Adina’s Cute & Perky Blog!

Some days you like your diet, and some days you don’t.

I just wasn’t in the mood for large quantities of egg whites today. 

But I cooked them any way, because I know that whatever I eat will fill me up.  I don’t have to like or want it at the time.

But that pile of eggs just seemed bigger today.  And nastier.  And I just didn’t want them.

And as I moved the fork to my mouth, I swear I heard my lips say, “Uh huh, girlfriend.”

So, I took them in the car with me on my way to work; thinking of course, that I would eat them in the car.  Hoping that feeling would pass.  But as I went for that first bite, my mouth refused to open.

And so I went on to work, where I proceed to the break room with my now cold egg whites in my little piece of glad wear.  That’s an oxymoron.  That container wasn’t happy about them either.

But once I heat them, I sit down to do what I have to do.

And that pile seemed to grow as I ate. 

But just then my obese coworker comes in and sees the horrible face I was making.  (I’m very dramatic).

He says, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get my breakfast down,” I reply.

“Well, I just couldn’t do what you do.  I couldn’t eat like that every day.”

Without missing a beat, I answered “I know,” and continued to eat.

He started laughing until it sunk in.  “Hey!  Wait a minute.  That wasn’t very nice.”

I said, “I know, but I’m not being nice until I get these egg whites down.”

He stood there while I ate.  Asking me questions, listening to my answers.  Even when I’m eggy, I give a pretty mean pep talk.  I told him why I eat the way I do and the benefits he would receive from doing it as well.

As he left he says to me, “I could do that you know.  I could do what you do.”

I took my last bite, and headed to the sink.  Over my shoulder I said, “I know.”

He walked on before coming back to me.  “Hey!  Wait a minute.  First you say I can’t.  Now you say I can.  I don’t get it.”

So I say the only logical thing I can at this moment.  “Kevin, whether you think you can or you can’t….you’re right.”

Victories and successes were meant to be shared.

I reached out and took outstretched hands several times along the way while losing.  I had quite a few people tell me yesterday that they have such a hard time doing this.

The Nazi had to approach me with his encouraging words  countless times before I even noticed his outstretched hand.

But he had been patiently waiting for me to get it.   And the second I took up his offer for help in the gym, he became a constant.

Many times he stopped his own workout to stand by me while I did mine.

If there were people who he thought would get me off track with the cardio, he would physically stand between my machine and the “distractions” as he liked to call the chatty people!

People think I have issues with chatting at the gym.  My hot ISS friend Kevin told me before he ever met me not to stop being a chatty Kathy at the gym. 

I guess I just put out that vibe.  Any way, I digress…

Oh, wait, I didn’t digress.  He helped me with my diet.

And the closer I got to goal, the more people started getting excited. 

They wanted to jog with me, lift with me, eat clean with me…they wanted to help pull me there.

I swear to you that collectively my entire gym held their breath for me when I got stuck at 206 for three months.  They were there at the ready with tips, advice, and new things for me to try.

And when I broke through that plateau, pandemonium broke out!  All those reached-out hands started clapping!

Believe it or not, people actually enjoy helping.  Think about it in your own life, you don’t make offers to help people that you just don’t want to help.

When you take that hand they offer, you are allowing them to be a part of your future success.

Because isn’t that why they help you?  They see a vision of your success that you may not yet be able to see…and they just want to be a part of it.

A few months ago my best friend Alan and I decided to ride his paddle boat across the lake.

Just as we were leaving, our friend Kathy ran toward us with outstretched arms.  “Don’t forget your life jackets.” 

We both looked at her and rolled our eyes.  I mean, hello!  It’s a paddle boat, Kathy!!!

As we paddled away, Alan called to her, “We’re covered.  The seats double as flotation devices.”

And they do.

So, we set out in our little boat, happily pedaling away and chatting.  Well, as you can well imagine, I was doing the chatting.  He was doing the listening.

We made it to the other side, with the intention of getting out and visiting Alan’s cousin for a minute before we paddled back across the lake.

Until a boat approaches.  The game warden’s boat.

“Where’s your life jackets?”

Alan quickly snaps off the back of my chair to show him it’s a flotation device.

“That won’t do.  I need to see your driver’s license.  Both of you.”

