Yesterday was a first here in Arkansas: we were under a tropical storm warning from Hurricane Laura. Tropical depression warnings are fairly common, but never a storm warning; our particular area was warned of high winds and possibly up to 10” of rain. While this is nothing in comparison to the devastation Hurricane Laura caused to Lake Charles, Louisiana and surrounding areas, it was still disconcerting to face the likelihood of damage from bad weather. In August, no less, which is typically so dry a month here that the grass dies.

I admit I felt really anxious yesterday morning. My husband was at work and I got the news that school would let out at 1 pm. (He is a teacher.) I think knowing that various schools and businesses were taking the threat of bad weather so seriously probably ratcheted up my anxiety level. Back in April, we lost power with lesser threats for over 5 days, so I prepared for that possibility.

I made sure we had adequate food in the house to feed both us and my mother, since her home is full electric and we have a gas stove and water heater. Hubby topped off the gas level in the generator the night before, and I topped off the gas container first thing in the morning. And I cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned some more, making sure flashlights and more were in place. I even moved a lawn chair, my purse, and a container with important documents into the bathroom — the best place to hide in our home if bad weather strikes. (Note to self: take them out!)

I had just finished cleaning when the power went out, and stayed out for the next three hours. I sat here, alone, listening to the wind howling, blowing things off the trees and hitting the roof. I watched the rain gauge rise. I comforted my dog, who in turn provided some comfort to me. And waited.

I’m sure that waiting is a familiar thing for those who live in hurricane areas. Not so much for us, here in landlocked states. If I lived in a hurricane-prone area, I know I’d be torn about leaving my things behind me, but that waiting, that fear of trees falling on the house, of physical threat, is excruciating. I think I would likely evacuate, but I know I’d fear for my home and my things. Sure, they can be replaced, but the emotions surrounding that sense of pending doom must be great, regardless of your choice.

Eventually, though, my husband arrived home safely, the power came on, the internet eventually settled down, and the only issues I’m dealing with today revolve around picking up branches and cleaning debris from the pool. Last night, I slept deeply, feeling exhausted from a day in which I physically did a lot less than I normally do — but it shows what toll anxiety takes, both physically and mentally. I slept the sleep of the relieved.

The visceral fear I felt, yesterday, was much like the latent fear I felt when I first began this journey — that sense of uncontrollable doom that might destroy not physical things, but me. It took a couple of years of working on my health before that fear fully dissipated. At my highest weight, in my first photos, you can see in my face that I felt horrible, that I worried my own actions of gaining weight might well kill me, that I feared no matter what I did, I was severely damaging or ending my own life.

I lay awake at night, feeling my heart race and bumping along, wondering if I might be on the verge of a heart attack. I feared falling, knowing that my immense weight could break a bone, or worse. Any time I walked into a doctor’s office, even for annual physical stuff, I blubbered over my weight, hoping maybe the doctor could give me an easy way forward toward getting the weight off.

Even though I felt all that fear and knew I was causing my own demise, I felt as if doing anything about it was beyond my ability; I’ve spent most of my adult life worrying about my weight, losing weight, regaining it.

But now, I feel the kind of relief that makes my shoulders drop a couple of inches, lets me breathe easier. Unlike a hurricane, I have a lot more control over my own choices and my own life. I’ve managed to reverse a lot of what I feared, even though I know the unexpected can still happen; I have spent the last nearly seven years in a process of repairing damage and preparing myself for whatever the rest of my life brings. That’s all we can really do in the face of adversity; prepare, meet it head on, and have the faith that we’ve done everything possible to come out on the other side.

If you’ve ever owned an older computer, you likely know what “defragging” (defragmentation) is. But if you don’t, it’s the process of reordering files on a computer’s hard drive. It’s a maintenance thing that’s more automatic these days, but back years ago, it was one of those things you did if your computer was running slow and had lots of errors popping up. Because over time, as you use a computer, things just don’t always end up in the right place, or chunks of old programs long deleted are still clogging up the works.

At least once a year, my brain has to go through its own defragging. The worst of it usually coincides with the beginning of school, after my teacher husband has been home during the summer. My schedule gets disrupted, and I no longer have the quiet time necessary to recharge my own batteries, make sure my mental and emotional bank is full, or any other metaphors you want to use for introverts running flat. That’s me. This year, that’s especially true; not only did we have a couple of extra months thrown in the mix, but we are both experiencing a fair amount of angst over the new school year.

