Wal-Mart, Spinach Hummus, and Commonality

I know Wal-Mart has a China-cheap and a what-was-he-thinking-when-he-got-dressed-this-morning/what’s-with-the-butt-crack kind of reputation, but I shop there because it’s close and the mangos are 89 cents and they carry a bubble bath I can’t find anywhere else (probably because the rest of it’s in China).

On Sunday, I had $20 to blow on groceries and knew I could get low-fat cheese, a roll of paper towels, bananas, blackberries, spinach and a bag of carrots there and still come under budget. I also had a dollar to spare in my checking account, so when I was done shopping, I was going to rent a Red Box video, too.

In the checkout line, a man (who I honestly thought from behind was a woman) in a motorized cart was unloading a case of Mountain Dew, a box of Little Debbies, two bags of Doritos, a can of Cheeze Whiz, a container of Cool Whip, and a box of Pop Tarts. Not judging here, but I seriously wondered what kind of freaky party (s)he had going on at home. Very interesting.

Anyway, when he stood up, he somehow put the cart in reverse and it backed up. I wasn’t paying attention (I was still staring at his food choices on the belt) and so…startled…I backed up my own cart, stepping on the toes of the woman behind me.

“Oh!” she exclaimed.

I turned around and was face-to-top of a grey-haired head with a small woman of…oh…75?

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I said. “Are you hurt?”

She laughed.

“Don’t worry! I wasn’t paying attention. I was reading the headlines about the Kardashians!” She rolled her eyes. “Apparently Kim Kardashian lived through a torturous life with her mother or her thighs or hair extensions. Something like that.”

I’d not been in the best of moods and I hadn’t cracked much of what could be remotely considered a smile most of the weekend, but this woman made me laugh. The cashier heard us talking and said, “Yeah…if that’s torture…” and started laughing. Pretty soon, the three of us (and the rest of the folks in the 20-or-less-items line) were laughing, too. It’s not like we really understood why we were laughing, but we fed off each other’s laughter. Obviously more than a few of us were having crappy weekends.

I had topsy-turvy hair, was wearing no make-up, and was flat broke, but I was laughing. The little grey-haired woman was an unexpected and very appreciated gift. But she wasn’t done with me yet.

I took my bags and went to the Red Box. What to rent, what to rent. I’m not one to keep up with Hollywood, so I was a little lost in the titles.

“Even though you ran over me and I have to limp back to my car, I’ll tell you what I’d recommend,” said the woman from the checkout line. Her face beamed and her eyes shined. I looked at her and smiled and felt so at peace. I don’t know her story or who she was or is or if someone was waiting for her at home, but looking at her, I felt like she understood what was going on in all my aloneness and dysfunctional functionality.

“Check out ‘Grown Ups,’ she said. “It’s funny. You don’t have to think much. And you’ll recognize everyone in it.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I will. Have a good night!”

When I got home, I had a hankering for hummus. Spinach hummus. I had a renewed energy, AND I had the chickpeas, the spinach and the tahini. All I needed was a recipe. I Googled and found four recipes that sounded good, but each seemed incomplete. So I combined them, added a few of my own ideas, and made what gave me the worst and happiest garlic breath ever. Here’s the recipe, to the best of my recollection:

1 15-ounce can chickpeas, drained (but save the liquid)
2 T tahini
2 T lemon juice
1-5 garlic cloves (depends on how much you love garlic)
¼ t black pepper
¼ t sea salt (I’m pretty sure regular salt would work, too)
2 C fresh spinach
1 15-ounce can artichokes (in water)
4-5 pieces of sun-dried tomatoes

Throw everything in a food processor and process until smooth, adding the reserved chickpea liquid as necessary, depending on what consistency you want. Next time I might add some fat-free Greek yogurt for a smoother texture. Anyway, it made 3 cups. Holy wow. I gave half to Larry to take home (he was in da’burgh and stopped by yesterday). Now he has wretched and happy garlic breath, too.

Anyway, later that night, I watched “Grown Ups,” and I laughed and laughed, all alone, by myself, completely comfortable. Inane movie? Yes. Simple movie? Yes. But it put me right again, at least in terms of mood, and I have only the woman at Wal-Mart to thank.
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I don’t think I’ve ever been so inspired/humbled/moved/provoked to think by blog comments as I was with the ones from my last blog. (I hope this link will take you to them.) If I could, I’d engage everyone who wrote in a personal conversation about what’s going on with them and why that post resonated with them. If only we could all get together at a Sbux and chat… Oh how fun would that be? Too bad I don’t play the lottery, because if I won, I’d send “yinz to da’burgh” for a GTG  Thank you so much for sharing what you do. It’s not only me who you get thinking. There are a lot of lurkers out there (at least technology tells me there are) and I know more than a few of me and those who posted and emailed have the “I just want to feel comfortable in my body and not worry, fuss or fight about it anymore” dream. So thank you, again, for your comments. I have printed them and will put them in my journal for those times when I need a reality check.

