Next Chapter

Last week my friend’s husband came to retrieve his son from our apartment. The boys had been at the Ranger game. As M’s friend was lacing up his high tops (who said boys’ gear was easier?) friend’s husband, who works with my best friend, asked if I had spoken to her. “Well I guess she’s away right now, where is she away?”  He was asking about someone very dear to me but I shook my head and said, “I didn’t know she was away but I don’t really know much that’s happening.” I could see his confusion, actually I think he thought I had lost my mind but there’s a legit excuse you see my theme song for months and months has been.

Everyday

Everyday

Everyday I write the book.

Everyday

Everyday

Everyday

Everyday I write the book...
(love this song but enough already)

I know some people write for a living and churn out book after book. Other experts, who are more intelligent than I am, use ghostwriters to reduce time spent. Not me, I thought it would be “fun” to write a book. Which means weekends were spent here

Writing or oftentimes looking out the window at this

The irony of writing a book with strategies for every food scenario while being scenario-less.

But today, my theme song will change (not sure to what) but my outfit of sweatpants, slippers and a cardigan (the unappealing mental image this conjures up isn't as heinous as the real ms) will change to this

better color in person think more raspberry less cha cha, I promise

It’s a good thing I have a drastic chapter in the book.

And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I finished the book on her birthday, Mrs Fearless would've been 42 this week.

Still hard to believe but look what you and Dave accomplished.

The Little Book of Thin is a fear facing moment. I’m rarely proud of myself and this could be a complete flop but I wrote it.  And now I think I want to write another one (and have an idea) but when I shared it with my support crew. My son who is 11 (tomorrow) said, “wait a minute does this mean you’re going to be inside and mean for another year?” Hmn

I will be back with more consistent blog posts in April (email me any topic suggestions or requests). Thank you for sticking with me. In the meantime, excited to read a book, book.

What are the best books you’ve read lately? What are your favorite nutrition or food books and why? Can you name that tune I quoted above?

What to Do When You're Married to Mr Bagel

 

It was October 29^th, the day of the weirdly early snowstorm in NYC, my Blackberry buzzed indicating an email. The email was from a client but not just any client; this client was supremely driven to look fierce at her upcoming birthday bash. Our whittling work started months ago and momentum has been steadily building toward the 11-11-11 party date. We’ll nickname her B (for birthday). B has been mentally filed in my unstoppable category.  The email read, “I ended my run on 59th Street which just so happens to be the site of my husband's office.  Since he's slammed with work, I bought some coffee and surprised him.  While there, he offered me half a bagel."

My heart skipped a beat but it turns out that B resisted the bagel and reminded her man of her birthday plan. I congratulated B on her snowy run and bagel resistance. I then asked, “what are we going to do about Mr. Bagel?” She replied:

Mr. Bagel is 6'1" and has weighed within the same 5 lb. range for at least 20 years. What do you do when you're married to a handsome, rail thin man with the metabolism of a 25 year old who can eat whatever he wants?  It's like I'm married to the male version of Heidi Klum.  (And isn't it nice that I think of him that way?) To be fair to Mr. Bagel, he does do many things right.  He just can indulge when he wants without consequence.  Me, not so much.

I told B I could relate. My husband’s version of being good is skipping the second beer or the kids’ cookies. A few days of this sham stringency and I have to listen to “I feel really good.” Most men are metabolically superior to women and somehow our lack of noticeable nose hair or gender-based chance at a couple of extra years doesn’t seem like a fair trade. My advice:

• Remind Mr. Bagel  (all “misters” are forgetful) that love isn’t expressed in carbs but with green juice, salmon and calorie free jewelry. I have learned, the hard way, that men sometimes need the ground rules spelled out.

• Another tactic that works is to appeal to aesthetics. “Eating bagels may work for you but giving me a bagel is essentially giving me a muffin top.” It’s then his choice of a fierce of flabby wife. 

• For some men, a scientific explanation can be effective. Men like knowing how things work. “A bagel is equivalent to 6 pieces of white bread which breaks down to sugar which in high amounts predisposes you to diabetes and heart disease.” A little exaggeration never hurts. We’re women after all, right?

• And while I’m not suggesting this before Friday, sometimes it’s good to keep Mr. Bagel sated and surprised (and I’m not talking about that) so in rare circumstances I do suggest having the crappy bagel. It’s all about trade offs and in my experience that buys you about five healthy fish and vegetable meals.

B, I would be happy your Mr. Bagel is the male Heidi Klum and that “you feel that way”.  Other Mr. Bagel’s look this this.

Have a happy birthday and a great party.  You’ve worked hard and it shows and you can probably guess what I’m getting you for your birthday…

Do you have a Mr. Bagel in your life? It can be a friend, family member or coworker. How do you silence a saboteur? How do you manage food or metabolic differences in your relationship? Ever run in a snowstorm?

