The Chicken Noodle Soup Diet - part 3

Goodbye
Originally uploaded by The Put-Man

The problem, in a nut-shell, is what I call the “want-to” factor. Do I really WANT to go to the gym? Hell, no. I’d much rather lay on the couch & watch movies! Do I really WANT a low-fat 600 calorie quesadilla for dinner? Honestly, I’d much rather have pizza…

So, how do we make effective changes in our lives that will add up, long enough, to really make a difference?

I’ve always despised the word “diet”. I feel that in our American lexicon, it implies something temporary – a quick fix for our drive-thru society. The only REAL way to make the changes we want to see…is through changing our habits, for the rest of our lives. This is where I begin beating myself up, my long trail of tears. You see, I just don’t have the personal discipline to force myself into doing things I don’t want to, every damn day. Some people might be good at that, but they’re also probably good at balancing their checkbooks, doing their taxes on time, and buying safe cars that are environmentally friendly. I’m just not like that. I wish I could flip a switch and be the person I was programmed me to be, but something in my DNA just won’t let me. Don’t fence me in, Baby – I’m a wild pony! For 20 years I’ve broken rules that irritate me, driven fast cars, smoked cigarettes, drank brown liquor, and eaten my share of fire-blackened-dead-cow every day, after I sleep in as damn much as the previous day’s hangover requires. You see, inside my dark & twisty mind, giving up booze & smokes to live a healthy lifestyle felt cosmically connected to minivans and sound financial planning. Grown-up stuff. My life is driven entirely by the “want-to”-factor, all else be damned.

Then I realized – this could be the key to my success.

All I had to do was figure out subtle ways to find the things I wanted, that also happened to be healthy for me. It wasn’t a black or white situation, a simple case of good or bad. There was a third sub-set of things I liked, that ALSO just happened to be good for me.

This was weird.

Chicken Noodle Soup was the first thing I figured out, soon there were others. I found Trader Joe’s had chicken quesadillas at 300 calories each. SCORE! Breakfast quiches at 180 calories. WIN! Mini-chicken-tacos at 600 calories for 10. AWESOME! But the daily glance in the mirror affirmed this was not going to be so easily solved. My weekly weigh-ins continued to validate that each week brought fresh challenges to my quest. I got better at my routine, I refined my plan, and yet I was still struggling with what felt to be enormous effort for just the tiniest of wins. It became tougher to maintain my routine, and easier to fall prey to my case of “fuck-it-itis”, a contagious disease of malaise and apathy.

Then the girl I’d been dating finally did something so outrageously awful, that everything changed. Filled with outrage and anger, I snapped.

I broke up with her immediately.

My soul felt like a sponge soaked in resentment, and rage. Anger fueled me, my only outlet the gym, my only sense of control felt like what I was putting in my fridge. I felt that everything had suddenly been muted. Colors were dull, food had no taste, and even smells had gone away. During February in Chicago – frozen arctic that it is – there was precious little daylight, and it was so bitterly cold that one simply hopped from temperate zone to temperate zone. House to car to office, much like living in Vegas during the summer, except it was always dark, and cold rather than hot.

I was so depressed, I didn’t even drink. The Ex had effectively separated me from my group of Happy Hour friends, but I’d also come to realize that those friendships were pretty limited, anyway. Then, a long-standing best-friend became more distant. Even my family was far away, and felt particularly unsupportive, as they’d rather liked the ex.

I was very angry. Resentment fueled me.

I learned to keep a water bottle at my desk, and I learned to fill it - both when I first came in, and when I first got in from lunch. The trick was – if it was full and THERE, I’d just drink from it and not even think about it. But if it got empty, and I realized I was thirsty, then I craved a soda. Keep it full = brain happy.

I learned to count the number of times I chewed. I know that sounds a bit crazy, but I realized if I didn’t count, I chewed about a third as much as I did when I concentrated. Suddenly, paying enough attention to count, I found most of my food was a lot tougher to chew than I'd realized! Each time my jaw clenched, it was a tiny little bit of anger being expressed. With every bite of food, I was shouting inside my own head. Each bite was a step towards hell, and I counted them all.

I was still angry. Still resentful.

I also learned other coping techniques. Between each bite, with so much more time spent on chewing, it seemed predatory to hold my fork up like a vulture ready to swoop while I chewed away. I learned to put it down. Chew. Breathe. Drink water. Breathe. Pick up fork. Bite. Chew. Put fork down. Chew. Breathe. Repeat.

I was so very angry. Resentment felt like bile in my throat.

I learned that I ate more slowly if I sat at my kitchen table rather than in front of the TV. I learned to use the smaller plates, and to limit myself to just one – no seconds! EVER! I learned that I could be happier with a LOT less, if I ate more often, and on a strict schedule. If I ate often enough to not GET too hungry, I was MUCH more likely to be able to contain myself.

Predictably, I was surprised the day things changed.

It was an incredible gift that did it. I got a puppy from my Mother. A sweet, adorable little ball of tri-color-fuzz. I’d not had a dog in several years, and the little guy helped melt my Grinch-heart. I named him Clyde.

I walked him quite often, trying to housetrain him. I’d get up early when he’d whine, to let him out so he’d learn to let me know when he had 'to go'. I went home at lunch so he’d not have to wait too long. I’d go home right after work, again, so he’d not have to wait too long.

Slowly, I began to realize, by being up earlier I was able to have a decent breakfast. That way, when I came home for lunch with Clyde, I was able to keep THAT reasonable. If I remembered to take a late afternoon snack, I wasn’t so famished when I came home at 6pm. If I had dinner stuff I’d chosen that I actually LIKED, I ate it, regardless of how healthy it was.

Then I noticed that I needed more holes in my belt, as it was loose enough it wouldn’t hold up my comfy-baggy pants.

Clyde had helped me turn the corner.

You can't tell ME that Mom's don't know just EXACTLY what the hell they're doing...