Since my early-mid-forties, I've been experiencing a gradual hair loss centering around the crown of my head and working gradually outward. So what? you ask; except there's no real reason for me to lose my hair. Neither side of my family exhibited male pattern baldness.
However, for an equivalent time I've been on a medication for a condition I'm not even sure I have. As it turns out, one of the side effects of this medication is that it deprives hair follicles of nutrients,y and people who are on this medication report their hair falling out in clumps.
Hmm.
Not only did I start losing hair, but its texture changed. My hair became dry and brittle. Hmm again.
So for the past week I've been gradually weaning myself from this medication. I've cut my dosage in half, and next week I'll cut it in half again, and so on until I'm off it entirely.
I strongly suspect many of my "symptoms" were caused by allergies, for which I'm undergoing--and this is exactly the word--a series of weekly injections. Those things sting like wasps, but my allergy symptoms are receding. As my reactions to allergens subside, I seem to feel better and better. Or perhaps this is the much-maligned "placebo effect." Whichever, I don't need meds which will turn me into Yul Brynner; I need to deal with my issues in a more healthy fashion.
I'll keep an eye on my behavior, of course. If I start running around nekkid at the mall (at least any other day than Samhain) then I'll see Doc about an alternative.
Will my hair grow back? I don't know. I hope so. I used to have this thick, wavy head of Evangelical-quality coiffishness. I would like to have it back. Maybe I'll grow a mid-life ponytail.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Cycles
Predictably, I find my 'binge period' seems to be in the evening. I seem to crave food in the hours between 7-10 PM more than at any other time of day, especially if I have nothing to do.
This time of year I have a lot of shows due to Post Proms, a custom designed to prevent High School grads from committing alcohol-fueled atrocities on themselves and others after graduation ceremonies, so boredom isn't actually a problem, plus I have my piano to keep me occupied. I wonder if this is part of my metabolic cycle. Perhaps a fibrous snack might help stabilize blood sugar. I think I'll start integrating such a gnosh and see if it helps.
This time of year I have a lot of shows due to Post Proms, a custom designed to prevent High School grads from committing alcohol-fueled atrocities on themselves and others after graduation ceremonies, so boredom isn't actually a problem, plus I have my piano to keep me occupied. I wonder if this is part of my metabolic cycle. Perhaps a fibrous snack might help stabilize blood sugar. I think I'll start integrating such a gnosh and see if it helps.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Of Sinister Restrooms
One of the gritty realities of life on the road is the ongoing game of Russian roulette the traveling performer plays every time he stops to use a public restroom. You simply have no idea what to expect when nature, whose whims and timing are both capricious and malicious, calls, and the
stories I could tell you of what I've found festering across the thresholds of some of those sewers would boggle your mind.
I think the time has come to lift the veil of silence that has long masked this aspect of the performer's life, and that I am the man best qualified to perform this unmasking.
A thing I learned early in my performing career is you don't drive to a show in your work clothes. The seat of your pants wrinkle and the knees sag. One time I had a show in Johnson City, a three hour drive. It was August, a blistering month, so I dressed for a long drive in humid weather: shorts, tank top, sandals. My tux was in a suit bag. I planned to stop near the country club, change into the tux and stride into the venue in glorious sartorial splendor. I found a place to make my change, MAMAW'S QUIK STOP, a small filth-encrusted store and gas station. I got the key to the restroom (connected to a hockey puck by a bicycle chain) and walked around back.
Three disreputable homeless chaps loafed near the restroom; passing a bottle of what was clearly homemade lightning. They nodded and offered southern pleasantries;"Huh;" "Hey buddy;” "Howdy thar;" I nodded back. One toothless fellow, custodian of the jug, offered me a drink. I waved it away. "No thanks."
I entered the tiny building wearing cutoff denim shorts and a tank top. Ignoring the mingled odors of ancient urine, stale tobacco, staler beer, and the yeasty byproducts of various erotic adventures, five minutes later I emerged in a tuxedo, freshly shaved, hair slicked with gel. The old parties stopped their boozing in mid-swig, frozen in tableau like the three magi from
a Christmas display. They gazed in goggle-eyed wonderment at this splendid vision of elegance that had so casually appeared amidst their squalid lot, as though conjured from the very bottle they passed between them.
