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The Road to 192.6 was Paved with Sweat

~ mjdaum ~ 2 Comments

dreamsdontworkunlessyou doAfter my June 10, 2017, blog (“Creating a Butter, I Mean Better, Me”) and the pronouncement that I would be embarking on a new path to a healthier self, I thought it might be worthwhile to reflect on this journey on a somewhat regular basis. The point of the reflection would be to identify what’s working and what’s not. I wasn’t going to blog after every moment of reflection. When useful information bubbled up, I intended to scribble it down and post it here. My thought was that my learning could help someone else achieve a goal. Well, we all know what happened there (read my last post for a refresher). A year later and this post still sits in my “drafts” file. Not for long. I’m dragging this bad boy across the finish line if it’s the last thing I do. Hopefully I’ll burn a few calories in the process.

Thankfully I’m in a little better shape than I was a year ago at this time. As a result, while the weight of this unfinished project might be challenging, it’s not impossible. I’m pretty confident I can push and/or pull it to where it needs to go.

Before we go any farther, there is something I want to make clear about my intention with this post. It is my hope that my sharing might push you to share some of your own insights/learnings. I would love to hear from you and for this blog and this journey to be more of a discourse than a monologue. It really doesn’t matter if your goal is different than mine. There’s an African proverb that says, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” I don’t know about you, but I would like to go far. I want to go the whole way. The entire distance. To the finish line. I think that’s part of what this journey is about – coming together, keeping together and working together. So please, consider joining me. Please think about posting your thoughts, goals or observations in the comments.

If you’d rather not share, no worries. I’m forever grateful and blessed by those who take the time to read this blog. I’m buoyed by the belief that we’re in this together.

What’s worked?

Putting the goal out there in the universe. Almost as soon as the June 10 post went live, I received a ton of well wishes from friends and family members. Incredibly, just a few days in, I felt as though I had this tremendous circle of support. It’s like I had my own little weight-loss cheering section, if you will.

Part of that spirited club of pro-health advocates includes what I refer to as accountability partners. These are the people who have the Herculean task of holding me to account for the goal I’ve proclaimed. They check in on my progress and ask the hard questions. What did you eat for breakfast? What do you plan to eat when you go to that concert? Do you really want to eat those fries when you’ve eaten healthy all day? Have you exercised? Is a cheesy chicken burrito smothered in guacamole and sour cream on your plan? Are you doing what you said you were going to do? Did you weigh this morning? Do you really want that second glass of wine? How far did you walk? Have you thought about weight training?

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I’m not going to lie. I don’t always love the questions or the pushing and prodding by my accountability partners. It’s especially hard when you think you’re doing everything you can and the needle is not moving. At the very beginning, I was in the middle of a full-on plateau. I was vigilant about consuming well under my calorie goal and yet I was not losing weight. On day nine of this torturous journey, the unthinkable happened – I gained a quarter pound! I thought I was going to blow a gasket when I recounted my perceived failure and instead of patting me on the head and handing me a Twinkie one of my accountability partners suggested I amp up the exercise. “I think you need to walk farther and faster. You should also add in more hills.” You. Are. Out. Of. Your. Mind. As the irrational part of my brain imagined punching this accountability partner in the throat and running to the nearest QuikTrip for a taquito and a few five cent Tootsie Rolls, the rational part of my brain knew she was right.

I’m very fortunate that no matter how ridiculous, defensive or annoyed I get, my accountability partners remain focused on doing whatever they can to help keep me on track.  Their significance cannot be overlooked. They are companions on this journey. They’re riding shotgun. They are the copilots. They help manage the GPS. They are the ones who assist in recalculating the route when I’ve veered off course.

After a recent vacation this summer, it came as no real surprise to me that I gained several pounds. When I lamented this reality to a couple of my accountability partners, their responses were similar, “Well you’re back on your plan now, right?”

No matter what your end game, it’s essential to have people around you who are going to applaud your successes AND also call into question occasions when you don’t keep your word where your goal is concerned. You need accountability partners.

