Genes or Jeans?

Yesterday I had an "a-ha!" moment.

My papa has had some health issues in the past couple of years, and as a result of those plus a few falls, he hasn't been able to walk properly, unassisted, for over a year now. He's had physical therapy, but usually a big part of that is doing your homework. They say that the best way to retrain your brain to walk is by walking.

Unfortunately, papa takes to this advice in fits and spurts. One day, he'll be gung-ho and do a bunch of exercise. The next day, he won't do anything. And then, he grumbles that he "isn't making any progress".

Invariably, this results in frustration all around. I start thinking, "Well, how can you expect to progress if you don't change what isn't working?" and then, "If you don't really want to get better, just admit it and stop complaining about it."  Not very nice. Luckily, most of the time, I use my inner monologue for these thoughts. Most of the time...

Anyway, so that's when I had my "a-ha!" moment. I realized that it isn't really fair to criticize papa when I am exactly the same way.  I keep saying that I don't like how I look, that I don't like feeling frumpy and overweight, that I want to change, but then, how much have I changed, really?

I know what I need to do. Eat sensibly. Eat less (at least for a while to make up for years of over-eating). Exercise more. The entire French diet is based on simple logic and good sense, plus a healthy dose of self-respect and self-esteem.

So, why don't I do it? Will my genes get in the way of fitting into my other jeans forever??

I'd like to believe that I am not a victim to genetics, and that I actually can effect some change in my life. I'd like to believe that I can be disciplined.

Perhaps what I need to do is stop focusing so much on changing my papa and instead focus on changing myself. Then, after I have demonstrated through my own life that it's possible, will I be able to urge him on. Otherwise, I'm just being a hypocrite (albeit a well-meaning one).

Sidetracked

My papa fell and fractured his pelvis. If you ever consider going and breaking yours, try to do it the way he did--with a stable fracture that doesn't require surgery, just time, to heal.

This happened on Tuesday evening and ever since we've been in a bit of turmoil, trying to get everything settled. 

As a result, the last two days I've been eating take out. Pizza and salad on Wednesday and Chinese food yesterday. And lunches have been slapped together. 

Add to this a lack of restful sleep and no exercise, and I'm sure you can imagine how well I'm doing, French diet-wise. 

We can't always control the circumstances of our lives, and I think that now I just have to give myself a break. What good would come from beating myself up on top of everything else that's going on?

Maybe that's kind of French after all...

Stuck

I've decided to move my weigh-in day to Tuesday because, for some reason, I always seem to have breakfast before realizing it is Monday. Hopefully I will not start messing up on Tuesdays, too!

This past holiday weekend went, I think, reasonably well. I got a lot more exercise in since Monsieur is very keen on it. So, we went for a swim on a couple of days and got in a (for me) long bike ride. Yesterday, we rode for almost 12 miles. Took our bikes down to Whole Foods, picked up picnic supplies, and then rode to a park, where we ate under two huge oak trees that housed some very grumpy squirrels. Then, we looped around before returning home, so by the time I hopped off my bike, I felt I had worked out.

I think that my eating was fairly French, but I did indulge in a few more treats than needed. In retrospect, I realize that I often forget about the French mentality towards food. I just haven't yet made it my own and, truth be told, I'm starting to worry.  I don't know if I ever will.

Of course, the books (Losing It In France--Les Secrets of the French Diet and The French Don't Diet Plan: 10 Simple Steps To Stay Thin For Life) that inspired me to try the French diet are by non-French people who discovered the diet/lifestyle's myriad of benefits. Presumably, they have adopted the French diet as much as possible and continue to adhere to it, even after they have returned home. But I'm wondering if it's possible for someone who hasn't lived in France for an extended period of time to actually start to think like a French person...???

I am starting to think that I may actually be stuck and kidding myself by saying things like "my eating was fairly French". Sure, I may be more French than your average American, since I do like to cook and I have cut out things like sodas and most processed foods. But I was like that even before starting my French experiment. It's the rest of the French diet that seems so hard to make my own: portion control, listening to my body for cues on hunger/satiation, and--perhaps most importantly--feeling enough pride in myself to say "I deserve to be svelte and healthy and fit, and I deserve that a whole heck of a lot more than I need that candy".

