Just Not My Style

Hi, everyone--

So I was reading yesterday's paper this morning (yes, that's the way this week's going ... a day behind and no prospect of catching up soon!), and I came upon an item sure to catch a mom's eye as the beginning of summer nears. The headline touted a "Fashion Camp" for kids as young as age six. The girls (the article made sure to remain gender-neutral, but I would venture to say not many boys would skip soccer camp to learn the difference between a mule and a slingback) will be treated to a roundtable discussion about their style icons, shopping for accessories, a workshop on planning "the perfect" party, a trip to Bath and Bodyworks and a salon to learn about equally as "perfect" personal care, and the day's grand finale: a trip down the runway to exhibit their style choices.

I'm trying to figure out what I think about this. Obviously, my first impression wasn't all that positive. I mean, who is a six-year-old going to count among her style icons? Hopefully no one racier than Daphne from Scooby Doo. And I'm sure some of the Disney princesses would make the list. Plus, I'm recoiling at the idea that kids need to be taught how to do the "perfect" anything ... unless you're talking about reciting the alphabet or adding and subtracting. And even then!

Now, to be fair, the fashion stylist who's running the camp says she wants to communicate the importance of showing your individuality through your style choices. And I get that, I really do. You're talking to a girl who hand-painted a groovy rainbow and stars on her gym sneakers in high school. But who also was DYING to wear the hip-huggers and button-front Levis and all the clothes that a plus-size girl simply couldn't squeeze into. Who had many a traumatic trip to the dressing room during those formative tween and teen years. Who for some reason equated body-not-perfect with self-not-perfect.

Of course, things are different now (it's been a 30 some-odd years since I was a teen! amazing!). Everyone, no matter how big your bank account, how small your town, how plus-size your body--is SO sophisticated about fashion and design. What used to be runway-only designers are selling at Target and other discount stores. We all know what Manolos are, thanks to Sex and the City and Oprah. And thankfully, overweight girls and women aren't just relegated to elastic-waist pants and polyester, like they were in the 70s. There are advertising campaigns celebrating women with REAL bodies; there are celebrities taking a stand on their right--and their need--to break Hollywood stereotypes and actually be more than clothes hangers; there are more and more women we can really admire who don't sacrifice their mental and emotional well-being to maintain some unreasonable size, but who, like me, have discovered that a healthy weight and a healthy life are much better (and realistic) goals than a "perfect" body or a "perfect" life, or a "perfect" anything.

I realize I could be over-reacting. I'm the same person who scoffed at a story in the New York Times a couple of weeks ago that hyper-analyzed the trend of teen girls going to get pedicures with their moms. I don't see the harm in that as an occasional outing--I get pedicures (not often enough) to make my battle-scarred feet suitable for public viewing during sandal season, and if I had a daughter, she might be invited to partake in this big-girl activity. But not weekly--I'm as fearful as the next mom about creating another high-maintenance, spoiled, presumptive kid.

I just have to think that there's enough focus on what and who are in fashion and what and who aren't that we don't need a camp to direct young girls' focus on it. I have to think that a better way to communicate the beauty of diversity is to expose kids to kids from other cultures--to kids who manage to be smart and stylish despite the fact that they don't quite have the bucks to go to a camp to learn about expressing individuality through smart and stylish accessories.

Or then again, maybe I'm just a party pooper. You tell me.

Lisa D

My Own Personal Hero

I have been thinking a lot about heroes lately. Not the hip new TV show on CBS; as a working mom, my primetime TV viewing is limited to Animal Planet and the occasional Disney Channel movie. And not the kind that my son talks incessantly about--Transformers and Star Wars characters with names he constructs out of too many consonants, or the anonymous "good guys" that loom large in all of his playtime cavorting. And not even about the soldiers (past and present) we remember on Memorial Day.