One of them found his voice. He asked, "Are yew James Bond?"
Of all the dank, fetid, putrescent, cankerous, foul pestholes in which I've been forced to seek refuge on my various travels, one in particular festers with particular virulence in my mind. I'll share it with you.
My son and I were en route from Tennessee to Indiana when sheer hydraulic pressure forced us off the road. We stopped in Jellico in search of a restroom. We pulled into a gas station and my son braved the unknown frontier first. He almost immediately burst forth, gasping for air, face a pale green. “Don’t go in there,” he wheezed. “It’s appalling.”
Shrugging, I entered the cinderblock enclosure. After all, biological imperatives cannot be ignored, and I was the battle-scarred veteran of far worse hellholes than this. Or so I thought.
It was bad. At first I thought a possum had exploded. Then I speculated perhaps some local had curbed his mule. The floor, rear wall, and yes—even the ceiling were spattered with stinking liquid, solids and some other writhing, seemingly semi-sentient material the constitution of which is still under debate by scientists from Oak Ridge. I didn't succumb to the venomous fumes because I was veteran of the road long enough to have mastered the yogic skill of holding my breath for the twelve and a half minutes necessary to complete my business, wash my hands and check my grooming in the mirror.
It occurred to me that if a person—a human being—had been responsible for this anomaly, then the following scenario must have played out. The hapless participant would have had to begin the procedure in the usual position. Then the inexorable reaction of Newtonian Law would have
forced him first into a horizontal attitude and then, as the Vesuvius-like eruption continued, pressed his head to the floor until his, ah nether parts pointed straight toward the ceiling! I calculated the necessary vector equations in the grime-smeared mirror, and it was at this point I realized no natural process could have generated sufficient force, and supernatural agencies had to be at work. As calmly as I could I backed from the mausoleum and shut the door before I fell victim to a similar fate at the hands of demonic assailants.
I found my son wandering around outside, apparently still in shock. I helped him to the car, where he recovered slowly from his toxic experience with the harsher realities of life on the road. In his own words, "I lost feeling in my extremities. I grew cold all over, like I was dying. My legs shook. I almost didn't make it out the door."
These are common symptoms experienced by novices when entering southern rest stops. The merest whiff of that air is more debilitating than serin. The trick to ensure survival is to take a deep breath before entering, hold it until you're finished, TOUCH NOTHING with your skin, and try not to look at anything, lest your psyche be scarred forever. Some things the mind of man was never meant to contemplate, and the feculent contents of southern public restrooms fall into
that category along with the secrets of sausage factories and the inner workings of sunken R'lyeh.
stories I could tell you of what I've found festering across the thresholds of some of those sewers would boggle your mind.
I think the time has come to lift the veil of silence that has long masked this aspect of the performer's life, and that I am the man best qualified to perform this unmasking.
A thing I learned early in my performing career is you don't drive to a show in your work clothes. The seat of your pants wrinkle and the knees sag. One time I had a show in Johnson City, a three hour drive. It was August, a blistering month, so I dressed for a long drive in humid weather: shorts, tank top, sandals. My tux was in a suit bag. I planned to stop near the country club, change into the tux and stride into the venue in glorious sartorial splendor. I found a place to make my change, MAMAW'S QUIK STOP, a small filth-encrusted store and gas station. I got the key to the restroom (connected to a hockey puck by a bicycle chain) and walked around back.
Three disreputable homeless chaps loafed near the restroom; passing a bottle of what was clearly homemade lightning. They nodded and offered southern pleasantries;"Huh;" "Hey buddy;” "Howdy thar;" I nodded back. One toothless fellow, custodian of the jug, offered me a drink. I waved it away. "No thanks."
I entered the tiny building wearing cutoff denim shorts and a tank top. Ignoring the mingled odors of ancient urine, stale tobacco, staler beer, and the yeasty byproducts of various erotic adventures, five minutes later I emerged in a tuxedo, freshly shaved, hair slicked with gel. The old parties stopped their boozing in mid-swig, frozen in tableau like the three magi from
a Christmas display. They gazed in goggle-eyed wonderment at this splendid vision of elegance that had so casually appeared amidst their squalid lot, as though conjured from the very bottle they passed between them.
