Chicken Soup for the Dieter's Soul, Page 2

  He was right—and it hit me hard. He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but he was being honest and called it as he saw it. Sure, other people’s comments could be construed as mean-spirited, but not this man’s. He didn’t make fun of me, he didn’t call me “fat”; no, he simply stated the obvious: I had too much food in me.

  I took a long look at myself and at my life that night, and I realized what the problems really were. It wasn’t my husband’s fault that I had gotten overweight; it wasn’t my parent’s fault; it wasn’t the teasing; it wasn’t anything that anyone else did to me—it was every bite of food that went into my mouth that didn’t belong there.

  From that day on, I quit thinking that simply losing weight would change me and improve my life; I realized that if I changed my actions, in time my life had no choice but to change! From that day on, I quit putting “too much food in me.” It was very easy for me to identify a few foods that I had way “too much of in me”; after all, I was eating at least a half gallon of ice cream a night. That seemed like a good place to start.

  My weight loss did not happen overnight and my life didn’t improve overnight; but, rather, over a series of many nights, days, weeks and months I made consistent small steps in the direction of a healthier life—a well-balanced life! I literally started by changing one habit, which led to changing one more habit, and so on, which wasn’t overwhelming and was very doable. I gave up my ice cream vice, “busted” fast food, started cooking and eating with my children, stopped eating in the car or in front of the TV, and started to read labels and learn about the contents of what I was consuming.

  I also started getting some exercise. After I lost fifteen or twenty pounds, I joined an aerobics class. After I lost about fifty pounds, I became comfortable and more confident in myself and I started to work out more often. I began taking step classes and performing muscle-strengthening exercises. I started walking around the park with my children and playing with them in the playground.

  Over the course of the next fifteen months I lost over 130 pounds—almost exactly two pounds per week—a healthy pace by all standards. My productivity at work improved, my attitude was vastly more positive and my life was finally pulling out of the downward spiral. Sadly, my marriage did not improve despite the fact that my body did. For so many years I thought that losing weight would change everything in my life and my marriage. My husband was a very nice person, but together we didn’t work. Each of us had different interests and desires for our lives, and it became clear that my weight loss wasn’t going to change us—only how I looked.

  Each day is a new page in my journey, which began with a homeless man, my guardian angel, who opened my eyes, gave me a dose of reality and shocked me into changing my life. It worked!

  Julia Havey

  Phone Friend

  The family is the essential presence—the thing that never leaves you, even if you find you have to leave it.

  Bill Buford

  It’s too early, too cold, too hot, I’m too tired, the wind is blowing in the wrong direction . . . whatever the excuse, I’d try anything to get out of exercising! But my daughter Kate wouldn’t fall for any of that. “C’mon, Mom,” she’d say. “You’ll feel better after you get out there and move.”

  Sometimes we’d go to the gym together. It was always so much easier to pound that treadmill when I saw she was sweating right beside me. Sometimes we’d play tennis. I wasn’t any good, but she kept hitting those balls to me, never losing patience. And at least I’d get a lot of exercise chasing the ones that went over the fence or into the woods. “Good job,” Kate would say. “Wasn’t that fun?” And you know, it was when we did it together.

  Last fall, though, it was time for Kate to go away to college. I was happy for her to have such an exciting opportunity, but I missed having her around. At least now I won’t have to worry about anyone dragging me out there to exercise, I thought. But do you know what? I missed that, too.

  At home, things just weren’t the same. My husband worked hard at the office all day, and when he came home, he wanted to relax and unwind. The last thing he wanted to do was run off to the gym. And my fifteen-year-old son was active with soccer, basketball, and baseball practices and games. There was no one left at home to force me to push my body in ways I naturally tended to avoid.

  Since I wasn’t sure how to motivate myself, I ended up doing nothing. I worked from home, and pretty soon my only exercise was rolling my office chair from my desk to my computer screen and tossing wads of paper into the trash can. I did dive for the phone when it rang, though. That was when Kate would call from college.

