drop the fork

You Ought to Be In Pictures

Well, no. I shouldn't be. Not really.

The camera and I have never gotten along, you see. I've never been one of those photogenic sorts. My reactions to photos of my visage typically range from "Oh, I guess I look sorta OK" to "EEEEK!" It's true that there have been a few pics of me that I've really liked. But boy, they are sure hard to come by, and I treasure them.

A recent incident got me thinking about why I tend to react so negatively to my own photographs. (Yeah, I know, me and 50 million other folks, right?)

Recently, I went to a local gathering of other costume jewelry fanatics afficianados, all of whom belong to the Vintage, Fashion and Costume Jewelry Club. The meeting (featuring tons of jewelry, along with good wine and outrageous desserts) was hosted by B, a club member, who happened to snap a number of pictures of the get-together. At one point during the afternoon, I was admiring one member's copper jewelry collection. Turns out she had several copper belts, so on impulse, I picked one up and tried it on.

It fit. It was a non-adjustable metal belt from the 1960s. And it fit. B snapped a pic of me modeling it.

Now, the fact that the belt fit was a real shock. It sure as hell looked too small for me. But it wasn't. See for yourself:

As soon as B took the picture, she cried, "Oh, Deb, I love this picture of you!" I trotted over to take a look. As soon as I saw the pic, though, here's what I blurted out:

"Oh! I look so fat!!!"*

Now, let's go with the presumption that I do not, in point of fact, look fat in this photo. So, why, then, was "fat" the first thing that sprang into my mind?

I've thought about this for a bit, and I think it has to do with the mental image of myself that I lug around with me everywhere I go. You know, the one that has me looking like Gabby Reece. HAHAHA Seriously, though . . .

When I wear certain outfits that I think make me look especially good, when I look at myself in the mirror, I probably don't really see what's there. In my own mind, I'm very slender. No bulges, no blemishes. (In other words, a far cry from what I really am.) Similarly, when I charge up a hill on my bicycle, I imagine that I look like a member of the T-Mobile Women's Racing Team. (I can assure you that I do not . . . but it's fun to think so, isn't it? Imagination adds spice to everyday life.)

So . . . when I see an image of myself that's captured by a camera, my mind is not able to edit it in the same way as it can a mirror image. In other words, my mental image and reality don't quite jibe. It doesn't mean that reality is bad, just that there's no match-up . . . and that's temporarily jarring. And it's not just me. You know that . . . wouldn't you love to have a buck for every "Oh, I'm too fat!" comment you've ever heard in your life?

When I was heavy, I used to snicker at women whom I viewed as thin, who would deprecate themselves (or pictures of themselves). I thought, "Can't they see how good they really look?" But, now that I've uttered the dreaded "oh, I'm so fat" comment, I think I can more easily understand the "why." It's an image mis-match. Fat, thin, old, young -- we are all vulnerable. No one wants to look bad, after all.

Nevertheless, from now on I think I'm going to do my best to keep my mouth shut. I think I offended one woman at the 'do with my comment -- some of the attendees knew my past weight history, and some did not. And I don't feel like explaining how I used to be fat, but now I'm not, and while I really have adapted and feel like a thin person now, every once in a while I get cold-cocked by a little "fat deja vu."

So -- if you always think you look fat in photos, I hear ya. I sympathize. Been there, done that, trying to forget I ever saw the pictures. But, do try to get over it . . . . and I'll try, too.

After all -- remember those photos of you when you were younger, when you thought you looked fat or old? And how much you'd give to look like that now?

It's all relative, y'know. Twenty years from now, you'll probably wish you looked like you do now.

*Gentle reader, I leave it to you to decide for yourself if indeed I look fat in this pic. My dear husband has assured me that I do not. And you do not have to tell me what you think. Please. I really don't need to know.

Writing It Down

It's true. Sometimes, especially when life gets in the way and I am pulled in a thousand directions, I don't want to write it down.

My food, that is.

I have recorded, or "journaled," as it's called in Weight Watchers' parlance, every bite of food since 2002. (Well, OK, I may have forgotten a bite or two. Um, I don't remember.)

So. Why do I do it? Still?

Actually, I was asked this recently.

