The Princess Discovers a New Relationship Tool: Communication

One might think the significant others in the lives of obese people would be thrilled/overjoyed/totally supportive when their inner-toxic-waste-challenged loved ones embark upon life-changing journeys toward recovery. After all, they have been negatively affected by the weight gain, too, so naturally the weight release could only reverse those effects, right? Not necessarily, my precious flowers. Frequently, they develop their own fears about what their loved ones, once released from poundage prison, will be like. Will they be the same, predictable, comfy partners? Will they still want and need the significants when the obese ones become thin? Will the significants still love them? Solutions on how to deal with these issues need to be developed early on, before secret fears start to manifest real problems. Major conversationage might be called for.

Right before virtually shipping out to Raw Food Boot Camp, I secured a verbal promise, and signed agreement (in accordance with the rules of the program) of support from the primary significant, in my case, Ossie. But, being hypersensitive about his prior decade-delayed reaction to my weight gain (I know, I know…I was responsible for the gain, not him, but if he'd kept his mouth shut about it for a decade, couldn't he have just...), and about the whole weight issue in general, my fat-dar was on Red Alert. From day one, I thought I noticed a certain mopiness when it came to me not eating with everyone. A certain miffedness, when I showed no interest in the nightly, detailed announcement of what he planned to prepare. I even got a sauce-laden wooden spoon shoved in front of my face one evening, the usual proffered pre-dinner taste for homemade spaghetti night, and a display of total disbelief that I wouldn’t partake.

Well… what can I really expect from someone who has sat by and watched me, time after time, fail to persevere with any one of a myriad of manic weight loss attempts? Watched me start to scrabble up that mountain of dietary dilemma, only to repeatedly lose purchase and slip back to settle uncomfortably into the valley of dietary despair? Yeah, yeah, try living it, Oss.

Anyway, here's the thing. I learn about this talking it out thing, and I think, novel idea. Talk about it, huh? You mean, face to face? Could I just send him an edict in an email? Apparently, no, the idea is mutual, real-time communication. Huh. As it turns out, the few times I have experimented with this technique, results have been nothing short of amazing.

For instance, after one little ‘talk’ I discovered he was feeling guilty about eating around me! This led him to feel uncomfortable about replenishing the specific groceries that he and born-second son--and his various friends who drop in-- eat. That could have been a big factor in the grouchy attitude I thought was directed at me. This revelation came about when he came to me, apologizing for caving in and buying meat. Then I had the chance to tell him it didn't bother me one whit, but if he could cut back on his nightly effusiveness over how tasty every single morsel of their meal was, it would be appreciated. He looked surprised, then sheepish, and said, oh-- yeah, you're right-- alright, I won't do that.

So, we seem to be going forward with a better understanding. I admit, I was a little surprised at his forethought, and sensitivity to what he imagined I might be tempted by---albeit mistakenly--- that led him to not buy himself any meat products for a week and a half so as not to impede my progress. You'd have to know him, to realize what a big deal that was...the man is a carnivore extraordinaire...if you cut him, he bleeds steaks.

I felt a little bad myself. Here I'd been so focused on my fruit I never even noticed the presence OR absence of meat and eggs. I told him that his having a chop or a ribeye, or any of the various animal protein he loves to eat, is not affecting me if I don't let it... and so far, up through today, I'm not letting it. I also told him that, to be very truthful, I wasn't that crazy about those foods before I went raw, so they weren't big temptations for me now. He is having a hard time fully believing that, because I apparently did such a smashing job of sublimating my real feelings for quite some time. Guess I can’t blame him, though sometimes I catch myself still trying to. We had gotten into this rut, so sharing food became one of the major daily events in which we bonded. By doing this talking thing everyone is so insistent upon, I found out it was more important to him than I had imagined. I think in his eyes, that was a togetherness time, and evidently that remains important. Double huh.

And again this morning… when I returned from my daily weigh-in at the gym, he was sitting on the front porch, and says, "Look at this! Here is a flyer from Fresh Market, and we can get the whole Thanksgiving meal... [he reads all the different items]... and it feeds six to eight. We just go pick it up at the deli or have them deliver it! Isn't that neat? And it's less time and trouble...then 'we' won't have all that mess either!" WOW...he was thinking about me. Again! Because I always make this huuuuuuuuuge spread, have to start cooking the day before for hours at a whack, get up at the crack of dawn and cook for several more hours straight, and then everybody descends like vultures and it's over in 30 minutes! Except for a couple more hours of cleanup and storing 838 pounds of leftovers.