Exercise, exercise, exercise. I remember when I was in my 20s, I could start a diet and lose 8 pounds in the first two weeks. That’s not the case anymore. It’s freaking hard work to lose an ounce these days. I am not exaggerating. These pounds are persistent. They have a death grip, literally, on my thighs, butt and belly. They’ve been with me for a couple of years now and they think they know me. They (mistakenly)believe that if they hang around long enough, I’ll give up. I will go back to feeding them Cheetos and Big Macs. Guess what? Ain’t gonna happen. I’ve been attacking the persistent pounds with a variety of cardio AND diet and I think I’ve got the pounds on the ropes. Four of them surrendered last October after losing their grip on a 10-day plateau. Two more of them went packing in July after I kept to my calorie goal and exceeded my exercise goal for an entire week.

I’m committed to exercising every day. I have to be in order to achieve my goal. I have to I walk my dog, Moose. I must ride my bike. I need to do the treadmill. I sometimes plank and do some band work while I’m binge-watching Netflix or Law and Order reruns. I have to go the extra mile. I can’t sit around. Healthy eating alone will not get me to where I want to be. Exercise. Exercise. Exercise.

Planning ahead. I’ve been on the road a lot the last couple of weeks, visiting family members and reconnecting with friends over lunch and dinner. In order to stay on plan, I have to plan. I check out restaurant menus in advance so I know my options. I bring food or dressing or drink when necessary. I remind people of my journey. I’m very direct in asking for their support.

I don’t, rather, I can’t leave the food or opportunities to exercise to chance. Why? Because I know my weaknesses. I can’t, for example, sit and watch other people eat tortilla chips, salsa and guacamole. That’s just not in my DNA. I’m not that evolved or in control just yet. So I try to steer away from places or menus that feature foods I have not learned to say “no” to, like chocolate layer cake or chicken parmigiana.

A couple of weeks ago I spent a few days in Phoenix with extended family. Before the trip, one of my brothers, who was also going, asked me if I intended to stick to my plan. I said yes and he offered to do some shopping for me. So I sent him a list of fruit and low-calorie frozen meals. Everyone was so supportive of my choice to try to stay on plan. Not once did I hear, “Oh come on – you’re on vacation.” It helped to have a few of my accountability partners vacationing with me.

Journaling all food and activity. One of the key words for me in the preceding sentence is “all.” I account for everything that goes in my mouth and every bit of activity that I do where I actually break a sweat.

I use the MyFitnessPal app to log my food. And I log it all. Today, I grabbed a handful of pretzel thins. Before I ate them, I counted them and logged them. Last night, I dished up some berry crisp for my husband. I topped his sweet treat with Cool Whip and proceeded to lick the spoon. I logged those calories, too. It may sound a bit obsessive, logging every tidbit or morsel – however small, but the reality is I arrived at 230 pounds by not accounting for what was going in my mouth. It was just a bite. A taste.

IMG_6673I have a Garmin Vivosmart HR that I use to track my activity. I’ve had some sort of tracking device for years, but it wasn’t until two summers ago that I started using this technology correctly.

I remember getting my very first FitBit. It was the kind you clipped to something. From the minute I first started seeing the numbers, I was hooked. Look at all of those steps. I took 1,000 steps yesterday. Woo hoo! Then, I logged 1,500 the next day. You go girl! The crazy thing is – I wasn’t really increasing my exercise level. I was merely cheering steps I would have taken anyway. Steps to the refrigerator were now exercise. Steps to the living room, a half marathon. Steps to the kitchen table, amazing stuff! Initially I was blown away by all of my “activity.” At the same time I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t seeing any results.

So I joined a group challenge called the “Workweek Hustle.” There were about a half dozen friends and family members in this challenge, competing to see who could log the most steps from Monday through Friday. I am a fairly competitive person so I thought this might be the way to really up my game. Yeah right, think again. I was competing against a nurse who worked 12 hour shifts, the owner of a nursery and garden center and one of my nieces who could seemingly spend hours on the treadmill without batting an eye. I got pummeled in the Workweek Hustle.

After reading several articles about fitness trackers and weight loss, I realized that I would benefit more if I didn’t just focus on number of steps, but also on stepping faster. Eric Finkelstein, Ph.D., lead author of a study on FitBit use, explained, “If you really want to get healthy, you have to engage in brisk walking or running—something sustained.”

Increased exercise needs to be paired with changes in diet to really help you lose weight and improve overall health, Finkelstein added. “You shouldn’t assume that all you need to do is buy one of these devices and suddenly your health is going to improve.” If it was only that easy, I would be at my goal by now. But it’s not. It’s work.   It’s sweat dripping from your forehead and down your back work. (At least that’s what it’s like for me.)