No, I've been thinking about the heroes in my life ever since I found out Helen died. I would say "my friend" Helen, but I wasn't lucky enough to know her well enough to call her that. Helen was a tiny sprite of a woman with a heavy German accent and twinkling blue eyes. We used to share the Y locker room in the early mornings, back when I used to meet my running friends there. It's funny how you sort of accumulate those kind of quasi acquaintances in places you frequent--like an accidental club you earn membership in just by showing up at the same time every day.

Helen had to be well under 5 foot tall--at 5'4", I felt like a giant in her presence. Every Monday-Friday, she'd come in, grab her towel, and hop on a stationary bike just inside the cardio-room door. Just about every other person who walked in would stop to chat at her invitation, young and old alike. She'd then walk on the treadmill at a good clip, and finish up by lifting free weights.

Despite her grey hair, I had no idea how old she was. If I had to guess, I would have said late 60s-early 70s. In the locker room, she talked about traveling to Austria, and complimented us liberally on our shoes, skirts, hair--you name it--as we dressed for work. She was ALWAYS smiling, something I noticed because at that time of the morning, I was not. (I have trouble speaking before about 7 a.m., and even then ... not so much.)

One day, we played the "guess my age" game, and found out Helen was well into her 80s. If she hadn't yet hit hero status for me yet, she did then. I started to wonder how I would be at her age--not just fit, not just lifting weights and pushing pedals, but loving every minute of her life. JOYFUL. She seemed to moved easily through the world, shaking hands and patting backs, working the crowd, sharing the love.

And then I found out that Helen's husband had Alzheimers'. That the Y was her respite--she had a home health aide who took over so Helen could get her workout in. That Helen couldn't wait to get to the Y on Mondays, after a long weekend alone with her husband, struggling to take care of him with no support. That she had all kinds of challenges I couldn't even imagine.

I've thought alot about Helen off and on over the years, since I had Johnny and my early morning Y visits were not an option. And then my friend Mary Lou told me she saw the obituary ... and it all came back to me. I bet Helen never knew what an inspiration she was to me--it's hard to think of yourself as an inspiration at ALL, I'm sure, but especially to someone you don't know well enough to call friend. She was just doing what she did, living her life, never knowing what she meant to me.

Why am I sharing all this with you? I guess it makes me think about how one person can really start something--can spread a feeling or a message or start a movement--without even knowing it. It's almost like the flu (OK, a really GOOD flu, that cancels out calories from chocolate and causes spontaneous good hair days)--an invisible thing you can pick up just by sharing the same space with someone else. Even if you follow the Keep It a Secret dictum, people who really need a dose of "you can" get infected.

My list of heroes is pretty short, but Helen earned her place on it. I'm fortunate to have shared some space with her. Who has made your list?


Lisa D

Your Secret is Safe With Me

I have been astonished at much of the response to my book from just about everyone but my mom (who said, always tactfully, "Well ... there were some things I wouldn't have put in there ..."). The Oh-My-God, It-Was-Like-You-Were-Reading-My-Mind comments, the I-Laughed, I-Cried posts, the Finally-Someone's-Talking-About-The-REAL-Issue exclamations. Don't get me wrong--I knew I had a lot to say on the subject of becoming a Former Fat Girl, I just didn't know if any of it was INTERESTING enough for anyone who wasn't related to me to actually sit down and read. Checking my Guest Book for new comments has become an obsession--I can't tell you how many times I've teared up at your stories, your applause, your affirmation.

But I really didn't anticipate the reaction to Secret #2--Keep It a Secret. It's kind of like a collective WHEW from all of you who, I think, are finally hearing what you've felt all along, and maybe feeling like you now have permission on some level to follow your instincts. Just today, when I was picking Johnny up from preschool, I fell into conversation with one of the teachers for the 2- and 3-year-olds. She said she'd heard I wrote a book. I always try to make it a point to tell people first that it's not about a diet--that although there are tips on exercise and healthy eating, it's really about what goes on in your HEAD. "I tried to get into some of the things no one talks about, like the fact that the people around you aren't all that supportive when you're trying to do the right thing," I said. When she heard that, she got RIGHT into it. Started saying how she told a friend that she was going to skip the doughnuts yesterday at church, and the friend said, "Oh, go ahead and eat one. It's early in the day, you'll burn it off." Haven't we all told ourselves that one before?