One of them found his voice. He asked, "Are yew James Bond?"
Of all the dank, fetid, putrescent, cankerous, foul pestholes in which I've been forced to seek refuge on my various travels, one in particular festers with particular virulence in my mind. I'll share it with you.
My son and I were en route from Tennessee to Indiana when sheer hydraulic pressure forced us off the road. We stopped in Jellico in search of a restroom. We pulled into a gas station and my son braved the unknown frontier first. He almost immediately burst forth, gasping for air, face a pale green. “Don’t go in there,” he wheezed. “It’s appalling.”
Shrugging, I entered the cinderblock enclosure. After all, biological imperatives cannot be ignored, and I was the battle-scarred veteran of far worse hellholes than this. Or so I thought.
It was bad. At first I thought a possum had exploded. Then I speculated perhaps some local had curbed his mule. The floor, rear wall, and yes—even the ceiling were spattered with stinking liquid, solids and some other writhing, seemingly semi-sentient material the constitution of which is still under debate by scientists from Oak Ridge. I didn't succumb to the venomous fumes because I was veteran of the road long enough to have mastered the yogic skill of holding my breath for the twelve and a half minutes necessary to complete my business, wash my hands and check my grooming in the mirror.
It occurred to me that if a person—a human being—had been responsible for this anomaly, then the following scenario must have played out. The hapless participant would have had to begin the procedure in the usual position. Then the inexorable reaction of Newtonian Law would have
forced him first into a horizontal attitude and then, as the Vesuvius-like eruption continued, pressed his head to the floor until his, ah nether parts pointed straight toward the ceiling! I calculated the necessary vector equations in the grime-smeared mirror, and it was at this point I realized no natural process could have generated sufficient force, and supernatural agencies had to be at work. As calmly as I could I backed from the mausoleum and shut the door before I fell victim to a similar fate at the hands of demonic assailants.
I found my son wandering around outside, apparently still in shock. I helped him to the car, where he recovered slowly from his toxic experience with the harsher realities of life on the road. In his own words, "I lost feeling in my extremities. I grew cold all over, like I was dying. My legs shook. I almost didn't make it out the door."
These are common symptoms experienced by novices when entering southern rest stops. The merest whiff of that air is more debilitating than serin. The trick to ensure survival is to take a deep breath before entering, hold it until you're finished, TOUCH NOTHING with your skin, and try not to look at anything, lest your psyche be scarred forever. Some things the mind of man was never meant to contemplate, and the feculent contents of southern public restrooms fall into
that category along with the secrets of sausage factories and the inner workings of sunken R'lyeh.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
No, I'm not Dead
Yesterday I went to the doctor--my allergy specialist--and he said he was delighted at how well I was coming along in my recovery. I didn't share his enthusiasm because of what the scales revealed at my weigh-in. Oh, I was happy that my reaction to Indiana's blistering soup of allergens appears to be less volatile than it was at this time last year, and I definitely am feeling a return of my 'oomph,' but I can't believe how much my weight has crept up.
Of course, for a year or more I haven't been able to breathe so my activity level has been very limited. I've had to make myself, with enormous effort, do the tasks that absolutely had to be done. My Holiday party shows were gruesome. I don't think my audiences could tell anything was amiss, but from my end I was in very bad shape.
Sp the news is now that I more or less have established some control over my eating behaviors, today I went over to the fitness center for the first time in over a year. I walked on the treadmill for 25 minutes, then worked with weights for another 20 minutes or so. I would have swam for a while but the pool was congested with a conglomerate throng of oleaginous single moms with their herds of kids in tow; or possibly nannies or housekeeper tending their runny-nosed charges. I don't know--at any rate, the pool was a simmering broth of germ-exuding desease vectors, no fit habitat for a convalescing rake such as myself. So tomorrow I'll try to arrive earlier.