Jen Goodman Linn: You Were Fearless

From YouFearless.com Jen's Blog

Two years ago, a client was referred to me. When I received her information forms, my heart sunk. The paperwork described a woman, in her thirties, who had been diagnosed with Sarcoma, a rare cancer, in 2003. She had already endured 26 months of chemo and 4 abdominal surgeries. The next day, in my waiting room, was this adorable, bubbly girl with a wide smile and beautiful white teeth. When we started to talk, she was very pragmatic. She was cancer free but wanted to put herself in the best place nutritionally in the event that the cancer came back (and she said it just like that). We devised a plan and, not one to waste precious time, she immediately implemented everything we outlined. This client's name is Jen but I no longer think of her as my client. I think of her as my friend, my teacher and my hero who I will miss so very much. Jen passed away on Wednesday and her funeral is today. 

‎"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count, it is the life in your years."-Abe Lincoln

The quote above appeared on Jen’s Facebook page where people have been sending their wishes and sharing their sadness. Jen wasn't one to stay sad though; she knew how to live. She and her husband Dave started Cycle for Survival and it’s the most successful patient initiated charity Memorial Sloan Kettering has ever had raising over nine million dollars to for rare cancers. I remember sitting with Jen, in November, she was at Sloan getting a blood transfusion and fairly weak. Never one to let an opportunity slip away Jen was signing nurses up for Cycle. Marc and I were honored to experience  Cycle this spring on Team Fearless, Jen’s team. And in all the times I have seen Jen since that first office visit, that smile never faded.

I don’t have wit in me right now but tried to capture some Jen lessons:

Rejoice in what your body can do. 

The second Jen was cleared by doctors she was at the gym trying to regain her strength. Oh and did I mention she asked for a stationary bike in her hospital room? She started Cycle, in part, because spinning was what kept her sane though her treatments and illness. I wrote about Jen before I ran Chicago this year. I was anxious about the race (the weather was much like today) and received this email from Jen:

I am so excited for your marathon next week. If you get tired running just think of the fact that many of us take for granted what a privilege it is to be able to run. With my stomach cramps and tumors, I haven't been able to truly run in years. I miss it so, so much. So enjoy all 26.2 miles because you can! I will be cheering for you from afar.

I will run this morning before the funeral Jen, because I can, and I'll think of you; I’ll play Chumbawamba too.

Know when to see the trees instead of the forest.

Jen endured a roller coaster life of progress and setbacks. When she received news that wasn’t good, she wanted a plan. When the plan for the new treatment was in place, Jen would focus on the steps involved or the treatments. She was like a quarterback who could hone in on the play without getting distracted by all that was happening around them. I think this helped her live fearlessly.  So when you are daunted, sit back and make a game plan. Anytime you feel shaky just refer to the plan. There is something very Zen about this.

Vanity is Good

Jen often joked, “I can be bald or fat but not both” and wrote a great WebMD piece about this. I had found it hard to figure out how clients battling things way more important than weight cared about their weight. Jen’s doctor explained it “being vain is a GREAT thing. It shows that you have a true desire and willingness to live." There is something about our hair and our weight that is integral to who we are. It isn’t shallow to cling to these things when tested. It shows you are hanging on.

Tell People What You Need (or Don’t Need)

Jen was her own advocate. I heard from Jen regularly and at one point didn’t get a reply. I panicked. I  sent Jen an email “everything OK?” I made a mistake and said “I’m worried.”  Jen emailed back all right. She said, “please don’t say you’re worried. It makes me anxious.” While I was daunted at first, I learned a lot about communicating with people when they are ill from Jen.  I made another mistake on July 11^th.  Jen’s doctors had some concerns about her blood work and we were emailing about what she should eat. I offered to drop off some things after work. Only, it got late and I didn’t think I should bother her. Jen sent an email I got in the morning “I didn’t know if you were coming, no package was left.” She called me on it and that was my last email from her. I'm sorry Jen, what I would do now for one more conversation, to see that smile one last time.

 Jen turned 40 this past March. She was the happiest person in the worth to turn 40. It was a gift and she did a “dance” video in her own honor. This makes me smile; please watch it to see Jen in action.

In Jen’s words:

“We all have a choice in how we want to live our lives … I have chosen to be Me Fearless. I have applied this approach to every aspect of my life and, in the process, I’ve discovered that amazing things present themselves. My mission now is to encourage those around me to apply that philosophy to their lives and relish in the results. You can become You Fearless.”

Let’s all try, in Jen's honor. 
Jen chronicled her journey on her site youfearless.com.

Nine

Last year I took a break from nutrition and wrote a post for by younger son Weston. Both of my boys were born in March and for your children birthdays are literally the day of their birth. Nine years ago Saturday, I gave birth for the first time. I woke up early thinking I had wet the bed, Marc assured me this was probably not the case as I had never in the years I’d known him been a bed wetter. I wasn’t entirely sure my water had broken. Marc suggested I go to work and see how I feel (men!), if I was in labor he’d come pick me up. My OB felt differently and told us to head to the hospital. We weren’t expecting the baby for 3 weeks so we gathered our things and drove cross-town.