I’m one of those people who needs uninterrupted quiet time to allow my brain to push out any bad junk and rebuild itself. The disruption of having someone around — anyone, it really doesn’t matter who — distracts me from the mental work I know I need. I recognize that about myself, but without fail, my brain enters defrag mode once school starts and I have to remind myself what’s happening.

The early defrag stages are all about pushing out muck, much like deleting random computer files that were tied to a program no longer on the computer. Once my brain cuts through the noise and starts eliminating any lingering junk that just gets in my way, things start running smoother. I can start putting things in my little world back in order.

That’s what’s been happening for the last week. My brain has needed to find the silence by pushing out the muck. The process isn’t over — I’ll know when it is, because I can feel my mind start sparking and knocking like a furnace at the beginning of fall, belching out dust — but it’s a necessary process. And yet, I always resist it when it starts, instead of simply accepting that I need to let my brain do what it needs to do.

I have fought with myself over doing the things I need to do, even writing this blog. This is how I know I’m still in the mucking-out stage of things; I want to resist just about anything and everything. But at the same time, I keep thinking of things I want to tackle as projects, so I know the mucking out is nearly over. Next week will be better, and in the long run, understanding the investment I have to make in letting my brain heal itself means I can let it do its thing so it’s not constantly hanging me up at some later point.

I used to fight this all the time. I used to get caught up in guilt over not feeling like I could function properly. I didn’t let myself work through things, so they just backed up. I used to try to drown out the process with all sorts of noise. Some folks can do that and still find the necessary balance in their lives; I can’t. I don’t. It’s one of the many things I’ve learned about myself over the course of this journey, and I know that it’s a necessary hiatus that allows me to tackle things more effectively once it’s done.

A friend of mine recently asked an intriguing series of questions, and I’m going to include them, here, because I think they apply both to life in general and to the things I continue experience on my health journey. I am only addressing these questions in light of that; generally speaking, my answers are (mostly) different than what you see below.

How comfortable are you with change?

As long as I initiate change, I’m fairly comfortable with it. While I’ve had doctors inform me of my obesity in the past (of course!), I am thankful that I’ve never had a do-it-or-die circumstance. I’ve never been told that if I don’t drop the weight, I will likely face dire consequences. (And you would think I would have, but no.) While I’ve had a number of conditions blamed on my weight, making sure I was the one to actually choose change has also meant I’ve chosen the methods for change.

Had I been ordered to do this, I know I would have resisted. I’m just as stubborn as anyone else. But by choosing change myself, first, I’ve remained in control of change.

Do you think a lot of change is healthy or unhealthy for a person?

In regards to weight loss, health, and the head games I inevitably play, I think a lot of change at once can be far too challenging for a person — me, included.

Even though I’ve been the one to choose to lose weight every time I’ve done it, I have failed nearly as many times. One of the many reasons for failure has been trying to change too much at once instead of making adjustments as I was ready. I suspect that’s a very common problem. It’s one thing to wake up one Monday morning or on the 1st of the month (because that’s when we always start diets, right?), and remember what to eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner, when to record it, take measurements, weigh, put in so much time on exercise — you get the picture.

If that just made your anxiety level go up, well… me, too. That said, once something becomes a habit, making adjustments becomes that much easier. Sticking it out when it’s not an overwhelming undertaking tends to be more successful.

New Year’s Resolutions often go by the wayside for the same reason. We are creatures of habit, and trying to change too much at once absolutely challenges us.

What do you think about the speed of change happening in the world today?

From a health standpoint, generally speaking, most of us have had to access our COVID-19 risk as we are, right now. Certainly, my risk at 371 pounds was much higher than it is, now, nearly 200 pounds down. I’m glad that if I do contract it, I’ll be better armed to meet the challenges, even though I’m still in a higher risk category.

The health challenge, from a mental and emotional standpoint, is a battle: there are so many things that put us at risk, including stress-relieving behaviors. Think of it: we’ve been told that drinking alcohol can increase risk; so can smoking. Obesity, diabetes, and the foods and behaviors that contribute to those, especially stress eating, just adds to the list. These are behaviors within our abilities to control, but stress can trigger an overwhelming desire to ramp up those behaviors.

I drink, although not to excess. I used to be a smoker. I’ve been obese for a very long time, and I know the foods that got me there. I managed to reverse pre-diabetes, thank goodness. But that potential for a stress-induced return to any of those behaviors remains. Battling the stress, and suppressing the need to find comfort in behaviors that make things worse, is a double-edged sword. There is not a single doubt in my mind that the typical stats for such things have likely risen.

