It Isn't Really About Cutting Carbs
So, I've been cutting carbs for a couple months. It's probably the last thing a former anorexic needs to do, what with food restriction being on the naughty list and all. Before everyone freaks out (mostly my mother who might be the only person left on my friends' list who remembers me as a full-blown anorexic), let me clarify exactly what I mean by "cutting carbs".
What It's Not:
Compare my cutting of carbs to that of a friend of mine. We were planning to meet for dinner. Here's a synopsis of our conversation:
ME: Let's go someplace reasonably healthy. I'm trying to watch what I eat.
FRIEND: Me, too. I'm cutting carbs and I've lost ten pounds just this week!
ME: I'm cutting carbs, too!
FRIEND: I'm down to 20 grams a day.
ME [fuuuuuuck me]: Yeah, well, I'm not going crazy with it.
We ate at Madgreens that night. Where she added extra bacon to her salad. Because bacon isn't a carb. Meanwhile, I got mixed greens, lean chicken, and a liberal portion of a super low fat salad dressing. Still I felt good about myself. Mostly because that salad allowed me to leverage the cream filled donut I had for (second) breakfast that morning.
What It Is:
Obviously, from the exchange above, I'm not CUTTING CARBS (caps intended); I'm cutting carbs (font size intended). Plus I'm nowhere near anorexic. I have given up a few things that were once staples in my diet - noodles (like 6 out of 7 nights a week for dinner), tater tot hash browns, french fries, and non-thin crust pizza. I've replaced the noodles with steamed or stir fried veggies and the potato products with fruit. I also try to avoid candy and other sugary crap I really don't need anyway (For the record, I needed a piece of the carrot cake someone left in the breakroom Tuesday morning).
I feel better for my efforts. Truly. I like making healthier choices, but I'm also not going to lie. I like the control. I spent years following my "recovery" blaming People Magazine and Kirstie Alley for my near decade of anorexia. It was about feeling fat, thinking I was fat, all because, according to People, I was shorter AND weighed more than Kirstie, who seemed overweight to me (I recall using the term "cow" at the time. Sorry, Kirstie). I started exercising and restricting my diet to lose the chub I gained my senior year of high school and freshman year of college. Then I just didn't stop. For a long time. Until one day I just did.
Sort of. Yes, I stopped counting calories as meticulously as a miser counts his money. I stopped running and exercising four hours or more a day. I made friends. Started lifting weights. Gained a couple pounds and didn't freak out. Eventually I drank alcohol for the first time since my sophomore year of college (Trust me, I quickly made up for lost time). I stepped outside of myself and found a modicum of happiness as a "normal person". As the years passed, I continued some of the same patterns - I counted calories and watched what I ate. I just didn't worry as much if I exceeded my self-prescribed daily allowance. I exercised, but never to excess and I stayed away from running entirely, just because I wasn't sure I could trust myself.
Twenty years later, I'm still doing it. All of it. I count calories, restrict my diet, and workout almost daily but never to excess. Why? I like to look a certain way, feel a certain way, run a certain way, and enjoy a certain level of fitness. As middle age has rapidly enveloped me, all those things have become more challenging. My body wants to weigh more and run slower. My metabolism, which has never been as fast as people like to think it is (Eat 700 calories a day for years on end and your body, like mine, will also screech to a halt), is slowing precipitously. I'm fighting a losing battle. I know this. Eventually, age will find me. It finds everyone.
So, what am I doing in the meantime? The same thing I did when I stood on the precipice of young adulthood so afraid and out-of-control. Come closer and listen carefully. IT WAS NEVER ABOUT KIRSTIE ALLEY AND PEOPLE MAGAZINE. Not ever. It was AND IS about CONTROL.
And that's what I'm doing - cutting carbs and aspartame (the devil of diet sweeteners), going back to graduate school, finishing a novel, training for half-marathons, learning Swedish, saving money, improving my tennis game. I also go to bed at the same time every night, get up at - roughly - the same time every day, leave for work at the same time every day. You get the picture. CONTROL.
You see, if I can keep myself in control, my body, mind, and spirit won't feel out of control. It may have taken me a couple decades, but I finally discovered something very important about myself. I self-medicate with control. It soothes just about everything I've got going on - body/aging issues, introversion. Hell, it even provides a nifty explanation for my atheism (Why put God in control when you can just do it yourself?)
Some may wonder if all this means that I'm a perfectionistic control-freak. Not hardly. There's a saying - Control what you can and let the rest go. I do me and let everyone else do them. Seriously, I'm enough of project without adding friends, relatives, and co-workers into the mix. Moreover, perfection as a goal is rashly overrated. Recall I recently leveraged a cream filled donut by having a salad for dinner? Balance is the key. And easy enough to control.
