Archive for the ‘FoodLife’ Category
Being a fatgirl for most of my life (since age 4, I surmise), I go on the assumption that the way I eat is the way most people eat: fingers out of the way, all hands on deck.
Before you think I just slap my face around a trough at mealtime (oink! more corn, please!), I need to explain where this thought came from.
My little bro had heart surgery yesterday (by little, I mean 30, but a little bro will always be a little bro) so today I hung out in his room while he rested with his wonderful pain med drip. In the room, there’s one small window that overlooks the vestibule of the heart hospital. It also looks into the waiting area of families awaiting news on other heart surgeries. While I watched, a woman (my age) and a man I figure was her dad sat down with a paper sack full of lunch between them. She had something–I couldn’t voyeur that far, (love people watching behind shaded glass~) but he had a sandwich and a Frosty. And a book.
Mind you, this was around 3pm. I’d had a bowl of Fruity Pebbles around8 this morning, so I was a wee bit hungry. Some people watch Playboy, I watch food court. As I watched him eat (after pouring the entire salt packet on his sandwich….in a heart hospital….ugh), I realized something. Five minutes later, he was still eating. And reading. And chewing.
I think he’d taken like three bites in that five minutes. In the same time span, I could have eating his sandwich, fries, frosty and have been in line for something else. He wasn’t paying a whit of attention to his food. Rather, he was engrossed in his book.
For some reason, this made me reflect on how I eat. For me,there’s some type of unbreakable laser-like spell with any type of food in the vicinity. And not in a good way. If you ever watch Cesar on the Dog Whisperer, it’s like when the dogs get so fixated on another dog, or a rabbit or a person and can’t see anything else in the universe except that thing–until Cesar breaks the spell. (Poke me in the ribs, Cesar, and see if I stop eating). It really is scary to be food in my presence. There is no cease fire.
But this guy…he ate about half the sandwich then proceeded to wrap up the rest and toss it out. I like to think it was the massive sodium content, but after watching him eat two bites of his Frosty, read for five minutes and eat two more bites, I realized the real deal–the man is not stark raving mad around food. He enjoyed his lunch, ate til he was (presumably) full and enjoyed his dessert. I imagined myself with a Frosty–no one gets near it til it’s gone.
This made me very aware of how I eat, and I tried carrying over those thoughts (shameful, if truth be told) through dinner. I ate slower, tried to enjoy my food without dying to scarf it down. It was nice. I don’t know if it will last but I keep reminding myself that his slowness and enjoying the food vs. my maniacal food attacks are probably why he was skinny as a beanpole and I’m as fat as a tomato.
7-1-09, Weds.
10:42 am
B.R. Park
20′09
17:32 min/mi
1.14 miles
193 calories
Pre-jog thoughts: I was ready for the 20 minute contiuum. Jogging Monday made me feel ready to jog today. I don’t know that I can beat my old time, but I’ll give it a try.
Jog thoughts: I ran, as usual, but when my iPod friend told me I had one minute left, I felt possessed to blow her away. I picked up the pace and made my best time (and calorie count) ever. I figure if I keep jogging the same way, nothing much will change. Like the number on the scale.
Post Jog: Sucked wind. Felt good.
What I Noticed: I didn’t notice much about the jog. What I noticed came when in front of the mirror before a shower. Walking by the mirror, I caught a glimpse of something I haven’t seen in years, possibly decades: My butt. Well, allow me to clarify. I have a butt, plenty of one in fact. The square footage of my behind rivals the land holdings of some third world countries. Unlike those countries, there’s been no real deliniation between the butt & thigh.
No more unibutt! I have the slightest bit of definition on the behind that separates the two regions so they can duly be noted on the next update of the world map. Now that’s progress. I don’t care what the scale says.
First time for…actually admiring myself in a mirror. I’m not getting too carried away, but it is a nice change.
6-29-09, Monday.
8:47 am
B.R. Park
20′14
17:58 min/mi
1.13 miles
189 calories
Pre-jog thoughts: I can’t believe my class reunion is over. You know, I weighed myself once near the start of June–and had lost nothing. Total bullshit. I vowed not to weigh myself again. Ever. We still had fun, but I need to burn off some of those extra calories from mom’s.
Jog thoughts: Excited to jog. I feel so much better following every run. That in itself scares me. To death.
I didn’t feel like I’d smash any records, but I promised myself I’d not walk. Even if it took me 12 hours to finish, I was jogging the whole way.
Post Jog: Shocked as heck that I broke my last record. Shocked.
What I Noticed: The hills aren’t as intimidating now as they were when I started. I read advice in a runner’s magazine (I didn’t just buy it for the pictures) that suggested not looking ahead on hills, but focus on the bit of road just beyond your toes. Worked for me. Of course, my calves didn’t follow that advice and still know the hills are hills.