I’m trying to remain serious, but I’m thinking, you have got to be freaking kidding me.  Have you ever pulled someone over in a paddle boat and they had their license?!  Because if you have, I need to meet this person so he can help me get my life in order.  I’m doing good to have it in my CAR!  For real!!

Alan, knowing how I am, gives me “the look” and I know to keep my pie hole shut.  He’s a former police man, so he knew what to say.  The warden agrees to let us go, provided we hurry on back home.

Now, y’all, there is no way on God’s green earth you can hurry in a paddle boat.  It’s like being in the Flintstone car.  Your feet start moving, but there ain’t nothing happening!

Of course, I’m thinking the whole thing is hysterically funny, while Alan has to keep telling me, “Stop laughing and paddle, or I’m going to jump off and swim back.”

So, I’m thinking it’s his paddle boat, why would this bother me?  So, I just say, “OK, bad boy, swim on with your bad self!!!”

But as we pulled back to the dock, there stood Kathy.  And with shame and laughter, we told her we had been pulled over.

Sometimes, we can spare ourselves a lot of trouble by taking what’s in the outstretched hands.  Remember?   She had them.  All we had to do was reach up.  But we weren’t looking up.  We were looking at our feet.

If someone is offering to help you, accept what’s in the outstretched hand, stop looking at your feet.

Diet help.  Cardio partner.  Lifting advice.  A shoulder to lean on.  Someone to dry your tears or even cry with you.

Get your eyes up, look toward the goal, and reach for the outstretched hand…because today is a good day not to go it alone.

I remember mowing my neighbor’s lawn one time.

They were elderly.  She was the type of woman who had never pushed a mower.  She was frail.  Her husband of forty years had bladder cancer. 

As luck would have it, their granddaughter was their back door neighbor.  But she had just had surgery on her wrist, and her husband worked out of state.

And the yard was beginning to look like a forest.  No one was well enough to push a mower.

Since they were at the hospital, I figured the yard was the last thing on their mind.  So, I mowed it. 

And I didn’t really think anything about it.

Until I walked in the house, and my ex ripped me a new one.  He said, “That was nosy, and you had no business doing that.  They are going to think you thought badly of their yard.”

And y’all, that stung.

And I worried and fretted all afternoon.

Until there was a knock at the door that evening, and my little old lady neighbor said she had to kiss the cheek of her angel.

And my ex apologized and learned not to say anything on my weekly endeavor to mow their yard.

But…it just shows you, you cannot control what others think.

Some people will think we take our diets too far, while others wish they had our discipline.  And we cannot control that.

Some people will think we spend too much time in the gym, while others admire our dedication.  And we cannot control that.

Some people will think the muscle we have chosen to sculpt is fabulous, while others think it’s freaky.  And we cannot control that.

The only thing we can control is our reactions to what is said to us.

If it’s a compliment, accept it.

It it’s derogatory, accept that as part of being a dedicated member of the fitness community.  Because that just means you’re doing something right!

I had a friend tell me not too long ago that I had worked out too long.  That my shoulders were too broad.

I smiled and said, “Thank you.”

I worked hard to build those shoulders.  And she cannot control how I react to what she said!

As some of you know, if you were to call my cell phone and I do not answer, this is what you will hear:

“You’ve reached Adina.  If you love me, leave me a message.”

And it’s southern, and it’s perky, and it’s loud.

But it’s just who I am…and it weeds out a lot of calls I don’t want.

Because I state it pretty clearly, IF you LOVE me, leave me a message.  I don’t give any options for those who don’t.

Do you think a salesman is going to leave a message?  Or someone who doesn’t like me?

Well, no.

But there’s something to be said about saying exactly what you want….or don’t want.

So…if you love me, like me, tolerate me and my perkiness, or meet me in passing…

Don’t offer me fries.

Don’t ask me to skip my workout.

Don’t tell me I’ve taken this fitness thing too far.

And you know what?  Because I’ve made fitness my message for the last two years now, I don’t get derailed like I used to.  It took those around me a long time to hear my message, but they finally did.

Just like my phone message derails loser guys, salesmen, and my ex (y’all know he hates that message!!!)….the message that I send out on a daily basis derails the people who would hold me back.

Say it louder.  Say it stronger.  Say it as many times as it takes.  Say it till they hear it…and it becomes the message that you send out too.