In my case, I’ve had to find stress outlets that are positive, and recognize the unusual ones springing up so I can nip them in the bud before they grow out of control. It means nurturing my mental health as much as my physical health.

What do you think has been the biggest change that has happened in the last 50 years?

Without a doubt, speaking from a dietary standpoint — convenience foods; not only fast foods, convenience foods, and rewards-based foods (candy, chips, etc.), but the range of foods labeled as “healthy” that aren’t much better than junk food, in my opinion. I want to know what I’m eating, and I don’t care much for “magic” foods that somehow have a way to keep your body from digesting sugar or starch, for instance. How many of those products have resulted in law suits over the past few years?

I’ve accepted that the best way for me to achieve health is to do so without packaged foods, whether they are manufactured as tailored for my particular eating choices or not. I know what’s in something I make from scratch; I don’t know what’s really in that package, so I try my best to avoid them. Unfortunately, the blatant marketing behind such health products is fierce. Always remember this: if “diets” were fully successful, the diet industry wouldn’t make the obscene amount of money it does.

Personally, since I’m 58, well… let me hone that down to the last decade or two. The biggest change that’s happened for my health, personally, is the willingness to learn and adapt, paired with the understanding that for me, this is a mental process that results in physical changes.

What still needs to be changed?

At the time of this writing, I am just a couple of pounds above my goal of 200 pounds down. I let my weight drift up or I would have been there by now. After that, I will assess again at 210, or that was the goal; I have some research to do, it seems. I originally picked 210 because it takes me out of the “obese” category and seems a likely point to assess my health markers. I have an annual physical scheduled in September, and while reaching 210 down likely won’t happen by that point, I’ll have to discuss with my doctor exactly what charts are the right charts.

The one I saw yesterday suggests that the BMI calculations I have been using are incorrect and I would actually need to be lower in weight to no longer be classified as obese. (Aside: I think BMI is crap, but my insurance company seems to love it.) I’ll figure it out, though.

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Change is never easy. Meaningful change is worth the effort.

Last week, I couldn’t bring myself to sit down and write a blog. I couldn’t think of anything redeeming to write about. I’ve been in a bit of a funk — not over my own journey, although I’ve let food and drink intake drift out of hand, and I’ve since returned to the basics for my own accountability. It’s a symptom, and I needed the quiet to realize it.

I’m human. This pandemic is getting to me. I’ve let my brain get mired in the muck, and I know I’m not alone; while my family has remained healthy to this point, the stress of the school year ahead is getting to both my husband (a high school teacher) and I. We’ve done well to mitigate our risk, the challenges in the near future are greater. While I firmly believe all any of us can really do in any challenge is to be as prepared as possible and then deal with what happens, I’ve also had to deal with the anger I feel about the unreasonableness of the situation.

But this blog isn’t about that; it’s about my own personal journey in taking control of the things I can. And this is one that I can only control what’s within my power. As I have said many times before, I know I can control my own intake, and I’ve become comfortable in my own processes of what I eat, how much, when. This week, I’ve grabbed back that particular control and returned to the basics of accountability: recording my food intake so I know without question how I’m fueling my body. When I exercise, that’s automatically recorded through my FitBit.

I’m already seeing positive change, there, and I will continue to embrace the basics as I move forward. Mental quiet is my safe harbor, where I can figure things out.

That holds true with other challenges in my life, as well. I am quick to anger when I see ugliness online, but I work online, so it’s difficult to avoid. But just like having too much sugar in my diet works against me, so does willingly exposing myself to the nasty side of the internet. For a while, at least, I need to put that negative intake into perspective so I can regain the strength I need to face upcoming challenges. For me, that means seeking to understand the things that upset me, rather than allowing gut reactions. It means analyzing what my part is in my challenges rather than simply reacting on an emotional level and allowing the theft of hope.

And hope, my friends, is the most precious commodity we have in this time. Without hope, there is no change.

Much of my journey has been about improving my mental health while building my physical health. That’s as true today as it was nearly seven years ago, and I know the signs well enough at this point to recognize when my mental wellbeing needs to be tended. Investing in my mental wellbeing is two-fold: finding peace and shifting the process. Failing to address the things that get to me has a direct effect on so many different things in my life, but it tends to show up in my environment and in my ability to digest information.

The first action I have to take is to limit unnecessary things that tend to make me react emotionally. A prime example: news stories may upset me, but not in the same way comments on news stories do. Reading the ugliness there infuriates me. Limiting my access to comments means I can not only better understand the news story because I’ve lessened the emotional impact, but it doesn’t have the added issue of inducing stress. That’s just one example. Actively choosing such things slows the impact on my mental and emotional wellbeing and allows me to respond in more constructive ways.

