Lady In Red, Do You Know Your Numbers?

175, 106, 63, 77, 110/70, 22

These aren’t lottery numbers. They’re my heart health numbers: overall cholesteral, LDL (“bad” cholesteral), HDL (“happy” cholesteral), triglyderides, systolic and diostolic blood pressure, and BMI.

Today is Blog Your Heart Out Day and I’m doing my part by asking you: Do you know your heart health numbers, too?

I used to be afraid of my numbers. All my numbers. Scared. To. Death. Thought if I just ignored them, they weren’t real. Even though my doctor would discuss them with me during my six-month checkups, blood pressure was the only thing I took quasi seriously about my health. I’ve had high blood pressure since I was 22 – regardless of my scale number – and before that with each of my pregnancies. I take two medications daily to keep my numbers normal.

Finally, in 2005, with my scale number at 300, glucose levels above 100, my triglycerides above 280, cholesteral at 280, and the memory of my father fighting for his life after suffering a second heart attack at age 58, I took off my blinders and started the long (and permanent) journey to heart health.

Heart disease has long been thought of as a man’s disease, but it is the #1 killer of women. Knowing your numbers is the first step in understanding your risk for heart disease. To learn more, go to Go Red For Women. I joined the site and found a ton of great info about heart health. If you’re on Facebook, become a fan by clicking Go Red For Women Fan Page.

Don’t be afraid of your numbers. What you don’t know can kill you. For me, once I embraced them, I was no longer afraid. Why? Because I realized I had the power to change them and control them. They no longer controlled me.

My Refuse To Regain blogging partner, Dr. Barbara Berkeley, has written a blog today, too, about her family’s experience with heart disease. See “Triumph of the Heart.”

None Of Us Is Exempt From Mercy. No, Not Even You.

In last weekend’s blog, I challenged you to ask yourself every morning, “How will I be loving and compassionate to myself today?” I really believe it helps set the tone for the day. But if you’re like me, when something unexpected arises – something unpleasant that I caused or is hurting me in some way – my usual initial reaction is to either blame myself or to get defensive and say (or at least think) negative things about that or whomever is hurting me. (One of my less endearing qualities is that I swear like a sailor sometimes.)

However, practicing mindfulness over the last several years has helped lessen the time between the initial hurt/pain/self-deprecation and forgiveness/resolution/peace. Mindfulness and – I realized last night – my grandchildren.

I started reading “Eye Of My Heart: 27 Writers Reveal the Hidden Pleasures and Perils of Being A Grandmother.” The introduction by Mary Pipher (who’s book “Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls” was one of the best reads of the 1990s) drew me in immediately, especially this part:

“As I offer my grandchildren total acceptance, I have extended more compassion toward myself. When I make a mistake or a bad choice, I have learned to ask, ‘How would I respond if Kate or A.B. did this? Would I be angry at Claire if she were out of sorts the way I am now?’”

She described an incident in which she tossed what she thought was an empty can of V-8 into the recycling bin, only it wasn’t empty and juice sprayed all over the room. Her initial response was to call herself “careless and clumsy.” Then, she said, she “resolved to treat myself as kindly as I do my grandchildren. As I cleaned up the mess, I reminded myself that everyone makes mistakes. I asked, ‘Why should I be exempt from mercy?’”

That got me thinking about the conditions I put on mercy. If my own granddaughter Claire spilled V-8 juice, I would never think to call her careless or clumsy. But when my knee buckled on me as I walked down the steps yesterday, I cursed myself for having bad knees, like somehow I had asked for or deserved a bad knee.

As part of my practice, I listen to dharma talks offered through the Insight Meditation Center of Redwood City, California. Recently I’ve been listening to talks about and practicing the Brahma Viharas or loving kindness meditation. (You can find them on iTunes or go directly to the Insight Meditation Center site online and download or play any number of dharma talks or guided meditations.)

I didn’t realized just how little mercy I afforded myself until I starting practicing this type of meditation. And practicing it hasn’t meant that all of a sudden I’m filled with self-compassion. Hardly. When I started examining my knee jerk reactions, I often felt worse than before. I beat myself up for beating myself up! How crazy is that?