After a year of jogging, I had only lost 27 pounds.  I just knew something had to be wrong with my metabolism.  I just knew it.

I did a good bit of my jogging around the local baseball fields while my oldest was practicing.

I was the only one who did this.  Everyone else just sat and visited. 

There was this one woman though.  She was perfect.  Just the right amount of muscle.  Very little fat.  Hers was the figure I was trying to attain.

I never saw her outside the ballpark, so I assumed she was just genetically gifted.  Don’t we like to assume that?  It’s easier that way.

I mean there I was, jogging.  Day after day.  Week after week.  But I was still over 200 pounds.

It was after practice one evening that I decided I was too tired, and it was too late to cook.  So, I took the boys to Pizza Hut.

I had just jogged.  So in my mind, that made it OK.

And to my surprise, the fit woman came in.  And immediately I thought, “I knew it.  She IS gifted.  She eats just like me.”

So, I felt very little guilt starting on my third piece of pepperoni pizza.

And she ends up at the table next to me.  So, I’m excited at the justification I’m about….to…wit…

What was that?  She ordered a salad and black coffee?

Oh wait.  There’s hope.  She ordered pizza for her boys.  She has two boys, just like me.

And she eats…

Not one bite of pizza.  No dressing on her salad.  No cream or sugar in her coffee.

And I will never forget the lesson I learned that day.

Fit people made better choices than me.

And I’m on the other side now.  And I still go to places like Pizza Hut and McDonalds, but I eat like the woman I saw that day.

And that has made all the difference.

And that woman at McDonalds yesterday?  Yes, I really did tell her to leave…but…she left with my number.

And if she’s brave enough to call, I’ll know she’s ready.

I made the mistake of going to McDonalds yesterday.

My oldest child was at football practice.  It wasn’t going to be over till 7:00, and I knew he would be starving.

So, I got him a chicken sandwich and a small drink.  We don’t do the grease-laden, salt-loaded, fries-of-death!

I scanned the room…

Now mind you, this is left-over from my Big Girl days.  I used to scan the room to see if there was somebody….ANYBODY bigger than me.  And usually there wasn’t.

And it’s actually a habit I have tried to break, but I find myself still looking.  Just have to make sure I’m not the biggest…one…in…the…

OH MY GOSH!

I was by far…by VERY far…the smallest person in that room.

There was a man who looked to be ten months pregnant at the checkout with three overweight children.  And he was just standing there rubbing his belly.

People were squished in booths everywhere I turned.  Bellies and boobs resting on tables.

What used to be a playground is now nothing but video games, and you guessed it…chubby kids at play.

One family walked in and had to sit down immediately.  I guess they drew straws.  The loser had to stand and do the ordering while the winners yelled their order from across the room.  Apparently, thinking is exhausting.

Yet I was the weird one when I uttered these words, “I need a grilled chicken sandwich and a small drink.”

Because the cashier says, “Would you like fries with that?”

And when I said no, the room looked at me like I had just sprouted a third eye.

But I wasn’t saying no to fries…

I was saying, “No, thank you, I don’t want to weigh 256 pounds ever again.”  That last part is implied!

And when I’m leaving, someone stops me to say, “I saw you on TV.  How did you lose all that weight?  I want to do what you did.”

And I said the only thing I could think of, “Go back to your car.  Go home and cook a healthy meal for you and your kids.  This place is not where you need to be.”

I don’t know if she left or not.  I couldn’t see from my rearview mirror.

I made the mistake of going to McDonalds yesterday.

My oldest child was at football practice.  It wasn’t going to be over till 7:00, and I knew he would be starving.

So, I got him a chicken sandwich and a small drink.  We don’t do the grease-laden, salt-loaded, fries-of-death!

I scanned the room…

Now mind you, this is left-over from my Big Girl days.  I used to scan the room to see if there was somebody….ANYBODY bigger than me.  And usually there wasn’t.

And it’s actually a habit I have tried to break, but I find myself still looking.  Just have to make sure I’m not the biggest…one…in…the…

OH MY GOSH!

I was by far…by VERY far…the smallest person in that room.

There was a man who looked to be ten months pregnant at the checkout with three overweight children.  And he was just standing there rubbing his belly.

People were squished in booths everywhere I turned.  Bellies and boobs resting on tables.