Secondly, controlling my reactions gives me the ability to find peace. That stillness which allows me to figure things out and not simply lose myself in the tumult, much like the subtle shifting of the tide, is fully necessary so I can nurture myself without backsliding, and then make good decisions based on rational thought. Doing that inspires me to create good, which helps both myself and others.

In the past, I’ve failed to recognize the symptoms, or simply ignored them, which led to any number of failures in both mind and body. Now, I fully recognize those warning signs so I can work on them.

When I was a kid, I loved Corn Husker’s Lotion. Not because it did anything particularly great for my skin, though. Corn Husker’s was a goopy sort of clear-ish lotion in a bottle, and I loved to turn the clear glass bottle upside down and watch the bubbles rise to the top.

This was one of many simple distractions that kept me busy on summer days when I couldn’t go swimming or play with friends, although those were rare days. I grew up across the street from a lake, and more often than not, if I wasn’t swimming, I was in a canoe or a small sailboat, or on a bike, or hiking a trail with friends. There were the days when there was nothing to do, though, so I took my joys where I could get them. And sometimes, that was a Corn Husker’s bottle.

I’ve spoken, here, of all the various activities we had planned for this year, only to watch one after another fall apart. I’m not a Netflix person, unless I have no other choice; I’d rather be outside if given a choice. I’ve done lots of reading. Of course, there’s been work to do, too — as well as house cleaning, taking care of my mother, and the various normal things that happen around here during the summer.

It’s been especially frustrating since both hubby and I have been walking miles every morning, keeping our bodies working, looking forward to hikes and trips and lots of other fun stuff that, well, isn’t happening. I haven’t been more capable of physical activity in many years. But here we are; even attempts at camping, which is nearly as socially distanced as you can get, have fallen by the wayside. It’s a struggle for the best of us to keep a good attitude during these times, but I’m eternally thankful that I’m not in the mental place I was years ago before I started this journey. I’m not so sure I would have been able to meet the challenges we face, now.

So when hubby mentioned getting a pool, I admit I laughed at him. That’s one thing both of us have missed about camping; just the simple ability to float around in the water on a hot summer’s day, relax, watch the clouds float by overhead. I admit I wasn’t for the idea at all, since I figured he wanted a BIG pool — if you know my husband, you know he doesn’t do anything on a small scale. It was an attempt to at least be able to have something else to enjoy about our home, since we are here all the time these days. But even that attempt wasn’t going to work, since everyone else in the world had the same idea and there are no pools to be found.

Well… until a friend texted me and offered a small inflatable pool. I told hubby. We went and looked at it; I guess in my mind, I figured it was a kiddie pool, like the kind I had for my daughter when she was a toddler, but even those are hard to find right now. No, we were both wrong; it was 15 feet wide, a little higher than waist high. Just enough to float around in and watch the clouds float overhead.

So, as redneck as it might seem, we now have a pool in the backyard, tucked between the house and our outdoor seating, surrounded by our veggie garden and MANY trees. I don’t know that it’ll last longer than this year, but it’s our Corn Huskers; a simple thing to keep us happy and distracted, another little nicety that makes the days a bit less tedious and more endurable. More often than not, our late afternoons and evenings are out in the pool, or grilling not far from it, with a picnic dinner within view of both. We can float there, gossip about the neighbors, watch hummingbirds light on the feeders, and listen to music.

Anything any of us can do to keep us a little sane, a little happy, is worth the time.

In one of my favorite books, Douglas lives through a childhood summer in his small town in Illinois early in the 20th century. It’s a nostalgic book about the good and pure things of summer, including Douglas’ desire for a new pair of tennis shoes. He’s just managed to earn the money to buy them from Mr. Sanderson, a merchant; they’re on his feet and the magic starts.

“Stop!” cried the old man.

Douglas pulled up and turned.

Mr. Sanderson leaned forward.

“How do they feel?” The boy looked down at his feet deep in the rivers, in the fields of wheat, in the wind that already was rushing him out of the town. He looked up at the old man, his eyes burning, his mouth moving, but no sound came out.

“Antelopes?” said the old man, looking from the boy’s face to his shoes. “Gazelles?”

The boy thought about it, hesitated, and nodded a quick nod. Almost immediately he vanished. He just spun about with a whisper and went off. The door stood empty. The sound of the tennis shoes faded in the jungle heat.