Maybe I need to re-read those books and remind myself of what is possible?

All I know is that I haven't made that much progress in the three months and that makes me sad. I don't want my French experiment to be a failure.

Getting Back Into The Swing of Things

For some reason, I'm finding it very hard to get back into my French routine. Early in the week, I came up with menus for this week. Tuesday, I was supposed to make a Salade Niçoise, with imported Spanish tuna in olive oil, green beans, hard-boiled potatoes and eggs, and other assorted delicious and healthy components.

But then, it started to get late and I realized I didn't have the right tuna on hand, so instead, I went to Johnny Rockets and ordered this:

Well, at least I didn't get the shake or the fries. But still, it was not exactly the best thing I could have chosen to eat. Still, you could argue that the French diet is all about freedom and not having foods be labelled as "off limits". In a certain sense, that is true. Having a hamburger out is not going to kill you or completely derail you. The problem, of course, is that this was not the only poor choice I'd made this week. Tuesday and Wednesday's lunches were both eaten out, and were both not the healthiest.

Last night, I did manage to go to the market and get ingredients for a home-cooked meal, and it was reasonably French. And tonight, I had some fish with some oven fries and a tomato mozzarella salad. 

So, all in all, there have been some hits and a few misses.  

And that's what got me thinking, "Why is it so hard to get back on track once you've gone off of it??" Is it because I'm still trying to make the French diet second nature and forming a new habit takes time? Or, to put it another way, "Will this ever get any easier??" I hope so. 

Maybe it's just like any other thing that requires some discipline and you just have to keep at it. Today, for instance, I went for a bike ride. I probably did about 6-7 miles when all was said and done, and boy, was I out of shape. Any prior progress seems to have vanished and I was having to shift down sooner and for longer stretches of time. But the good news is I rode, and I pushed myself to go a bit farther than I originally planned, just to stretch a bit. If I go for another ride again soon, then I will notice that I'm making progress and not having to start all over again.  Maybe I just have to do that with my diet, as well. Just make sure that there is always some French element to it, so that I don't feel like I've lost ground and am starting back at ground zero all over again.

Time will tell...

Emotional eating, you're back

I didn't get a chance to write my planned post yesterday. I didn't get a chance to write anything at all, actually. Instead, I fought the emotional eating battle again, but I sort of lost. :(

I had another rough day on the pseudo-caretaking job and when I got home in the evening, the urge to seek comfort in food was overwhelming. In retrospect, if you look at it in a detached way, it's sort of fascinating, if a bit sad.

Your reason is telling you, "Okay, I know you're actually a bit hungry, but you know that you're just looking for something to make you feel better, right? Something to distract you from the sadness and frustration you're feeling?"

But another part of you (irrational or emotional part of brain? stomach? heart?) just ignores your reason and dives headlong in the search for something to make you feel better.

A-ha! How about a bowl of frosted mini-wheats? That will do nicely!

So, you have your cereal and you think, "Well, that wasn't so bad...and I can adjust my dinner for it."  But then, some minutes pass and you're back in the kitchen because you just don't feel better, so you're back in there, looking for satisfaction.

Spoonful of peanut butter. That's pretty filling. Mmm, yummy.  Minutes pass. But, I sort of want something salty now...oh, there! Handful of croutons. That's better.

And so there you are. Sitting on the sofa, trying to relax and all the while you're regretting it all. The cereal. The peanut butter. The croutons. But most of all, you're regretting your obvious lack of willpower and your inability to find a better solution to what's really vexing you--your unhappiness and frustration.

And finally, here you are, the next day, writing about it. Why? Because you want to be have a place where you can finally be honest about the struggle and admit it all...the good, the bad, and the ugly. And maybe, you figure, if you do that, you'll eventually find the way to deal with your emotions in a healthier way and you won't have to write this sort of post ever again.