Can you think of one good reason why you should be exempt from mercy? Should our weight, excess arm skin, sagging butts, cankles, zits, or thinning hair create a barrier to self-kindness?

I still flinch at certain body parts, wonder what I did “wrong” when the scale is up. However, over time it’s become easier to recognize when I’m being self-defeating, and my reactions to my imperfections aren’t as white hot as before.

Still, it’s an ongoing process. I will no doubt spill many more bottles of V-8 and call myself stupid before I get the hang of this whole concept of mercy.
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Following up on yesterday’s blog on childhood obesity, I wanted to let you know that The Diane Rehm Show on NPR will spend the 10 a.m. hour tomorrow (Feb. 11) discussing childhood obesity and Michelle Obama’s initiative. You can download a podcast of the show via iTunes or through the show’s website.


I really appreciated your insights and comments. There’s really no way around good nutrition and exercise to combat childhood obesity. Facilitating it in the home is not always easy, and barriers such as poverty, lack of physical education in schools, and even the lack of sidewalks in neighborhoods make the task of solving the issue even more difficult. This will be an interesting subject to follow over the next few years.

"Chubby" Aside, How Do We Tackle Childhood Obesity?

Prime Minister: You know Natalie who works here?
Annie: The chubby girl?
Prime Minister: Ooh, would we call her chubby?
Annie: I think there’s a pretty sizeable arse there, yes, sir. Huge thighs.
            From “Love Actually”

I’m opening the windows, airing out the blog, and writing about something other than doom, gloom and sickness. You were awesome with the advice and thank you so much for your well wishes. The body is back and I’m movin’ on. But I’m still looking for your feedback. This time on childhood obesity.

Michelle Obama, who has launched an initiative to fight childhood obesity, came under fire from eating disorder groups last week when she said she’d put her daughters on a diet because their doctor and their father thought they were getting “chubby.” (Here’s a link to the Huffington Post’s “Michelle Obama’s Childhood Obesity Controversy”)

Chubby. Ouch. Not a fan of that word, particularly when it pertains to children. I’m sure Mrs. Obama didn’t mean it to hurt her children, but having been called “chubby” (and its numerous synonyms) more than a few times in my life, I know it can hurt no matter what the intention of the speaker is. While I didn’t develop an eating disorders, “chubby” did create a whole lot of self-doubt, some of which is still alive and well today. Seems to me there must be a better way to discuss weight concerns with children without using “chubby.” I also have a problem with putting kids on a “diet” per se. But I digress.

Name-calling is never a motivator, obviously, so what is the solution to childhood obesity? I saw this on Yahoo today and wanted to know, particularly if you’re a parent, if you believe these findings seem valid: 3 Home Habits Help Youngsters Stay Thin.

The study showed that 4-year-olds who ate with their families at least five nights a week, got at least 10.5 hours of sleep each night, and watched less than 2 hours of television or DVDs a day were 40 percent less likely to become obese. To me, that sounds reasonable, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had little ones in the house. My children are 25 and almost 27. When I was a young mom, there were fewer demands on my time and personal space, and fewer options. My children played only a few sports, television options were limited, fast and convenient foods weren’t as prevalent, computers weren’t mainstays in anyone’s home, and video games were only found in an arcade, unless you had Atari, which I couldn’t afford.

Times have changed and so have obesity levels. And while I’m disappointed in the first lady’s choice of words, I hope it won’t take the spotlight off the problem of childhood obesity. Being so many years removed from parenting young children, I’m really not in tune with the demands of the 21st century family and won’t presume that the answers are as simple as eating together, getting adequate sleep and limiting television, or if they are, that they are easy to implement.

That’s why I’d like your feedback. What do you think the solutions are to childhood obesity and have you implemented changes into your family life?

Caution: Whining Inside (But Your Advice Is Welcomed)

You’ve heard of the book “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies,” right?

For today, I’m renaming my blog Lynn’s Weigh and Zombies. I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck, only I can’t put my finger on why. Ever think you might have a virus, only it’s not manifesting in the usual places? I’m so dang tired I can hardly keep my head up and my arms feel like they’re going to fall off, even though I haven’t exercised in two days. I’m dizzy and feel like I’m walking sideways, but my head doesn’t hurt. My nose is only running a little, but my eyes won’t stop watering. What gives?

