So, merrily bouncing along, doing the same thing I'd done two weeks ago, I GAINED three-tenths of a pound. Perdition catch my soul! Ah, heck, I knew i wasn't going to drop much, if anything, this week, because it's been a nutty week: dinner late every evening, and way too many calories left at the end of the day..all adds up to "weight gain." Oops. A whole .3 pounds. 4.8oz.

Am I looking at the noose? Am I self-shaming? Am I ready to throw it all away on a visit to Golden Corral?

No.

No.

And, NO!

"Progress, not perfection;" and the practice of  all the Principles in all my endeavors (Thanks, Allison!) As I once saw on an inspirational calendar, "It's not a stumbling block, it's a stepping stone." Or...a foundation stone!

Because, look: since the tail-end of September, yours truly has been engaged in the Battle of the Belt-notch, and I've gained FOUR notches! Yes, indeed, I used to have to PULLLLL to get my belt to hitch at the end hole. Now, I'm on the fifth hole back. Y'know those highly fashionable, railroad-pinstripe bib overalls of which I'm so fond? At the end of rollercoaster season, they were snug. And I'm not saying "merely binding;" I'm talking sausage-tight. (More on that, and rollercoasters, in a second.) Now feast your peepers:

Yeah; there's almost enough spare fabric to make a pair of bibs for Aiden. The tie-dyed shirt I'm wearing? It's stretched out to the shape of my old gut. My old gut and me...longtime acquaintances. "Friends?" Not so much. Oh, he came along with me on vacations and trips, to the pool, to the park, to Kings Island...but he was sort of a fifth wheel, you might say. My Mom would talk to HIM while addressing ME, up north when we went to visit. "You know, Steven, when your grandmother was alive, she'd say how your grandfather's physician would tell him that belly fat would be the death of him." From what I understand, it was. Massive heart attack at 56. Short trip to the Veterans Cemetery out on Long Island. Sadness. I never got to meet the guy. I'd say, "Yeah, Ma, I know, I know, I'm working on it..." My foot. The way I was working on it, if I'd been in charge of the Empire State Building, they'd STILL be working on it. 

Then, summer rolls around to the Heartlands. Pool time, water park time. Arthritis water classes at the YMCA time. Putting on my trunks, I see my barrel-like gut hanging. And, I'm embarrassed, so I put on a tee shirt to cover it. Out of sight, out of mind, no? The one go-to shirt gets tighter and tighter, until I have another one. A larger one. Soon, any shirt I chose was snug. Screw it, I don't know any of these people at the Y;  and oh, yeah, I wore my tee shirt to the water park, too. My 'embarrassment shirt.' They've all seen fat guys before. I'm just one more well-fed chunker. A chunker that wears slip-on shoes because he can't bend over and tie real shoes, and uses the excuse that his replaced toe-joint swells and becomes uncomfortable in real shoes (NOT so much of an excuse, but, hey, it's not all as bad as that.) He can't run and play with his grandson (arthritis notwithstanding) because taking a few running steps would have my heart pounding, my lungs burning, and diaphoresis in full "Holy Crap" mode."Chunker." Humorous, sick attempt at admitting I was one or two shades under "morbidly obese."

I'd mentioned roller coasters. Early on we'd gone to Kings Island. Darn near a graveyard, that day, we had our choice of 'coasters to thrill us. The Beast; Mystic Timbers; Backlot Stunt Coaster...then, the  Flight of Fear. All dizzy and grinning from the previous three rides, we settle into those snug little cars, and watch as one rider ahead of us is approached by one...then two...then three ride attendants, attempting to a) get her lap belt on and b) get the securing bar down into position. One attendant, a girl, leans over and whispers to the patron,  gives her the most sincere and apologetic look I've ever seen, and...in a huff, the girl climbs angrily out of the ride, and storms off in tears. She can't fit safely into the gondola to ride. There were snickers from some riders. And mortification from others. My heart was as still as a mortuary at midnight. I leaned over to Dawn: "Oh my hell, I don't know WHAT I'd do..."