What It's Not:
Compare my cutting of carbs to that of a friend of mine. We were planning to meet for dinner. Here's a synopsis of our conversation:
ME: Let's go someplace reasonably healthy. I'm trying to watch what I eat.
FRIEND: Me, too. I'm cutting carbs and I've lost ten pounds just this week!
ME: I'm cutting carbs, too!
FRIEND: I'm down to 20 grams a day.
ME [fuuuuuuck me]: Yeah, well, I'm not going crazy with it.
We ate at Madgreens that night. Where she added extra bacon to her salad. Because bacon isn't a carb. Meanwhile, I got mixed greens, lean chicken, and a liberal portion of a super low fat salad dressing. Still I felt good about myself. Mostly because that salad allowed me to leverage the cream filled donut I had for (second) breakfast that morning.
What It Is:
Obviously, from the exchange above, I'm not CUTTING CARBS (caps intended); I'm cutting carbs (font size intended). Plus I'm nowhere near anorexic. I have given up a few things that were once staples in my diet - noodles (like 6 out of 7 nights a week for dinner), tater tot hash browns, french fries, and non-thin crust pizza. I've replaced the noodles with steamed or stir fried veggies and the potato products with fruit. I also try to avoid candy and other sugary crap I really don't need anyway (For the record, I needed a piece of the carrot cake someone left in the breakroom Tuesday morning).
I feel better for my efforts. Truly. I like making healthier choices, but I'm also not going to lie. I like the control. I spent years following my "recovery" blaming People Magazine and Kirstie Alley for my near decade of anorexia. It was about feeling fat, thinking I was fat, all because, according to People, I was shorter AND weighed more than Kirstie, who seemed overweight to me (I recall using the term "cow" at the time. Sorry, Kirstie). I started exercising and restricting my diet to lose the chub I gained my senior year of high school and freshman year of college. Then I just didn't stop. For a long time. Until one day I just did.
Sort of. Yes, I stopped counting calories as meticulously as a miser counts his money. I stopped running and exercising four hours or more a day. I made friends. Started lifting weights. Gained a couple pounds and didn't freak out. Eventually I drank alcohol for the first time since my sophomore year of college (Trust me, I quickly made up for lost time). I stepped outside of myself and found a modicum of happiness as a "normal person". As the years passed, I continued some of the same patterns - I counted calories and watched what I ate. I just didn't worry as much if I exceeded my self-prescribed daily allowance. I exercised, but never to excess and I stayed away from running entirely, just because I wasn't sure I could trust myself.
Twenty years later, I'm still doing it. All of it. I count calories, restrict my diet, and workout almost daily but never to excess. Why? I like to look a certain way, feel a certain way, run a certain way, and enjoy a certain level of fitness. As middle age has rapidly enveloped me, all those things have become more challenging. My body wants to weigh more and run slower. My metabolism, which has never been as fast as people like to think it is (Eat 700 calories a day for years on end and your body, like mine, will also screech to a halt), is slowing precipitously. I'm fighting a losing battle. I know this. Eventually, age will find me. It finds everyone.
So, what am I doing in the meantime? The same thing I did when I stood on the precipice of young adulthood so afraid and out-of-control. Come closer and listen carefully. IT WAS NEVER ABOUT KIRSTIE ALLEY AND PEOPLE MAGAZINE. Not ever. It was AND IS about CONTROL.
And that's what I'm doing - cutting carbs and aspartame (the devil of diet sweeteners), going back to graduate school, finishing a novel, training for half-marathons, learning Swedish, saving money, improving my tennis game. I also go to bed at the same time every night, get up at - roughly - the same time every day, leave for work at the same time every day. You get the picture. CONTROL.
You see, if I can keep myself in control, my body, mind, and spirit won't feel out of control. It may have taken me a couple decades, but I finally discovered something very important about myself. I self-medicate with control. It soothes just about everything I've got going on - body/aging issues, introversion. Hell, it even provides a nifty explanation for my atheism (Why put God in control when you can just do it yourself?)
Some may wonder if all this means that I'm a perfectionistic control-freak. Not hardly. There's a saying - Control what you can and let the rest go. I do me and let everyone else do them. Seriously, I'm enough of project without adding friends, relatives, and co-workers into the mix. Moreover, perfection as a goal is rashly overrated. Recall I recently leveraged a cream filled donut by having a salad for dinner? Balance is the key. And easy enough to control.
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