Paula Deen's Words of Wisdom

I love Paula Deen-- I love her big personality and the way she could work butter into almost any recipe (at least prior to her diabetes diagnosis, which broke my heart a little, y'all!) But I've appreciated the ways she's been public about her struggle to lead a healthier lifestyle.  This was posted on her blog, but I loved it so much that I wanted you to be able to read it in case you don't follow her (but you should!)

Heading in the Right Direction

By Paula Deen

How come I’m always trying to “get” into shape but I never seem to arrive at my destination? Like most women I know, I’ve tried all sorts of crazy diets and fads over the years, even ones involving legwarmers and a trampoline. Those efforts never really paid off—probably because I lost interest well before the cool down. I know I need to make some changes in my lifestyle, but I also know that this time it’s got to stick like glue. So instead of going hog wild, I’ve decided to embrace the process of “getting there”—one little step at a time.

I’ve been trying to take small steps every day. I’ve been eatin’ more fruits and veggies, and I’ve cut down on fried foods and given up Sweet Tea, which means pigs must be flyin’ somewhere! I even started using my treadmill.

Now that the weather’s improved, I’m enjoying morning strolls outside. I say “hello” to the ducks on the pond and the hens in the chicken coop, and they look at me like I have three heads—guess they aren’t used to my new routine just yet. But the best is when I have someone to chat with so I can get my mind off the walking. I especially love when my dear friend Donna joins me. We end up gossiping like schoolgirls and before we know it, we’ve been moving our feet and running our mouths for 30 minutes!

Recently, I started following up my walk with a delicious breakfast smoothie, which tastes even better after you earn it. Recently, I was introduced to by a dear friend what I now call my Good Morning Green Smoothie. Now, don’t let the color fool you—it’s not like gnawin’ on grass or anything. It’s sweet, refreshing, and surprisingly filling. Donna was a little skeptical at first, but she came around after she saw me suck mine back. I just love, love, love that smoothie!

I was surprised to see these little steps add up. I’m even able to fit into a pair of “wishful” jeans that I’ve been holding onto for years (ladies, y’all know what I’m talkin’ about). Of course, that makes me feel real good about myself, but the best is when someone says to me, “I can tell you’re taking better care of yourself.”

I may not be “there” just yet, but at least I’m gettin’ somewhere.

Stop the Insanity!

I have no idea what that phrase was referring to, but I have some vague memory of a bald Susan Powter (sp?) shouting that through TV screens in the the early 90's.   And it seems like a good phrase for me as I seem to be eating my way through Atlanta right now.  But to be fair, I spent four years here-- and we developed a lot of "favorite" places.   Of course, now that we're back for a conference, it only makes sense to go back.  I guess I am just now realizing why this was such a dangerous place-- or probably the true birthplace of the pudgy parson.  (As I write, DH has come out of the shower--wearing a towel cape, no less-- wondering what I was doing.  "Blogging about all the horrible eating I'm doing while we're here. I feel like we're eating our way through Atlanta!"  He considered this for a moment and said, "I'm the Patrick Henry of eating!  I have not yet begun to eat my way through Atlanta."  Clearly, that's his towel cape talking.  This is surely not my weight-watcher's-doing, gym-going, rockstar of a husband.)  But what I was telling you before towel-cape man showed up was that Atlanta was dangerous...but sadly, the police could do nothing about this sort of dangerous.  After all, they cannot arrest folks for stuffing their faces.  (Probably best that way.  That'd be a terrible thing to get a reputation for.   If I'm going to make headlines, I want it to be for something better than "Presbyterian Pastor Arrested for Gluttony.")

My body is getting down right grouchy again-- as it does when I fall prey to this bad behavior.  It's like my body thinks it gets a vote.  It's like my stomach is shouting "Stop the Insanity!!".  Gosh, I hope the people next to me can't hear it.  That would make for an interesting conversation...

So...who wants Thai food for lunch? Anyone? Anyone?

Slowly, slowly...

I've started jalking again--and my body is trying to cooperate (or at least not to curse at me).  I got in four miles yesterday and almost four on Sunday.  They weren't pretty, but I'm not hurting as badly as I thought.  And bonus: my frozen peas have stayed in my freezer for several days now.  What? You eat the peas you freeze? I put them on my shins.  

Maybe the shins are finally recovered, and if I take it slow (uh... slower than I was, if that is possible) then maybe I won't hurt myself this time.  I'm still pretty sure there's a runner trapped inside me somewhere-- I just have to convince her to come out of hiding.

In the meantime...

Grrr... I've been thwarted!  When I went to run with the super-athletes at the running club, I heard the words I didn't want to hear:  "You need to stay off those shin splints for a while."  I'd been battling them for weeks, and probably knew that, but when the physical therapists said it, I finally took it to heart.  So for two weeks, I've not run.  I've rested, and I've iced, and I've stretched.  But I've also cycled and swam and ellipticaled. (Sure, that must be a word...)  But I've missed the running a little bit.  I've missed making progress on a goal.