Score, this week: Emotional eating 1, Reason 0

Resisting temptation

Every once in a while, I am tempted to revert back to my bad (eating) habits. When that happens, I have a sure strategy to emerge victorious. Let me share how I came up with it.

Not too long ago, I had planned on preparing a very healthy, very French sort of dinner. I was going to grill some tilapia and serve it with a small side salad and a baked potato. But then, in the afternoon, my husband called to ask if he could meet a friend who was going to be in the area for dinner. Suddenly, the idea of preparing the menu I'd planned, just for myself, seemed wholly unappealing. As I drove home that evening, temptation struck.

The guy in red said, "It's late and by the time you get home, do you really want to start cooking? Cooking fish? Tilapia is so...boring. Why not have something that you wouldn't eat with Monsieur? What about Chipotle? Mmm...a burrito with some chips and some guacamole would taste soooo good!"

The one in white said, "But you already thawed the tilapia! It has to be cooked today or it will go to waste. And the meal you planned is so balanced...so French!! Besides, it will take just as long to stop and pick up food at Chipotle as it would to just prepare what you have at home. And a Chipotle burrito is huge!"

There I was, in the middle, much as poor Homer is in the cartoon above. What should I do? 

Then, all of a sudden, it hit me. I shouldn't be asking myself what should I do, but WWFD--What Would a French (person) Do?? 

That single question was the answer to all my dilemmas. Once I asked it, the answer was obvious. A French person would definitely not stop for a burrito at Chipotle when there was a perfectly good meal waiting to be had at home. So, I went home, I made my dinner, and I have to say, it was so tasty and I felt so proud of myself afterwards. 

So now, whenever that naughty guy in red shows up I'm prepared. I ask myself what a French person would do in that particular situation and I'm able to choose the right thing.

Emotional eating

Today was a rough day. Not because of the diet, but because of some personal stuff that came up. My dad's health isn't great. He fought (and seemingly won) a battle with brain cancer but he was left with some war wounds--weakness on his left side and major balance issues. Bottom line: he needs help to stand or move around because otherwise, he's a major falling risk. Anyway, thank God we have been able to hire some caregivers for day and nighttime help. Unfortunately, though, for whatever reason my dad had recently decided he didn't like them and he didn't want them around anymore. So, in the early evening I found myself heading over there for a clear-the-air talk.

Things eventually got sorted out, but along the way there were a few jabs thrown in my direction and I was left stinging a bit.

I never really thought of myself as an emotional eater, but since I am trying to be more self-aware, especially as it relates to food, I realize that I do have some temptations in that regard. As I was sitting on the train, headed home, thoughts of what I could go have for dinner kept springing up, and none of them were particularly French. Mostly Italian (ah, a soothing fettuccine Alfredo, with all that cream sauce!) or Mexican (ah, a Chipotle burrito with those delicious tortilla chips and guacamole!) or good ol' Fast food (ah, Round Table pizza...)  Then, when I thought about the dinner I had already shopped for and planned (roasted chicken wings with oven fries or a bit of rice and a tomato salad), I started thinking, "Well, even if I eat that I could at least have some extra chocolate or some ice cream or something."

Why is it that when I am left feeling sad and beaten up my first instincts are to retreat either to retail therapy (in between thoughts of pasta and chips and pizza, shopping seemed like a good idea) or to foods that I know are not really in my best interests? Why should I do something that will end up hurting me more, precisely when what I really need is some TLC?

Weird, non?

Perhaps it is because there is momentary solace in food (and in shopping, for that matter), and deep down you crave that. But what is often forgotten is that that same Solace brings a friend along, called Regret. And after you've eaten whatever it is, against your own better judgement, you are left alone with that unwelcome guest. Sometimes, that can be enough to send you into a downward spiral, if you're not careful.

Luckily, I was able to come home and stick to my dinner plan. Interestingly enough, I think it's because I already planned to write about how I was feeling and how much my day sucked and I knew I'd also have to be honest and accountable in this blog. And I really did not want to have to write about how I'd been depressed and gone out and eaten X, Y and Z and then felt bad about it. So tonight at least, this blog really helped me.

If you've also battled against emotional eating, I hope my experience will help you, too.