Here's the other thing. I've made somewhere in the realm of 25 Thanksgiving Day 'feasts'...making sure every one got their favorite recipe, making sure to carry on the generational resurrection of my mother's recipes that her mother used to make, that her mother used to make, that HER mother used-- you got it. Every Thanksgiving, I've approached the day with anticipation and excitement. It is my lifelong favorite food holiday. This is the first year in over a quarter-century, I was not looking forward to it. I hadn't even admitted that to myself. But as soon as Ossie offered, it hit me like a bolt...the relief, and I suddenly thought, I'm free, I'm free, free at last! And Ossie is my redemptor! Oh, hooRAW!

I may want to prepare it again next year, or I just may want to start a new tRAWdition. The important thing is, Ossie is trying to be supportive. He doesn’t know it, but with just these two baby steps, he’s already on better ground with me. OOO-raw, Ossie.

I wonder what ground I’m on with him. Maybe I'll try some more of that new communication thing, and see if I can find out.

Taking a Personal Month

Reading an article in WSJ this morning brought to mind the wry acknowledgment that I seem to be taking the Personal Day thing a bit far, lately. Only thing is, with my own business, there is really no one to whom I have to give excuses--- well, I might want to make something up for a few of my associates whose raised eyebrows I'm beginning to hear in their voices over the phone. And perhaps for Ossie, creator of Princess Phatso's persona, who might have some concerns if I ask for an extension on my half of the mortgage in a few weeks.

But if I did need an excuse, I still doubt I would resort to what the people over at Vision Matters are offering:

"Some people think every working stiff needs the occasional mental-health day (read: an unexcused day off), and others think there's no excuse for that type of thing. Whatever its philosophical position might be, Vision Matters is getting in on the action with its Excused Absence Network. For about $25, students and employees can buy excuse notes from the Web site that appear to come from doctors, fake jury summons, or authentic-looking funeral service programs, complete with a list of pallbearers. Appalling? "Millions of Americans work dead-end jobs, and sometimes they just need a day off," said John Liddell, co-founder of Vision Matters. Critics raise concerns about legal matters -- for example, if a medical provider is implicated. Mr. Liddell says his site gets 15,000 hits a month."

The site entices visitors with inviting rhetoric, such as "Imagine being able to create a Doctor's Note--wouldn't that be great?" and "Have you ever wondered how to get paid from your employer without even being at work?" As a bonus to drooling prospective deadbeats, they've splashed a garish banner ad across the top of their welcome page, promising one "lucky" customer a free Boob Job, if they can manage to direct their trembling thumbs to text "BIG" to the advertised number. Oh, and the automatic audio site message that blares a witty commercial as you attempt to take all this in, ends with the sotto voce disclaimer, "For entertainment purposes only."

The lack of principles at work behind the philosophy that led to the development of such a website and the very existence of its apparent devotees is why I am overweight. Your neck may still be wrenched from this quantum leap of logic, but patience, Grasshopper, allow me to explain.

I'm talking slippage. Walking too close, too many times to the edge of the precipice of honesty, integrity, perseverance... we're bound to up our chances of slipping... down that easier, softer path. The path that leads to The Enchanted Forest of Entitlement, beyond which lies The Slough of I Deserve It. Since when did we become a population who is so ticked off at having to work to make our way in the world that it becomes acceptable to steal our wages from those who give us gainful employment? And in order to do it, we impersonate a professional whose very attainment of their skills belies exactly what we are trying to avoid: w-w-w-o-o-o-r-r-rk.
How cool is that?

I'll bet one New Jersey woman who used one of their notes to get out of appearing in traffic court came to believe it wasn't so cool. When court officials called the chiropractor who "signed" the note, he informed them he never heard of the woman, and she found out that, in addition to having a right to her personal down-time, she also had the right to remain silent. Maybe Vision Matters can create another site with virtual attorneys for hire...for about $25.

Apparently too many times I've chosen to reward myself...for nothing. Too many times I stole from my own family, by over-consuming resources that were there for all of us. Too many times I excused myself from doing what every human needs to do to remain healthy and mobile, daily exercise. I failed to even honor my body as much as I would my car, provide it the proper fuel and move it daily. Vainly seeking the ephemeral something for nothing.