Fast forward to the end of the season. Heading into Haunt Fest and Winter Fest, we want to burn the last of the ''shiny' off our gold passes, when...I can't get the safety bar down over my lap in Flight of Fear. One attendant tries; no go. Another attendant comes over. I'm starting to sweat. She pushes. She shoves. "On three, together," she says. "CLICK!"

I have never been so uncomfortable in my life. Not only was it mortifying to have to get two able-bodied teens to SHOVE me into my little coffin of an amusement ride, but I could barely breathe throughout the few seconds it takes to navigate the track. Dawn doesn't know it. Not yet. I was crying inside, and passed off the visible tears as "wind in my eyes." The rest of the season was similar. It had come to the point at which I'd have to suck in my gut to fit on everything we rode, except the Carousel. Where I'm sure the wooden horses shied sideways when they saw me coming.

But did I stop eating like a gavone? Nope. Like the addict I am, I ate to hide the pain, the self-loathing, the anger, the discomfort. "Hey, if *I* can eat this well, it means that I'm providing for the family I love." Right? No, really, right?

Wrong. *Food is not a reward.* We're not trained animals doing tricks. Our rewards lie elsewhere. But I'm not at the point of pain where getting better hurts less than staying sick. So, laying in bed at night, falling asleep, waking up, falling asleep, tossing, turning, sneaking downstairs for 'another little nip,' I engage in the old, self destructive behavior I've admitted to my Mom, my wife, my VA nutritionist and my VA physician. I've admitted it; I've taken the First Step: I admitted I was powerless. But, half steps, we are warned, avail us nothing. I had to admit that I was powerless AND that my life had become unmanageable. Finally, that visit to Dr Dhingra and the conversation with Dawn, back in September did it.On the 26th of September, 2018, I weighed exactly 254.4 pounds.

That's where the old Steve ends, and the new one begins. And, so what? I gained .03 pounds this past week. Ate, past 1900hrs a few times, accidentally sandbagged my calories until too late, and tried to consume them. Which, as I should remember, is a recipe for illness. DO NOT SLEEP ON YOUR CALORIES. 

And, here I am; a little better for having done what I do, and moderately proud, immensely grateful. IMMENSELY grateful for a loving God, a beautiful wife, an incredible family. 

Thanks for dropping in. Thanks for reading.

 Be well; practice peace, and see you at the next one. 

Hey, look on the bright side!

Hm. This kind of "being a loser" is popping out all kinds of benefits!

I've dropped my 36.5 BMI to 31.6 BMI and gone from Class II to Class I Obesity in 114 Days. If I had weighed 25 more pounds, I'd have been "morbidly obese." In a few more pounds, I'll be merely "overweight." I mean, look at the obesity charts. Everything over 210 pounds in my height range is printed in "Screaming Orange," or shades thereof. Not good. Not good at all. I used to get pissy when people looked at my appreciable mass and say, "Gee; you don't LOOK vegan!" Now, I'm all, "Yeah, you're right; I'm a carb-slut." Or...WAS a carb-slut, that is. To my detriment.

I don't think I can reiterate it enough: find a plan that works for YOU. To paraphrase the Bible, "As for me and my house, we will follow MyFitnessPal." It works for us. We'd tried Atkins (almost killed one another over a piece of bread!) and Dawn's tried WeightWatchers (alone and with a pal) and had neither the weight-loss profile nor the longevity of success of our silly, free-for-NOTHIN' MyFitnessPal app, linked to our Garmin devices.

Now, if you're looking for plug-and-play, or "an easier, softer way," forget it. All recovery takes time, and if you're HONEST, we're in recovery, here. Our lives have become (to one extent or another) unmanageable, and we've a problem saying "No" to food. I mean, what's NOT to love about food? We can make it to our standards and it does everything we want, instantaneously. From hand to mouth, and BAM! We're happy. Or at peace. Or not pissed anymore. Or...name it. Same way addicts use drugs, same way drunks drink. It's not "how I feed my disease," it's that I, indeed, FEED it. And, while MFP is not a magic bullet, or an "Easy" button to push, the work done there is quite simple. One must needs do it, and be diligent about it, and it works.