Not that THAT ever happens…no, no, heck no.

I’m The Little Red Engine, Damn It!

Power walking with my dog the other day, I felt every jiggle of my reemerging Little Miss Muffin Top (how I didn’t miss you!) and a panic I haven’t felt in several years set in: Get this fat off me NOW!

I’ve learned a thing or two about weight loss these last six years, namely that there is no quick fix (duh) and that it will take time (double duh) and that I need to appreciate who I am right here and now, muffin top and all, if I’m going to be successful.

So I went searching for help, like I always do, in the blog-o-sphere. Wise people out there, as you know. First up, DietGirl, who I’m so very sad I won’t get to meet at FitBloggin’. My Jeep needs new tires and a fancy oil change or it won’t pass inspection. Ergo, I can’t afford to go. *tear* If you or anyone you know wants to attend FitBloggin’ and is looking for a half-price ticket (part of my Lynn Needs New Tires fund), shoot me an email at lynn.haraldson@gmail.com.

Anyway, back to DietGirl and her recent blog, “New Year Goals Check-In: April,” in which she outlines what I define as a kind of Self Bill of Rights. One thing she wrote really struck a chord, especially in light of my recent interview on Two Fit Chicks and A Microphone:

“The thought of having to be ‘hardcore’ for the rest of your life was just totally depressing, quite frankly. But I've been thinking about it and I reckon what I've been doing this year is sustainable and realistic – healthy but not hardcore…I feel so peaceful and positive right now, and a helluva lot happier than I did when I got to my so-called Happy Weight a few years ago.”

Sustainable and realistic; healthy but not hardcore. Hmmm….

Then there’s Sandrelle, who blogs at Keeping it OFF! She, too, is one of my weight-loss heroes. We share many things in common regarding how we lost weight and in our philosophy of weight maintenance. Like me, she’s gained a bit from her lowest weight and feels…well…blah. As she posted on Lynn’s Weigh on Facebook: “I'm also up a few pounds, around 140, and NOT happy because it's not me. It doesn't feel like me.”

Doesn’t feel like me. Hmmm…

Finally, BFF 40-Something’s Shelley posted this week about being angry that she didn’t appreciate her body when it was at a weight she realizes was probably her “happy weight.” She just didn’t know it until it was gone.

Shelley wrote: “I truly did not appreciate how good I looked last summer. Don't get me wrong - I was thrilled with fitting into the size 6 Bermuda shorts, but did I focus on that? No - I couldn't stop seeing my extra belly flab…WHY didn't I appreciate my body then? I'll tell you why...decades of dieting. Never having the inner strength to say ‘I like how I look and feel now’ - never quite standing up for myself.

“I am so mad. I just want to go back and say ‘You dope! Enjoy what you've achieved!’ and I know that I'm not showing self-love, but so what. Sometimes I need a reality check.”

I like how I look and feel now. Hmmm…

So the three points I’m pondering in my continued search for body acceptance are: 1) What is sustainable and realistic; healthy but not hardcore; 2) Why does this extra weight not feel like me; and 3) How do I get to the place where I like how I look and feel in the moment?

I used to be hardcore. Worked out so dang hard I didn’t have my period for 3½ years (see “To Weigh Or Not To Weigh…”). Then my body started falling apart and I had to back off the 90-minute marathons at the gym. But in the last several months I’ve more than backed off. My exercise routine has gone from tsunami to a nearly dried up creek bed. Granted, it’s been a rough few months, but it’s time I…(click on the video)



Somewhere in me exists a balance between Hardcore Lynn and I-Don’t-Feel-Like-It Lynn. I’ve not thought about what is realistic for me and what my body can take in terms of exercise. Therefore, my plan is to sit down with myself and conduct an inventory of what I realistically can do in light of my limitations. I can walk, I can ride my bike, and I can do modified strength training using the exercises my physical therapist prescribed last year.

The tricky part of this inventory, however, is learning to accept my limitations without throwing in the towel. I will establish exercise goals and find the strength and tenacity (which I know are in me somewhere) to reach these goals. Sustainable and realistic, healthy not hardcore.

