I have a sucky relationship with food. I try hard to control it, but more often than not, food controls me. All the great words about being perfect just the way I am, dieting doesn’t work, I’m beautiful…they’re wonderful thoughts, but the bottom line is my joints hurt. So I need to lose some weight.
I know myself well enough to know that I’m not going to diet–Weight Watchers is a fantastic program, but I’m not going to pay to fix my body and I’m not interested in weighing in or going to a meeting. Been there, done that and it worked–for a while. All the other choices leave me rather cold as well. So, I’m going to try what my dear friend, CL is doing and has been doing for the last three years.
CL found that simply eating less worked for her–so she eats whatever she wants, just less, and she’s lost 60 pounds in about three years. Yeah, that sounds like slow weight loss–20 pounds a year–but it’s staying off. She ate less by slowing down, paying attention, listening to her body. She moves–she swims, she walks–nothing dramatic, no big gym workout, she simply moves.
I’m going to pay attention to my body. I’m going to listen to it, be aware of what I’m putting in my mouth. I’m going to slow down at mealtime, savor my food, and wait for it to get to my belly before I shove more in.
I’m already a good mover, but I’m going to keep moving. The biggest thing I need to do in that regard is remember to get out of my chair more regularly while I’m working. So, I’ve got a timer on my work table now, set to remind me to haul my ass out of the chair every fifty minutes. Do a few laps up and down the stairs, get a drink of water, put in a load of laundry, vacuum a room. Just get away from the chair for a few minutes. At lunchtime, I’m on the treadmill.
I started this on Monday–I went out to lunch twice this week already, but each time I ate less. I enjoyed each bite, but paid more attention to the conversations at the table than to the food on my plate. Yesterday, I even actually left the better part of a piece of chocolate pie on my plate. I tasted it, it was good. I had a couple more bites and stopped and waited and listened. After ten minutes, I realized I was comfortably full and no longer wanted it.
Interestingly, the man who owns the restaurant where we went was clearly bugged by the fact that I left most of the pie on my plate. He came by twice, offered me a to-go container, frowned when I declined, and asked if something was wrong with the pie.
“No,” I replied with a smile. “The pie is delicious, but I’m done.”
“But…you didn’t finish it.”
“I did for me,” I answered and handed him the plate.
I know it’s going to be hard to always be vigilant about listening–but I’ve done it for three days and each day was easier than the one before. I can do this…and my joints will thank me.