Oh, The Humanity!

I took my girls to the pool to go swimming last week. That, my friends, is a very loaded statement. Lurking within those 38 innocent little letters you'll find such thorny challenges as unflattering swimsuits, pre-teen hormonal power struggles, and the endless quest to convince everyone that we're something we're not. Just think - all that on a Thursday afternoon!

I have a love/hate relationship with swimming. It's one of the few 'exercises' that I truly enjoy. I love the feeling of being weightless and the muffled silence that washes over me when I'm floating on my back. I love the fact that I can be just as competent and capable in the pool as a skinny little fitness trainer, and that my children are impressed with my aquatic prowess. I love the smell. I love the sounds. I even love the biting taste of Chlorine. What I don't love, however, is the uniform.

I admit it - I hate going out in a swimsuit. My body and I, surprisingly, get along well. It's done a lot for me - more than I deserve, actually, especially in light of how I sometimes treat it. When we're at home together, watching TV and eating popcorn, I get along famously with my body. We're happy together working outside, relaxing on a lazy Saturday afternoon, and even dressing up and going out for a nice dinner.  However, despite how much it deserves my respect and admiration, I still have a hard time taking it out and showing it off.

Usually, I find myself in the locker room of the pool staring in the mirror at glaringly white legs, save for the scattered bruises and stubborn hairs that refused to relent to the onslaught of the razor. My suit (like most of the rest of my clothing) was purchased several years ago at a Goodwill store. It is a marvel of engineering, and contains more spandex than most whole aerobics classes. However, even with all of its wrapping and cupping and contouring, I still take the long walk to the water's edge painfully aware of the incongruity between how I look and how I am "supposed to" look.

Funny thing, that - "supposed to". As I helped my children into their swimming gear, I noted with a wince how quickly they were growing up. My oldest is getting leggy - not quite graceful and full-grown yet, but her awkwardness has its own sense of purpose, and therefore sense of beauty as well. The same is true for my six-year-old, who possesses the sturdy and utilitarian frame that goes along with the constant growth and activity of children her age. And, my baby! She is still young enough to have the delightful rounded belly and dimpled knees of toddlerhood, though they are now coupled with slender legs and graceful fingers. As she finishes her transition from baby to child, she appears to be all spare parts and mismatched pieces, but the overall effect is glorious. It is all with all of them, really.

As I hurriedly walked the few yards from the locker room to the pool (never running, mind you!) with my face down and eyes averted, I almost ran smack-dab into another middle-aged mom with the same posture. In our passing glance we shared a story as old as time itself. There we were - enormously blessed with healthy children and the time and energy to be able to spend with them, and all we could think about was our own perceived failings. But - and here's the key - our floppy arms and stretch marks are every bit as indicative of the wonder and power of our bodies at this stage of our lives as the characteristics I marveled at in my children are at their stages of life.

I took the opportunity during the rest of our pool visit to glance around. (Furtively, of course, with the adage, "stare not lest ye be stared at" in the forefront of my mind.) What I found was not rolls and wrinkles, sags and cellulite. Instead, I discovered humanity - those distinct qualities that mark our very humanness . We are all incredibly and wonderfully flawed, and that is what unites us - from the chubbiest newborn baby to the frailest senior citizen. There isn't a single body in the world just like mine. It had its own separate destiny and need to be unique from the very first second it was created, and still tells my story in its every curve and nuance.

I wouldn't wish away a single moment of any of my pregnancies, despite the battle scars they left me with. I may regret, for the sake of my waistline, that I indulged in a shared dessert last time my husband I went out on a date, but I'm glad I did it nonetheless. Does this mean I will trade my downcast, shamed shuffle for a swinging strut next time I'm at the pool? Probably not. But, perhaps I'll take the step of at least looking up when I walk from the locker room to the water's edge in order to see, acknowledge, and appreciate the humanity showcased in each and every shape and size of body around me. Who knows - someday I might even come to do the same for my own.

(Painting entitled 'Hesitant Swimmers' by Shanti Marie.)