My biggest clue that something’s up is I still don’t have my appetite back after Saturday’s stomach bug. Eat? Food? Eh. Not so much.

I put on my workout clothes first thing hoping they’d give me some motivation. So far, they’re just barely keeping me warm.

The sun is shining, but another winter storm is lurking; ergo, I need to get to the grocery store before the big rush of afternoon shoppers desperate for white bread, milk and eggs (snowstorm staples for some reason). Personally, I’m out of Greek yogurt and I’m not sure I can survive 6-12 inches of snow without it.

So what do you do when you feel like crapola? Do you get on the old treadmill anyway? Muscle your way through strength training? I’ve not exercised in two days and part of me thinks it might perk me up. Maybe I’ll give it a try, keeping in mind that something is better than nothing and I can always back off. Hmmm… Just typing that and rereading it makes me feel a little better.

But I still want to know (and believe me, I Googled it and came up with nothing), is it possible for a cold-type virus to settle in non-typical places, like joints? Any thoughts or personal experience in that area? TIA! You guys are the best!

He's A Keeper. I'm A Keeper. Wouldn't You Like To Be A Keeper, Too?

Love is…my husband, who moved my weight bench to the living room and brought down my favorite chair from the upstairs bedroom and set it up in my exercise room because it’s the brightest room in the house and because I’m sick with a stomach bug, fever and headache and can’t stand the thought of sitting in a dark living room because I’ve had it up to my neck with Seasonal Affective Disorder and because the exercise room is closer to the bathroom. Oh, and he shoveled a path covered with nearly a foot of snow to get to the car to dig it out to go to the store to buy me Vitamin Water and Canada Dry Ginger Ale.


He’s a keeper.

I’ve been ruminating this week on a quote by Rowan Williams, the 104th Archbishop of Canterbury.

“Being human,” he wrote, “is learning how to ask critical questions of your habits and compulsions, and it’s learning how to adjust them against a model of human behavior and idealized truth about the purpose of our humanity.”

So what is the model of human behavior and purpose of our humanity? And what is the best space in which to ask critical questions about our habits and compulsions? In my experience – at least in terms of what I’ve learned these last five years of weight loss and maintenance – it’s to always try to act from a place of compassion and love.

It takes self love and compassion just to ask the question, “What are my habits and compulsions?” and even more self love and compassion to adjust your answers to reflect that love and compassion.

Take my thighs (please…yuck, yuck, yuck). But seriously, it used to be that when I’d look at my thighs, my habit was to say, “Gross! Look at the dimples and loose skin! I can’t wear shorts!” By implementing a bit of compassion and love, I now (usually) see how strong they are. They get me from point A to point B without much complaint. I take care of them, they take care of me, and the dimples and skin are part of the scenery.

Like Robert Frost’s road less traveled, viewing my body through the lens of compassion and love has made all the difference. It was the gateway for finding the commitment to lose weight and it’s the guiding force that keeps my commitment strong in maintenance.

But you know and I know commitment is not easy. Whether it’s weight loss, marriage, career, or even writing a blog, commitment takes nothing less than everything we’ve got and we can use all the positive tools we can find to remember our goals.

I’ve said before how when I contemplate eating something I’m not sure about I ask, “How will I feel five minutes after eating this?” Just contemplating the question gives me space in which to think about my choice rather than mindlessly shoving something in my mouth. Lately I’ve expanded that question to include compassion and love, and I ask it in broader circumstances.

This might seem corny or uncomfortable at first, but ask yourself every morning, “How will I treat myself with compassion and love today?” When you are confronted with a choice of food or something else that’s not part of your plan for the day, ask yourself, “Would eating/doing this be an act of personal love and compassion?” Sometimes the answer will be yes and sometimes the answer will be no, but it’s the act of asking and contemplating that will bring your original intentions – whether that’s to lose weight or any other goal you’ve set for yourself – back to the forefront. Your ultimate choice might not always be compassionate (self sabotage is one of my unhealthy patterns), but I really believe that the more we confront them, the less power our habits and compulsions will have.