  “It’s a long way to classes from my dorm,” she said, “but the walking is great!” She referred to the expected weight gain for new college students. “The freshman fifteen? Not for me!”

  Soon Kate called me whenever she was making that long walk to campus. She filled me in on all the exciting details of her life: inspiring courses, new friends, interesting clubs and activities. I really looked forward to her calls and connecting to her life. I cradled the phone, cozied up on the couch and settled in for a nice chat.

  “You’re lucky,” I said one day. “I wish you were here to walk with me. You’re off at school while I’m sitting here on the couch!”

  “I don’t think anyone’s forcing you to sit around!” Kate joked.

  Ouch! Of course, I knew she was right. No one was forcing me to do anything. It was a matter of choice. Maybe I just needed to choose something different.

  The next day when my cell rang, I didn’t plop right down on the couch. Instead, I laced up my sneakers and headed for the front door.

  “Mom, you sound a little out of breath,” said Kate as we chatted. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m walking, too!” I said. “I decided whenever you called, I’d get up and go around the block.”

  “That’s great!” she replied.We talked all the way around the block three times!

  Even though we were hundreds of miles apart, thanks to our cell phones we were still able to walk together. Distracted by good conversation, I didn’t feel like exercise was such a task. I began to look forward to the phone ringing, reminding me to get up and move. As Kate kept fit, I did, too. And as always, the exercise felt better when we were doing it together.

  Peggy Frezon

  “Will you look at that! My freshman 15 has finally caught up with me . . . 20 years later!”

  Reprinted with permission of Stephanie Piro.

  The Swimming Lesson

  We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon—instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.

  Dale Carnegie

  Boy, did I want to swim. A water lover by nature, it was hard for me not to dive in and let the cool water surround me. How I love the feel of being immersed and swimming to my heart’s content. A sense of freedom and giddiness always overcomes me when I’m half-naked in a pool. But that was the problem. Being half-naked. After giving birth three times, I had let myself go and the weight had crept up on me like a thief in the night, stealing my self-confidence and my ability to do the things I loved so much, swimming being one of them.

  Watching my family splash and laughing together in the hotel pool was almost too much for me. I wished the other people in the pool would disappear so I could take an unself-conscious plunge. Glancing down at my extra-curvy body took away what little guts I had built up.

  My husband, always my greatest cheerleader, begged me to come in. “Honey, you are beautiful,” he tried to reassure me. He knew why I wouldn’t come in. Sitting with my Diet Coke and my baggy clothing, I shook my head and wished he’d shut up. People could hear him. I imagined they were probably thankful I wasn’t donning a swimsuit.

  “Please,Mom,” echoed my kids, “get in!” they hollered at me. By now I was thoroughly mortified that everyone in the pool area knew I was too embarrassed to go swimming.

  The blue-green water beckoned me. I thought
back to the days when putting on a swimsuit was nothing more than, well, putting on a swimsuit. I would spend hours and hours playing water volleyball, laughing and racing my friends in underwater relays. I closed my eyes and could almost feel the water carry me away, freeing me from everyday life and surrounding me with good, old-fashioned fun.

  I enviously watched the people in the pool, and as a few of them left, my husband tried again. “Come ON. It’s no fun without you.” His brown eyes almost convinced me. Almost.

  He swam up to the edge of the pool, trying to persuade me. He whispered loud enough for only me to hear, “You are sexy and gorgeous to me,” he reasoned. “Who else matters?”

  Men are so basic. I wish I could have that thinking process.

  “Mom-my, Mom-my,” my kids chanted. I saw my husband whispering to each of the kids. Grinning, they all climbed out of the pool.

  “We’re not swimming until you get in.” My husband was now using his guilt tactic—a bargaining device that is usually my expertise. I could see that he was serious, and then I realized he was right. If he wasn’t embarrassed at his wife wearing a swimsuit in public, then why should I be? He knew how much I loved swimming and how hard it was for me to miss out. This was love. Real love.