So now, with my Garmin and the Garmin Connect app on my phone, I track steps, intensity minutes, heart rate, floors and my weight. The Garmin Connect app syncs with MyFitnessPal, making adjustments to my available calories (when I exercise) so I know how many calories to consume during each day.

Weekly weigh-ins. I weigh once a week to check the progress to my goal. I try not to weigh more than once a week because the daily fluctuation drives me nuts. I try not to go longer than a week before stepping on the scale so that I can better manage any weight gain.

There are a lot of different ways to measure progress to a health goal. I just happen to use the scale.

Since we’re on the topic of the scale, it’s time to share my current status. As you probably already guessed after reading this post’s headline, I weigh 192.6 pounds. In a little over a year, I lost 37.4 pounds. My current body mass index (BMI) is 25.4 which classifies me as “overweight.” I’m no longer in the “obese” category.

What’s not working?

Random thoughts from the trail...Putting off exercise. I really don’t enjoy exercise. I’m not a runner. I’m not a fan of the gym. I’ve been fairly sedentary this past year. Consequently, knowing myself the way that I do, I try to knock out my cardio first thing in the morning. I look at it like ripping off a bandaid, pulling a tooth or blurting out the obvious. Putting off exercising creates a tortuous situation for me. I get this sense of dread. Anxiety. Eventually I start rationalizing why it makes more sense to exercise later in the day which leads me to not exercise at all. I’ll come up with some reason to NOT do it. It’s too hot. It might rain. It’s getting dark. I have to finish this other thing. I don’t want to miss this really important show on TV.  Eventually, I arrive at the granddaddy of all excuses, “It won’t matter if I miss one day of exercise.” Yikes! It’s that kind of thinking that got me where I am today. Overweight. Unhealthy. Every day matters. Every choice matters.

 

Completely eliminating high-calorie food I enjoy. There are times when I appear to have the palate of a pre-schooler. I love a good fruit snack, piece of candy or cupcake with sprinkles. While these items are not part of my regular food plan, I will occasionally enjoy one of these sweet treats. I log the calories and then make adjustments to my activity level in order to burn those calories.

For me to resolve to never eat another cupcake would be a ludicrous proposition. Get real. With this sweet tooth? Ain’t gonna happen. On my current plan, I can eat anything I want. I just need to account for it. I need to manage the cravings, be mindful of my choices and count the calories.

We’ve reached the finish line with this blog post!

As we reach the end of this post, my thoughts return to you. What are you working on this summer? Any goals you want to share? What challenges have you faced and how did you manage them?

A Monday Memory: We All Wear the Same Pair of Shoes

~ mjdaum ~ 2 Comments

(Editor’s Note: Back in the 1990s, I wrote a weekly column for a  newspaper in northern Indiana. The column was called, “Consider This.” I recently ran across a few dozen of these old columns. It’s been both entertaining and a little painful sifting through those naïve and frequently unpolished musings. Nevertheless, I thought it might be fun to share some of them via this blog over the next several Mondays. Consider this a sort of throwback Thursday, or a flashback Friday, but on a Monday. Thanks in advance for reading!)

They were wearing the same pair of shoes.

I was on my way back from an interview and the one thought that kept going through my mind was that they were wearing the same shoes.

The preceding realization can’t be understood unless I also tell you about a trip I made last week to the city of Fort Wayne to interview a couple of people for the Allen County Edition of Senior Life. After an afternoon of work, I stopped by my brother’s home and visited with his family.

billyMy nephew and godson, Billy, an energetic and always enthusiastic 5-year-old, showed me his latest artistic endeavors that had made their way to the coveted door of the refrigerator. He invited me to play games and while I was engaged in “adult” conversation with my brother and sister-in-law, Billy vied for my attention, sitting on my lap and grabbing my hand.

As Billy started to cry and complain a little bit later in the evening, my sister-in-law commented, “See what happens when my son doesn’t take a nap!” She ordered pizza for dinner and when those cheese and pepperoni pies arrived, Billy sat quietly, carefully eating the slices that he would first dip into an accompanying side of tomato sauce.

While Billy was seated eating, I observed how content he seemed. I remarked to my brother and sister-in-law that I thought his outfit was really cute. Billy rolled his eyes at the word “cute” and refocused my attention to his tennis shoes. I didn’t understand his first reference to the shoes and asked Billy if he needed a new pair. “No way! I like these,” he replied simply, pointing to the shoes. They were white, with black and bluish-purple accents around the ankles.