Well. I'm changing that now, on a daily basis. I can only make amends for my past actions by choosing differently today. What I find, and what I think so many of us find once we make it past puberty, is a society so fast-paced and so complex that pure and uncomplicated principles are unspeakably difficult to maintain with any kind of balance. But that is the challenge, nonetheless. To do exactly that, maintain balance. And with that in mind, I regret to see my Personal Month coming to an end.

...think I will email that site, though, and see what kind of note they recommend for use with a hard-driving, pitiless Raw Food Boot Camp instructor.

Pigs Don't Sweat, and other inconvenient truths

My apologies in advance to Mr. Gore, for scamming on your buzz-title which is already over-tritened, sir--- your beating the green drum aside and leading the global-warming rumba with your energy-use conservation model--- oh! oops, well, not so much that, but with the wanting us to share one piece of toilet paper and all that stuff ---and as an aside, if you did invent the internet, I'd like to go ahead and thank you for that, sort of just in case, because the availability of it has so thoroughly transformed my life many times. I always want to show gratitude where it is due.

But that brings me back to pigs and the internet. I was thinking on my walk the other night about what I was doing, walking. And not a stroll, mind you, a pretty decent clip, and with the dewpoint registering above 90% humidity, within twenty minutes, sweat was streaming down my face and popping up in many of the usual sweat-producing places of the human body. And that led me to look for physiological confirmation in other walker/runner/bladers on the sidewalk winding around the seawall along the bay. My observation was more sweat was evident on fluffy/plump/fat/alright...obese people than on those in better physical condition. Then my mind wandered to the impolite terms used and thoughts about this particular class of citizens, to which I currently belong, and I thought I might set about disabusing a few people of some of those mythological notions.

1. "He/she was sweating like a pig." Pigs don't sweat. That's why it's kind of important to provide them a mud-wallow, or watering hole they can cool off in during the heat of the day. People do, but they sweat like...people. And fluffy/plump/fat/alright...obese people maybe do more than others because toxins like to hide in fat cells, they absolutely love it there, it is like a luxury condo for toxins, fat is. And the more toxins, the more sweating the body needs to squeeze the corrupted little passengers out, ergo, more fat, more toxins, more sweating. So don't be hatin' the sweatin'... it's a good thing, Martha.
2. "Obese people need to love their bodies." Obese people need to love themselves enough to change their bodies. Depending upon the perspective, the body is at the best a temple and at the very least a vehicle. I've seen people treat their vehicles better than their bodies. No, I love myself... I have a few resentments but I'm working on squeezing those out, too... but I don't love what has become of my body. But I will...I will.
3. "All you need is to work on your will power." Do you know how much will power it takes to stay up until all hours of the night, waiting until everyone is asleep, so you can sit undisturbed and watch re-runs of re-runs of X-Files you've seen at least nine times each, so you will have an excuse to sit and consume portion after portion of food of which you are not even fond and will later have little recollection ... just so you can feel some pseudo-semblance of filling an unfillable hole within? THAT, my friend, takes will power. Wrong-headed will power, will power from the Fat Brain, will power that is not aligned with any thing healthy or good. But will power, nonetheless. The fluffy/plump/fat/alright...obese people need to work on aligning their wills, with whatever is good, whatever is strengthening, whatever will bring them into balance with their own highest and best purpose, before they ever think about unleashing the power.
4. "Betcher gonna get tired of just eating...xyz." Okay, I'll betcha. Whatcha wanna bet? Want to bet I'll fail miserably and just keep getting bigger and bigger until I explode like an overblown helium balloon? Because what's in this bet for you? That's what you're really saying, is you're just waiting around for me to have all my misery and depression refunded to me when I am unable to complete yet another attempt at self-restoration. Or you can't see how you could possibly do it, therefore, you will choose to withhold your support of my efforts, because you can't possibly believe in me more than you can believe in yourself. How about just a simple, "I think that's great! Good for you! I know you can do it!" If that wouldn't be too big of a personal cost, your belief in me, just one more time, would be greatly appreciated.