  The group of teenagers that I was most intimidated by finally vacated the pool. Only a few stragglers remained. I really had no excuse now. I bit my lip and involuntarily flinched at the thought of myself in a bathing suit. And yet, I knew if I missed out, I would regret it. I was tired of regretting things. I wanted for once to be glad I did something, not sorry I didn’t.

  Hopping up, I headed for our room and changed into my suit as quickly as I could—before I changed my mind. Beach towel wrapped around my hips, I scurried down to the pool. I flung the towel off and dove in, not a second’s hesitation. When I came up for air, my family was grinning and shouting, “Go Mom!” We played for a long, long time and I loved it. I caught my husband watching me with a strange expression on his face. His eyes glimmering, he motioned me over to him. Feeling like a mermaid, I happily swam to his side.

  “You are SO beautiful,” he said intensely. I searched his face for some sign of embarrassment or sarcasm. All I saw was sincerity. I giggled like a sixteen-year-old and his smile grew bigger. “You should do things you like more often. You look so happy, you actually glow.”

  He meant it. And I vowed to never let myself stand in my way again.

  Susan Farr-Fahncke

  Weighing Heavily on His Mind

  Flatter me, and I may not believe you. Criticize me, and I may not like you. Ignore me, and I may not forgive you. Encourage me, and I will not forget you.

  William ArthurWard

  “Honey, do you think I can get into my tux?” queried my man full of wishful thoughts.

  “Doubt it darlin’,” I said as I gave him a pat on the mound that stood guard over his belt. My negative comment fell on deaf ears as Ken rushed to the downstairs wardrobe where his tux and my wedding dress have hung for thirty-four years. Putting on a few pounds hadn’t seemed to weigh heavy on his mind despite small nags over his gluts and guzzles. Nonetheless, a wife knows when extra pounds and ill-fitting clothes bum her guy out.

  Now the jig was up.

  Moans and huffs spiraled up the stairs.

  “This is great. The tie, cummerbund and white suspenders are still here,” he hollered.

  “Guess I’ll have to buy a dress shirt, this one’s looking pretty tired.” Tugging at obstinate gaps,my darlin’ emerged dressed to the nines, like Mrs. Astor’s pony. He’d never be a clotheshorse with a single button threatening to take flight under sixty years of baggage. Stiff and staid and popping at the seams, he sucked in beneath an unrelenting waistband.

  Bent on conquering the spare tire in days, brainstorms began spilling out. “Maybe if I went on a crash diet. I’m running into town to look at exercise machines.”

  Having never been faithful to our stationary bike, I questioned his motives. “Are you sure you want to torment your carcass braving the latest ab-gadgets with your arthritis? Those tummy trainers and stretch-and-roll machines look like medieval torture devices to me.”

  Weeks later, we made a handsome couple at the Montana Governor’s Ball, despite the tuxedo fiasco. Ken was in good company, for half the men were decked out in dark suits. But journeying home, grumbles surfaced. “I felt like an old, fat man tonight! Why don’t we go on one of those diets?”

  We? Well yes, I could stand a belly bob and knew he’d fall off the weight wagon without a compatriot to share his misery. It would be good for our health.We did our homework, and although Ken wanted to jump in and take the first plan, we enrolled in the one best befitting our lifestyle. At weekly weigh-ins we ran into folks we had known for years, cajoling us with raves of success. The whole thing seemed so easy, and though exercise was recommended, it wasn’t a prerequisite. Okay! Suddenly we were indulging in a food plan for our age group, Ken’s diabetes and our doctor’s hearty approval. It was as simple as adding water and nuking tasty meals three times a day. Portions and nutrition became our bible, although his majesty swore he was starving. The togetherness scheme was lobbing off unsightly bloats and pounds weekly.