But, wonder of wonders! All this cross training reminded my body of a time when I was swimming and biking and jalking-- a time when those things were the goal.  I thought I was working on doing a half marathon in December, and maybe I still am, but I've got tr-fever again.  I found one in Wilmington in July, and though the training time is a little shorter than I'd like, I think it's doable.  (Because I'm a rockstar? Or, at least because I'm crazy...) Now if only I could tri without doing the spandex.

A girl always needs a goal...

Taking the Plunge

Whoa look at me, getting all brave! I did it.  I took the plunge.  I joined not one, but two, running clubs.  True confession:  I have never run with anyone else (except mandatory PE days... I cringe at those memories!) I have never run with other people because I was too intimidated, too afraid that I would look like a joke, too afraid that I couldn't keep up.  And maybe, too afraid to admit that I really want to be a runner.

But after looking and looking for clubs to join (I figured I could, you know, silently look at their message boards or something)  I finally found some near me.  Thanks RRCA!  And one of them looks like it might be a great starting place, maybe even filled with average people, not those superathletes that could run from here to the moon.  It says "Let's Run: We're running a 5k.  Can't run that far? No worries, walk it out. That's what we're here for!"

And the plan is that I might actually run with them.  I RSVP'ed to Thursday's event.  I'm excited. And nervous.  And definitely not wearing spandex.

Falling off the wagon

"Old habits die hard" is what I've heard.  Or "You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

There's some truth to those sayings-- I guess that's why they're cliches! My husband and I were doing pretty well...until we went Spring Breaking.  We made resolutions that we would continue with Weight Watchers and exercising, even while away.

I walked the first two days.  But then we got busy.  Then we remembered what good food there was to be had as we journeyed to some of our favorite places.  Then we went to the movies-- where popcorn became a certain necessity.  Then we cooked some really great meals, and portion control was a sad afterthought.

Long story short: spring break was an adventure in falling off the wagon.   And I'm not gonna lie-- it felt kinda good.  Except that I was nasueated a good part of the time because my blood sugar levels seemed to have the heebeyjeebies.  Except that I didn't have as much energy and never had a "good" run. Except that all I wanted to do was eat.  Except that my previously loose pants seemed to have shrunk overnight.  Hmm...maybe it wasn't as good as I thought it was.

On our last day away, we saw an old friend.  She's lost 40lbs through diet and exercise.  She looked great.   And while I'm immensely happy for her, I'm also jealous...or at least motivated again!  Sometimes the idea of losing as much weight as I need to lose is daunting.  It's helpful to see people who have actually made it happen for them-- even if I wanted to call her names.

Look out, wagon. The Pudgy Parson rides again!

Losing and Finding

Sorry for the blogging hiatus! Lent makes pastors lose their minds with crazyness-- and this pudgy parson was no exception!  But here I am-- mentally back intact, slightly less pudgy (umm 1.5 inches lost in my thighs, nearly 3 lost in my hips...thank you, Weight Watchers--and running my...butt...off!) and ready, once again, to do this thing.

On March 17-- I lost. I had been training for a 5k with the hopes of finally running the whole thing.  I was ready, mentally and physically.  I had my faithful cheering squad positioned at the finish line, where I was going to be seen smiling from ear to ear as my face said, "Yeah. I did that.  Now what?"  Only it didn't go that way.  I'd been nursing a nasty case of shin splints for several weeks, and on the day of the race, they decided to be particularly mean. A mile into the race, I sent my husband the text "1 mile down, and I'm about to cry from pain." I tried to jog really gently, but my legs were done.  To have continued would have meant sure injury.  So I walked.  I managed to sprint the last quarter mile, but my spirit was crushed and angry.   And just because my body was really spiteful, crawling into bed that night, I seem to have pulled an overly tight hamstring.  I limped through church--and had to explain to my well meaning but curious parishioners that I hurt myself running. I had to stomach the not so well hidden "Running? Really? With how big you are?"looks.   I lost that day. I lost a notion that races have to go as planned to be successful.  I lost a need to prove something to myself, even at the cost of injury.  I lost the belief that I could make my body my slave (that's scriptural!).  But I didn't just lose that day.  I found.

I found a desire to try again, a deep seated belief that I needed to work with and listen to my body.  I found truth in the idea that every step counts, and that to have finished the race at all made it successful.  As soon as the hamstring healed, I walked a few days.  I began slowly running.  I started training for a 10k.  And I've picked out another 5k (and a half marathon...in december...but that's another story.  A girl always needs a dream!)

The pudgy parson might have "lost" the race.  Or maybe the pudgy parson found what it is to be a real athlete.   Either way, she's happy that she's a little less pudgy-- because that was the goal to begin with!