My arrival today was delayed a good hour and a half simply because I couldn't locate the electronic swipey-card that allows us residents entrance to the fitness center (my apartments actually has a very good fitness center). I searched everywhere for it, up to and including decluttering my car (yes I was that goddamned determined) before I had an Eureka moment and figured out one of the cats--spawns of Satan--probably extracted it from my gym bag while the bag was next to the bed. Sure enough, I found the swipey-card next to the bed beneath a pile of used t-shirts, comic books, Subway sandwich wrappers, and mismatched socks. So now, completely accessorized, my plan was complete, better late than never. These cats make my life interesting. When I got out of the shower I was almost suffocated because they had slept on my favorite large towel and deposited several enormous wads of cat hair all over it, which zeroed in on my nostrils and covered my face like one of those face-huggers from the movie Aliens.
But despite these obstacles I completed a rudimentary workout, although a bit woebegone at how out of shape I've become I think I'll make up for lost time fairly quickly. It's a start.
Of course, for a year or more I haven't been able to breathe so my activity level has been very limited. I've had to make myself, with enormous effort, do the tasks that absolutely had to be done. My Holiday party shows were gruesome. I don't think my audiences could tell anything was amiss, but from my end I was in very bad shape.
Sp the news is now that I more or less have established some control over my eating behaviors, today I went over to the fitness center for the first time in over a year. I walked on the treadmill for 25 minutes, then worked with weights for another 20 minutes or so. I would have swam for a while but the pool was congested with a conglomerate throng of oleaginous single moms with their herds of kids in tow; or possibly nannies or housekeeper tending their runny-nosed charges. I don't know--at any rate, the pool was a simmering broth of germ-exuding desease vectors, no fit habitat for a convalescing rake such as myself. So tomorrow I'll try to arrive earlier.
My arrival today was delayed a good hour and a half simply because I couldn't locate the electronic swipey-card that allows us residents entrance to the fitness center (my apartments actually has a very good fitness center). I searched everywhere for it, up to and including decluttering my car (yes I was that goddamned determined) before I had an Eureka moment and figured out one of the cats--spawns of Satan--probably extracted it from my gym bag while the bag was next to the bed. Sure enough, I found the swipey-card next to the bed beneath a pile of used t-shirts, comic books, Subway sandwich wrappers, and mismatched socks. So now, completely accessorized, my plan was complete, better late than never. These cats make my life interesting. When I got out of the shower I was almost suffocated because they had slept on my favorite large towel and deposited several enormous wads of cat hair all over it, which zeroed in on my nostrils and covered my face like one of those face-huggers from the movie Aliens.
But despite these obstacles I completed a rudimentary workout, although a bit woebegone at how out of shape I've become I think I'll make up for lost time fairly quickly. It's a start.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Food Journal, Day Three
What an exciting blog this has been, but I'm sure once I get past the humps I'll have all sorts of funny and insightful revelations to share with myself--because after all is said and done, this journal is essentially me talking to myself; a sort of self-encouragement and sifting thought my own accumulated junque, like when you go through your old closets and come across items you forgot you had, and you have to decide whether to keep them, donate them to Goodwill, or toss them in the rubbish bin. I think my mind has become clogged with emotional and spiritual detritus and sorting though it might not be a fruitless activity.
So if nothing else, for now I can compulsively record my food intake. This morning I had a bowl of raisin bran with soy milk, a cup of coffee with 2% milk, and a banana. Total calories by my estimation is around 500 calories.
I need to pack for the Superbowl and I have a Piano lesson at 2:00 PM, which I have to drive through the Snowpocalypse to get to. I have a full and exciting day ahead. Whoopee.
Lunch was a rather delicious egg-and veggie bacon sandwich on toast, total calories was :
Egg: 70
Bread:130
3 pieces of veggie bacon: 90
Let's call it an even 300. I'm going to have an apple so we'll round off the mid-day at 400 calories, with a mid-day Total of 900 calories.
Today being Wednesday it's my treat day, but I don't really feel like one today (I usually have a treat when I'm gloomy, or when I'm celebrating something) but I fell that tomorrow I'll really need one,so I think I may postpone my treat until tomorrow.
I have 1100 calories left for dinner. How cool. I can splurge. Wonder how much a Dominoes thin crust cheese pizza has? I'll go look.
I just did. It has +- 1200 Calories. That's a handy thing to know.