A couple of quick reasons -- not the main one, but important, all the same:

1. I have "food amnesia." I tend to forget what I've eaten during the day. Consequently, I tend to eat too much. "Oh, sure, I can have a hamburger; I've barely eaten anything all day." Yeah, right.
2. If I write it down, I will see, in black and white (well, in screen pixels, anyway), whether I need to cut back for a couple of days. "But you've already eaten it. What good does it do to write it down?" Because: if I see, after the day is over, that I've eaten 500 calories more than planned, I can adjust my intake for the next day, or two, or three. Or five. The point is, I don't have to rely on faulty memory, if I write it down. I know what I have to do, and I go and do it.

Could I maintain without journaling? Possibly. I do tend to eat the same things day after day . . . for breakfast and lunch, anyway. No doubt I could get away with not writing stuff down, at least for a while.

But, y'know, I don't want to.

Daily journaling gives me a focus.

I lost weight, a lot of it, once before, back in my late 20s. I dropped 60 lbs and hit my 30th birthday fit and trim, a runner and a weightlifter. I also did aerobic dancing. I felt wonderful. I kept the weight off for a couple-three years.

Then I decided to go back to school, at night. Caught up in learning a new vocation, lacking (or so I thought) the time to both exercise and study, and not paying much attention to my food intake . . . well, what can I say? I began a slow weight regain. I pushed my weight, and my health, to the back of my mind. I stopped exercising. I eventually climbed beyond my former high weight (about 185) and above 200. I reached 220 before I decided (some 15 years later) to finally take matters in hand again.

Let me tell you, I ain't doin' that again. This time, it's final. I have a secret weapon: focus.

My life, just like yours, is enormously complicated. People, work assignments, housekeeping tasks, my own wants and desires -- all of these jostle for attention in my little pea brain, each and every day. If I didn't have some daily ritual forcing me to pay attention to my weight, it would be frighteningly easy for me to just forget about it all.

So I keep journaling. It's a very minor price to pay . . . for health, confidence, good looks, and (someday, I hope) a vigorous old age.

Act Your Age

I recently read the following on one of the bulletin boards I frequent:

"I'll be 52 next week. The only thing I don't like is that I'm expected to "act my age" - that's not fair. I want to dance and have fun and ride my bike and skate and water ski - so I do and most people think I'm nuts. Oh well."

Hey, if she's nuts, then so am I. I'm 52. I like to run, bike, swim, race around. I’m fit, I've got the energy for it. So, why shouldn’t I? Who says I can’t? Who the heck are “they,” anyway?

Y’know what I think? I think you‘re too old when they shovel dirt on you. Anytime before that, though, anything‘s possible. You want to run? Do it. Work up to it, if you’re out of shape. (Talk to your doc, though, first.) You want to water ski? Go for it. You only live once. Life should be about change and new experiences. It should not be about decay and dwindling opportunities.

Exercise is one of the greatest things you can do for your body. Exercise keeps you young, keeps your blood chemistry balanced. You are, after all, an organic machine. You are made to move. Everything works better when you do. Not coincidentally, exercise can help you lose weight, as well as maintain your loss.

Time was, though, when “they” thought that it was dangerous to do certain things once you got past age 40 or so. Doctors thought that exercise -- competitive exercise, anyway . . . anything much more strenuous than walking or a nice round of golf, was bad for you, once you got “up in years.” They thought that a low pulse and an enlarged heart signaled disease. Folks were supposed to make a gradual change, with age, from a life of the body to a life of the mind.

We know a lot more now than we did then, of course. We know that a low pulse can be a marker for fitness. We know that exercise is good for just about everyone, even heart patients. Nevertheless, old notions persist: old wive’s tales, admonitions to avoid overexertion, fatalistic attitudes. “Act your age” becomes a mantra that’s repeated mindlessly, without much thought about why.

So . . . get out. Move. Act your age -- your real age -- the age you are on the inside. There’s no time like right now. See what you’re capable of. I’m betting it’s a whole lot more than you think. Despite what “they” think.

* * * * *

Younger Next Year: A Guide to Living Like 50 Until You're 80 And Beyond

Cycling Past 50

Exercise: A Necessary Component in a Program for Vascular Health