Five, Ten, Fifteen

Here are the five best tips I try to implement when life gets crazy and I am running thin on resources. They take 10 minutes or less per day, but reap big results if you'll stick with them for 15 days. I call them my Five Rules of Ten for Fifteen Days.

1. Go to bed ten minutes earlier than you usually do. Even the busiest person can make this happen. Most people are sleep deprived, and research shows that it affects our productivity and health more than we realize. If you feel tired during the day, have a hard time waking up, get drowsy while driving, or fall asleep in front of the TV - chances are, you're not getting enough sleep. Giving yourself an extra ten minutes will ensure that you get to sleep sooner, and can get to all of the important stages of sleep faster. By adding just ten extra minutes for 15 days, you're going to be getting two and a half extra hours of sleep. Who couldn't use that!?

2. Get ten minutes of exercise each day. Thirty minutes, three times a week is best, but ten is better than nothing. Park farther away than you usually do. Walk in place during half of your favorite show. Or (my favorite) - put on an upbeat song or two and dance like no one is watching! Even if you flop back on the couch after exactly 600 seconds every one of those 15 days, you'll have exercised almost the same amount of time as if you'd have done the 'required' 30 minutes, three times per week. See - little things do add up!

3. Take ten less bites of food at supper. Challenge yourself to dish up what you normally would eat for supper, and leave at least ten bites on your plate each night. If each bite is a tablespoon in size, that equals about 2/3 of a cup. The could mean 160 less calories (plain mashed potatoes), 190 calories (stuffing), or even 300 calories ( ice cream). Even if you just cut 100 calories per day, you'll be eating 1500 calories less in those 15 days, which equals almost a half a pound of weight loss!

4. Laugh at least ten times per day. Not only are you no fun to be around when you're not making the time to laugh, but you're also imperiling your own health. Laughter releases feel-good hormones, lessens stress, burns calories, and even boosts immunity. Whether it's a simple chuckle, or a roaring belly laugh, getting your giggles out helps you and the people around you. Who knows - having ten good laughs a day for 15 days might just change the world!

5. Engage with your loved ones for ten minutes every day. What do I mean by 'engage?' Think of it this way - it's the difference between talking to your spouse while you're busy cooking dinner, and talking to your spouse with your full attention. If you really want to tell your loved ones that you care, engage with them using all of your focus. You'll be amazed about how much better you'll be able to communicate, and how much closer you'll feel with just ten simple minutes of real conversation a day for 15 days.

Back Up On the Horse

I'm dieting. Again. I have become the ubiquitous thirty-something woman who is trying desperately to shed unwanted pounds, and that's ok. I've struggled with my weight my whole life, and have only had a BMI in the 'normal' weight range for about thirty seconds total - when I was eighteen, naked, and dehydrated. I try really, really hard not to look down on those women who struggle to lose that "last ten pounds." Seriously? That's like worrying about your mansion not being as nice as the mansion next door, isn't it? If I was within ten pounds of my ideal weight, I'm afraid I'd be walking around nude to show off what hot stuff I was!

No, on second thought - I guess I would not. In truth, I would probably feel just as insecure and unhappy with the way I look as I always have. When I got married I was 70 pounds lighter than I am now, and ten dress sizes smaller. I was, most likely, within that last 10 pounds of being at an ideal weight (give or take a few pounds). But, was I happy? Was I ecstatic? Was I walking around nude? Or, even in trendy and cute clothing? Of course not. I was worrying about what I was eating and how I looked, just like I had been fifty pounds earlier, and just like I would be seventy pounds later. I cannot blame those ladies who fret over their last ten or fifteen pounds any more than I can blame someone for fretting over an extra 30, 50, 70, or even 100 pounds. Let's face it - it's not about weight, is it?

I'll tell you - the moments in my life when I've felt the best about my body came when I stopped focusing on how it looks and took the time to appreciate all the things it does for me. I've created, nurtured, brought forth, and nourished three beautiful people. I might not like my hips, but my babies sure fit well there. I wish that my thighs were a little less dimpled, but they have never yet failed to carry me through life. I might grumble when I see floppy arms and thick shoulders in the mirror, but my friends and family never complain when they are encompassed in a heart-felt hug. And, though I might not be happy with the way I look, my husband is, and making his eyes light up and a smile slide across his face is one of the best things that this old body is able to do.

