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Category: Body image

Owning my food crazy

Trigger warning for discussion of dieting and food restriction.

I have a confession to make.

Over the last six months or so, I’ve lost a significant amount of weight.

It’s my first time that my weight has gone down since I jumped on board the fat acceptance train, and I feel great. I have more energy. My joints don’t hurt. I haven’t had a migraine in months or a back spasm in weeks. I can almost do a push-up and spent the weekend hiking up and down a mountain. I’m training for a large backpacking trip for next summer.

Oh yeah. And the reason I feel great is totally unrelated to the weight loss.

Here’s my story: about six months ago, I had a joint pain flare up that didn’t end. (Last year I wrote about the joint pain that I’ve been experiencing in my elbows, wrists, and shoulders since I was 18.) I was complaining about it to my physical therapist (I got a nasty ankle spring last October), and when I described the problem as tendonitis, he gave me a serious look.

“If you’re having bilateral joint pain in multiple joints, that’s not tendinitis. There’s either something systemic or something related to your spine. Go see a doctor.”

The doctor measured elevated inflammation markers in my blood. There was a scary period where we thought I might have a serious autoimmune disease (don’t worry! I don’t). I recruited a friend of mine who is a naturopath, and we started looking into diet-related options to explain the inflammation. I went on an elimination diet– the first time intentionally restricting my diet beyond keeping kosher and other Jewish dietary oddities, like fast days and avoiding wheat, beans, and rice on Passover.

It was pretty horrible. I became obsessed with everything I put in my mouth. The scary part was how easy it was for me to fall back into old dieting habits. I can’t have sugar. There’s nothing convenient to eat, so I’ll just skip this meal. How many calories am I eating? I’ll keep a food log. I was thinking about food all of the time.

I was still in pain.

The doctors still couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

I was so stressed, that I got a back spasm that didn’t respond to ibuprofen. The pain was so severe that I vomited.

I finished out the elimination diet completely exhausted and no closer to an answer than when I started. The rheumatologist had no answers. My naturopath friend had no answers. The only lead we had was that I’d felt better over Passover. So, as a last ditch effort, I tried following a “Passover diet”. No wheat. No rice. No beans. Mostly vegetables, eggs, meat, fruit, and fish.

Within three days my pain was gone. A nutritionist gave me a tentative diagnosis of SIBO, small intestinal bacterial overgrowth. SIBO flares up with sugars, and starch in particular, so that explains why the Passover diet was so effective. Since starting it, I haven’t had any migranes or back spasms. I can wear a backpack for a day without pain. I can carry things up and down stairs. When I do a push-up, I feel my pectoral muscles working, not just pain in my elbows. I’ve had two periods in a row, after having maybe four or five natural periods over the last two years.

And I’ve lost weight.

I’m effectively following a low-carbohydrate diet, so it’s really no surprise. But that’s what people focus on. I bought new clothing and got a big “good for you!” from the saleswoman. I had an easier time hiking this year than last year, and my parents went on about how it must be the weight loss. When I order a salad instead of a sandwich, I get the side-eye from people who know that I’m pretty outspoken against weight-loss for its own benefit. Those haven’t been the hardest thing, though.

The hardest thing has been the re-emergence of my food crazy. I started weighing myself to make sure that I wasn’t losing weight too quickly, but the crazy that wants to know what my weight is every day, every hour, after I use the bathroom, after I work out. I don’t own a scale, so I can only weigh myself at the gym, but the thought floats into my head at random moments, for the first time in years. I started logging my food to make sure that I was eating enough, but I feel a compulsion to count calories. Every time I look for low carbohydrate recipes, I’m bombarded by dieting literature.

I’m not going to lie, the praise feels good. It feels sickeningly comfortable to be dieting, even if it’s unintentional. It’s so easy to wonder where my weight will settle out, and hope that it’s at a “normal” weight. It’s so easy to hope that I’ll fit into straight sizes. It’s so easy to feel like a “good fattie.”

So I’ve been trying to get comfortable with my food crazy. Instead of ignoring it, as I’ve been able to since I stopped weight-loss dieting, to identify it, look it in the eye, and say, “You lie.” To put it in a corner and check on it every now and then to make sure that it’s still there. Some times are harder than others. This weekend was particularly difficult, since my parents and brother have their fair share of food crazy. At one point, Mr. Shoshie pointed out that the two of us seemed to be the only ones who claimed to experience hunger. I checked up on the food crazy a lot this weekend.

But, as I get used to this new way of eating, it becomes easier. The food crazy is starting to get tired of yelling at me to count my calories and count my carbs and measure my waist. The food crazy is getting used to me leaving it in that corner. I can’t wait for the time when I can ignore it completely.

HuffPo Live, 2 pm Eastern

Hey all, I’ll be chatting at HuffPo Live in about 18 minutes to talk about the criticism four-time Olympic swimmer Leisel Jones has received about her weight. Because fat doesn’t float, or something.

You should be able to find the conversation hereabouts.