I had plans today, and being sick wasn’t one of them. But instead of sitting around in the less-bright living room and adding to my own suffering by wishing things weren’t what they are, I asked Larry to bring down my chair so I could be in the room that’s brightest. I took care of me and in turn, he took care of me. Love and compassion.

I’m a keeper. You’re a keeper.

And now I must get my face out of this computer and take a nap.

By the way, do you remember that Dr. Pepper commercial to which the title eludes? When the heck did that come out? My memory isn't what it used to be.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go? It's Best She Went.

Warning: This blog contains the words “throw” and “up” several times together in the same sentence. It’s not too awful graphic, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
11 a.m.: Claire arrived for a sleepover. As I watched her, I was aware just how much she emulates the behaviors the adults in her life model in her presence. Claire loves to “exercise,” just like her mom and me. She also loves healthy food: cherry tomatoes, grapes, oranges, and oatmeal, to name a few. Also, like her mom and me, Claire loves chocolate chip pancakes. She ordered them for breakfast this morning and Grammy had a bite, too. With syrup. No problem.

When we got home, she proceeded to rearrange my workout room/office, as she always does.

“Help me exercise, Grammy,” she said as she picked up my 2-pound weights (notice the footwear). I picked up two 4-pound weights and she led the instruction.

“Up, down, up, down,” she said, moving the weights over her head.

Fifteen seconds later: “I all done.”

Claire moved on to the elliptical. She can’t move the pedals in a full circle, but she can lean on the front bar enough to give her the momentum to move the pedals back and forth. “I exercise, Grammy,” she says.

Then she moved on to the Thera-Band. She handed me the blue band and she held the green band.

“Pull!” she instructed me. We pulled and pulled and then I let go. Snap! She was startled and then laughed. She let go of her band and snap! This put her in hysterics.

Claire was thirsty, so I brought her some milk. She drank from the straw at a weird angle and when no milk came up she said, “Fix my milk, Grammy.” I did and she said, “Thank you, Grammy.”

The kid is awfully polite.

It took me an hour to eat my soup because, as you know, whenever a 2-year-old is present, time goes so s-l-l-o-o-w-w-w-l-l-y. They see everything, say everything, and need to know everything. From a busy adult’s perspective, this could be hell or, in my case, a vacation. Claire always puts my life in perspective.

12 p.m.: Claire was a little hungry. I gave her a few Goldfish and “Hot Dog” apples (freeze-dried strawberry and banana bits – not apples – in a package with Goofy and Mickey Mouse on the front. She calls everything related to Mickey Mouse “hot dog” because of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song – “Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggety dog…”).

Claire crawled on my lap. She seemed a bit lethargic. I knew she was tired, so I said, “Let’s go take a nap.” She went potty, washed her hands and asked for some lotion to put on her owie (a miniscule scratch on her thigh). I put a Pull-Up on her and we headed upstairs.

1:18: Claire and I laid in bed and I closed my eyes (modeling sleeping, right?). She sang quietly the song “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” with a little “Jingle Bells” thrown in. I tried not to laugh. She looked at me once in awhile and said, “Shhhh, Grammy s’eepin’.” If only she’d sleep, I kept thinking.

2:08: “I want Mommy!” This hasn’t happened before so I assumed she was homesick. I called Cassie and we decided it was best I take her home. I hung up the phone and told Claire that she was going home to see Mommy.

“No!! I stay at Grammy’s green house!” she said and climbed on to a dining room table chair and said, “Doggies!” which meant she wanted macaroni and cheese.

Well okey dokey.

I called Cassie and told her the trip was off and that Claire wanted to stay. Cassie said if I ever figured out the mind of a 2-year-old, I’d make millions.

3 p.m. After lunch I let Claire watch a little Wow Wow Wubbzy. Soon after I put it on, she ran up to me and said, “I cold, Grammy! Warm me up!” So I grabbed her blankie and wrapped her up. She was content.

3:30 p.m. Papa Larry came home and we took the doggies (real dogs, not macaroni and cheese) for a walk. When we got home, I put Claire in the bathtub.

4:15 p.m. Instead of her usual bathtub exuberance, Claire laid in the water and poked at the bubbles. Something wasn’t right. I called Cassie and told her I didn’t think Claire felt well. We agreed she should go home and decided to meet halfway at our usual gas station. I got Claire out of the tub and put her in her pajamas. Papa heated up the car and we put her in her car seat. She was sound asleep two minutes later.