WE know how much energy it takes to JUST SAY NO. (If only we burned more calories working that word NO from our minds to our mouths!) But the people around us either don't ... or they don't want to hear YOU say it because that means maybe THEY should be saying it too. And as much as we try to explain that it's not about THEM--that our pushing away the doughnut box isn't a comment on THEIR weight, or lack of willpower, or whatever--they just don't seem to get it.

That's why I think Keep It a Secret is so powerful. That and the fact that most of the stuff you hear about weight loss says that support groups work. But those are, for the most part, supervised support groups of women (and men) in the same position as you, sharing the same feelings, the same challenges, the same goals. The studies don't say much about the organic support systems you have in your life--old friends, co-workers, family, all of whom have a certain expectations of the way you look and act.

It took me a long time to 'fess up to my secret ... and even now, I try not to talk too much about what I eat or how much I exercise. I just do what I do.

I know it's difficult to keep this whole Former Fat Girl journey to yourself. I'd love to hear more from you about how YOU do it--and what your challenges are. I promise--I won't tell.

Shhhh.

Lisa D

Time for An "Extreme" Makeover?

I don't have to tell YOU that we live in a society of extremes. Just the other day, I was flipping through the TV channels and came upon on a commercial for KFC's new Famous Bowl--a layer of mashed potatoes, topped with corn, fried chicken pieces, cheese and gravy. Like a motorist perversely drawn to the site of a highway pileup, I paused just for a moment, then forced myself to keep flipping. Two or three channels later (I kid you not), I saw a brief clip advertising KFC's kids' meals that include healthier options for sides (bottled water and fruit, I think, with the usual chicken nuggets). And then, on the newsstands right now, sitting right next to the current issue of People magazine celebrating women (and men) who have lost 100 or so pounds, are other magazines featuring unflattering (to say the least) photos of celebrities looking more flabby than fabulous in their bikinis and Speedos.

I know it's hard not to get a little thrill from seeing people who we think of as "perfect" in unflattering poses. Yes, they have ratty hair, they get zits--they even have cellulite, despite the 24-7 availability of trainers, chefs, and plastic surgeons. I guess it makes us feel a little better about our own bodies, our own imperfections. But we Former Fat Girls and Former Fat Girls In-the-Making know how it feels to hear unsupportive comments from friends and family, to have others undermine (whether intentionally or unintentionally) our efforts to get healthy in body and mind, to try to carve out a new image of ourselves when others seem to be focused on keeping us stuck where we are. Maybe celebrities are immune to all that; maybe it's just part of what they signed on for when they decided to put it all out there. Despite all that, it's not healthy for those of us on the sidelines to participate. I would NEVER rejoice in the sight of cellulite on a friend, or even a stranger. I would NEVER ridicule a woman or man for what they look like in their running shorts or swimsuits. I have been there. I am STILL there, and always will be, because I know there is NO SUCH THING AS PERFECT. I chased "perfect" for a long time, until I figured out that "healthy" is the real goal. And it is not "healthy" for me to pick apart, inch by inch, anyone's body ... no matter who they are.

One of the reasons why I wrote this book--shared the ugly, honest, intimate details of my life--is because I hated the idea that anyone would look at me and think I was one of those "perfect" people. That I could never understand what a "fat girl" goes through. I wanted you all to know that there is more support out there for you than you might think ... that there are many of us Former Fat Girls cheering you on to your healthy weight, to your healthy life. I think it's time for all of us to look upon each other with compassion and support--and yes, those "perfect" celebrities too. We need to stop holding each other back because of jealousy, or fear, or whatever. Maybe it's time for an "extreme" makeover of sorts ... where we stop flip-flopping and reach instead for the middle, for moderation, acceptance, openness, honesty, good will. It can only help.