Next, why doesn’t this added weight feel like me? Considering I’ve been overweight or obese most of my adult life, you’d think I’d not feel like myself at any weight, and yet at 132 I felt at one with myself. Nothing flapped around much, I liked how my body looked in any type of clothing, I felt…healthy. This added weight, particularly around my stomach, doesn’t feel healthy. Having said that, and considering point #1, is it realistic that – given my physical limitations – I will be 132 again without living on 1200 calories a day?

Which leads me to point #3.

If I’m going to accept where I am right now and love the me and the extra pounds (and realistically lose what I can), I first need to understand why I’m not accepting where I am right now and why I don’t love the me and the extra pounds.

The first word that comes to mind is “failure.” I feel like I’ve failed. Failed myself, failed my family, failed my blog readers. Looking the way I do now, with a bit more weight (which I know is hardly noticeable to most people, but I see me naked every day), I want to hide in t-shirts and shy away from being touched for fear someone will “feel” the real me. I’m this close to saying, “Weight, you win! I’m crawling back in that fat hole again. I give up.”

However…like Shelley, I’m going to stand up for myself and try a little tough self-love first:

“Lynn, you worked damned hard to lose 170 pounds. Don’t you DARE start gaining it all back. No food is going to comfort you; it will only bring you down. You KNOW how to say ‘No’ to yourself. Remember how you used to ask yourself, “How will I feel 5 minutes after I eat ____?” Yeah, well, chicka…make that your mantra AGAIN. Now. Not tomorrow. Today. You want medjool dates? Fine, but one will suffice. Same goes for all your other favorites. Go back to the beginning. Read your blogs. Remember how it felt at 250, 200, 170, 150. You can do it, Lynn. You really can.”

At least, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…

Second trimester - here we come!

I am 12 weeks and 2 days pregnant today.  I have 194 days to go before my due date!

Aaron and I will have our next prenatal appointment in a week.   Hopefully I will get a picture of the baby again!  

We want to have the gender be a suprise, so I hope the baby and the tech are able to keep their mouths or legs shut!!!

Lots of mint green and yellow in the baby's future (Orange, white, cream,

Let The Mauling Begin

Running away is laborious, and yet…it burns no calories. That’s too bad considering I’ve done more running away than exercise the last eight months. As a blogger of personal things, it’s often difficult to know what to keep and what to give away. I offer, as personally as I can, the following as a way of explaining my infrequent postings. I framed it within the lyrics of the song “We All Need Saving” by Jon McLaughlin. Thanks for sticking with me.------------------------------------------

Come on, come on. You have got to move on. This is not the you I know.

Last week found me sitting on the deck of my former house with my former dog gazing at my former gardens. A me I don’t know very well yet started crying. She was missing her gardens between her fingers; she was missing her life.

This isn't real. It's just all you can feel. And that's the way that feelings go.

A friend told me months ago that until I learn to live within the space of my new life with the same strength and determination with which I lost weight, I would be forever grasping for and holding on to bogus and temporary securities.

That pissed me off.

“I haven’t lived alone in 30 years!” I argued. “I’m doing the best I can. What more is there to it?”

“You have to let it maul you,” he said.

“Well I’m sorry Mr. I’ve Been Alone for Four Years, but I don’t want to be mauled by loneliness,” I retorted. “It hurts and it’s scary.”

“Exactly,” he sighed. “But in time, the mauling becomes a scratching, and that scratching a gentle touch, and it won’t hurt as much and you’ll be stronger.”

While I didn’t have a definitive “Ah ha!” moment that led me to lose weight, I definitely danced around the idea for a few months until that One Thing happened: the photo of 300-pound me with my daughter on her 20th birthday. It opened my eyes to see the real me, inside and out…the “you” I got to know.

Last week on the deck was the One Thing necessary to “start the mauling.” After the first round of tears, I got up, went to the garage, found a pot and shovel, walked to the end of the garden, and dug up one of the chives. I put the pot in the Jeep, gathered my things, and started driving home.

When the cloud in the sky starts to pour and your life is just a storm you're braving, don't tell yourself you can't lean on someone else, cause we all need saving sometimes.

I cried for 20 miles before calling Mr. I’ve Been Alone for Four Years.

“This sucks!”

“Yup. But you’re not alone. And you will be OK.”

I don't know why it has to be this way and I don't know the cure. But please believe someone has felt this before.

I’ve been around this block. I remember trying to be “OK” in a new life and failing miserably. It was 1983, after my husband died. Following the funeral, friends and family returned to their homes while I had to move out of mine. The farm was my in-law’s business, and without Bruce, I didn’t belong there.

One week after the funeral, I sold our livestock and grain.

Two weeks after the funeral, I gave away Bruce’s clothes.

Three weeks after the funeral, I moved in with my parents.