What used to be a playground is now nothing but video games, and you guessed it…chubby kids at play.

One family walked in and had to sit down immediately.  I guess they drew straws.  The loser had to stand and do the ordering while the winners yelled their order from across the room.  Apparently, thinking is exhausting.

Yet I was the weird one when I uttered these words, “I need a grilled chicken sandwich and a small drink.”

Because the cashier says, “Would you like fries with that?”

And when I said no, the room looked at me like I had just sprouted a third eye.

But I wasn’t saying no to fries…

I was saying, “No, thank you, I don’t want to weigh 256 pounds ever again.”  That last part is implied!

And when I’m leaving, someone stops me to say, “I saw you on TV.  How did you lose all that weight?  I want to do what you did.”

And I said the only thing I could think of, “Go back to your car.  Go home and cook a healthy meal for you and your kids.  This place is not where you need to be.”

I don’t know if she left or not.  I couldn’t see from my rearview mirror.

I was dropping my boys off yesterday when I saw a friend of mine waddling down the sidewalk.

I say waddling, because that is exactly what she was doing.

She is obese.  Obese to the point it affects the very way she walks.  Each step lumbered.  Each step painful.

And I hurt for her, because it’s like watching someone slowly kill themselves one bite at a time.

And isn’t that exactly what she’s doing? 

I had a mark that I would not let myself get beyond.  Now granted, that mark was too high, but I still had one.

I hovered around 200 pounds all through high school and the years immediately following.  I decided that 250 was the weight I would never allow myself to move beyond.  Never.  Not ever.  Because that would put me closer to 300 pounds than 200.  And that was my mark.  I could not be closer to 300 pounds.  I just couldn’t.

And I did OK with this, until my second pregnancy.  I weighed 230 pounds the day I found out I was pregnant.  And I knew I would go over that mark….and the day I did was completely and utterly devastating.  And when I could, I did something about it.

I suppose my friend never made a mark.  A point she would not allow herself to go beyond.

But the way I see it is this, you either make a mark, or it will be made for you.

Will her mark be diabetes?  High blood pressure?  Gout?  Or will she wind up bed-ridden?

And whether or not she ever chooses a mark, she certainly leaves a mark.  The legacy she leaves for her children…who are already following in her footsteps.

But hopefully they will find what she could not…and they will not waddle down her same road.

And I will send my friend an E-mail today.  Just to check in…hoping she will ask me for help, but more than likely she won’t.

You see…she has waddled so long she doesn’t even know she does it.  She thinks this is just how things are.  And that is sad.

But even sadder is that fact that I want more for her than she wants for herself.

Because that’s the thing.  Setting that mark shows you care enough about yourself to have a limit.  And that should you surpass it, you are worth the effort it takes to get back under it.

And even though I have been at goal for years now, I still keep a mark…and I don’t allow myself to go beyond it.

So I was thinking about what Colin said yesterday.  The comment he left under my Blog.

“One of my greatest challenges has always been the battle against self-medication through eating.  It’s so easy to slip back into old habits when things get tough.”

I’ve been in maintenance a few years now.  I’ve kept 121 pounds off for two years.  If you were to look at the statistics for the number of people who gain their weight back, it would absolutely blow your mind.

It’s mind boggling.

But what I think people don’t prepare for is the fact that trials and tribulations are just part of life.

No matter how much weight you lose, you will have bad days.

And it’s like one of my favorite people told me one time, “You fixed the outside.  That was the easy part…  Now, you have to work on the inside.”

Losing weight is not the magic cure to what ails you. 

The magic cure lies in finding something to replace the way you used to deal, or self-medicate, as Colin would say.

Even two years after reaching goal, my mind still thinks of food as the first comfort option when days go wrong.

But did you notice I said, “thinks”? 

That’s important, because I’ve learned to let that need for food remain as just that.  A thought.

And thinking about food does not make me gain weight!

I learned how to get lost in other things…

Reading.  Writing.  Jogging.  Dancing.  Singing.

You see, it’s in my control.

How I choose to handle myself in any given situation is mine.  All mine. 

And just like there are some who will always crave drugs or alcohol, there are some who will always crave food.

And if saying no to junk food when I’m having a bad day is the worst of my problems, then I have a pretty good life.