Mr. Sanderson stood in the sun-blazed door, listening. From a long time ago, when he dreamed as a boy, he remembered the sound. Beautiful creatures leaping under the sky, gone through brush, under trees, away, and only the soft echo of their running left behind.

“Antelopes,” said Mr. Sanderson. “Gazelles.”

He bent to pick up the boy’s abandoned winter shoes, heavy with forgotten rains and long-melted snows. Moving out of the blazing sun, walking softly, lightly, slowly, he headed back toward civilization.

Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

Last Friday, I did something I haven’t done in well over a decade: I bought myself a decent pair of walking shoes, made for the purpose, and not off the Walmart shelves. I remember buying the only decent pair I ever owned back in roughly 2007, when I was walking miles a day and felt as if it was time to do it. Needless to say, those shoes wore out a long time ago, especially when I regained weight and my gait changed.

That’s one of the odd things about losing a lot of weight; not only did my feet change size, but the way I wore out my shoes changed, since I basically lumbered when I walked. As time went on, arthritic knees amplified that. Although I had lost most of my weight before having total knee replacement, I quickly discovered that my previous gait changed; not only were my knees straight and pointing the right direction (I was slightly pigeon-toed on one side), but with physical therapy, my walk changed.

While I don’t have video of me walking as a morbidly obese woman, and then before and after knee replacement, I needed to look no further than the soles of my shoes. In fact, after surgery, any shoes with any wear at all got donated because it was difficult to walk in them.

After surgeries and as I started building up the miles, again, walking for longer distances each day, I knew I’d eventually have to ditch my Walmart cheapo shoes in favor of something that would withstand my walks and treat my feet better; having a decently made pair of shoes that fit right makes a huge difference, and last Monday morning, as I started my morning walk, I thought “well, they feel good now, but what about in another three miles or so?” So I set out in my neighborhood, and quickly realized that the fit was good enough to do my full morning 5K distance.

I admit it was a purchase I should have made long ago, but I put it off. The shoes I bought were definitely more of an investment, and it occurs to me that even though I’ve been working hard on my health, there’s part of me that really didn’t think I deserved spiffy new walking shoes. Who am I to want to strap on a pair of magical shoes and dream of being a beautiful creature, leaping under the sky, only the soft echo of my steps behind? Antelopes? Gazelles?

The shoes are a commitment to continue the hard work, and maybe that’s why I hesitated. I’ve ditched such things after making the commitment before. But it’s up to me to strap them on each morning and take the first steps of the day, and while I don’t think I’ve felt like a gazelle in a new pair of tennies since childhood, they do feel good on my feet and make me want to take a few steps more each day, which might be the entire point.

Last Sunday, we set out to go camping for the week. We got everything packed in our truck and camper, loaded up the dog, and took off for one of our favorite campgrounds — only to find out when we got there that we didn’t have a reservation. After some discussion and disappointment, we made the decision to drive back home instead of chancing a different campground.

I admit I had really been looking forward to this particular camping trip; not just because it’s one of my favorite locations, but because I needed a break from how we’ve been living for the past several months. I needed a change. And so this week, rather than just go back to routine, we’ve both been changing things up a bit just for the variety and for the brain break. This has included my weight loss efforts; I’ve become so wound up about reaching my goals that I’ve needed to step away. Our bodies occasionally need a shake up, as well.

Next week, I’ll go back to my routine, but I believe the way I’ve kept my sanity for going on seven years, now, has been realizing that there ARE times when you have to give yourself a bit of a break, to relax, to bring yourself back to why you make the effort in the first place. That’s what vacations are for, at least for me; it’s a step away from the norm to enjoy something you’ve been dreaming of.

If given the choice, I’d sure prefer sitting lakeside and cooking bacon and eggs in the early sunrays of morning. Or, for that matter, a breakfast mimosa on a Mexican resort. Or a stroll down a busy historic avenue in the early evening. All of these experiences were things we had planned for this year, but have had to cancel plans (or have them canceled for us) because, during this pandemic, many of those experiences come with risks that they didn’t previously. Camping is a pretty safe pandemic activity, but despite best efforts, our two most recent camping trips couldn’t happen because of things beyond our control.

When things happen that we don’t expect, we can choose our reactions. Do we let the unexpected derail us, or do we figure out a way to make things work?