My mother joined us and we watched the baby’s heartbeat on the monitor. My sister, in the hospital for a doctor’s appointment, stopped by to eat her lunch as I sucked on ice chips. Soon enough it was time to start pushing, a few pushes and the baby was here. I know, for some of you, that’s incredibly annoying to read but it’s true. Myles was alert with bright blue eyes and a dimple and I was in love.

To say Myles was an easy baby is an understatement. I would put him in his crib, leave the room and do phone sessions with clients. Not a peep. There was an exception, one day Myles decided to remove his diaper. I came in to find him and the Italian white bumpers were covered in poo. It looked like a mass murder with doody. It was as though he was saying, “I may not yell and scream but I'm no pushover." He's since learned to yell and scream, still no pushover.

Before Myles could talk he clapped. He would clap and smile to get your attention. He doesn’t clap as much but he has a smile that can melt your heart. He likes to have a good time. In third grade his teachers are trying to teach him that there’s a time for silly. I support them but feel if silly is your worst quality you’re doing pretty well. Not only do you seek out fun but you're up for anything at any time.

Myles was allergic to eggs and corn when he was younger but has since outgrown his allergies. Like his mother, Myles likes to rank his meals. If he eats a scone he will compare it to his favorite scone in the Wolesley in London. He’ll taste something and either it’s pretty good, great or occasionally “the best.” I put berries out this morning and he told me they didn’t taste that good. I should know but “it’s not their time yet.” Myles current favorite foods are dosas, Fage peach Greek yogurt, salad with ginger dressing and Insomnia cookies. He gets his sweet tooth from Marc.

I'm having a hard time this year because nine seems different to me than eight. Nine seems big. I love the fact that we can ski together and read together but I’m aware that there will be birthdays in the future I will not spend with Myles. It’s no longer just putting you in the crib but sharing and debating and at times disagreeing. And for an easy child, boy can you debate playstation privileges or a later bedtime. Right now Myles,  you see yourself as “either a hockey player or a piano player” when you get older. I can’t wait to see what the next 9 years bring. I wish you many more smiles, good times and of course “the best” meals along the way.

Where were you 9 years ago in 2002? Does it seem like a long time since then? Do you think your personality is set from an early age? And do you, like us, rate your food?
P.S. I read this to Myles and he wanted me to delete the "volcano of poop" part and "dimple."

Not About Cupcakes

If this is your first time reading my blog, I owe you an apology. I was to write about The Kind Diet today, I actually have the book right next to me and a fair amount to say but I'm not feeling snarky or especially sharp. I spent a few hours at my son's school and took some nutritional notes: liked that the germy kids were given antibacterial stuff for their hands before lunch, noticed that the only people to really eat from the well-stocked salad bar were teachers and parents and found it especially interesting that not one adult turned down the quarter-sized cupcakes we brought in. But my mind is really not on nutrition today (for once). So please check back if you want my take on veganism or for other dietary discussions. Today I want to write about the days' events and not about cupcakes. Instead a letter to Weston...

Happy Birthday Weston. I just got back from your birthday celebration at school. We were the family of the week, had lunch with your K-C class and enjoyed tie dye and red velvet mini cupcakes. I left school and was struck by the day outside. It’s a perfect spring day. It’s sunny as can be yet there’s still a little bit of winter lingering in the air. You and Myles were each born on days like this. I remember taking you for walks, as infants, in this kind of weather. Today I was reminded of those walks, of those days.

I am a little sad. I know that’s so silly to say given that it’s such a special day but I’m feeling a little guilty that I haven’t sat down in these 6 years to capture some of your special days on paper. I think about you constantly and marvel at your questions and cuteness but unlike our numerous photos, I haven’t written about it and I hope we don’t forget anything. I have this sense you’re growing before my eyes and I want to take it all in.

You are quite a little person already Wes. You play piano and hockey, you ski and play soccer, you love math and workbooks and you do all of this so well. I found out I was pregnant with you after having foot surgery (and pain medication) and was so nervous that something would be wrong with you but not you! You’re a fighter Wes. You like to do things for yourself; you keep up with your older brother and are best buddies largely because of this. You get dressed, often before breakfast, yourself and like trying to tie your shoes.

And yet you’re little. You ride the chairlift with your teacher Janice every time, you don’t like holding your poles yourself, it’s a little scary. When you misbehave and I yell (see I’m being honest here, saying it like it is) there’s waterworks, tears flow from your eyes instantly. It breaks my heart every time but I sort of love how much you want to do what’s right.

While I love you being little Wes, love your baby teeth and your stuffed animals, I can’t wait to see what’s next. I’m so lucky to be your mom my sweet six year old.
Now, can you tell me why you didn't go to the salad bar?