I’m a whiz in the kitchen. I’ve been reading cookbooks since the age of 5, possibly even the age of 4 when mom got me & my sister the Disney Party Cookbook (why wouldn’t she let me broil the bacon-wrapped hot dogs? I’m still battling that demon). I have my favorites but have been known to go on binges at B&N totalling in the hundreds when there’s a particular display of pretty kitchen guides.
There’s only one thing that scares me in the kitchen: breads. Not quickbreads…I can whip out a cranberry orange rosemary loaf faster than you can butter a loaf pan, but real bread with real kneading and…gasp!…real yeast does a number to my self-confidence between the stove & sink.
So, my purchase from the Cookbook of the Month club a few years back of the Bread Bible probably wasn’t one of my smarter investments. I’ve read it with a loving fear, kind of like when I read IT in 5th grade only during true daylight hours (and still cried at lunchtime because I didn’t want to walk home for lunch because I had to pass storm drains). These breads are gorgeous, amazing and delicious.
And impossible.
Two days ago, stumped for a dinner plan, I got the brilliant idea of slicing up banana peppers from our garden, sauteing them to a crisp (technically frying) and layering them on a focaccia crust (from a tube) for a simple veggie-ish pizza.
Brilliant with the exception of no focaccia in a tube. I didn’t feel like running to the store, and I recalled a recipe for focaccia in the Bread Bible that promised me it was easy and required no kneading.
I’m not an idiot: I had a backup plan (pizza place number and a coupon) but thought I’d give focaccia a whirl (literally–it’s a soupy yeast dough you make with a MIXER! Who knew?!).
Long story short? We’ve had focaccia two, going on three, nights. And everyone (still) loves it.
The only thing easier than making focaccia is driving thru for donuts. Really. Here’s the recipe (shorthand version, courtesy of The Bread Bible)
2&3/4 cup unbleached flour
3/8 t. yeast (I go with 1/2 t. because they don’t make a 3/8 teaspoon. And I don’t do fractions. At all.)
Whisk together in a Kitchen Aid mixer briefly to incorporate. Slowly pour in room-temp water, 2 cups minus 2T. It’ll be soupy but it’s supposed to be. Don’t get scared that you’re making paper mache paste. I promise, it will work.
Leave this on about 4 or 5 speed for about 20 minutes. Cookbook says 20, it’s been more like 25 for me. Through the magic of cooking, the soup will come together in a ball-ish form, somewhat like melted mozzerella. When it starts creeping up the paddle like kudzu gone crazy, add:
3/4 t. sugar
3/4 t. salt
and let it mix for a few minutes. While that’s going on, grease a big bowl and have plastic wrap ready.
Scrape the dough into the bowl, cover with plastic wrap and put it somewhere moderately warm (I just tucked it into the microwave) for 5 hours.
Yes, 5 hours. When I go back to the classroom in the fall, I’ll make this before I leave in the AM and take it out to bake when I get home in the PM. Yes, my family will still be wanting focaccia then.
Make sure you mark on the bowl (or eyeball) where the dough should be when it has risen to 2x its original volume.
In about 5 hours, seriously lube up a sheet pan with olive oil. Don’t scrimp–this stuff will stick like crazyglue to your pan in any spot where it isn’t lubed up. Trust me. Dump out the dough, stretch it good but gently to get it to fill the pan. Let it sit for about ten minutes, then stretch again. Letting it relax a bit makes it go into corners easier (kind of like people drinking at a party).
If it’s still being a bitch, let it rest 10 more minutes and try again. Then drizzle it with olive oil and cover with more plastic wrap. Back into the warm place for another hour.
After 30 minutes, preheat your oven. The book says 475F, I went with 500 on my convection oven. I want that sucker hot and crispy.
An hour after you put it in, check to see if it’s doubled again (mine didn’t double again last night, but it was still perfect), take it out, take off the plastic and sprinkle with whatever herbs you like. I just did dill, salt and fresh pepper last night. Make dimples with your fingers and add more olive oil if you like, then toss it in the oven for about 10-12 minutes. Keep a close eye on it, though. You want bread, not charcoal.
When I used this as pizza dough, the boys clamored for leftovers. They never clamor for anything, especially leftovers, so I took it as a sign that focaccia should be at every meal. Just trying to figure out how to get it out on my 4th of July holiday spread…
6-22-04, Monday
10:05 am
B.R. Park
20′10
17:39 min/mi
1.13 miles
192 calories
Pre-jog thoughts: I hate jogging. I hate jogging. I hate jogging. Ass is too big. Still hate jogging.
Jog thoughts: Again with the “I can always walk” mentality. I just didn’t feel too great or energetic. I am, however, noticing the slight effects of jogging on my body. I passed by a window yesterday wearing a new pair of capris (thrift store, yeah!) and stopped for a second glance. My gut wasn’t preceeding me. I think I might actually be able to see my toes in the shower. Will check on that one.