These are a sample of random thoughts that wander into my brain, unbidden, as I go on my evening walks. It occurred to me also, that the next time I posted, I should not focus entirely upon my thoughts, but what is going on with me physically. It is the 16th day of Raw Food Boot Camp, Holiday Rush 1 for me. I've released 14.6 pounds as of yesterday, and 13 out of the 16 days have walked at least an hour, and sometimes more. I have planned a schedule adding in increasing and more varied types of exercise, but for now the walks and treadmill or that leg-scissors-thingy at Shapes will do the trick. I eat raw fruit every day, a few veggies, but mostly fruit. I love fruit. I love eating raw. In this short of a time period, my sinuses have cleared, my skin texture is improving, people have told me I look as if stress has fallen out of my face, I've lost pounds and inches, and, despite the occasional de-tox symptom, I feel a clarity and energy I haven't in a long time... I truly feel great. And all because I've been eating raw fruit...and sweatin' like a pig.

If Monkees Can Die From Bananas...Why Can't I?

I read in an article written by Frederic Patenaude about a sign he read while in Costa Rica, that stated, "Contrary to the stereotype, bananas are not the preferred food of monkeys in the wild. Bananas, especially those containing pesticides can be upsetting to the monkeys' delicate digestive system and cause serious dental problems that can lead to eventual death."

Anyone who has read more than a few pages about Frederic knows he is absolutely devoted to dental hygiene. In fact, I'd say he could more closely be classified as a fanatic about healthy teeth and gums. And not without good cause. He is one of raw food's leading gurus, and he acknowledges the "weak link" in the raw foodist diet is basically a very serious possible side effect, dental decay and oral problems. The entire article is--- personal product plugs notwithstanding-- pretty informative and does offer condensed solutions, which is all I'm looking for, and I found it under the October 13th post on his blog.

Back to the mortal threat of bananas to the bononos...supposedly their inability to brush their teeth would make them more at risk, and only because the sugar content would be feeding the elevated bacteria population of their mouths and leading to dental disease, from which infection can more quickly enter the bloodstream, get to the brain, and quicker than you can say "Zoom! Darkening" the monkey keels over and assumes ground temperature... which leads me to my all-time favorite riddle:

Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?

Because it was dead.

The first time I read that joke, it struck me just right, and sent me into gales of laughter. When I retold the joke, and discovered a much lower percentage of my audience was able to find the humour in it than I, I have since learned to take enjoyment from the blank looks on faces, and the fact that something I found amusing others often find annoying, and the very dichotomy sends me into paroxysms of gaiety all over again.

Which leads me to another point...I really don't find dead monkeys amusing. Nor dead animals of any sort. Their respective demises all cause me pain. Even so, I would like to see the study that led to the posting of the sign in Costa Rica, apparently in an attempt to dissuade its readers from handing out bananas willy-nilly to wayfaring monkeys which might be encountered in the wilds of Costa Rica, that gives empirical evidence wild monkeys have "delicate" systems. That's all I'd like to know.

Wild monkey deaths and rampant tooth decay aside, this is my eleventh day as a 100% raw foodist. It seems to suit me well, so far, as a lifestyle... I am actually quite pleased with it... and I've yet to experience any nasty cravings...yet. I won't be a Pollyanna and think that day will never come... but by and large I am so pleased with how I feel: re-energized, more alert, no CRAVINGS... my sinuses have cleared, my snoring is lessening... I had been waking up with dry eyes the past couple of months and that is gone... I don't know what all that means, or what it portends... all I know is, coincidentally, these things have happened in my life and body after I began consuming only raw fruits and some vegetables.

But I am considering cutting back on the bananas...

The Worst Thing About My First Day Raw

The worst thing about my first day raw with RFBC was the hour leading up to the time I had set for myself, in my head, to exercise...w-w-w-w-a-a-a-a-lk. How do I hate thee, walking? Let me count the ways... to the depth of shame I feel walking down my favorite walk by the bay as I pass the multitudes of other walker/skater/bikers, all thinner than I. To the heighth of my body which does not seem to be stretched to its full heighth as I walk, but instead, to be sinking, vertebrae by vertebrae into the back of my pelvis, compacting what coccyx I have left into a Necco-sized wafer. To the breadth of my, well, breadth, as my almost-normal sized ankles attempt to balance an entire additional person inside the skin we call my body and totter both beings along the sidewalk at a 3mph clip for 60 minutes.

Right up until I bent forward, squishing a goodly part of me between my chest and my upper thighs as I perched on the sofa, to tie my shoes, stood up and walked right out the front door, my tuchas rushing behind to catch up, no doubt wondering where the feet were going at this hour... right up until then I was not 100% sure I could count on myself to do it. But, I did.