No pizza but a peanut butter sandwich and soup. The sandwich was around 250 calories and the soup was 450 calories for a total of 700. A cliff bar at 200 for dessert rounded me out at 900 calories Total for dinner.
So my Total for the day so far = 1800 Calories.
So if nothing else, for now I can compulsively record my food intake. This morning I had a bowl of raisin bran with soy milk, a cup of coffee with 2% milk, and a banana. Total calories by my estimation is around 500 calories.
I need to pack for the Superbowl and I have a Piano lesson at 2:00 PM, which I have to drive through the Snowpocalypse to get to. I have a full and exciting day ahead. Whoopee.
Lunch was a rather delicious egg-and veggie bacon sandwich on toast, total calories was :
Egg: 70
Bread:130
3 pieces of veggie bacon: 90
Let's call it an even 300. I'm going to have an apple so we'll round off the mid-day at 400 calories, with a mid-day Total of 900 calories.
Today being Wednesday it's my treat day, but I don't really feel like one today (I usually have a treat when I'm gloomy, or when I'm celebrating something) but I fell that tomorrow I'll really need one,so I think I may postpone my treat until tomorrow.
I have 1100 calories left for dinner. How cool. I can splurge. Wonder how much a Dominoes thin crust cheese pizza has? I'll go look.
I just did. It has +- 1200 Calories. That's a handy thing to know.
No pizza but a peanut butter sandwich and soup. The sandwich was around 250 calories and the soup was 450 calories for a total of 700. A cliff bar at 200 for dessert rounded me out at 900 calories Total for dinner.
So my Total for the day so far = 1800 Calories.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Food Journal, Day Two
On Thursday I'll be leaving town for five days, so I'll be curious to see how well I'll do eating out at restaurants. I used to have mad dining-out skills I learned from my weight-reduction Bible Lean and Mean by Dr. Morton Shaevitz, a book written especially for simple-minded men, who don't want to spend a great deal of time planning meals, weighing portions, and counting exchanges. Actually as a compulsive type I don't mind counting exchanges, but Lean and Mean is still an excellent resource.
Breakfast, for which I actually had time today, was a bowl of shredded wheat with soy milk, and a banana, a combined total I think of around 400 calories. I no longer have the cereal box so I can't ascertain the exact breakdown of the cereal. I bought the cereal at Sam's Club in a huge two-bagger, and as soon as I finished the first bag threw the box away.
I've got one day down and did quite well--let's go for two.
I'll commence my exercise regime as soon as I return from my trip. By then I should have my dietary discipline well in hand. I think the trip should be a good test of my determination. There will be lots of pressures on me to succumb to temptation.
I also just noticed today is the first of February, the worst month of the year. I hate February. It's a sulky, cold, bitter, useless month. Nothing good ever comes of it. I wrote a poem in High School about it:
February is the Unshaven Month.
It lays around in a tattered gray shirt
Too dispirited to even finish
A full thirty days.
Which pretty much sums it up.
Let me keep the running food tally here:
Bowl of cereal with banana: +- 400 cals
Lunch: The other half of the Subway Tuna Sandwich 540 cals
Cliff bar: 185 Cals
Mid-day Total == 1125 cals.
Leaving me 900 cals +- for dinner. I know exactly what I'll have I think.
Update: And I did: I had an Amy's Mexican dinner, 340 Cals and a banana, 125 cals. total for dinner 440 cals.
Snack: 2 waffles with margarine: 300 cals
Total for today = +- 1900 cals.
So for so good; this isn't very hard at all.
Breakfast, for which I actually had time today, was a bowl of shredded wheat with soy milk, and a banana, a combined total I think of around 400 calories. I no longer have the cereal box so I can't ascertain the exact breakdown of the cereal. I bought the cereal at Sam's Club in a huge two-bagger, and as soon as I finished the first bag threw the box away.
I've got one day down and did quite well--let's go for two.
I'll commence my exercise regime as soon as I return from my trip. By then I should have my dietary discipline well in hand. I think the trip should be a good test of my determination. There will be lots of pressures on me to succumb to temptation.
I also just noticed today is the first of February, the worst month of the year. I hate February. It's a sulky, cold, bitter, useless month. Nothing good ever comes of it. I wrote a poem in High School about it:
February is the Unshaven Month.