Four weeks after the funeral, my breasts dried up like an old cow’s, and I nursed our 1-month-old daughter for the last time.

I weighed 200 pounds and I felt as big as it looked when its two large zeros glared back at me from the Diet Center scale three months later. My friend Lisa was marrying Bruce’s best friend in the fall and I was in the wedding. As an incentive to lose weight, I ordered my dress a size smaller. Diet Center promised fast weight loss, which was perfect since I didn’t want to spend all summer on a diet. The faster I looked normal, the faster life would be normal.

Fifteen minutes at Diet Center, I was stripped of a week’s pay and put on an 800-calorie per day “meal plan.” I met with a “counselor” every day who weighed me, gave me a pep talk, and sent me home with vitamins. It didn’t matter that after one week I was dizzy all the time or that I was constipated and my skin was dry. I lost 20 pounds in 4 weeks and my bridesmaid dress zipped up like skates on ice. I quit Diet Center and celebrated with a Dominos pizza.

I spent the rest of the summer trying to get back the life I knew before 200 pounds, to shed grief like a snake sheds its skin. But the more I searched for Bruce in every man’s eyes, a thin body in every sandwich without mayo, and some peace in a bottle of 80-proof something, the less normal life felt and the more weight I gained. A month before Lisa’s wedding, the zipper of my bridesmaid’s dress wouldn’t move past my waist.

Back at 200 and too ashamed to admit it, I told Lisa I couldn’t be in her wedding because it would be too hard without Bruce. Sitting in the back pew in the same church I was married, I realized I hadn’t lied. It was hard without Bruce. All of it – the wedding, losing weight, raising a baby, living alone. As the bridesmaids walked down the aisle, I was crushed by jealousy. They were smiling, which I couldn’t do, and wearing the dress I couldn’t wear. I knew if I cried I’d draw attention to myself and then I’d be “Poor Lynn” all over again. I hated sympathy almost as much as weighing 200 pounds. Once everyone was safely up front, I did the only thing I knew to do. I left.

Remembering all of this 28 years later…that’s how I know this time – like the last time I lost weight – has to be different. I can’t leave. And no diet, no man, no distraction, no amount of lying to myself is going to save me, either.

I write this not for sympathy, but rather to say that no matter what we lose – weight, love, gardens, sanity, money, friends, knowledge – running away cheats us out of the mauling, which in time – I truly believe – becomes a scratch and then a gentle touch until finally, we become who we are meant to be.

Arthritis Walk - 11 weeks pregnant

I joined the Arthritis Walk and made a personal commitment to help more than 50 million people who live with arthritis and the families that support them.


I'm not moving alone. By joining the Arthritis Walk I became a part of Let's Move Together - a nationwide movement of like-minded people who want to get a healthier lifestyle and change lives at the same time.

Please support me by making a

I’m Just a (Wo)Man in a Silly Red Sheet

Ah…spring. The time during which my body thinks it can do anything, only to find out…it can’t.

Since recovering from the plagues in February and March and shedding the overall doldrums of winter, I’ve been hitting the exercise pretty hard the last few weeks. I want my arms tank-top ready and my legs North Country Trail ready…NOW.

But…Humpty Lynn has fallen off the wall…again.

I mowed the lawn a few weeks ago. Yeah. That was a reeeeallly dumb thing to do. Unless you’re using a riding mower, it’s probably not in your best interest as a person with torn rotator cuffs to use a NON-self-propelled lawn mower to cut down grass the height of swamp weeds and just as wet.

Most of the time I’m judicious with my strength training, doing what my physical therapist prescribed a few years ago: swapping hand weights for TheraBands. But…you know…when you feel kinda good and you’ve been cooped up in a long winter…well…you start thinking you’re not as messed up as you are. You think, perhaps, you’re superhuman.

So SuperLynn mowed the lawn. Two weeks later, my left shoulder is still saying, “Really, Lynn? Seriously? What the h*ll were you thinking?”

I remember when my grandma felt so good while on her blood pressure medication that she decided she didn’t need it anymore, not understanding, of course, that it was THE MEDICINE that was making her feel good. Two weeks later, she had a heart attack.

My joint “medicine” is moderate exercise, but my brain…dang brain…loves LOVES intense exercise. I like pounding the crap out of my body, I admit it. When I lost all that weight, man, it felt AMAZING to push and push and push my thighs and calves and shoulders and abs and traps and biceps and triceps to the edge. I’d never done anything like it in my weighted life.