And not without many arguments with Little Voice (not exactly sure, but I think it is the spirit of a long-deceased Native American, apparently bent upon my destruction, I picked up while living in the desert a decade ago), which periodically hissed suggestions I turn back because my large left toe had begun to hurt. Then the blister I got a few days ago on my Achilles tendon flared up, then the back thing kicked in... and it was dark and there were too many thin people to pass, their attractive visages filling and tormenting my view... and on and on... thank God and Drill Sergeant Carlene I got sick of listening to Little Voice's whining this time, and began to distract myself instead with the beautiful surroundings, and to be thankful I could get up and walk at all, and began to notice instead the breeze blowing off the bay helping to drybrush the sweat from my skin.

No nausea today, feeling clean and healthy, and ever so grateful for having taken the walk.

Seeking Rawtiety

Today is the day I begin the Raw Food Boot Camp I mentioned in an earlier post. I am very excited and quite ready... I'm ready to see if I can actually follow through with a commitment, 100%, without cheating and what it will do for me, spiritually, emotionally, and physically.

I'm looking forward to meeting all the other women who are involved... and I'll be journaling here to let anyone who wants to follow along know what it is like to go from an omnivorous, cooking-loving, foodie to a raw foodist from one day to the next. Oh, I have slowed down on meats the last few weeks, and actually overall for quite a while, preferring chicken and fish, and eating a great deal of veggies. But this program is radically different. I've thought about it for a long time...about two years... I've toyed with raw before, and I like it.

There are more than eating issues, however, associated with going raw. There are a lot of emotional issues and first-family re-programming issues... that I have only begun to explore in my mind. In a way, I'm looking forward to getting this journey underway so I can get on with actually encountering the obstacles, because the suspense about how I'm going to react is killing me.

Not to mention all the extra weight I'm carrying...

Pain of Remaining the Same

I am not sure I am being a good journaler, in that I am logging in for the mere sake of logging in and writing something, but then again, the hallmark of a truly good writer is one who gets up and practices their art, or their craft if you will, daily. I've always found it difficult to do anything daily, except perhaps brushing my teeth, and there have been times even that was a stretch.

I just read another blog by C.H. Featherstone in which he simply discussed various religious services he had attended in several different languages, and stated if one was open, intimating that whether the language was completely understood or not, one could find the Spirit anywhere, and I suppose I agree with that to a great extent. I have found myself in much worse places than edifices housing religious services not coinciding with my avowed flavor, and been able to call upon the Holy Spirit of My Father in heaven, and found Him there, in a heartbeat, so to speak.

He also stated that he intended to pursue a Masters of Divinity program at the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago this fall. He has been working as a journalist for a decade, and I found a great admiration for his having the chutzpah to be able to state "Journalism is no longer my calling, if it ever was."

It was a brief, but thought-provoking, and not un-coincidental, blog reading for me. I have been sensing the breezes of change for a while whispering about my life. Hinting to me there might be something more planned for me to do, to pursue. But the thought of breaking out of my safety net of a living which I had always believed to be that last career... well I have not been handling it well. I believe my inability to grasp the possibility that I might still have some unrecognized potential left in this deteriorating temple of mine... it has contributed to the self-abuse. It occurs to me I've spent so much energy attempting to keep change-- and growth!-- at bay, I've actually developed stress cracks that extend from my flesh into the center of my soul. Maybe that accounts for some of the bitterness one of my friends claims she can see in me. Maybe that accounts for the emotional aloofness and bulldog tenacity with which I pursue anything I perceive to be slightly within my right of control, which angers my eldest son to the point of maternal renunciation.

It has been two decades since I was shaken to my core, to my immense betterment and complete physical and spiritual renovation. For some odd reason, I did not take the lesson of Faust, and I paused... and allowed myself to think "I am done. It is enough." Well of course it is not. Pause much longer, and I am destined to become the devil's fodder. Instead, it is time...to return to the basics of the serenity prayer, to accept the flow of life's current, to ask for the courage to withstand the knocks of the rocks surely to impede my new path, to throw myself upon the mercy of God and His Universe of Love, and to embrace the adventure.

I believe I am ready... I will be pursuing a new regime of studying the effect of raw food on my body, this fall, until late November, and again for a semester in January. I am no longer fearful of where it may take me, but eager to see my life be renewed again.