Never let it be said that the Kardashians don’t recognize an opportunity

I have been fortunate enough not to have actually seen an episode of one of the many Kardashian-related reality TV shows in existence. Yet I am unfortunate enough to still know who these people are.

That said, I have to commend (kommend?) the Kardashian sisters for recognizing that plus-size women need clothes and will spend real actual money to purchase them.

But, we’ll admit: the launch of their plus-size denim line, Kardashian Kurves, actually seems pretty kool. Sorry, cool.

The line will be sold in Sears, and in an effort to drum up some extra excitement there is an official contest, where one winner will pose with the Kardashian sisters on an official ad campaign. To enter on Facebook, submit a full-length photo of yourself “along with what being ‘kurvy’ and ‘konfident’ means to you.”

Do I hate that the name of the line is Kardashian Kurves? Yes. Does it irritate me that they are asking for models to show them how “konfident” they are with their “kurves”? You betcha. But I am going to give the sisters props for seeking out a market that so many other retailers are embarrassed to admit exists, even when they can (and often do, on the sly) make a lot of money selling to that market.

I give them credit for not being afraid to associate themselves with a plus-size line, for taking the measure (so to speak) of the clothing market and realizing that there’s a lot less competition for eyeballs and dollars in the plus department than there is in the junior department. I also give them credit for launching the line at Sears, which is accessible to a lot of the people who really could stand more choices in clothing.

Can’t say I’d wear it myself, but you never know.

I am an athlete.

If you have read any of my writing before, you’ve probably picked up on the fact that I am fat. I’m not as fat as I was when I started writing for Feministe, but I’m fatter than I was this time last year (yay, pre-menopause! That was a fun birthday present). So, still fat.

I am also an athlete.

It’s taken me quite some time to be able to say that without qualification. Without minimizing my accomplishments. Without making exceptions or excuses for why I’m not an athlete.

Because I’m fat. So I can’t be an athlete, because athletes are thin and cut, right? When the strongest woman in America can’t get sponsorships because she doesn’t look like Lolo Jones, and the second-strongest woman in America makes defensive jokes about her body (and when every article about her mentions her weight more prominently than how much weight she can lift — which may be more than her professional-football-player brother can — and idiots make jokes about her size), is it any wonder a fat, middle-aged woman might have a hard time claiming the name?

I am currently training for the NYC Marathon in November. I’m slow. I don’t expect to finish in much less than five and a half hours. But I can run (or, rather, run/walk) 12 miles. I did that last week. Next week, I’ll do 14. I’d be doing more, but I had to take a couple weeks off for a fractured pinky toe.

I’ve had two conversations in the past year or so where I was brought up short and forced to confront my non-acceptance of the title “athlete.” The first was a little over a year ago, when I was being prepped for surgery. I’d been training for a half marathon at the time, and had gotten dehydrated on my 11-mile run (hello, new dry climate!). That pushed a latent bile-stone condition into being symptomatic, and I had to have emergency surgery. As I was lying on the table, the anesthesiologist was taking my vitals. Suddenly, she asked me, “Are you an athlete? Your heart rate is very low!” I was a bit startled and demurred. But, dammit, the whole reason I was there was that I was able to get myself dehydrated on an 11-mile run. A non-athlete doesn’t do that unless they’re being chased by tigers.

Then, a few weeks ago, I met with a Chi Running* coach who’s an ultramarathoner. It’s hard not to feel lazy next to someone who can and will run 50 to 100 miles at a stretch. I made some comment about not being very fit, and she said sternly, “You’re fit. You just did 9 miles.”

After that, I decided I’m going to think of myself as an athlete. I’m going to claim my athleticism. I’m fat, and I’m over 40, and I’m female, and I’m slow, but god dammit, I am a fucking athlete.

Also, I don’t think I’d be rolling this stuff onto my ass crack if I weren’t an athlete.

This stuff is the bomb.
For all your friction-reduction needs.

_____________
* Seriously the best thing ever.

Vagina Drama, and Why It Matters

Everyone is probably aware that Michigan Democratic State Senator Lisa Brown had a one-day gag order imposed upon her for using the word “vagina” in a comment about state abortion clinic regulations. What she said was, “I’m flattered you’re all so interested in my vagina, but no means no.”

Notes From My Boner: “Natural” beauty

In case you were wondering–and I know you were–it’s not just your boobs that are up for Internet approval. It’s also your makeup! At Pandagon, Amanda comments on the thoughtful guys who wants you to know that their boners will still think you’re pretty without that faceful of slap. Stop being insecure! You don’t need all the makeup! You’re pretty just as you are, which I can comfortably say despite never having seen you, with or without makeup!

Awesome Dad of the Day

Will Smith:

“We let Willow cut her hair. When you have a little girl, it’s like how can you teach her that you’re in control of her body? If I teach her that I’m in charge of whether or not she can touch her hair, she’s going to replace me with some other man when she goes out in the world. She can’t cut my hair but that’s her hair. She has got to have command of her body. So when she goes out into the world, she’s going out with a command that is hers. She is used to making those decisions herself. We try to keep giving them those decisions until they can hold the full weight of their lives.”