It lays around in a tattered gray shirt
Too dispirited to even finish
A full thirty days.
Which pretty much sums it up.
Let me keep the running food tally here:
Bowl of cereal with banana: +- 400 cals
Lunch: The other half of the Subway Tuna Sandwich 540 cals
Cliff bar: 185 Cals
Mid-day Total == 1125 cals.
Leaving me 900 cals +- for dinner. I know exactly what I'll have I think.
Update: And I did: I had an Amy's Mexican dinner, 340 Cals and a banana, 125 cals. total for dinner 440 cals.
Snack: 2 waffles with margarine: 300 cals
Total for today = +- 1900 cals.
So for so good; this isn't very hard at all.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Food Journal, Day One
I don't intend to post my food journal every day, but since this is the first day I thought "What the Hell?" Actually in any given day I think "What the Hell?" quite a bit, usually in reaction to other people's bonehead driving, weird hairstyles, rude behavior, and moronic things they say. But in this case, this rather utilitarian phrase, for which I've just gained a great deal of respect, is used in it's role of "Why the hell not?"
So for my Brunch I had a six-inch Subway Tuna sandwich, which breaks down as follows:
Total carbs: 45 g
Total fat: 30 g
Total fiber: 5 g
Total protein: 20 g
Total Calories: 530
I also had a cup of coffee with 1/4 cup of skim milk: 50 calories
1 Bag of Baked Lays Potato Chips
Total carbs 26 g
Total fat 1.5 g
Total protein: 2.5 g
Total fiber: 2.5 g
Total Calories: 130
Which isn't bad for two meals combined. It leaves me with 1300 calories for the day. I have another half of that sandwich in the refrigerator I can finish off for dinner.
I also intend to have a Cliff bar for a snack in a little while, which breaks down as follows:
Total carbs: 21 g
Total fat 9g
Total fiber 2 g
Total protein: 10 g
Total Calories: 200
Total for the midday 1090 Calories.
So sticking to my goal of 2,000 calories per day, I'll have +- 1000 calories for dinner. Properly planned, that's quite a bit.
Dinner turned out to be a bag of beef jerky--vegetarian style, made of seitan.
Total cals=260
And an apple:
Total cals= 180
Total for the day: =- 1, 500 calories. Not a bad start.
The Food Journal
I'm going to set my initial goal for 2,000 calories a day, with a 'treat day' every Wednesday where I can have a piece of cake or something. At one time I had completely weaned myself from sweets; Ill have to start all over and do this again.
I just looked up and saw an old tool in my my weight reduction battle--my Richard Simmons Food Mover. Say what you will about the man himself, this was a handy tool to keep up with food exchanges. There are these little windows with shades, you see, and you shut the shades for every food exchange you complete. Food exchanges, by the way, are used in the Diabetic Exchange program, which I'm familiar, having taken a course back when I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes.
So with the Food Mover, you decide your target calories from a series of available cards, and insert one into the unit. Then after each meal, you close the windows. When all the windows are closed--you're done for the day.
With the Food Mover and a notebook--and my own compulsive nature--I'm ready to go for this leg of the trip.
I just looked up and saw an old tool in my my weight reduction battle--my Richard Simmons Food Mover. Say what you will about the man himself, this was a handy tool to keep up with food exchanges. There are these little windows with shades, you see, and you shut the shades for every food exchange you complete. Food exchanges, by the way, are used in the Diabetic Exchange program, which I'm familiar, having taken a course back when I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes.
So with the Food Mover, you decide your target calories from a series of available cards, and insert one into the unit. Then after each meal, you close the windows. When all the windows are closed--you're done for the day.
With the Food Mover and a notebook--and my own compulsive nature--I'm ready to go for this leg of the trip.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Initial Strategies And Promises to Myself
It's always good to start with simple things. About a year ago I kept a promise to myself and began taking piano lessons. I kept taking them, too, to the surprise of some people who, I'm certain, thought it was a phase I was going through. Today I'm working on some fairly advanced pieces of music. So I know when I set my mind on a goal, I will achieve it. At one time I dropped a significant amount of weight. The amount I want to drop now is a small fraction of what I dropped before. I will do this.