Dreams can be very Telling

Ugh, bleccch. How I feel about how I've behaved the past two months. Life has been a maelstrom, and whatever weight I lost the first few weeks of July has certainly returned with reinforcements by now.

But I had a dream. It was two nights ago now. I was in a hospital and someone was telling me "You have to get up, get up and go find help!" and in the dream I ran out into the hall, which was littered with different colored plastic tubelines all running along a grey carpet, and the hallways were all crooked, and I ran down to the bottom and saw a nurse tending to a man on a cart in the hallway, but he was covered as if he had passed away. Suddenly little orange and white lights in round, aluminum exploded partway open into star-shaped balls emitting bright light, like Christmas balls, all over his body, and I awoke and my heart was pounding hard AND racing as I was laying asleep...

I'd had a particularly stressful day, and overate and overdrank before going to sleep--- it was my body calling out to me to go get help. I roused my husband in the next room (I snore too loudly for anyone to sleep next to) and he got me onto the couch, directly under a fan, elevated my feet, and gave me aspirin. My heartrate was double what it should have been. It took nearly half an hour to slow back down. It wasn't a heart attack, but it was SOMETHING. A wake-up call, let's call it.

So I contacted this woman, this warrior of a woman, whose website I've been visiting over a year now. I've toyed, I've played with the vegan/rawfoodan route to regain my health. I've studied it a lot, even attempted it a couple times. This time's for real. I told her my dream, and she said "Dreams can be very telling." In reading her journal, I see she dreams vividly too.

I still have a very strong dream, of being very strong and lean and regaining the healthy, athletic body with which I had been gifted, and cleansing out my temple. It occurred to me the other day, no matter how one believes, no matter what religion or philosophy, whether in spirit, soul, or Spirit/soul... all our bodies are temples in which that highest part of us is housed. Do I really want my soul to live in this rundown ramshackle building? No, and I want to remodel as quickly and efficiently as possible. She told me to start moving towards raw by cutting processed foods and overt fats like fried foods and cheese. "Eat lean to live long." I haven't eaten fried in a long time, but I can find ways to cut out my over-usage of good fats. And change the times I am eating, the latenight grazing, which has become my particular drug of choice.

I'm told I must be willing to ask family and friends for their support during the stages of this new program. This support is crucial. Hiding the diet from others because I don’t want to defend it or explain how I am trying, yet again, "one... more... diet" does not work. It will hurt me in the end, so this is for the world to see, whatever portion of it ever does. At least I'm still putting it out there. Hope it's not just a confession complex. Here I go again on my own.

I'm Thinking About It!!! What about you, Paris?

Well, I read about a guy who got all his books, got ready to go on his eating and weight-training program, and said he thought about it for several months before finally getting with it. I shook my head at his ineffectiveness sadly. Tonight, I'm shaking my head at me.

Well, doggone it, what did I do wrong? I didn't DO, to begin with, all the things I said I would. I pulled a Paris Hilton, and I went to that first "Lindsay Lohan" event in my life that came up last week, and it was struggle-city after that. The first chink...the first failure after the commitment makes each succeeding "slip" a little easier, and a little easier. So what is my solution for this week?

Well, I have to begin with forgiveness. Oh, that brings me back to the story of Princess Phatso, a hurt and now a revenge fantasy I've obviously hung onto for several years now. Okay, so here it is. I decided to have a frank discussion with my husband, whom I shall henceforth call Ossie (because he's a cross between an aging rockstar and an ostrich), about the giant dead horse's rotting corpse which sat in the middle of our den covered by an expensive Persian rug--- okay, that first part? A literary device called a metaphor, and it's not an expensive Persian rug, but a reasonable facsimile I found on sale at Home Depot. But I digress. What was that a metaphor for, you ask.

It was a metaphor for the subject of our complete lack of physical touch for several years. A subject we never touched upon...oh, pun intended, you bet...but as each day, week and month passed, the lump between us we carefully avoided seemed to grow bigger and bigger in my mind. So, one night, possibly fortified with my tactical defense troops, the 5th Cab Sauv and Brigadier Gen. Bombay of Sapphire, I thought by gosh, this shall not go on one more minute. And I kept broaching, and he kept slithering, and I countered, and he counter-crawled away, until finally he said, okay ya wanna know? YA WANNA KNOW WHY? because how could I possibly want to have anything to do with you now that you look like that? WHO could? And I mentioned that my body was good enough to bring home at least half and usually more of the available finances in the household, and it was agreed that was why we tolerated each other, that, and a son who was still a couple years away from graduation, and after several more heated exchanges, it was agreed we both looked forward to that day when we no longer had to pretend...and it ended with him storming from the room--- because my forte is to become quieter and quieter and more in control, and his forte is to rage and intimidate--- and he yelled back over his shoulder, just before slamming the french door hard enough to knock pictures off the wall, "PRINCESS FATSO"! So there, boys and girls, is the tale of how Princess Phatso was born.

