I've gained nearly nine pounds recently that have been
making me very unhappy. I don't feel good in my clothes. I don't like how I
look naked. I feel self-conscious about what I imagine other people are seeing
and thinking. So sue me, I care what I look like and I care what other people
think. I want to be attractive. I'm not alone in that. At all. Although I
certainly feel very alone in admitting it.
Although nine pounds might not seem like much, it's a lot on
my 5' frame. It's 10 percent of my body weight, 10 percent that I simply don't
need to be lugging around. I'm a Lifetime member of Weight Watchers. I have
been for more than 10 years. I went on WW after I had my daughter, at which
point I weighed 176 pounds. I was beyond miserable.
I tried to convince myself that I was fine with it. "I
have a great life and a beautiful, healthy family. That's all that
matters." "You are the only one who cares about your weight and why
should you care?" "You are not defined by your weight." But the
truth was I wasn't healthy. I did care. And, in some ways, I am my weight.
Whether I want to deny it or not, how I take care of myself is a big part of
who I am. And based on my build, that
number on the scale, at least in terms of my body make-up, meant I wasn't
taking care of myself.
The thing is, we can only really know if we're healthy if we
get a truly accurate assessment like a DEXA scan, for example. (Too many of the
other available tests, like caliper testing, are painfully inaccurate.) Dexa is
dual energy X-ray absorptiometry, which uses X-rays of two different energies
that scan the body. Fat absorbs one more strongly than the other allowing a
computer to determine body composition, body fat percentage, and bone mineral
density.
I finally had one of those scans and it has changed me.
Completely.
I went to
Canyon
Ranch Miami to do a four-day detox program. You know, no alcohol, healthy
eating, some yoga classes, a few spa treatments, some detox juices, and
meetings with a nutritionist and a doctor. Honestly, I didn't expect much more
than a pampering weekend that would give my system a break from my usual
less-than-healthy habits that included tons of Splenda, too many sweets, and
skipped meals in an effort to make up for my sins.
What I got was a whole new way of looking at my weight, my
health, and how I eat. I wasn't planning on getting a DEXA while I was there.
But when I heard they had one, I was really anxious to check it out. You lay on
a table and the machine moves slowly down the length of your body, x-raying
every inch of you. You can't hide from the DEXA and that's what makes it so
great.
It doesn't judge you. It doesn't have any preconceived
notions about you or about weight in a social context. It doesn't care about
anything except your age and the make up of your body. As I lay on the table,
listening to the machine whir above me, I tried to chat calmly with the guy
operating the scan, my exercise physiologist at Canyon Ranch Miami, Jeffrey A.
Dolgan, MS, CSCS, HFI, RCEP. But I was too nervous about the results to focus
on the conversation.
It wasn't designed to detect a specific and defined
life-threatening medical issue like a brain tumor or a blocked artery. But it
was going to tell me my true body fat percentage and distribution as well as my
bone density. And there would be no way to deny the results. I think I was
equally afraid that it would tell me I was fine just as I was terrified that it
would say I needed to lose weight.
Before I saw the scan, my goal was to lose eight pounds and
some change and, go figure, that was precisely what the results of the scan
recommended. There’s a name for this phenom - "skinny fat." I’m skinny
fat. I look "fine" but my body fat percentage is 37 percent, which
means I am only 1 percent away from being in the "unhealthy" range
according to Dolgan.
Two things struck me at that moment. One, it's true: You cannot tell a person's
health just by looking at them and, two, I know my own body. I also felt
incredibly empowered by having the facts. I have every right to be unhappy with
my body because my body was unhappy with itself. And frankly, I felt relieved
that I have every "right" to express my discontent because now it has
a medical backing. I'm not just whining about being too fat. I am too fat. I
may not be overweight. But I am overfat.
Who would have thought that hearing someone call me fat
would actually be a happy thing? Ok, I wasn't happy exactly, but relieved.