Then when osteoarthritis starting taking over joint after joint like the creeping Charlie in my yard, I modified my exercise routine. Surprise, surprise, my body rewarded me with less pain! But modifying also threw off the “calories expended” part of the weight-loss/weight-maintenance ratio. Clearly I consumed more calories than I expended this year because I’ve gained 8 pounds. And try as I might, I cannot get back to my lowest weight – the one at which I beat the crap out of my body – without beating the crap out of my body.

At some point in most of our lives, there are obstacles to healthy living. They can be physical, emotional or both; temporary or permanent. It’s what we choose to do in the moment of most difficulty that steers our intentions. Obviously I’m not always mindful of what my intentions are, otherwise I wouldn’t be icing my biceps tendon.

My intention to lose 8 pounds is not unwise, but losing it at the expense of my body is that second arrow the Buddha warned of. As I wrote in September, the Buddhist teaching of the second arrow is that when we encounter pain (when we’re shot with the first arrow), we have the choice of how we handle that pain. We can blame or whine or indulge (hello chocolate cake!) as we run away from the pain (thus shooting ourselves with the second arrow), or we can experience the pain of the first arrow and live from within that pain, working out the best course of action that will not further our suffering.

God knows we have enough to deal with with that first arrow than having to work around the emotional complications of the second one. So…once again (and how many times have I done this in four years?), I’m reminding myself to stay mindful of my intentions, and to: 1) see the good, the bad and the ugly of my body and treat it with respect; 2) not beat myself up for 8 pounds; and 3) stop thinking of myself as superhuman.

That is…until the next time Humpty Lynn falls, and she will. Because she is me, and I am nothing if not human.

A Quick and “Linky” Monday Post

Hello from the other side of chocolate hell! I made it through Easter relatively unscathed by the malted milk ball/Reese’s Peanut Butter egg/Cadbury/Lindt/Dove/chocolate-bunnies-on-a-motorcycle onslaught. Phew! I wish I could say the same about the cheesy potatoes at Cassie’s house and the ones I made for Mark and his kids, but that’s why there’s exercise. And restraint. The carb fest was a one-day event and its remnants will only linger a day or two.

I read some potentially good news on the clothing size front this morning in the New York Times. In “One Size Fits Nobody: Seeking a Steady 4 or a 10,” Stephanie Clifford writes about a company that offers a full body scan to determine what size you would fit into in a number of major clothing stores. It’s a good start, but I’d like to see standardized sizing like they have in Europe. In the meantime, I wouldn’t mind trying the scan. I get so frustrated trying on jeans especially.

“Some brands are taking their own approaches to make the fitting room less demoralizing. Mary Alderete, vice president for women’s global marketing at Levi’s, said, ‘When we try on 10 pairs of jeans to buy one, the reason you feel bad is because you think something’s wrong with you.’”

Exactly. I have size 6, 8 and 10 jeans in my closet and they all fit. These aren’t my “skinny” or “fat” day jeans. They each measure the same waist and hip size. So frustrating that I have to go through so many sizes in each brand to find what works. I know I’m not alone.

Don’t even get me started on vanity sizing…

If you haven’t listened yet, I was recently interviewed by the awesome duo of Carla (MizFit) and Shauna (The Amazing Adventures of Diet Girl) for their podcast Two Fit Chicks and a Microphone! It was by far my favorite interview ever. LOVE those two, AND…I get to meet them next month at FitBloggin ’11! Any of you bloggers going?

Speaking of bloggers, I've recently been turned on to The Healthy Skeptic written by Chris Kessler, an accupuncturist and Chinese medicinal practitioner. I've been enjoying his series "9 Steps to Perfect Health," especially #9: Practice Pleasure:

“In their book Feeling Good Is Good For You, researchers Carl J. Charnetski and Francis X Brennan set out to review the emerging evidence that pleasure can boost our immune systems and lengthen our lives. According to the authors: ‘In every way, stress is the antithesis of pleasure. It jangles your nerves, juggles a whole host of your body’s hormones, elevates your blood pressure, and makes your pulse race… It also weakens your immune system’s ability to resist illness and disease.’

“If stress is the antithesis of pleasure, then it follows that pleasure is the antithesis of stress. So the best way to fight stress is with pleasure.”

I know I'm guilty of reserving pleasure for when I feel I "deserve" it. But deriving and enjoying some bit of pleasure every day should not be a reward. It is necessary for our emotional and physical health.

Today's bit of pleasure for me will be planting a few pansies, my favorite annual. What will you do for yourself today?

One final link. My favorite quote this week comes from Cammy over at Tippy Toe Diet: "This mindful living thing can sure get in the way of a good time sometimes." Yes, yes it can :)

Happy spring, everyone! Hope you all get some much-deserved outdoor time in the upcoming days.