Post Jog: Just about fell over when Tiger Woods called me on the iPod to tell me that was my fastest time ever. Then I went home and watched him lose at Bethpage Black. Hope I didn’t jinx him.
What I Noticed: More weirdos at the park. Shouldn’t these people be working? Seriously. Do you really need to drive to the park to smoke your cigarettes so I inhale your nastyass fumes as I jog by? And do you think non-smokers don’t know you’re smoking in the woods themselves if they can’t see you? Helloooo….smoke stinks. And so do your morals.
First time for…: crossing the same starting line I start from. Not a real starting line, just a big square of grafitti from the local wanna-be gang bangers association. Like a welcome mat the the park. I usually only make it to the little tree at the curve but for some reason, I made it further.
6-20-09, Saturday
9:22 am
B.R. Park
20′08
18:05min/mi
1.11 miles
187 calories
Pre-jog thoughts: I forget. It’s Weds. of the next week and I forgot to blog my last two runs (before today). I know there was a reason I didn’t do it Friday…hmm…oh yeah. Lightening. I’m not so much into that scene. Electricity & me…not such good friends.
Jog thoughts: Again, I forget. Probably feeling pretty good. I don’t think I had any major issues to hash out.
Post Jog: Morning jogs feel better because there are less park weirdos sitting around in their cars. I do remember as I jogged, more people came into the park. Like at one point I think I counted 10 cars. And there aren’t really that many parking spots. Weird.
What I Noticed: A strange red patch of grass in the woods near where I start. I was a little unnerved, so I pulled out my Nancy Drew magnifying glass and investigated, half expecting to find a body and blood. It was only red from where a few idiot kids had been setting off fireworks the night before. Good thing for me. I was hardly dressed to be interviewed by CNN for finding a dead body.
First time for…: Jogging up the hill at the halfway point. Whoever designed my course is an idiot. Who puts a hill at the halfway point? Oh, wait. Strike that. It’s me.
6-17-09, Weds.
11:16am
B.R. Park
20’11
18:20 min/mi
1.10 miles
185 calories
Pre-jog thoughts: Reluctant. Not to the point of blowing stuff off but just dragging my feet. Started to clean kitchen until I realized I hated that more than jogging. Felt fine, a little slow. Lower ribs on both sides achy on and off last two days. Figured I could take it slow if I want, or even walk. It’s freaking humid out today. Hope that doesn’t aggravate the side stitch.
Jog thoughts: I ran the entire first 10:55 without walking once. Only sucked wind once, luckily that cleared before I hit the park police station. Can’t be sucking wind when running by the boys in uniform, can we?
At the turn, eased into a walk though I didn’t feel the need to. Know I have killer hill to tackle and want to try. Jogged from speed bump to speed bump and down to dip in road. Took last 5 min. solid.
Post Jog: Not as worn out as I have been before. Not sucking wind nearly half as bad as Monday. Ribs not hurting at all. No side stitch. A miracle in itself. Usher & R. Kelly make me smile. Good cooldown song. Wish I were The(ir) Same Girl.
What I Noticed: Baby walnuts falling from the trees. Reminds me of picking walnuts with Granny A. We’d pick tons of ‘em and put ‘em in the driveway under dad’s car tires so he’d take off the outer hull, making shelling easier. Love the smell of walnut hulls. Not the stain on the fingers, so much.
First time for…: talking to someone while I jogged. Usually I just ignore people or, if they are skinnier than me, give them a hateful stare from behind the safety of my sunglasses. Today a woman was pushing a stroller with three kids piled on each other like Subway piles the meat on a BMT, and had one hanging from her neck. I laughed when she passed and said, “Looks like you’ve got it much worse than me.” True. Especially considering I never have to share my donuts with kids. That would suck.
I came to a sad realization this afternoon but not until I was in the middle of the madness and could do nothing about it.
Fat girls (size 10 and up) should not be shopping at Dick’s Sporting Goods.
The kid wanted to go to spend a gift card that’s been burning a hole in his pocket, so I agreed. I just read an abso-fabulous book on being/becoming a runner (yes, I’m still on that kick) these last few days and some of the stuff they mention, like the non-cotton tshirts, interest me. Not enough to drop half a C-note for something I can live without for now since I’m only burning up the road at a paltry 17’49 (average), which makes the chub rub chafing minimal at this point in my jogging career. But I am curious about the whole runner’s lifestyle.
Well, that was, until I found an XL (so it claimed) pair of Nike jogging ankle pants on the clearance rack that were obviously mislabled, both on the hang tag and the garment tag. If those were XL (which I rarely buy because L fits just fine), then I’m in the wrong place. As I wandered the aisles alone, I could almost hear the store security guys watching me on camera, snickering. “Look over there! In the golf equipment! Fat girl on the loose! Should we tell her the tent section is on the opposite end of the store?”
