Cravings

Following the best advice of a good health coach ( moi ), I spent the week boosting my water intake and tracking my cravings.  The cravings inventory hasn't been much of a surprise.  I could have told you without the aid of pencil scratchings in a spiral bound memo book I get an energy lag around 2:30 or 3:00 in the afternoon that sets the cap of my desire on a warm steamy cup of something caffeinated and frothy, preferably with a moist and sugary baked good for accompaniment.  I'm not alone in this type of craving: it's something the Starbucks corporation has made a name and tidy fortune for itself in recognizing and serving.  Couldn't their stock be reasonably classified as an Energy Industry equity?

Something about writing it down validates it, though.  Yes, I want a big jolt of sugar right now because I'm tired and sad and it'll make me feel better.  When you're aware, so the story goes, you can make better decisions.  Well, I'm here to tell you, you can still make worse decisions too.  The difference is, the inventory makes you attentive to those decisions.  You own them consciously.  This weekend, with the luxury of not being trapped in my cubicle, I actually let myself fall asleep when my energy lagged mid-afternoon.  Guess what?  When I awakened, the craving was gone.  Another time (or, let's be honest, three) I let myself have the sugar.  And guess what else?  I felt better.  There, I said it, health coach and all.  Yes, I felt instantly better after scarfing some cookies or milk chocolate.

Then I felt worse.  A lot worse.  Partly because the sugar did what you hear it does -- crashed and left me more drained and more hungry.  But mostly I felt exhausted because I let myself down.  The whole point of this exercise is to make informed and improved decisions; to do and feel better based on those decisions.

Doing better isn't just about making better food choices, though.  Doing better is also about not being so hard on yourself, not demanding perfection.  It's about being able to forgive yourself and letting you like yourself maybe just a little bit more -- at least enough to treat yourself like you'd treat a friend whose company you enjoy.  Would you stuff saturated fat and white sugar down her throat if she'd asked you to help her reduce them?  Of course you wouldn't!  Treat yourself, at a minimum, with the same regard you'd have for someone who's not even a blood relative.

Down half a pound.

Shame

159.  One hundred fifty nine pounds.

That's what the scale said to me this morning when I stepped on it wearing nothing more than my cotton Jockeys.  At 5 feet 2 inches tall, that's a number I only wanted or expected to see sometime during the third trimester of pregnancy.

No, I have no joyous news to announce.

How did this happen?  And how can I be openly admitting this to the blogosphere when I am supposed to be a Certified Holistic Health Coach?  Hardly the model for healthy living, am I?  It's not juicing or macrobiotics or a raw food diet or kale chips that jacks a BMI up to 29.1.  (In case you haven't been paying attention at your doctor or the gym, that's borderline obese).  It's not power yoga or pilates or personal training that whips one into globular shape.

I'll tell you how it happened, because as a CHHC, I know the exact reason  It's called emotional eating, my friends.  It's what one does to self-medicate away the abuses of a soul-sucking corporate job.  It's what one does to console oneself for spending too many hours away from the people who matter, the people one loves.  It's what one does instead of exercise to fill that fitful wedge of time between commuting and collapsing onto the Tempur-Pedic.  It's what one does to avoid contemplating the squandering of precious hours, days, months, and even decades of one's life.

I know exactly how it happened and I know exactly how to fix it but it's almost too humiliating at this point.  How could someone who's supposed to know better let herself get into this state?  The shame of knowing better and doing it anyway is enormous.  And not only the shame of the excess weight, but also, the shame of having, in desperation, signed up for Weight Watchers again because it worked in the past so it'll work again (blah blah definition of insanity blah).

Mostly, though, it's the shame of having produced this perfect excuse to escape the fear of putting oneself out there, in all one's imperfection, as a coach.  Coach: that sacred leader of teams.  The role model.  The inspiration.  The everyday hero(ine).  The one who's been there, done that, and knows what you're up against.

Well, hey.

I'm here.  I'm doing it.  And I know what you're up against.

Head of the Walkin' the Talk trail