Thanks for listening ...

Lisa D

The Delicate Art of Compromise

PERDIDO KEY, FL: I'm writing from the beach--or rather, a coffee shop near the beach where I can get wireless Internet access. We came in late yesterday to meet my parents for the week. This place on the Florida panhandle is almost like home--my parents have been renting condos at the same complex for about 20 years now.

This morning, my husband got up early to get all his fishing gear in order (which I know from past experience takes FOREVER). I got to "sleep in" until 7 ... woo hoo! That's when the alarm in our room (which was set by the previous renter ... who I promptly shot some extremely negative thoughts before I got ahold of myself) started BEEP BEEP BEEPing and Johnny sprung from bed, ready for action. Rick had stopped for coffee on the way back from the bait shop, and brought me a much-needed cup.

As I'm working my way through it, I'm thinking about my morning run--psyching myself up, really. If I had been at home, I would already have been out with my little running group, doing our usual Saturday a.m. thing. It's pretty easy for me to get up and get going when I know my group is waiting for me, mostly because it's the only time I get to see them and chat about all the important things you share with your friends (kids, husbands, work, parents ... good gossip!). But on vacation ... it's only me. And that means I need to call on my own inner resources to get myself out there and running. Even though I have come to enjoy my beach runs, to see them as a way of taking in the scenery, enjoy the sound of the surf, and discover shells and sand dollars as I plod along. Because despite the fact that I've been living the Former Fat Girl life for 20ish years now, I still need motivation--especially when I'm out of my routine.

But in another way, it's not only me. At home, I leave to exercise before my family's awake ... some days during the week, they're still sleeping when I get home. I'm less conflicted about it that way--I don't feel like I'm robbing them of my time, or shirking my responsibilities as mom and wife, if I steal an hour or so from them while they're sleeping. There's no way I'm sacrificing sleep on vacation, when I don't need to--but the fact is, it would be TONS easier. I wouldn't have to negotiate, wait, negotiate more, wait more ... all the while seeing my fragile inner resolve deteriorate, hearing my "whiner" start up with a "Why don't you just skip it?" and--not unimportantly--feeling the Florida heat start to creep up.

When I started my Former Fat Girl journey, I was single, extremely single, living away from home, and the only obstacles to my exercising and eating healthfully were ones I created. (And you know, the ones you create can be just as daunting as the ones you have no control over!). But now, the challenge is knowing how to compromise ... to coordinate ... without letting myself and my exercise and my diet get lost in the process. It's something I work on daily, and sometimes not very successfully. I'm never sure where the line is between being unreasonable and being a pushover. That, I have to tell you, is more of a challenge for me now than passing up a pan of brownies. The fact is, I think that was ALWAYS the issue--at least one of them, anyway--simmering beneath my weight problem. I was so afraid of saying no, of standing up for what I wanted, because maybe people wouldn't love me if I did. Thinking of that reminds me that Rick will love me even if he doesn't completely get his way, even if I take a little longer to run this morning, to enjoy the beach all by myself. He may be miffed at first but he'll get a good day of fishing in ... and let it go.

The end: I did get in a great run--albeit later and hotter than I wanted. And Rick did catch a couple of fish (not keepers, alas). And I think Johnny has sand embedded in his scalp, the badge of a great first day on the beach.

I'm going to go back and catch the end of it.

Talk to you soon--

Lisa D

What is a "Fat Girl"?

What a duh question, right? Everyone knows a fat girl when they see one ... or so one might think. But I (you knew this was coming!) have a different view.

A poster on my guestbook earlier today said she was angry that I described myself as a fat girl when I weighed only 175 at my peak (yes, I do read my guestbook--I love reading what you guys are saying, and I'm trying to stay ahead of the disgusting spammers that keep polluting our site!). Actually, I was 185, but that's really beside the point. This poster said that I couldn't possibly qualify as a fat girl if I weighed less than 200. Hmmmm.