See, I took that, and I became stronger, just by tiny, tiny steps. I let it ferment for a long time. I decided someday, when I was once again lean, and strong, and something physically desirable about me again, I would turn that intended vitriole into victory, I would metamorphose from "Fatso" into "PHATSO!", and I would have the title emblazoned in sequins on a tight-fitting, low-cut t-shirt, and I would proudly wear it, as a badge of my deliverance from my bulk. The thing I probably need to work on is getting rid of any notions of revenge, but we'll see how that plays out. We cannot burn our bridges until we arrive at them, now can we?

So maybe that is my Big Reason Why... and I'm afraid it's not good enough, Adam. Not wholesome enough. It's vindictive, and that's not right. But oh it would be so delicious. But is it doomed to fail because it is too mean-spirited? I don't know. But I do know, since I've brought it back up, and since I set my 12 months goal, I've eaten better, drank healthier, and been more encouraged overall. I am scheduled to go to the gym tomorrow. I so hope I get that done. If I can just get back on track again. I just know I can do it.

"What is YOUR Powerful Reason Why?"

This is the question I got slapped with in the face when I downloaded Adam J. Waters special report after subscribing to his free newsletter.

He asks,

"What moves you?
What motivates you?
What strikes that inner nerve?
Who are you doing this for? You or someone else?
Do you want to be a role model for your children?
Do you want to be in shape so you can find that special partner?
Do you have health challenges that you want to erase?
Are you tired of the insults you get from family and friends about your weight?
Is there that special someone you want to impress?
Do you want to gain respect from your peers and colleagues?
Do you want to have a career in fitness?
Finally, why are you even reading this report?"

Alrightey then, Adam, let me take a moment and see. I'll just go down the line:

a lotta things/fear and desire/bossy writers/me and a multitude/right now they're role models for me/you mean, so I might actually attract the special partner I already have? I dunno, ask me again when I get over my deep-seated resentment of him/unfortunately, recently, yes/yes/well, I'd like to especially impress someone/DEFINITELY/well, I hadn't really thought about it, Adam, but if I could regain my becoming form once again, anything's possible/because, Adam, you enticed me onto your blogspot when I read your articles on Tom Venuto's Burn the Fat Inner Circle website.

Yes, here I am, dying, crying, but still trying after all these years. I'm going to go ahead and give myself credit for that. But not much else in the way of having kept my body and health up to snuff.

Well not to be flippant, Adam, because I can tell you're really passionate about this transforming your life thing. And, BTW, kudos to you, you have done an abfab job. Guess that's what a middle-aged knowitall is doing reading your report, because I am seduced by the idea, the dream that I, too, may be able to render all the repulsive fat off , leaving behind only the lovely and svelte woman I dream is still inside this lumpen cocoon I have drug around with me all day for pretty much the past two decades.

You said it might hurt, to delve deep inside for my very own Powerful Reason Why. You weren't lyin'. Oh, not that there haven't been many hurtful episodes, and not that it hasn't affected my longterm relationship in general for years, and of course the slightly catty downglances from female associates and employees (ala Mike Myers as the character Middle-Aged Man in old SNL episodes, yelling to his embarrassed companions "Are you looking at my stomach? You're looking at my stomach, aren't you!!) ..... all those things of course are reasons why. And knowing it would make my business go through the roof, and knowing I could keep up with the "kids"... but one incident in particular....kept popping up when I thought about your question. And I knew it would drive me, although it happened a few years ago, now, it has been sitting, buried, festering...

And would you like to know what that PRW is?

I don't think I can write it down right now. Even though no one will probably read this blog, except me, which is great. I don't think I want it read yet. I'm just journaling because you said it would help, and posting, because you said it was key, accountability. I'm going to think about it for awhile, and see if I can write it down... a little later.

Okay, goodnight, Adam, wish me well.