In our case, we had already made plans, bought food, planned the week — so we simply relocated to our own backyard. We’ve cooked hamburgers and hot dogs on our own grill instead of a camp grill. We’ve floated around in our little backyard pool instead of the lake. We’ve sat out and enjoyed the sounds of the night and the lightning bugs rising in the grass around us. We’ve done the bacon and egg thing, too. While I miss the chance to be outside in a different place, we do what we have to do.

It would be far too easy, especially now, to let the unexpected steer my course, and start to chip away at my resolve — but I built and nurtured that resolve to withstand the storms, and I won’t fail, now.

As I hover just above my low weight, waiting to finally break through to 200 pounds lost, I’ve been anticipating making the announcement that I’ve passed that landmark. But I haven’t, yet. I’m just above it, but it’ll be soon. My shot is coming!

Instead of my normal meanderings, I’m going to answer a few questions that readers submitted to me, both publicly and privately.

How do you deal with cravings?

For me personally, there are two major kinds of cravings. The first is caused by blood sugar, usually an insulin response I’ve had to something that tastes sweet (and that includes artificial sweeteners). If my blood sugar goes a little wonky, my body is more likely to crave food. To curb these, I control carb intake, as well as supplement with chromium, which can help control blood sugar. There are several such supplements than can help in that regard, but remember, I’m not a doctor — which is one of the big reasons I don’t discuss my own particular regimen.

The second is totally mental, and that’s the one that is the bigger challenge. While I don’t consider myself an emotional eater, I’ve found that to be a bit less true during the COVID-19 pandemic. I’ve had more woe-is-me moments that, at least for a moment, suggested that the world’s ills could be cured with a Sonic Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Blast. I have to work through those moments, if they’re major challenges that truly upset me; I know if I were to give in to the evils of Sonic, I’d regret it later. If they’re minor flashes through my mind, I look for distractions. I stay busy whenever possible. I get out and walk, if it’s really bad.

And — while I rarely do this — sometimes, at night, I’ll treat myself to a full fledged anything-goes meal, complete with 5 star service. It’s totally imaginary, though. I know what everything I want to eat tastes like, already, so I imagine myself sitting at a that meal, no matter how weird the combo may be, no matter how outrageous the amounts. Usually, by dessert, I’m asleep, and the craving is long gone.

How do you still drink (alcohol)?

While I fully enjoy playing a lush online, I do limit my drinking forays. 😉 The truth is that if I drink too much, I end up doing intensely silly stuff, like having a beer fight in the backyard with my husband. (This actually happened a few weeks ago.) I try to listen to my body and back off if I start feeling anything more than a bit happy. Not eating much in the way of carbs means that alcohol carbs hit me pretty quickly, so I plan what I drink and when. I also try to be inventive with drinks, so I’m more likely to savor them slowly rather than chug them.

I also don’t really like “diet” alcohol drinks because I don’t trust what’s in them. An example: low carb seltzers are all the rage, right now, but if you’re really counting carbs, and you plan to have several, 2 carbs a can will add up over the course of a July 4th celebration, for instance. I’d rather add vodka to flavored seltzer myself and it’s 2 less carbs. (I’m specifically talking about sugar carbs and not alcohol carbs, here.)

How do you maintain motivation in the midst of setbacks?

That’s one of the biggest things I’ve grappled with over the years. I’ve ended some really stellar losses by just tossing my hands up and eating ALL.THE.THINGS, undoing all the work I had done.

Motivation, for me, is a lot like a roller coaster. I am not always strong. Challenges come, sometimes progress works against me and I start deviating from my work a little too much. If something isn’t working, sometimes I have to take a step back and make sure I’m on the right path; even after all this time, I find I need to correct my course on occasion.

When times are especially challenging, I have to look at the small picture instead of the bigger one. I find things that give me small successes that I can take joy in, even if that means that for one day, I was in control of my decisions, even if some of them weren’t the right ones. When I first started this journey, just the mere action of taking control of what I put in my mouth meant I was in control of something, even if I wasn’t yet seeing a change on the scale or the tape measure.

Even now, I work on small goals rather than huge ones. Had I set out to lose 200 pounds, I would have immediately given up the whole idea as ludicrous. But I knew I could lose 50, so that’s what I set my goal at. Once I reached that, I added another 50 as a goal. Now, my goal is 1.8 pounds away (at the time of this writing), and once I’ve achieved that goal, I have 10 more after that. Setting micro goals has kept me moving forward for a long time, and since it still works, I’ll probably still keep with those small goals for as long as necessary.

How do you stay on track when the rest of the family eats whatever they want and doesn’t need to restrict certain foods?

