Jared and Me

Yep, that's "Jared" the national spokesperson for Subway restaurants. Remember him? He's the guy that lost a jillion pounds eating subway sandwiches everyday. Personally, I'd think that after that, you'd never want a subway sandwich again, let alone travel the country posing for pictures with adoring fans that don't know your last name, or anything else about you.

Being recognized in public is weird. Yes, it happens to me occasionally. No, really, it does! Seriously! Ok, anyway, it reminded me that there's more to each of us than meets the eye of the beholder. Thankfully!

These pants, by the way, were removed from the 'too small' pile in the top of my closet. Long ago I cut the pockets out of them because they were so tight that the pocket outlines on my legs were obnoxious and slightly painful. The size 14 DKNY's are buttonable, but not presentable just yet. Holding solid at 210. 15 pounds lost. 35 more to go. But no subway sandwiches for me thanks. (I prefer Quiznos, sorry Jared.)

no no no no no no NO!

No more Zingers!

Tracy? Repeat after me... I will not sneak chocolate zingers.
I will not sneak chocolate zingers. I will not sneak chocolate zingers.
I will not sneak chocolate zingers. I will not sneak chocolate zingers.
I will not sneak chocolate zingers. I will not sneak chocolate zingers.

Ugly truth alert... no amount of healthy eating or lifestyle change makes you immune to zingers. Or frankly, temptation in general. I'll admit, I'm learning to enjoy the crunch of baby carrots with lowfat ranch. Not minding the new choices in peanut butter, butter, bread, sugar, flour, etc, etc, etc.... But how long will it take before my knee-jerk reaction isn't to guzzle a rootbeer real fast so I can rinse the cup real fast. Or eat every last crumb of fruit loops my child leaves in her breakfast bowl, drink the whole milk, and shove it in the dishwasher? Or, eat a zinger facing the window in the kitchen once the wrapper is buried in the trash? When does the compulsive need for those old comfort foods finally subside? Perhaps at the conclusion of step 12 with OA? Perhaps not even then. Because let me tell you... I intimately know the texture, taste, feel, smell, and perverse goodness of a chocolate zinger. It's almost sensual. But I can't just sit on the couch and enjoy it. Therein lies the problem... it's all a game of guilt. Sneak it, hide it, wait til no one is home. Alcoholics admit the desire never fully subsides, just becomes a force you (and your higher power) learn to control. Learn to bestill. Ignore? Override? Redirect? Brush your teeth, drink OJ, go for a walk, chew gum... crunch those dang baby carrots. My baby carrots are tasting more and more like zingers. Crunchy carrot zingers? Now that might slow me down a little.

Although, truth be told, I am much better than before. Before... in high school, food was crammed in my locker and binged between classes. I harbored a horrible and irrational fear that my stomach would growl in 3rd period before lunch. My mom, my enabler, worked in the cafeteria, and left me snacks there all hours of the day. I became entrapped in the terror of bodily noises and quickly became uncomfortable in quiet places like church, the library or taking exams. My grades fell, my waist grew. A size 18 by 7th grade. Tons of friends as I'm sure you've guessed. This was right about the time I became physical (just the kissing & groping) with a guy at church. The trainwreck that followed between the eating and self disgust was crippling. It eventually took a therapist my freshman year in high school to rationalize for me that our bodies are neutral in the battle, it's our brains that fight the war. Those body noises, and changes, were natural and going to continue. As an adult though, twix candy bars were hidden in the console of my car, licorice in the glovebox. My desk at work contained more than the vending machine. I'd stow it away in my luggage when traveling with my never-hungry hubby. I never understood nutrition, what my body needed, or how to have a reliable relationship with it. Only now is that coming into focus. What a lifetime of hatred and guilt I placed on my body image and other people's judgement thereof. How beaten and mangled my own self-confidence. Here I am at 32. Where the heck did those best years go? All this from food and body image? What a tragedy. All that said to say this...

I will not sneak chocolate zingers. I will not sneak chocolate zingers.
I will not sneak chocolate zingers. I will not sneak chocolate zingers.

Postcard from vacation

Well, I'm back from a week (or two?) of blog vacation. It's fall break, so off we went to a little family vacation to Gatlinburg, then a frenzy of work when we got back. Anyway... I'm back! Hope you missed me. I know you're just itching to know... what's the biggest highlight from vacation that should leave you in stitches?

We went horseback riding. Where we went, they chose the horse for you. Needless to say, I got the big arse Clydesdale. One mama-jama hunk of horse that can haul a half-ton. Her name was Ginger, sweet. The sweaty fellow, in charge of the horses, helped me up onto her. The foot holster on the saddle, was literally, at my shoulder! As I put my left foot in, he heaved my butt up in the air to sling me into the saddle and onto the big red beast. Yeah, only slightly embarrassing! Then I looked back down at the ground, way down there, and realized that I was SCARED of this animal. I never saw her face, or her feet. Just a mousy glob of red mane that went on for days. When I pulled the knot in the reigns, she jerked it right back down as if to remind me that I was just kidding myself. Julia, thoroughly loving the experience on her own little horsey (Zack, shown above) shouted over her shoulder... "Maammaaa, Just Relaxxxxxx!!!!" Sure! Spoken by a kid that knows no fear. But it was a four mile ride, through the Smokey Mountain National Park, so I took a deep breath and tried real hard to heed her advice.

And, it turned out to be a very enjoyable experience! A very bonding time with my family. Definitely memorable! We all came home with sore bottoms, and a new roladex full of catch phrases that only we will understand the humor in.... ( 'come on little red!') It confirmed for me, that next fall when we go back there, I'm sure as hell not going to have to ride the biggest horse in the stable. 212, 13 pounds, and counting down.