I stared down the security bubbles to shut them up, then promptly bought myself a zero-gravity lawn chair that will not only fit my thighs but cradle them in comfort as I sip my margarita. If my ass doesn’t fit in their pants, at least it’ll fit in their chairs.
I did leave with one burning question I wanted to ask the size 4 clerk: do runners start skinny? Or is there a fat jogger’s store I can visit? Hmmm…the world may never know.
Thanks, John Mayer, my secret-smart boyfriend, for that title.
Today I laced up and ran another 20 minutes without much hatred toward mankind and the Hostess Co. I’ve got my mile time under 20 minutes (don’t laugh). I think I’m milin’ at about 18:54 or something equally embarassing, but the important thing is that I actually convince my body that the pain is worth it.
It was an every-two-days gig but with the pending class reunion, the M-W-F schedule’s been invoked. I can do this for a month.
While I sat in the school office lacing up my Asics, the assistant principal came in.
“Where you going? Aerobics?” she asked.
I practically fell off my chair laughing. The only thing funnier to me than getting this body into jogging mode is willingly flinging it about a room with other slender, svelte women in leotards and leg warmers.
“Jogging. Gotta lose a little weight.”
A dreamy, misty look settled over her features. “Oh, wow. I love jogging. I never feel better than when I’m out for a run. But with two kids, I never have time. I love jogging.”
“Me…”
WHAT? I almost said, “Me, too?!” I “love” jogging as much as I “love” having my teeth drilled without novacaine. (Yes, it’s happened, no, it wasn’t pleasant. That may have been the only time I can truly say I wish I had been jogging instead of lying in a chair).
I snapped my loose lips closed. “Not me. Hate it. But I know it works.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I lost about 40 pounds years ago by jogging and lifting weights. I figure since I’m almost 40, it’s time to lose this butt I inherited from my mother’s side, once and for all.”
She cracked up and got a call on her walkie to help out at bus duty, leaving me relieved. For a moment, I was afraid my almost-faux-pas would lead her to ask where I jog, and to offer to come jog with me. (Unlike many people, I get along well with my administration). In addition to not sharing donuts, I also do not share exercise time. No one in my life will ever hear me gasping and sucking wind. Talk about humiliation.
The weird thing is…that jogging is making me feel better. I don’t know if it’s mental (I mean, I’m mental) but I’m growing more conscious of what I’m eating and making better choices. If the truth be told, I didn’t eat a donut last week.
Worry not, I will fall off the wagon again sometime. Probably soon, with the impending end of the year. Donuts or margaritas will be my undoing. Be here for the fun!
Something funny happened on my way to demolish an entire bag of mini Twix yesterday: I stopped before eating a single one.
This incident alone isn’t enough to get me to seek medical attention but combined with a few other seemingly innocent events is a little more startling. Judge for yourself…
1. I haven’t spent more than five bucks on fast food in the past two weeks, and that was only for a large iced tea and hot tea from Tim Horton’s.
2. I made a pan of brownies on Weds. night and it was still available for chomping yesterday after school
3. I ate 3 Lay’s potato chips and closed the bag. (Ok, not so odd. I’m not a chip girl, even on my most binging days)
4. The most telling problem that something’s amiss? Alone in the teacher’s lounge with half a dozen delish donuts from the fab corner bakery, I nibbled half a jelly-filled gem around the edges and tossed the rest in the trash.
Don’t worry too much. I weighed in on the scale and found a two-pound gain from last week despite two weight lifting sessions and two 20 minute jogs. I sense a little less puff in my gut, and my pants are a wee bit looser, so I’m not stressing on the number. But the changes in my dietary habits are really interesting.
Are you hearing me? Reading between the lines?
Junk food is not calling my name. I continue to hear a quiet little voice in the back of my mind that says “You’re practically killing yourself every two days: burning thighs, burning lungs, sucking wind because you’ve ate more donuts over the last 38 years than the population of some towns in Rhode Island, and it’s working. More junk means more pain. Less junk, faster results. Do you really need/want to continue eating garbage when you could be burning off that pound of cookie dough you ate in ’97?”
(I said the voice was quiet. I didn’t say it was succinct).
At this point I must agree with the voice. I’m thinking I want to keep jogging and working out in order to eat more of the good stuff I like that my body needs, and not just fuel my addiction to shiny-wrappered candy or tasteless sprinkles. (You do know the sprinkles really don’t taste like anything but wax, don’t you? Eat a few spoonfuls and find out).
Today is a weightlifting/ab day; tomorrow is jogging. Tonight is a major-league baseball game with beer, hotdogs and possibly crackerjack. Don’t worry, I heard the voice. Besides, they don’t sell donuts in the aisles anyway.