CH CH CHANGES

23 days in. Not even a month. I’m learning somethings about myself (not all of them good) and I’m discovering that changing the way one does things can be empowering. I hate these modern age buzz words, but sometimes they are just the right words for the situation.

I’ve lost sixteen pounds. Really. Even if my scale is imperfect, the relative relationship between July 5 and now – the difference is sixteen pounds. I can feel things, too. I’m generally sleeping better. My neck is thinner. My face is thinner, making my wrinkles seem even more predominant. My skin is better. (I’ve created some charming expletives for what it means to be a menopausal woman who still gets pimples like I’m fourteen. So while I’m burning up and feeling murderously irrational, I can at least look in the mirror and remember the humiliation of having skin that a male coworker once described as ‘looking like I’d been shot in the face with a pellet gun.’) So there’s that.

I’ve always had good legs, muscular and defined. They are thinner now, but they’re covered with scars, and age spots, and blossoming spider veins. No illusions here. I may get healthy and slim down, but I’m never going to be able to turn back time. The dark little voice in my head keeps chiding What does it matter now? You’re married, you’ve had your kids. Oh, and, you’re old, by the world’s standards. Old. Past it. No one cares.

So my inner voice and I continue to weave and parry. As the parameters change, the little shit is still trying to find new ways to convince me that what I’m doing is pointless, or too hard, or stupid. I feel like I’m Little Red Riding Hood, and my inner voice is the wolf, pretending to be helpful and then lying in wait at Grandma’s House. That metaphor doesn’t quite work; there’s no way the stuff in the basket would ever make it that far.

Food events are hard. Went to a church barbecue yesterday and ate a hamburger IN A BUN. Had two small glasses of iced tea, first sugared drink (other than my morning joe) since the start. It was so freaking good, it made my mouth feel weird. I avoided the dessert table altogether, and then my little voice started planning when I will next “have a treat” because I “didn’t have dessert at the BBQ.” You must be rewarded for not having a dessert by having a dessert later. Logical. Flawlessly logical.

I have three days off in a row. And that stretch of time is hard. I’ve created a system that works during the week. I get up, I have coffee, I eat breakfast, I make a healthy lunch, I go to work, I come home, I eat a healthy dinner…but the unstructuredness of the weekend creates its own temptations. One way I’m combatting that is that we are simply not keeping junk food in the house anymore. Instead, I’m drinking vodka mixed with sugar-free mixers. Okay, weekends aren’t so bad after all.

A shout out to my dear friends J & P, who had us and other dear friends J & E over for a healthful dinner the other night. I made two salads, Caesar and Caprese (with basil from our garden), and they grilled up chicken and vegetables and it was delicious! We drank, we laughed, and we ate vanilla ice cream with fresh fruit, and I was reminded of what really matters in life: friendship, humor, shared wisdom and talent, good conversation, love.

Not food.