Tuesday, April 08, 2008
I think I know what this blog is for.
I've been struggling (again) to modify my eating habits to lose weight. I began in earnest in mid-January, after a tearful appointment with my kind diabetes educator, Deb, where I weighed in at the all-too-close-to-400 number of 381 pounds. Deb makes a point of being motivational, and sometimes, honestly, she's a little over the top for me... but I needed her enthusiasm as I had reached the point where all my meds were maxed out. My oral Diabetes meds were at the max... and my long-acting insulin was pretty much at the max as well. The next step was pre-meal insulin and even more blood testing. I don't know why I find this one step so repugnant... but I do. for whatever reason, it's a motivator. So... down goes the foot. Up goes the "steely determination" as Lynn Redgrave said so memorably in the Lean Cuisine commercials a few years back. And I began what wife Pamela and I refer to as the "Greg stops going to drive-throughs diet."
I really really liked my drive-through ritual. Every day, I'd look forward to getting out of work in time to catch the last of McDonald's breakfast moments. Gotta get there by 10:25am or I miss out. Get my food, park and listen to talk radio. Take an hour if I want. Time all to myself... a ritual to feel in control. What exactly I feel not in control of? My whole life? Gee... this blog entry could get long. I don't have "long" available right now.
So the short story is, I don't do that any more. Three months later, I'm down to 364. It's been a hard 17 pounds. And now I want to give up.
Whoa, what?
The legs hurt. The breath is short. The very present possibility of myocardial infarction scares the shit out of me. The more distant but super-creepy diabetes complications of extremity amputation, kidney failure, blindness, etc make for a "declining years" scenario that is just too freaky bad to imagine.
A guy whose joy comes from singing with Madrigal Choir and speaking on the radio needs his breath. And, at 48 later this month, barring suicide or accidental death, It's quite possible I'll live into my 80's, whether I like that idea or not.
I like the idea better when the scenario includes less pain and more brain-space to enjoy life. And wouldn't it be nice to actually get back into acting one day? To be healthy enough to slip around my schedule to accomodate evening rehearsals? To be able to actually exercise without pain?
So, the specter of gastric bypass hangs over my head. Dad has lobbied pretty strongly for it. The reality of feeling really really cheated by only losing 17 pounds in 12 weeks of really really hard work is scaring me. Yes, I haven't begun exercising yet. While the legs, back & hips feel better than they did, I'm still feeling like an older man than 48. I've let my foot calluses go on untreated for too long. Hope my podiatrist appointment next week lives up to my wife's billing of it.
OK, this is rambly. Don't have time for my life story. I guess blogs aren't really for dumping it all at once... but for doing it regularly over time.
So, here I am. I have begun what I want to be a life change. Lose an average of 1.4 pounds every week for the foreseeable future. Try to think of it less as a diet and more as a way of living to get used to. "living" being the operative term.
And no, I'm not suicidal. I've been suicidal in the past, I know what it feels like, and I'm not there. Just frustrated. I've been clinically depressed in the past, I know what it feels like, and I'm not there, either. Just frustrated. Work pressure doesn't help.
OK, speaking of work, time to do some.
I've been struggling (again) to modify my eating habits to lose weight. I began in earnest in mid-January, after a tearful appointment with my kind diabetes educator, Deb, where I weighed in at the all-too-close-to-400 number of 381 pounds. Deb makes a point of being motivational, and sometimes, honestly, she's a little over the top for me... but I needed her enthusiasm as I had reached the point where all my meds were maxed out. My oral Diabetes meds were at the max... and my long-acting insulin was pretty much at the max as well. The next step was pre-meal insulin and even more blood testing. I don't know why I find this one step so repugnant... but I do. for whatever reason, it's a motivator. So... down goes the foot. Up goes the "steely determination" as Lynn Redgrave said so memorably in the Lean Cuisine commercials a few years back. And I began what wife Pamela and I refer to as the "Greg stops going to drive-throughs diet."
I really really liked my drive-through ritual. Every day, I'd look forward to getting out of work in time to catch the last of McDonald's breakfast moments. Gotta get there by 10:25am or I miss out. Get my food, park and listen to talk radio. Take an hour if I want. Time all to myself... a ritual to feel in control. What exactly I feel not in control of? My whole life? Gee... this blog entry could get long. I don't have "long" available right now.
So the short story is, I don't do that any more. Three months later, I'm down to 364. It's been a hard 17 pounds. And now I want to give up.
Whoa, what?
The legs hurt. The breath is short. The very present possibility of myocardial infarction scares the shit out of me. The more distant but super-creepy diabetes complications of extremity amputation, kidney failure, blindness, etc make for a "declining years" scenario that is just too freaky bad to imagine.
A guy whose joy comes from singing with Madrigal Choir and speaking on the radio needs his breath. And, at 48 later this month, barring suicide or accidental death, It's quite possible I'll live into my 80's, whether I like that idea or not.
I like the idea better when the scenario includes less pain and more brain-space to enjoy life. And wouldn't it be nice to actually get back into acting one day? To be healthy enough to slip around my schedule to accomodate evening rehearsals? To be able to actually exercise without pain?
So, the specter of gastric bypass hangs over my head. Dad has lobbied pretty strongly for it. The reality of feeling really really cheated by only losing 17 pounds in 12 weeks of really really hard work is scaring me. Yes, I haven't begun exercising yet. While the legs, back & hips feel better than they did, I'm still feeling like an older man than 48. I've let my foot calluses go on untreated for too long. Hope my podiatrist appointment next week lives up to my wife's billing of it.
OK, this is rambly. Don't have time for my life story. I guess blogs aren't really for dumping it all at once... but for doing it regularly over time.
So, here I am. I have begun what I want to be a life change. Lose an average of 1.4 pounds every week for the foreseeable future. Try to think of it less as a diet and more as a way of living to get used to. "living" being the operative term.
And no, I'm not suicidal. I've been suicidal in the past, I know what it feels like, and I'm not there. Just frustrated. I've been clinically depressed in the past, I know what it feels like, and I'm not there, either. Just frustrated. Work pressure doesn't help.
OK, speaking of work, time to do some.
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