As I’m writing this, my husband finished off some dutch chocolate ice cream, so you bet I can relate! It’s a good thing he’s not a fan of pretzels, or I’d be a goner.

It’s tougher, I think, with children — and I don’t currently have children in my home. I think it pays to develop strategies that work for you. Sometimes that might mean a compromise, where you substitute a food you can eat while the family enjoys a treat so you can participate in a food centered activity (popcorn during a movie at home, for instance) so you don’t feel left out/different. If you know the family wants a meal or food you want to restrict for yourself, and you want them to have it, such occasions might be a good time to indulge in something for yourself that you particularly enjoy.

It does help to have an understanding with your family, especially your spouse. Mine knows I dislike the smell of some of the candy he really likes to eat (hello, Strawberry Twizzlers! You smell like stale PlayDough!), and that I’m not about to eat some of the things he really likes. Since it’s just the two of us, though, we’ll work out nights where we eat what we choose for ourselves, or he’ll get a pizza and order hot wings for me. That’s more difficult with families, but not entirely impossible, depending on your chosen foods.

How can someone over 50 lose weight and not develop wrinkles in the fat-depleted skin of the neck, breasts, arms, and buttocks?

When you find out, let me know! 😀

Honestly, that’s a tough one. I have known people who have honestly favored remaining overweight instead of risking wrinkles and skin folds from excess skin. Personally, I I have a lot of excess skin, but I’ve also grown to accept it. I fully realize that for some folks, that’s possibly an insurmountable task.

There are some methods that reportedly can reduce or help the situation. One is skin brushing, though I know very little about it. Another is autophagy, accomplished with extended fasting methods. Some swear it helps; while I do fast on occasion, removing a good 25 or so pounds of excess skin through autophagy would be nothing short of a miracle.