I've been in a group for a while now that encourages mindful awareness. Conscious, conscientious decision-making. Remaining in the moment. HONEST rewards for HONEST gains. As of 26 September, 2018, I've been taking the "tools" with which I've been blessed and educated, and using them. What a surprise! They actually work! 

Simple example: I'm laying in bed, wide awake, next to my sleeping, darling wife. Pre-9/23/18, I'd slink out of bed, visit the loo, mosey downstairs and look inside the old icebox. A double-doored, 33 cubic foot mother lode of calories! YAY, me! Hmmm...let's see: Last night's dinner leftovers? Nah, too new, someone may be planning on them for lunch in a few hours. The other night's leftovers? Sure, why not? Who's going to miss half a pound of cold mashed potatoes and a couple cups of vegan gravy? Wow, that stuff jiggles like pudding! I'll eat THAT with a spoon, and the potatoes with a little brown mustard...bowl of cereal for dessert. At zero-dark-thirty. That was PRE 9/26/2018. Now, I open up an app: Sacred Space, the daily prayer site run by the Irish Jesuits is a good one. Prayer, scripture, inspiration. All there, in one page, with MUSIC, too. Or "Alcoholics Anonymous," online. Or BibleGateway.com. Something. ANYTHING to get me out of a bad moment, and into a good one. God forbid I actually do the breathing exercises I've been shown. Anything that short-circuits my urge to go and eat is better than going and eating. Because I feel badly about cheating that @#$&! MyFitnessPal calorie tracker. You see, back in the beginning, I plugged in how much I weigh, how much I WANT to weigh, and some other info, and let the app tell me how many calories a day I'd need to consume, and how many steps I'd need to take to get there. And, I've grown accustomed to being brutally honest with that app. And, I'm glad. The results speak for themselves.  

And, I'm still walking; no less than 2 miles a week. This week, it was after a noon AA meeting; and, because we tend to chat after a meeting, I was pushing my window a little, so going to the Mall was out. I headed to Atrium for their walking path. Which hadn't been plowed. So I went to the YMCA down the street from the Middletown VA CBOC. Which has no walking track. Dang. Now what? Here's what: walk outside! Why the hell not? We walked a 5K in 28-degree weather. It was only 38 degrees this particular day. Big difference. Look at the data on the bottom of the pic: UNDER 15 minutes/mile (by mere seconds, but...) which is better than my inside walking average.

And, my official weigh-in? 220#. For a total loss of 34.4# in 114 days. One third of a pound/day. 2.08 pounds/week. (Again, a shameful reminder of how "sleeping on your calories is quite blatantly akin to "sleeping with the enemy.")

So, I'd opened with "Look on the bright side." Let's do a fast tally.

1. Lower weight
2. Lower BMI
3. Higher life expectancy
4. Tighter bonds with my beautiful, Proverbs wife
5. More time spent outside with our sons and daughters
6. Stronger body (walking and even a small amount of jogging)
7. More fun (5k's are incredibly entertaining!)
8. Better sleep
9. Better quality sleep
10. Better lab results
11. Happier doctors
12. Inspired friends
13. Closer ties to my personal sobriety
14. Closer walk with God
15. Beating psoriatic, osteoarthritis and CPPD arthritis
16. Better overall feeling about what we eat.

There's a Step in AA which ends "...and practice these principles in all our affairs." It's true. Once I'd faced the fact that I'm an addictive-type eater, and worked the Steps against that addiction, life began to change. For the better. Is it easy? No. Progress takes work. Is it instantaneous? Again: no. Time takes time. I didn't get fat overnight, I won't get fit overnight. I have to do the work. But, I am. And it's fun, and worth it. Trust me.

Until next time, be well, practice peace and I'll see you at the next one.   

A glimpse into the October Country

Yeah, well. It happens to us all. I have to be honest, the last few weeks have been a roller coaster (and, we're not talking The Beast, or Mystic Timbers.) As almost any recovering addict can tell you, we all have a touch of clinical "something" running around inside our heads, whether we're making a stand against alcohol, drugs, gambling, food, or what-have-you. And, under stress, the monsters grow teeth and claws and LOUD friggin' voices. LOUD. And they hone their skills as ventriloquists. Yeah, apart from the voices inside our heads, voices from outside, voices from our past, come sneaking (like the Kool Aid Man bursting through a wall, or with all of the tact and poise of a rutting bull in a china shop) to make our days absolutely stellar and sparkly.

