Orange Towels, Fruit and Protein

Had my first conversation with my nutrition coach today. (Isn't it just amazing that there are coaches for just about everything these days?!) We talked about my progress -- what I am eating; how much I am eating; what kind of exercise I am doing and how much; what percent of fats, proteins and carbohydrates my diet consists of; and how much weight I've lost. Wow, pretty comprehensive -- and all I used to do was step on the scale (step off and head for the jelly beans, chocolate or Cheetos. I was/am an indiscriminate junk food junkie who figured that after all that deprivation I hadn't lost a sufficient amount of weight so why not eat).

Over all, I'm doing pretty well according to my coach. Two areas of improvement are upping my protein and my fruit. I never realized how hard it could be to eat 9 ounces of protein and 4 servings of fruit every day. I never had that problem with gumdrops -- grab a bag and off you go!

I am making progress physically -- seeing the weight go down. Mentally, I'm getting used to thinking about 4 servings of grains/starches a day. Spiritually, I know deep down in my soul that I have a weight problem. Emotionally, I'm still in first grade with a long way to go.

Did you know that I am addicted to big, fluffy bath towels? Who gives a rat's pootutty, you say! Was doing some more poking around in the nooks and crannies of my psyche to plumb what ails me. When I was growing up, my Mom was a total freak-out clean-aholic. She washed and ironed my tights; she hosed out the garage every week; we wore clothes of a certain color on a certain day to match her laundry schedule; all bath towels had to be white; she chloroxed the living shit out of those bath towels. Which meant that we basically dried off with a paper towel masquerading as a bath towel. A gallon of Chlorox every wash cycle wreaks havoc with cotton and doesn't leave much fiber for drying.

So once I started supporting myself, my homes have been chock-a-block full of the fluffiest towels, all in a rainbow of colors. No white towels or Chlorox live under my roof.

So, see how I compensate for what I perceived as deprivation as a child. So I figure there's a similar correlation for my weight and body image issue. Ah, but lots more poking around is needed before I unearth those relationships.

To Root Beer Bellies and Food Logs

It's a fascinating concept. Writing down every morsel you eat, when you eat it, your mood when you eat it and the company you keep when eating. Kinda like the diaries we kept as young girls to record our secret thoughts about those very first boyfriends. Except this feels so much more intrusive. Holy smokes, it's a record of every crumb, every cookie, every bag of gumdrops that I'm feeding to sustain that root beer belly of mine. And sustain it I am!

Just like how I've avoided mirrors and plate glass windows for years, I've obviously also avoided paying any attention to the quantity of what I stuff into my face every day. I was tempted to cheat at the beginning of my recordkeeping. But I was curious enough about the whole process of getting in touch that I decided the "full monty" of recordkeeping was needed without any quantity editing. I do hope that my food journal is truly between my nutritionist and me. Someone coming across the contents of those daily records would think it was a shopping list for feeding sumo wrestlers.

My idea of the perfect afternoon snack -- a venti white chocolate mocha and a sweet roll from Starbucks. And of course the mocha is whole milk with whipped cream, thank you very much. OMG! There's a whole day's worth of calories in what I think of as a snack!!!

Well, here's to weaning the root beer belly away from venti mochas!