York "dark" style coffee that I like. And if I'm being honest, a little bit of sucralose here and there when I need something sweet. I'm not thrilled about artificial sweeteners of any kind (even in my very occasional can of diet soda), but it's a way to have a little sweet, as opposed to an all-out NO for the foreseeable future.

Never give me an all-out NO. My brain will rebel in ways that I cannot physically control.

The first 36 hours were difficult, but not horrendous. I allowed myself a bite of banana here and half an apple there the first two days to allow my sugar levels to decrease gradually. The rest of the first week was a breeze. I felt great. I actually went to dance classes. And I lost almost four pounds.

Then Week Two. I'm not going to lie: it was horrific. Crankiness. Mean reds. Exhaustion like nothing I've ever experienced. The Brit's concern levels hit an all-time high -- he even suggested I call the pharmacy to make sure I didn't get a bad batch of thyroid medicine. By the end of the week, we decided a change of scene may help and scooted up to my (very generous) aunt and uncle's weekend home in Flagstaff. I'm still not sure if my symptoms were delayed hormonal/blood sugar adjustment, or just simple cabin fever and weariness of constant 110+ degree temperatures here in Phoenix. Probably both.

Regardless, four days in Flagstaff set me to rights -- and more importantly, I didn't give up on the diet. I even managed to squeeze in daily workouts while in the cool pines. We're now back home, finishing Week Three. My energy levels seem to have stabilized. I had a dinner party on Thursday night and managed a mostly low-carb menu that went over phenomenally well. The slight exception: grilled peaches with mascarpone, mint and toasted almonds for dessert -- and let me tell you, that was the MOST DELICIOUS half-a-peach EVER.

Tomorrow, the scale will tell me if I'm still on track to lose 1-2 pounds a week. But already: my jawline has more definition; my neck is tapering; and my upper abs are less poofy. I am not looking to be a sample size -- just back to my pre-thyroid problems "comfortable in my skin" weight. Regardless of weight, I also have the chance to step back from my genetic destiny and the type 2 diabetes hovering in my future. No sugar/grains (except on very special occasions) vs. pills and insulin...and then no sugar/grains EVER? I'll take the former, happily.

So for now: 30-35 grams of carbs per day. This allows me a cascade of vegetables, as well as the little treats (cheese, dark chocolate, wine) I need to stay sane. I look forward to the day I can add a bit of fruit back in, but that's temporarily on hold. And I'm OK with that sacrifice.

Tonight, we're having Chicken Puttanesca and a Raw Kale Salad (hold the bread crumbs). Coconut Popsicles for dessert -- if they turn out (I have high hopes and will share the recipe tomorrow if they do). Not bad for "diet food," eh?

Am I still a Greedy Gobbler? Absolutely! And I always will be. My new mission is to show it can be done -- happily and healthfully -- using me as the test object. Wish me luck. A little due karma. And lots of creamy treats along the way.

N.B.: At some point, I'll get more in-depth into the science and reasoning behind this decision. If you're curious now, however -- and want to be completely gobsmacked by what real research tells us about our bodies, as opposed to standard U.S. nutrition dogma -- I cannot recommend this book enough. Keep in mind that I am a public health advocate, with 12+ years of healthcare public relations under my belt -- and a master's degree in library/information science to boot. In other words, I can cut through bullshit and critically research the hell out of anything (and often do, much to my loved ones' collective annoyance). The Brit is a multi-degreed biomechanical engineer and very suspicious son-of-a-surgeon. We would not be making this change lightly, or without some serious, multi-layered scientific backup to the claims. Insulin, folks. It's almost all about insulin. And may actually be the core answer to our nation's (quite literal) ills. Time will tell.