I'm not going to bore you with details. But I WILL say that I've seriously considered asking for a prescription of Zoloft or Paxil. And, at the very apogee of my agonies, Pastor Larry again visited the Book of Mark. Chapter 6, specifically, verses 40-52. Jesus was up on a hill, praying, and SAW his disciples straining against the wind. Now, here's a small bit of the history surrounding that particular event: Jesus had just finished feeding five thousand people with a couple of fish and some bread. Then, "constraining his disciples to get into the boat and sail ahead" to the other side of the sea," they hove to, and started the crossing. Galilee is about five miles wide, and eight miles long. "In the fourth watch," or at about 0300 hours, when they were "about halfway across," He noticed them. "Halfway across" (either way, 2.5 miles or 4 miles: YOU pick) and in the dark of night.

Let that soak in. Storm blowing mightily, rain, wind, darkness (and we have to assume that, for all His deity, Jesus was part human) exhaustion, and He SAW his guys struggling.

"He came toward them, walking on the water...saying 'Take courage, it is I, be not afraid.'"

"Be not afraid." As Pastor Larry asks, and as I may have asked, before, who's in YOUR boat? Who calms YOUR storm? After you've punched the wall, flipped a table, kicked the stuffed animal across the room, to whom do YOU turn for comfort, solace, peace? The scratch-off? The fork? The bottle?

Do you pray? Pastor John once said how praying, sometimes, is hard. When it's all in a flat spin, it's hard to muster up the words. "My Lord and my God" is a prayer. It acknowledges Jesus' position in our lives, and His deity, his supremacy. Hang your head, cross your arms over your sobbing chest, and say it: my Lord and my God. Breathe deep, let it sink in and take root. KNOW that He is God, and He's in your boat, in your corner, hanging onto your shoulder as you suffer, telling you, "Be not afraid."

By way of this prelude, I make an admission: After a certain "voice from the past" rattled my cage, I was reaching. That icebox looked like Vegas and I had a pocket full of cash. The wine rack was a temptation, and I know where the corkscrew hides.

I also have my sponsor's phone number. I have the Big Book, the 12 & 12, the Bible, a meeting app, and my beautiful, wonderful, understanding wife. Upon whose breast I've cried, often. A couple of times this week, in fact. But I don't need to pick up. Thank you, Butch, for those helpful words: "No matter what comes down around you, DON'T PICK UP."

I didn't pick up. Anything. Nothing bad, anyway. Not even food. I did what I do most often when it's touch-and-go. I internalized, slept poorly, and, after a while, remembered who's in my "boat." My Lord, and my God.

That said, not having stuffed my rage and anxiety, I ditched 2.2 pounds, after all. Not so bad. Look:

Years, it's been. Years, that I've been in group counseling with a bunch of fine gentlemen. And finally, I'm catching on. Breathe deep, relax, and bask in the serenity, courage and wisdom I've prayed for (and received) all these years. 

Therein, the lesson is: settle in. It's going to happen: good stuff, not-so-good stuff, stuff that makes us happy, unhappy, confident, confused. Be not afraid; accept that a power greater than yourself is in charge. He's got this. He's got YOU, no matter how big or small your problems are. He will bring you through it, and guide you to the wash racks to hose off the mud and slime when you're done. (Reference to the old days, when the wash racks were the last stop before the motor pool. When you'd hit the wash racks, you KNEW you were finally home.)

Another week or two, another pound or two. It's all good. And, it's progress. And, a reminder that our addictions and temptations needn't be the pitfalls they used to be. Tell the voices in your head to shut up; tell the ones on the phone that you're hanging up, now, and to handle their own crap. Sadly bid adieu to the ones that have been requisitioning your time but doing nothing with the answers they've sought. Eat your calories (sandbagging does nothing for weight loss) and no more than your calories (because overeating/stuffing doesn't help, either!) and stay busy. Slow and steady. Be not afraid.