Weight reduction is seldom, if ever, about weight. There are emotional and spiritual factors behind it. In my case, I learned grief and depression often trigger the food comfort response. I've noticed my mind dwelling on loss a great deal over the past couple of years, and I've had a number of friends and pets pass away, so I feel for me this has absolutely been a trigger for seeking comfort in food.
I've learned my wife seems to have little idea how to comfort me when I'm grieving. When my best friend died, she said nothing to me about it. When one of my pets died and I was mourning, she seemed awkward and almost embarrassed. She didn't comfort me at all. However, she bought me a pint of ice cream. When I told my son about this, he asked me if she thought I was a woman. On the other hand, if she observed me soothting myself with food, perhaps it was the only way she knew how to comfort me.
So one of my strategies is to clear my heart and mind of grief by finding a better way to cope with it. A second strategy is to reinstate my Anapa.anasati meditation practice, a third is to exercise four days a week, and a fifth is to keep a food journal.
I've been going to the Allergist every day for my allergy shots. if this seems excessive, it's only until I build up to my maintenance dose, then I'll be going once a week. Since I have to wait in the office twenty minutes to make sure I don't have an allergic reaction to the shot, I've been reading in one of my Buddhism books; a collection of suttas from the Pali Canon, in fact, with commentary by Bhikkhu Bhodhi. This has helped ease my mind as reading the suttas has always calmed me.
At one time I used to go to the fitness center five times a week and work out for one hour, thirty minutes on the treadmill and thirty minutes weight lifting. As my breathing became gradually more compromised, I felt gradually more tired, and I kept catching respiratory infections, so I fell out of the habit of going. Now I'll reestablish the habit of working out again, which I found helps elevate my mood more than anything else. There's something about lifting weights which works better than any antidepressant.
Weight reduction is seldom, if ever, about weight. There are emotional and spiritual factors behind it. In my case, I learned grief and depression often trigger the food comfort response. I've noticed my mind dwelling on loss a great deal over the past couple of years, and I've had a number of friends and pets pass away, so I feel for me this has absolutely been a trigger for seeking comfort in food.
I've learned my wife seems to have little idea how to comfort me when I'm grieving. When my best friend died, she said nothing to me about it. When one of my pets died and I was mourning, she seemed awkward and almost embarrassed. She didn't comfort me at all. However, she bought me a pint of ice cream. When I told my son about this, he asked me if she thought I was a woman. On the other hand, if she observed me soothting myself with food, perhaps it was the only way she knew how to comfort me.
So one of my strategies is to clear my heart and mind of grief by finding a better way to cope with it. A second strategy is to reinstate my Anapa.anasati meditation practice, a third is to exercise four days a week, and a fifth is to keep a food journal.
I've been going to the Allergist every day for my allergy shots. if this seems excessive, it's only until I build up to my maintenance dose, then I'll be going once a week. Since I have to wait in the office twenty minutes to make sure I don't have an allergic reaction to the shot, I've been reading in one of my Buddhism books; a collection of suttas from the Pali Canon, in fact, with commentary by Bhikkhu Bhodhi. This has helped ease my mind as reading the suttas has always calmed me.
At one time I used to go to the fitness center five times a week and work out for one hour, thirty minutes on the treadmill and thirty minutes weight lifting. As my breathing became gradually more compromised, I felt gradually more tired, and I kept catching respiratory infections, so I fell out of the habit of going. Now I'll reestablish the habit of working out again, which I found helps elevate my mood more than anything else. There's something about lifting weights which works better than any antidepressant.
Weight Reduction is Never About Weight
When I was forty years old in the year 2000, I weighed over 300 pounds. i realized I was going to die if I didn't drop a significant amount of weight.
Over the period of the next two years, I dropped around 100 pounds. My lowest weight was 202 pounds. I looked and felt great.