  Despite the taboo, we cheated on weekends, indulging in Sunday dinner out on the town. Our little gold star reward system was a comfort thing, charging diet batteries for Monday mornings. At just one hundred days, Ken’s double chin and both our middles had departed into hog heaven. Forty for Ken, and my thirty-two pounds had evaporated, and we felt like a million bucks. ‘Twas like being given a precious gift by someone we both loved . . . ourselves.

  Now on our own, like two little kids starting first grade, that scary “maintenance” word challenged us. Snarling and goading, the new digital scale sat on the kitchen floor, underfoot in plain sight. The cat and mouse game commenced, gaining one, losing two. Our rules? Garden varieties on demand, medium-sized new and old favorites with no seconds, reasonable desserts, and no bedtime snacks. Gastronomic makeovers inside and out were leaving contented tummies and high spirits. But for good professional counseling in our economical program, we might have slid back into the potbelly pit.

  The slender years rolled on and again we waited for our invitation to the governor’s second-term ball. The engraved card said January 14. But this time Mr. Lean and Trim was so comfortable in his svelte person that thoughts of the old tux were ditched in lieu of more modern formal wear.

  “Ya know what, hon; I didn’t feel like an old, fat guy tonight.”

  Kathe M. Campbell

  Diner’s Club

  Eating out has become a way of life in our fast-paced society, no longer just the occasional treat. Whether it’s to avoid kitchen duty or to celebrate a special event, many meals are eaten at restaurants. For the weight-conscious, ordering from the menu can be a potential minefield. But, fear not, you can still eat out and enjoy your meal. Try incorporating just a few of these tips into your next dining experience, and eating out can please your palate without wrecking your waistline.

  Begin with a starter. Then order another. There’s your meal. The appetizer’s smaller portions allow you variety in your diet as well as potentially fewer calories than if you opted for a traditional entrée with side dishes.

  Ask for what you want. Don’t be afraid to make special requests (politely, of course) so your meal is exactly what you want it to be.

  Remember “G.B.S.” Choose grilled, baked, broiled and steamed foods as often as you can. Try to steer clear of fried foods or creamy or cheesy sauces.

  Don’t go hungry. Have a healthy snack beforehand so you’re not ravenous by the time you’re seated. Two good options to defeat hunger pangs are apples or clear soup.

  The doggy bag is your friend. Practice makes perfect, especially with portion control. I’ve actually used this method myself and stretched one meal into three. Don’t trust your willpower to let you only eat a small portion? Ask your waiter to box up half of your meal. They might e
ven keep it in the kitchen for you until you’re ready to go. Be on the lookout; some chains will offer half-sizes of their meals.

  Get your priorities straight. What would make the meal most memorable for you? Is there a house specialty you’re dying to have? Or maybe their signature dessert? Pick one thing to build your meal around. Then go lightly with everything else. That means not having appetizers, soups, main course, bread and dessert. Now is the time to play favorites.

  Try take-out. Practically and dietwise I’ve found you run into fewer temptations with take-out. You can add your lower-fat condiments like butter, sour cream and salad dressing to whatever you order and you won’t be seduced by something not on your plan.

  Beware of empty calories. Don’t have wine just because everyone else is having a cocktail or it’s happy hour. Would you rather have that drink or save calories for a special dessert? Likewise, if you’re not wild about the bread, pass it on.

  Order a special. If you’re going to treat yourself, try something out of the ordinary that you can’t get everywhere. Save the cheeseburger and fries for another time.

  Lay off the sauce. Beware of anything cooked in butter, cheese or cream. If you simply can’t have it without it, try getting it on the side.

  Go fish. Most of the time, seafood, depending on the preparation, is less caloric and lower in cholesterol and fat than meat and pasta. It’s especially good prepared following the “G.B.S.” system.

  Try a fill-up. On veggies, that is. Include vegetables as integral parts of your meals whenever possible. They help fill you up and meet your nutritional requirements. This is a great opportunity to try an exotic vegetable or one that you would never prepare at home due to time constraints, picky eaters or some other excuse. Otherwise, choose a salad, going easy on dressing and high-calorie toppings, or a vegetable-based soup.