Be not afraid; He is with you. 

Write that on your mirror. Make a post-it and stick it to your screen. Write it on your hand. It's good to remember. And, btw, you can always contact me and I'll remind you. It does us all well, to stick together. 

So, until next time: Be well; practice peace; see you at the next one. 

Well, ladies, gentlemen and off-planet visitors, I survived the major portion of the holidays with a LOSS! Yippee! And, STILL, I'm not hungry or feeling deprived. Dawn and I were out, taking care of stuff and we dropped into the Middletown Veterans Administration CBOC, and I stepped on the OFFICIAL scale, and...

 And, that ain't hay. I'm hitting an average of 2.3 pounds per week, lost. And walking more, I've ditched the use of my blue "H" tag, and only use it when Mother is in the car. Or, I drop her at the door, and park where I will, then bring the car back around when it's time to leave. I CAN walk, so I DO. (Plus, I'm not going to 'get my steps' if I don't walk. And, Dawn and I have been more regular visitors to the YMCA in Springboro. Village People were right: it IS fun to go to the YMCA. Aiden has basketball practice and games; his Dad gets to coach and play; we get to power-walk and use the machines. Boo-yah! 

But, THIS week...despite my BEST distance measured...despite my most concerted efforts...

I gained. 0.9 pound. Only 9/10ths, but, it's a GAIN! Oh, my hell, the disappointment. PISSED! "How the he** did this HAPPEN?!?"

Dawn asked that same thing, quietly: "What did you do, what HAVE you been doing?"

And, it came to me. It hit me like a load of cold mashed potatoes in my lap.

I 'game the system.' I eat a meager breakfast. I eat a meager lunch.  This way, if we have something really nice and tasty for dinner, I can live large. Oh, yeah, I still have 1500 calories, and it's 19:00!!! Uh huh. And I consume those calories and...

I sleep on them. Which is exactly how I got FAT in the first place. Remember back in August, I was eating dinner, then getting up and eating dinner SECONDS. Then, as I put up Dawn's lunch, I would snack here and there. Then I'd have another snack, watching TV. Then we'd go to bed. I'd sleep a while, get up to read the paper (because I'd set a bad precedent of 'needful eating') and eat MORE dinner. To the point of, "Oh, just one bowl of..." got to be "Heck, there's no sense in putting THAT back in the icebox." So, I'd polish off a container of pasta, or half a loaf of bread with olive oil and nootch (*nutritional yeast) and maybe half a pound of grapes, or a couple of bowls of cereal. No, seriously, look back: it's documented. I think. If not, it is, now. And, then...I'd wash the dishes and dry them, so Dawn wouldn't see how many dishes I'd dirtied in the middle of the night. (A little bit of the old addict coming out, eh?) Thereafter, I'd go back to bed, grunting and groaning silently, like an overstuffed feeder pig. Not pretty. And, true to my alcoholic nature, I'd lay there in guilt. 

Which is exactly what's happened in the last few weeks. Even though I'm under my Garmin and MyFitnessPal calorie levels, and I'm moving, and walking, and DOING more...I'm not happy. I gained. 

Now, my princess is a diet tech (registered.) She had warned me about 'saving calories' and it catching up to bite me in the butt. Did I listen? Noooooo. Me and my big ideas, eh? Then, she asks how much I poured on, and I tell her: just under a pound. To which my pretty baby shakes her head in disgust. See, she's battled self-image and weight all her life (bullying, derision and teasing all do that to a kid.) She's not DISGUSTED disgusted. Just a little laughably tweaked, because 9/10 of a pound isn't a whole lot of anything, in the long run. It's a stepping stone, not a stumbling block. A page, not a chapter. An eye-opener. 

Consider my eyes opened. Dawn had asked if I had any resolutions for the year. I didn't.

Now, I do. "To practice these principles in all my endeavors." Follow the steps. ALL of them. It's all good. God is good, all the time. Elsewise I wouldn't be celebrating another birthday, today. Yessir-ee-Bob, I'm 29 years clean and sober by the grace of God. My AA Birthday.  Until next time...

Be well; practice peace, and I'll see you at the next one.