Billy pleaded with me to spend the night, but I declined, explaining that I had to be at work early the next morning and I didn’t bring a change of clothes with me. I said good-bye.

The following afternoon I made my way to the home of Terry and Jeane DeShone. I was going to speak with Jeane concerning her experience with ADEC…Resources for Independence, more specifically its First Steps program.

A strong and humorous woman, Jeane shared her personal story of how she learned of ADEC’s early intervention services for children at risk of developmental delay.

Paul, her almost 5-year-old, was found to be at risk of delay when 10 months old. She told me about how much the staff and services at ADEC meant in the life of Paul and in the lives of the rest of her family. Paul was eventually diagnosed with autism.

We spoke for a little more than a half hour before Terry brought Paul home from preschool.

I looked forward to this meeting with great anticipation, especially after what I viewed as such an honest and sensitive discussion with Jeane.

When Paul entered the room, one of the first things that caught my eye was that he was wearing the same shoes my nephew, Billy, was wearing the day before. Initially, I tried to shake off what I thought was a pretty silly observation, but later I couldn’t put it out of my mind.

As Paul made his way around the room, he appeared unhappy about something. His mother placed a few treats on the table near where we were seated and he sat there quietly, carefully eating these treats, one by one. And I thought to myself how cute his outfit was.

We continued with our “adult” conversation. Jeane told me about how she learned to concentrate on what Paul has to give and not about what has been taken from him. She said that she has the first picture he ever drew by himself hanging on the refrigerator. “It’s just three marks, but we were delighted when he accomplished that,” Jeane said.

As we neared the end of our discussion, Paul grabbed my hand, vying for my attention.

On my way back to the office, I considered all of these parallels in my two visits. I thought how right Jeane was when she said that disabilities are a matter of time for all of us. That we are all closer to disabilities than we might think was powerfully illustrated to me.

I was overcome, however, by the realization that Paul and Billy are very much alike. There’s such a similarity there. I thought about how much I loved the fact that they both approach life with such enthusiasm and energy.

I thought that perhaps we don’t realize our similarities – what we have in common – all that often. We seem to be forever emphasizing our differences. But the bottom line seemed to be that we all want the same things. We all vie for attention, want to be accepted or who we are and recognized for our achievements, no matter how great or small.

I thought that we all have this desire to be loved and we all want to enjoy our lives.

After all that Jeane had shared with me when I saw Paul for the first time, I didn’t see his autism. I saw a little boy…a little boy with energy and enthusiasm…a little boy who liked candy…a little boy whose accomplishments were hanging on the refrigerator door…a little boy who could have been my nephew…a little boy wearing the same pair of shoes.

Practical Joking is in the Blood

~ mjdaum ~ 2 Comments

When I was taking David to school one day last week, it suddenly hit me: I. Am. Soooo. Lame.

Let me set the scene. It was April Fools’ Day. Although I thought about waking David up at 6:30 a.m. with some kind of prank – I didn’t follow through. I didn’t come up with a plan. Let’s be honest – I completely spaced it.

We talked about my inaction on the short trek to school and David reminded me that we didn’t prank each other  April 1, 2014, either. What? Are you sure? That cannot be!

nerf gunYou see, I come from a family of practical jokers. You might say that practical joking is in the blood. It’s part of the DNA. It’s our first instinct.

While some kids are taught from a very young age that the telephone is not a toy, I was trained on the art of the crank phone call. I think I learned how to short sheet a bed before I learned how to make one. Not really.

But for me to NOT prank anyone on April Fools’ Day – of all days – blasphemy! I mean I could lose some serious street cred at the next family reunion if the word got out that I let an opportunity to prank someone pass me by. That’s no joke.

The crazy hijinks runs on my dad’s side of the family – the Lortons.

That’s not to say that my mom’s family, the Tripps, aren’t funny. On the contrary, they are belly-busting hilarious. They love a good joke. They love telling a good joke. They love laughing at a good joke. You can’t visit the Tripps without hearing, “Did I tell you the one about?”

For many years, I used to think my Uncle Tommy Tripp should audition for Last Comic Standing. The guy is hilarious. I have always been amazed at his ability to remember so many jokes. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell the same joke twice.

