reader question: running outside

Just typing that subject heading makes me laugh, because it makes it sound like A) I have readers and B) I have something to say about running outside.  Neither of which is really a true proposition if tested, but in this teeny tiny blog o' mine, they are relatively accurate.

So thanks DEE!  My first question from a reader!  Woo-hoo!  (No joke, this made my day.)

Dee asks: "Did you find it easier, or harder, to run outside vs the treadmill?"

Forthright Fattie answers:  Physically harder, mentally easier.  It's a real workout for my ankles to navigate curbs, potholes, ignorant pedestrians, and cheesesteak vomit.*  I could barely walk down the stairs yesterday when I was done.  However, the changing scenery and the fact that you have to get back to where you started makes it so much easier to keep going.  On a treadmill, I find it a herculean effort not to look at the mileage marker the whole time (even if I cover it with a towel) and get discouraged about how far I've gone/have to go.

*I live near the cheesesteak capital of the world, and when I ran past it Sunday, there was definitely evidence of an unpleasant digestive experience.  The worst part was that my shoes were slippery afterwards.  I'm so sorry if I have now ruined anyone's dinner, but hey!  weight loss blog!

links

A few interesting articles in the NY Times today. 

On eating well on a budget:  Hey, did you know that pasta is cheap?  Yeah, me too.  This article does make some interesting points about canned vegetables, though.  I never buy canned veggies, but I'm willing to sacrifice elsewhere for my fresh produce.  (I do freeze a lot of stuff over the summer and use it throughout the winter).  But if they canned stuff really is just as nutritious as the fresh stuff, it's not a bad choice.  My main beef with this article is that they totally bury the lead--you have to read 2/3 of it before they mention any specific foods, and even then it's just a quick, self-explanatory list without too many meal ideas.  Except for potatoes.  For some reason there are 82 potato ideas.

On the effect of exercise posters:  Apparently looking at posters encouraging you to exercise will result in stuffing your face with M&Ms.  Or something.  I'm not sure how broadly the study can be interpreted.  However, it does bring up an interesting point, one that G and I have argued about a gajillion times.  Activity points: to eat, or not to eat?  For those non Weight Watchers, activity points are calculated by intensity and duration of exercise and your weight.  The longer and harder you exercise, the more activity points you earn, which translates to "the more you get to eat."  However, WW doesn't say you should or shouldn't eat them, just that you can earn them.  I find activity points a huge motivating factor during my workouts--20 more minutes and I can have a snack this afternoon!  Oh how will I use these lovely points???  G, on the other hand, focuses on the "calories in, calories out" perspective and tries not to eat too many activity points.  I think it comes down to listening to your body and doing what is sustainable.  If eating the points will keep you in the gym, then go for it.  However, I have been trying to leave a few AP's on the table lately, especially after reading about people who gain weight while training for marathons.  Horrors! 

confessions of an insecure blob

I've been overweight since adolescence.  When I was younger, I was hugely active.  My mom caught me climbing the monkey bars at age 2 (and still shudders when she thinks about it) and claims that I was a far more coordinated child than my sister.  <>:  Ha ha!

We lived in a city growing up, with no car, and with a playground and pool in our apartment complex.  My friends and I formed a "gang" whose primary activity was competing in sprints and jumping around.  I took gymnastics classes, and my school had a fairly intense Physical Education system that included extracurricular sessions at the pool and "Saturday school," which was basically a half-day of track and field.  In sixth grade I started playing volleyball and played again in seventh.  In ninth grade, I tried a low-key soccer league, but by then I had put on a few pounds and entered a bit of a depression.  From there, I became a veritable slug and gained continually.

I remember so distinctly the keen jealousy I felt of the athletes in high school.  Whenever they had meets or games, they came to school in their track suits.  Those track suits sent a message: I'm cool, I'm athletic, I'm better than you.  As I gained weight, I became increasingly uncomfortable with my body, and felt as though I didn't have the right to exercise because I wasn't already an athlete.  Stupid, but not so surprising for a 15 year-old.

In any case, I first set foot in a gym at the age of 25.  (I mean a non-school related gym).  I've gotten better about it, but I still feel incredibly awkward.  I also have fantasies of someone noticing me and raising the alarm because I'm not supposed to be there!  I'm not one of them!  

In fact, this paranoia exists for other locations as well.  For example, I recently made an appointment at a fancy schmancy hair salon.  I say fancy schmancy--what I mean is, it wasn't Great Clips.  I usually get a trim once a year, and that serves me just fine.  But I thought I'd try something new.  However, I was terrified of that same reaction: She's not supposed to be here!  She's not one of us.  In this case I suppose "us" would be the cute girls with the highlights.  I scoped out the neighborhood and picked the place that seemed least likely to turn me into an LBHOL (little blue haired old lady--a serious concern in this area) and called ahead.  I asked for information.  The girl seemed confused about what I was getting at, so I finally blurted out "Do you accept anyone??"  She was taken aback, but reassured me that I would not be kicked out upon walking my blubbery, frizzy self through the door.  Even then, sitting in the chair, feeling pretty comfortable, I managed to let my insecurities pop out.  The nice girl asked if I had been to any of the hot spots in the neighborhood.  Then answer was yes.  I had been to several of them--the Mexican cantina, the tavern up the road, the new neighborhood bar.  But instead of answering affirmatively, I said, "Yeah...the grocery store."