Here's the deal: "Fat girl" is more a state of mind than a state of size. I have met women who have lost plenty of weight--I interviewed several in the course of my career--and despite the fact that they had reached a lower number on the scale, they hadn't lost all that fat-girl baggage that caused them to overeat in the first place. They were still obsessed with food, striving for some perfect size, some perfect body, completely out of touch with what would REALLY make them happy. And I have met plenty of others who have achieved real health, in body, mind and spirit--who are comfortable with themselves, with their bodies, with the way they live their lives. Maybe they've lost 20 pounds in the process, or 30, or 100--and they're still not the perfect size whatever. But you can't measure a fat girl--or a Former Fat Girl--by how much weight she's lost or what silly size she wears. Those of you who feel stuck in your body, who spend your life taking care of everyone else and sacrificing your own health, who are so perfectionistic that one Hershey's Kiss will set you off on a weeklong binge--you know what I mean. That's the REAL stuff we need to change--and I can say that because THAT WAS ME.

When I started my LAST weight loss journey (it feels pretty great to say that!), I had NO IDEA where I would end up. I thought I was "big boned" (not true), weak, unathletic, lazy. I found that I was just the opposite, but it was only through letting go of the outcome and focusing on making changes that made me feel powerful, strong enough to push my plate away, to try some new fitness thing without fear of failure (or success!).

Yes, I wear a size 2. Not everyone will end up there--or will want to. You have to find YOUR size. We have to quit judging ourselves and each other by what's on the outside and expend some mental energy looking within (I think soul searching burns calories, but I'm not completely sure).

I'd love to hear you "weigh in" on this topic. Thanks for all your comments, your guestbook posts, and your emails!

Lisa D

Portion Distortion

We Former Fat Girls (and I want to remind you, I'm not the ONLY one!) all have our own little tricks and techniques for sticking with our exercise programs and eating right. Far and away the best thing I learned years ago when I went on Weight Watchers was the whole portion thing. It took me a while to get my arms around the idea that one serving of pasta DOESN'T equal one HEAPING PASTA BOWL. Nobody was talking about all that at the time--there were no Nutrition Facts labels to use for guidance, no 100-calorie packs, nothing. So when I read the Weight Watchers serving-size guidelines for the first time, it was like discovering that every word I'd been speaking for the past, oh, 25-plus years actually had the opposite meaning. You know--black was white, good was bad, small was large ...

Learning about proper portion size was one thing. But the other part of the portion control equation is just as important, and almost more difficult to grasp: the whole "control" thing. Anyone who's trying to eat a healthy diet has to figure out when to stop, when enough is enough, and some of us have more trouble with that than others. For a long time, I thought that I couldn't possibly be "full" if there was still food on my plate (I know you know what I mean).

So I've found ways of coping. The no-duh way is to not put as much on my plate in the first place. That's why I pull THREE mini York Peppermint Patties (that's one serving) out of the freezer so they can get all nice and soft by the time I put my son to bed and settle down for some Me Time. I also try to make the most of the calories I'm eating--so I try to only eat the things that I love, that are really worth spending my limited calorie budget on. The yellow jelly beans or Starburst--forget the other colors--a piece of great dark chocolate instead of the milky stuff that just doesn't satisfy my demanding tastebuds--a great homemade brownie on the table of snacks brought in by my co-workers, not the cupcakes from Wal-Mart.

You probably have portion control tricks of your own--and I'd love for you to share. This isn't about micromanaging your diet, it's about being realistic about what triggers you to overeat, where your calories are coming from, about eating MINDFULLY--thinking about what you really love and leaving what you don't on the plate.

And now, I'm going to go fill up my downsized cereal bowl and eat a nice portion of Cheerios!

Lisa D