The Tripps are good at physical humor too. I’ve got lots of Tripp family photos where some family member has pulled his pants up to his chest. You know, the Ed Grimley look? Or, someone has positioned a hat in a crazy funny way.

While the Tripps are quite entertaining, they aren’t big on pulling pranks. Unless you count my Uncle Garry’s “Pull my finger.” They just don’t get into the practical joke space.

The Lortons, on the other hand, love a good practical joke. They are all over it. They can’t get enough. They are pulling pranks 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

That may be a bit of an exaggeration. Or it may be completely on point. I’m not really sure. I just know that there are very few rules when it comes to their pranks. The only real rules are that a good prank is never mean-spirited and a good prank is never intended to humiliate.

Embarrass, sometimes. Humiliate, never.

You’re probably scratching your head right now and thinking to yourself – that can’t possibly be. There must be rules. There must be guidelines. You must draw a line. Listen, if you draw a line then you limit your possibilities. Everything and everyone can be part of the next great prank. Your job, your business, your friends, your neighbors, your children, your pets, your hobbies, complete strangers. These are your resources. These are the main ingredients for the caper, the shenanigans. There are no lines.

You’re still incredulous. I get it. I get that you’re going to assert that a line is drawn when it comes to age. Surely, practical jokes only involve adults, you’re thinking. Well, you’d be wrong.  Just the other day, my niece, Andrea, recalled being on the receiving end of a Lorton prank – albeit a prank on a small-scale. She thinks she was 10. “I remember Uncle Kevin and Uncle David saying that we needed to practice man overboard in grandpa’s boat. Next thing I know I was in the water!” Thankfully the boat wasn’t moving too quickly and Andrea was wearing a life jacket.

FullSizeRender (1)You’re still not sold. You’re now thinking that certain occasions are off-limits. Again, no. Let’s take a look at my wedding. Well, let’s first take a look at my engagement. When Jeff and I announced our engagement in 1999, everyone was thrilled. There were parties. There was fanfare. There was an engagement announcement in the McDonough Democrat, the newspaper that my dad owned at the time. And there was a line in that announcement that mentioned Jeff was a “former member of the St. Louis Blues hockey team.” Jeff is one of the biggest Blues fans I know. He’s been a Blues fan forever. But let me be clear, he has never played for the Blues. The first time we visited my dad, following this newspaper prank, was quite interesting. I won’t go into all of the particulars. Suffice it to say, church was quite crowded, given that the former professional hockey player was making an appearance.

weddingSkip ahead to the wedding. My wedding party, composed primarily of my siblings, had several hours to kill in between the wedding and the reception. So we drove around in our rented limo taking some spontaneous and fun photos. We took pictures in my old dorm, in a hockey rink, at the restaurant where Jeff and I had our first date, and at a gas pump. Everyone thought it would be hilarious if we got a picture of me acting like I’m pumping gas while the limo driver points at his watch. File this under “The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far from the Tree.” I submitted this photo to the South Bend Tribune. They ran it with a disclaimer that the limo company didn’t really make a bride pump gas before her wedding.

And then there is the prank I didn’t find out about until Jeff and I were on our way to our honeymoon. Jeff says, “Oh yeah, did I tell you what your family did to me at the reception?” It seems that at some point between the Chicken Dance and the Electric Slide one of my cousins told Jeff that my dad wanted to see him…in the men’s room. Jeff followed my cousin into the restroom and was soon surrounded by more cousins, second cousins, my brothers and my dad. My dad, with napkins carefully placed in his cheeks and using his best “Godfather” voice, cautioned my husband of a few hours, if he didn’t take care of me there were men in all parts of the Midwest who would take care of him. I wish I had a picture of that moment, but I don’t. (I do have a picture of a swirling toilet bowl. We did the disposable cameras on every table thing. During the wedding, my dad said that I should be careful when I get the film developed. He was in the restroom when a flash went off in an adjacent stall. My nephew, Billy, walked out of said stall a few seconds later, winding the disposable camera.)

That’s just a sampling of some of the smallest pranks. There are way too many to recount here. Several are way too complicated to recount here. Take my word for it.

soapWhich brings me back to April Fools’ Day. After dropping David at school, I quickly recouped and pulled off two small pranks. Thank you Pinterest!

For David, I painted the bar soap in his shower with clear fingernail polish. For Jeff, I replaced the creamy centers of his Oreos with mayonnaise. Cue the laugh track.

Phew! Maybe I’m not so lame?