There was no guessing. There's nothing "just in my head." I need to
lose eight pounds of fat and, ideally, gain eight pounds of lean muscle as well
(although the latter is going to take me significantly longer). Dolgan
recommended a series of strength training exercises to do every other day, as
well as advised me that I needed to get some kind of cardio every day for 30
minutes.
But that was only part one. Then it was time to talk to the
doc and the nutritionist. I was scared to death of what they'd say and they
both said exactly what I didn't want to hear. I had to change the way I eat. I
had to.
After I revealed all of eating habits and digestive
complaints, my nutritionist at Canyon Ranch Miami, Larisa Alonso, MS, LN, CNS,
insisted that I give up Splenda because it is effectively making holes in my
digestive system. She prescribed a two-week hiatus from sweets because of my
addiction to them. She gave me a list of veggies that I needed to buy organic.
And she drew a picture of how my plate should look at lunch and dinner -- half
veggies, one quarter (3 ounces) of meat and one quarter (half a cup) of starch.
She told me no more skipping meals and no more fruit
binging. She recommended food sensitivity testing due to all of my stomach
issues and suggested staying away from BBQ and fried food. I could have cried.
I love Splenda and sweets and carbs. And I hate veggies. She told be everything
I didn't want to hear. She called me an addict and a disordered eater and it
felt like a relief, once again, to hear it out loud. It's my truth and
pretending it isn't wasn't helping me.
The doctor, Karen Koffler, M.D., had, not surprisingly,
remarkable similar things to say, adding that I should avoid microwaving things
in plastic and should start using a "green" dry cleaner. She also suggested taking probiotics, eating
more cruciferous vegetables, and talking to my doctor to see if my body is
estrogen dominant. In other words, I needed a complete overhaul.
I moped for a couple of good hours. Why should I have to do
all of these stupid things? Why can't I just eat what I want? Why does it have
to be so hard? Then I got over myself and decided to commit. Seriously commit.
I wasn't hurting anyone but myself with what I was doing. But I was doing some
serious harm that was only going to get worse as time goes on.
So here I am, almost eight weeks later. I haven't touched
Splenda or sweets and 85 percent of my lunch and dinner plates look like her
Alonso's drawings. I've only had alcohol on two occasions since my visit and
fried food has only twice made its way from my dish to my stomach. I am still
working on the daily cardio and every other day strength training. But I am
getting darn close to the schedule prescribed.
I'm already down to 101.8 pounds and I already feel totally
different, both because of being lighter and because my digestive system is so
much happier with me. It hasn't been easy, especially since I went to Disney
World and Sea World the days following my time at Canyon Ranch Miami. But I
have already learned to simply say, "No, thank you" to what I would
have usually said, "Yes, please." And I have learned to ask for less
of what I shouldn't have and more of what I should.
Am I giddy about it? Not at all. I hate it. But I hate
feeling uncomfortable with my weight even more. Sure, it would be great if
being healthy was my main or only focus. But looking fit and being happy with
the numbers I see on the scale and on the tag inside my jeans is important to
me. And even my nutritionist said that she doesn't care what keeps me eating
healthy, as long as I do it.
When it comes to our bodies, it has to be about whether our
body fat percentages fall into the healthy or the unhealthy range. When it
comes to food, it can't just be about what we want, it has to be about what our
bodies need. When it comes to our doctors, it has to be about the truth, even
when it hurts.
I feel better than I have in a long time, and I cannot wait
to lose the rest of those eight pounds of fat and gain some lean muscle. I can
already see the changes in my body and the muscle delineation beginning to show
itself.
I look forward to checking back in at the Ranch and getting
gold stars from my doctor and my nutritionist. I look forward to lying on that
scanner table again and having my exercise physiologist remove the "skinny
fat" label and replace it with "healthy." I, of course, am the
only one who can then apply the "happy" label. But that should be no
problem when those extra pounds of fat are a thing of the past and nothing but
good health is waiting for me in the future.