Oh my gosh.  I said I had been to the grocery store.  I'm such an idiot!  I almost laughed at myself right then and there, but I just swallowed it and let her keep cutting, likely assuming that she had a first-class loser in her chair.  The thing is, I don't really think of myself that way.  I like me!  I'm cool!  But in certain environments, particularly appearance-focused environment, I feel like a blob.  And apparently I have the need to let others know that I know I'm a blob, carry on.

All this is to explain why it has taken me 8 months to work up to trying out one of the weight machines at the gym.  More on that later.

the plan

All well and good to state my weight and tell my story, but weight loss calls for more than reflection.  I need a plan.

As mentioned below, I've done Weight Watchers.  I'm not going to meetings now, but the most success I have had came with the discipline of tracking everything I eat.  Yesterday I went out and bought a notebook and a pen to keep track of points.  

I'm going to list everything I eat on this blog: that's the truth part.  I will also celebrate every drop of exercise.  Over the next two weeks I am on break, so I plan to spend time exercising every day and hope to drop some holiday pounds quickly.  For now, I am taking long walks and riding the bike at the gym.  Ultimately, I'd like to get back into running, but I need to shed a few pounds first.  At the end of these two weeks, when I go back to school, I want to have a schedule planned out for when I will go to the gym.  G wants to plan one night a week where we walk together, and plan to go for long walks/runs together on the weekends.  

As far as food goes, I am actually quite good at cooking healthy meals, and I love eating them.  I love whole grains and vegetables and fish.  We rarely buy processed food--I seriously hate packaged crap.  My problem is that in addition to my love of healthy home-cooked meals, I love greasy, fatty takeout, as well as delicious meals in fancy restaurants.  I grew up around the world, and there is very little that I don't want to eat.  I don't have a sweet tooth, but I can eat a whole bag of Doritos.  (OK, some packaged crap I'm tempted by--what I really hate is packaged "health" food, like Lean Cuisine or 100 Calorie Packs of nasty cardboard simulated food.)  My philosophy about food is basically what Michael Pollan outlines in In Defense of Food: "Eat food.  Not too much.  Mostly plants."  However, a philosophy is easy to state and hard to live by.  

For now, I am basically doing Weight Watchers, in tracking points based on the calories, fiber, and fat in food.  I won't be cooking much red meat or simple carbs, but I don't have any hard and fast rules either.  

a little background

My first post included the ugly details: my weight right now, and how I've been eating.  But of course, there's more to the story.  

I grew up active.  I lived in a city and walked everywhere.  I did gymnastics and played volleyball and went to the pool all the time.  At 13, I moved from my beloved (equatorial, fairly exotic) city to the Midwest.  It felt like hell.  I curled up in front of the TV, ate out of boredom and mild depression, and tried to survive my first winter.  I did survive, but I had gone from a fairly fit preteen to postpubescent piece of chub.  I gained weight every year of high school and left for college a size 16.

Surprisingly, I did not gain the Freshman Fifteen.  I can't be sure about the details because I never weighed myself in college, but my dress size never changed.  I was heavy, for sure, but I didn't have a car or any money, so I rarely had food in my room to snack on and I walked much more than I had before.  

Senior year some things began to change.  I could drink (something I never did before I turned 21), I had a car, and I had a boyfriend.  My relatively ascetic life of only eating in the cafeteria was suddenly replaced by weekly trips to Chili's for Margarita Mondays.  

After graduation, my boyfriend, G, joined Weight Watchers.  He had done it before and had success.  He was a very athletic guy whose metabolism and activity had evened off in college, and who developed a love of beer.  G convinced me to do Weight Watchers with him (not in a creepy "you need to look better way," promise).  This was my first attempt at official weight loss, and it went pretty well at first.  I lost about 15 pounds, began shopping for size 14s, and started to recognize the portions that made sense for my body.

Over the next two years, G and I were always trying to count points (WW terminology) and generally yo-yo'ed around the same 5-10 pounds.  Then we got married, and damn if I didn't gain 40 pounds.  

It didn't happen quickly.  It took 3 and a half years, and that's where I am now.  I don't blame it on marriage, certainly.  As much as G has introduced me to wonders I never new about before (good quality pizza, craft beer, hoagies, etc.) I take full responsibility for the expansion.  And it hasn't been a steady increase, either.  I have had periods of success, which are then usually derailed by something like the holiday season or a stressful period, and pounds pounds pounds.

One thing I have achieved since the wedding is learning that I have the ability to exercise.  Ever since I gained that first weight the winter I was 14, I have felt embarrassed at the thought of exercise, like people would laugh if they saw my fat ass trying to run down the block.  With G's help, though, I started going to the track.  The first time there, I ran a quarter of a lap.  Nine months later, I was able to run 5 miles and join my family in the Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot, which I had only ever walked before.  This was, like, seriously, my proudest moment, and it was only a year ago.  Since then, I've exercised somewhat consistently, but haven't been running much.  But I know that I CAN, which, five years ago, I couldn't even comprehend.

That's my story, and I'm hoping the next year brings some changes.