I’ll say this, though: I thought I’d be one big sagging bag of skin. While I have excess skin in places I don’t tend to show off (I am NOT a belly dancer!), I haven’t had the damage I thought I would. I don’t miss my chins one bit. So why not give it a try and see what your body does for you?

~~~

Thanks for the thoughtful questions!

This year, we have a vegetable garden; a small one with a few tomato plants, some cucumber plants, and a variety of peppers. We haven’t had one in several years. Partly, that’s been because we have poor soil and a shady lot, so we don’t get a lot from the garden. Also, I have an ongoing feud with the neighborhood squirrels — and to a lesser extent, birds — since they seem to think the garden is theirs and not mine.

Every morning, I go out and take a good look at what’s going on in the garden. I have a few cucumbers coming along. I found a slug on a flower. I had to make it clear to one cucumber plant that it was totally uncool to try to strangle a jalapeno pepper plant, so I pulled its tendrils loose and redirected it. Our two enormous tomato plants have one tomato between them, while my little patio tomato has half a dozen or so. Various peppers are visibly bigger each morning. I know I have a few weeds to pull, which is an ongoing battle, and I need to put down something for the slugs and maybe a bit of Sevin dust for various other prolific critters inspired by a very wet spring.

I don’t expect we’ll get a lot out of the garden, and given the cost of the plants, fertilizer, potting soil for various herbs and such, I figure each tomato will cost in the neighborhood of a small VW. This is why we haven’t had a veggie garden in several years; sometimes, it seems like the effort isn’t worth the outcome.

And sometimes, weight loss efforts seem that way, too. As I grow steadily closer to last fall’s low weight, I’ve been sure to tend my own garden — this chosen path toward health — just like I have to tend a vegetable garden. When we went camping a few weeks back, I worried about my garden; and since I make a daily habit of stepping on the scales for my own accountability, I worried about that, too. Whether I weigh or not, that constant thought is there — in the same way that knowing my garden hasn’t been tended in a few days can mean a lot of work to get it back where it was, whether it’s pulling weeds or battling insect invasions.

Anything we choose to take on requires tending and care. If I were to ignore my garden, it would quickly become overgrown. I’ve had to go above and beyond to not only keep it safe from insects, but (laughably) my little plot of land is guarded by four rubber snakes, a handful of flashy pinwheels, and a couple of plastic flamingos that have seen better days. The snakes have scared off the squirrels, and I occasionally shake some cayenne pepper out there, usually in my potted plants, just to discourage them. The pinwheels have kept the birds away. And the flamingos? Eh, just because. 😉

Sure, it’s a lot. I’ve had to change and tweak as I’ve gone forward, just to make sure we get something out of the garden, and we will, soon. The same holds true for my path toward health, nearing seven years this fall; I’ve had to adapt, change, readjust, and make sure I don’t leave it untended or it’s a long way back to where I want to be. A weedy garden soon becomes overgrown, and a neglected path means more work to get my bearings. Both, though, are worth the effort to reclaim them so they can grow.

It was right at dinnertime; hubby was warming up the grill for burgers when we both heard a ruckus at the front door like something had hit it. Fighting the instant dog alarm, hubby opened the door — to nothing. A service truck was parked in front of the neighbor’s house, and the driver yelled to him, “a deer hit your door”, just as a fawn scrambled around the corner of the house and took off into our backyard.

He ran through the house and alerted me to keep the dog inside; we both shot out the back door as the fawn ran to a corner of our backyard and flung itself against the chain link fence. (Our yard isn’t completely fenced, so it was easy for the fawn to get in.) He tangled himself in a corner, struggling hard to push through the weak fence there, bleating. I tried to calm him down, but it didn’t work; he stilled when I touched him, but I couldn’t get him to back out of the fence, and he already had a minor injury on his face. I backed off and he frantically pushed against the fence, freeing himself, just to run across the yard and throw himself into the other corner against the fence.

This time, I didn’t come right up to him, but as soon as he stood away from the fence by a couple of feet, bewildered, I approached — and he finally turned in the right direction and bolted out of the yard and down the road, likely back to the woods a block away. Hopefully, he got to a place of safety and his mother found him.

That baby didn’t know or understand what a chain link fence is; he could see through it, so his frightened brain figured it was the right way to flee. We’ve seen it happen, before, with young fawns; their mothers leave them by homes, perhaps thinking them a safe place, and then something happens to flush the fawn from its hiding place. When he’s older, he’ll leap fences as if they don’t exist, but he’ll be smarter and more capable.

If only humans were the same way.

I can’t tell you how many times over the course of my life, I’ve seen what I wanted but couldn’t figure out how to get there, just bashing myself against a figurative fence until I just gave up. Sometimes, those fences were there because I was definitely going the wrong way, and sometimes, I’m the one who built the fence in the first place. That’s been especially true from the first moment, as a young teenager, I wanted to lose weight.

I don’t remember, now, why I thought I needed to lose weight, except that my father was prone to making cracks about my weight throughout my childhood and into young adulthood. I had no idea how to go about losing weight, and it’s not like I had the available resources to learn — so I just stopped eating food and only drank Tab, that vile early 70’s idea of a diet soda. I remember my mother taking me to the doctor, fearful; once the doc talked to me, he realized what I’d done, and they both told me it wasn’t healthy.

Throughout my teen years, it seemed my mother and I were constantly trying some diet together. I also went on diets with friends as I became an adult; some of them safe, many not safe at all, some flat out disgusting. From tuna diets to Weight Watchers to pill popping, none of them really worked. I was just addressing a symptom of what was wrong with me, not the main issue.

For me, any diet was just another fence I’ve thrown myself against, trying to get somewhere and not understanding why it wasn’t happening for me. As I crossed from overweight to obese and finally morbidly obese, what started out as a simple chain link fence became more like a brick wall. Knowing how badly I no longer wanted to be fat was both physically and emotionally painful. I have shed many tears, with a heavy heart, longing for the idea of being something different than I was — whether I had 20 pounds to lose, or later, 200. The more I tried, the more my goals seemed more strongly fenced away from me.

At some point, the idea of just dropping a few pounds became something much darker; that desire to be different than what I was, the inability to accept myself as good enough, became that fence I couldn’t jump. The more I believed something must be inherently wrong with me, the higher and stronger the fence became. I let my excuses reinforce the fence; no longer was it a simple few pounds to lose, but the fight against genetics, chemical imbalances, and once I finally admitted it, my own poisoned thinking.

It’s taken a long time to realize that if I built that fence myself, I could certainly take it down. I had to teach myself how to do that. I had to be willing to change; not into something different than what I am, but to peel away what doesn’t serve me so I can be more of who I am, already. When I started that process, not only did I realize I could jump the fence with less effort, but that the fence wasn’t nearly as intimidating as I had created it to be.

That fawn will learn to leap a fence in just a few months. It’s taken me decades, but changing my mind from constantly dieting to convince myself (and others) that I’m worthy of becoming someone that’s somehow better because I weigh less, to adapting my brain so I know that I’m fine just the way I am, has dropped that fence out of my way. Not only that, but I realized I didn’t have to choose to jump a fence at all if the path was wide open in a different direction.

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” – Maya Angelou