I moved to Indiana and remarried. I have had emotional and personal problems which has caused me to put on around twenty five pounds, as I've experienced stress and depression, and have turned to food for comfort. When I dropped weight before, I had many friends and a number of strategies to rely on. Most of these strategies involved ways of coming to terms with long-buried emotional issues which caused me to eat when I wasn't hungry. I kept a weight-loss blog on my website, and over the course of the two years I kept the blog up, I posted pictures of myself as I became smaller and smaller. I recieved e-mails from all over the world encouraging me to continue, and many telling me I was an inspiration.
The strategies that worked for me before need modification, as they'll no longer work. My wife, overwhelmed by the demands of her job and personal issues of her own, has no time to help me deal with my emotional needs, and I've moved away from my friends and family. Furthermore, many of my friends have died recently from old age and disease. I realize this is going to become a more frequent issue as time passes. I'm at the age where I'll more frequency hear news of illness and death than I will of marriages and births.
In a nutshell, I'm pretty much on my own this time.
For the past year I've been rather seriously ill with a recurrence of asthmatic problems, so my exercise regime was impossible to maintain. There were times I was so short of breath I literally couldn't walk upstairs to my bedroom. I spent long hours sleeping from sheer exhaustion. My "oomph" was gone. Many intersecting conditions caught up with me to put on these extra pounds. Not the least of these conditions was denial. I looked the other way as I gained five, ten, twenty pounds. My new family I married into didn't help; nice as they are, they're also habitual over-eaters and love to encourage the same eating patterns in me. A celebration isn't complete without rich and caloric foods, and without eating until you're about to pop. The problem with me is that if there is enabling, I will happily allow myself to be enabled.
However, enough is enough. Recently I've taken care of some of the factors contributing to my problem. After two trips to the emergency room due to severe asthma attacks, I finally realized the severity of my situation and went to an Asthma and Allergy specialist. Now I'm receiving treatment and am already breathing better, and am planning my new exercise regime. I'm also refining my vegetarian diet and will record my daily caloric intake for accountability. I found these strategies, more than anything else, worked for both mood elevation and weight reduction.
There's nothing I can do about the world around me. But I can change me.
Over the period of the next two years, I dropped around 100 pounds. My lowest weight was 202 pounds. I looked and felt great.
I moved to Indiana and remarried. I have had emotional and personal problems which has caused me to put on around twenty five pounds, as I've experienced stress and depression, and have turned to food for comfort. When I dropped weight before, I had many friends and a number of strategies to rely on. Most of these strategies involved ways of coming to terms with long-buried emotional issues which caused me to eat when I wasn't hungry. I kept a weight-loss blog on my website, and over the course of the two years I kept the blog up, I posted pictures of myself as I became smaller and smaller. I recieved e-mails from all over the world encouraging me to continue, and many telling me I was an inspiration.
The strategies that worked for me before need modification, as they'll no longer work. My wife, overwhelmed by the demands of her job and personal issues of her own, has no time to help me deal with my emotional needs, and I've moved away from my friends and family. Furthermore, many of my friends have died recently from old age and disease. I realize this is going to become a more frequent issue as time passes. I'm at the age where I'll more frequency hear news of illness and death than I will of marriages and births.
In a nutshell, I'm pretty much on my own this time.
For the past year I've been rather seriously ill with a recurrence of asthmatic problems, so my exercise regime was impossible to maintain. There were times I was so short of breath I literally couldn't walk upstairs to my bedroom. I spent long hours sleeping from sheer exhaustion. My "oomph" was gone. Many intersecting conditions caught up with me to put on these extra pounds. Not the least of these conditions was denial. I looked the other way as I gained five, ten, twenty pounds. My new family I married into didn't help; nice as they are, they're also habitual over-eaters and love to encourage the same eating patterns in me. A celebration isn't complete without rich and caloric foods, and without eating until you're about to pop. The problem with me is that if there is enabling, I will happily allow myself to be enabled.
However, enough is enough. Recently I've taken care of some of the factors contributing to my problem. After two trips to the emergency room due to severe asthma attacks, I finally realized the severity of my situation and went to an Asthma and Allergy specialist. Now I'm receiving treatment and am already breathing better, and am planning my new exercise regime. I'm also refining my vegetarian diet and will record my daily caloric intake for accountability. I found these strategies, more than anything else, worked for both mood elevation and weight reduction.
There's nothing I can do about the world around me. But I can change me.
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