So, I'm trying to find the balance. I don't hate my body anymore, but I also know that I'm probably never going to love the way it looks, no matter how much weight I lose. I, like 99.999% of American women, have a love-hate relationship with my physique. It's a game I've gotten comfortable playing. I know the rules. And, though I'm not quite sure you ever really win, at least I've learned how not to lose at it. I think I've become a better player as the years have gone by. I've traded in starving for savoring, binges for bites, and trends for the tried-and-true. So, why am I dieting again? Simple -  I'm working towards dropping a few pounds in order to stay healthy enough to keep playing this game for many, many more years to come. After all, I may never get to where I look great in my birthday suit, but I want to able to at least keep enjoy the cake and parties for many, many more years to come!

Tennis Shoes

Something's gotta give. I conned my friends and family into joining a little weight loss club I created. If you lose at least 1/2 pound, you don't have to pay. If you stay the same, you only have to pay $1. If you gain weight (even a tenth of a pound) you have to pay $5. We weigh in once a week. This past eight weeks, everyone else has lost weight. All I've lost is $21. Like I said.... something's gotta give. 

The problem is that I already know what I have to do. It's no mystery, really, how to lose weight. Despite all the legitimate variables like metabolic rate, BMI, glycemic index, thyroid function, resting heart rate, muscle confusion, etc..., it really does just come down to eating better and moving more. Sounds so simple. That's what makes it all the more frustrating that I can't seem to get in gear and get the pounds off.

After each of my babies was born, the nurses assured me that the weight would drop right off, especially since I was breastfeeding. They lied. I also heard that once I stopped breast feeding, the weight would disappear. It didn't. These same people swore that chasing after active toddlers is a sure-fire weight-loss exercise. It isn't. I suppose I should be thankful that they were at least trying to be encouraging, but, seriously - it's just not very nice to lie to a new mom, even if you have good intentions.

So, here  I am, staring 30 in the eyes and heavier than ever. I'm out over 20 bucks, rummaging in the closet for my biggest 'big' clothes, and I don't even have any more babies or breast feeding in my future to "help" me along in my quest. Guess it's time to face reality and get serious. Time to make a plan, get in gear, put on my game face. The good news is that I have a secret weapon - tennis shoes. Slipping on a good pair of tennies is the antidote for slothfulness, and can turn even a flabby momma like me into a virtual... um.... virtual..... Babe Ruth? (Sorry. My lack of appropriate sports analogies and inspiring athletic personalities comes from the fact that I have no interest in or knowledge of sports. Maybe that has something to do with my weight too...)

Anyway, back to tennis shoes. Two days ago I put on a pair of slacks and a nice shirt and ended up lounging on the couch for the better part of the afternoon. Yesterday I wore jeans and a T-shirt and was sedentary except for trips to the leftover Halloween candy bowl to get Tootsie Rolls. Today, I put on exercise pants and tennis shoes, and I ended up taking a 30 minute walk, choosing an apple over a chocolate bar for snack, and using the word 'fit' three times during the day. I guess the expression, "the clothes make the man" just might be true.

So, now I've got a choice to make - do I just start saving now so I can pay for the rest of the weight-loss challenge weeks, put on a mu-mu, and forever resign myself to being a big girl? (Perhaps even take to collecting Garfield figurines which feature the feisty feline saying, "I'm not fat, I'm fluffy"?) Maybe I should go ahead and purchase long term care and life insurance, along with stock in Dunkin' Donuts and Tootsie Rolls, just to make sure I've got a 'balanced' portfolio that will see to all my future needs. Is that the kind of person I want to be? Am I really ready to throw in the bath sheet? (Those are jumbo towels, for those of you who are still able to wrap a standard-towel around your whole selves.)

I guess I can't guarantee where I will end up in the future and better than those well-intentioned, lying nurses in the labor and delivery ward, but I can tell you that I'm slipping on my socks and tennis shoes right now. Perhaps I'll find some answers about tomorrow on a long walk this afternoon. I'll let you know what I find.