5:30 I arrived at the gas station. Cassie looked like death warmed over. She said she had to pull over to throw up on her way to meet me. She transferred Claire and we parted ways. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang.

“Mommy, Claire just threw up over everything!” cried Cassie.

Ugh.

9 p.m. Sickness, sickness everywhere. I know there will be many more sleepovers to come, but right now I really miss Claire and feel so badly that she and her mom and brother (yes, Luca has it, too) are so sick. I hope I don’t get it, but if I do and as I worship the porcelain god, I’ll think about happy Claire eating “hot dog apples” on my elliptical earlier today.

The Blogger’s Blues

While I did an intense 70-minute workout, backed up my computer files, and vacuumed the first floor this morning, I’m crowing myself Most Unproductive Slug Of The Day.

I’m not hungry, but I want to eat. The dishes are a monstrous pile of sticky smoothie cups, gunky condiment plates, lip-balm smeared cups and mugs, and leftovers-encrusted storage containers. I don’t want to chop veggies for the soup I’m making for dinner; I just want them to magically chop themselves. When I finally showered at 2:00, instead of drying my hair, I let it go curly. I’m wearing a flannel shirt, sweat pants and slippers. I can’t get warm, but I’m not sick.

Believe it or not, I’m in a fine mood! I just don’t know what the heck to write in this blog! What do you do to combat Bloggers Block?

I’ve looked through every blog I’ve written here and on Zen Bag Lady, hoping for some inspiration, but have found none. I did, however, find something I wrote in May 2008 that made me tear up. Do you guys ever cry when you read something you’ve written? Anyway, I decided to share it here for no other reason than it’s a nice distraction from all things weight related. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. I don’t have anything to write about weight right now. Writing, as you know, is a fickle imp. I’ll be back on track in a day or two, I’m sure.

In the meantime, here’s what I’d like to share with you:

(Written in May 2008, when Claire was 7 months old)

Some moments can only be preserved in words and memory. Photography can’t do them justice.

This afternoon, I heard Claire fussing just 25 minutes into her nap. I was in the guest room writing, but I knew my daughter Carlene would tend to her. An hour later, I checked to see where everyone was and I found Carlene asleep in the rocking chair in Claire’s nursery as Claire lay asleep in her arms, wrapped in her fuzzy green blanket and her head resting in the crook of Carlene’s left arm. It was a perfectly awesome moment of peace and stillness, but most of all, love.

Carlene and Claire in Dec. 2007

When I write about Claire, I often mention her mother (my daughter Cassie) or her father (my son-in-law Matt), but Aunt Carlene is probably the third most important person in Claire’s life. It’s been interesting watching my oldest daughter interact with her niece these last 7 months. I’ve not witnessed her interact with anyone the same way before. Carlene is not one for public displays of affection, but she puts seasoned baby-talkers, neck-kissers and peek-a-booers like me to shame when Claire’s around.

Carlene’s not as gushy with her love as Cassie and me. She’s not stoic, but she’s a lot like her father, even though he died when she was a baby.

One way you can really tell Carlene loves her niece is her tolerance of Claire’s bodily functions. Carlene detests puke, snot, pee and poop. When she was little and had the stomach flu, she willed herself not to throw up. She also refused to cough a good hard get-up-the-phlegm cough when she had a cold. I’d beg her to cough and she’d simply say no. And getting her potty trained, well, that’s a whole other story and one I’ll never tell because she’d never speak to me again.

Carlene is more than I ever deserved, and watching her today with her niece in her arms, so soft and tender, I thanked God I did something in my life to warrant such a moment as that.

With my apologies to the Apostle Paul, I’ve rewritten his famous passage on love from his first letter to the Corinthians because, to me, Carlene is the embodiment of what he describes love to be.

“Carlene is patient. Carlene is kind. She (usually) does not envy and she almost never boasts. Carlene is proud in the right way. She’s not rude (except maybe on a really bad PMS day, but she always apologizes). She is not self-seeking, it takes a lot to get her angry, and she’s never thrown something I’ve done wrong back in my face. Carlene does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. Carlene always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Carlene’s love never fails."