How to treat a treat

Treat.  Doesn't that word immediately make you happy?  I think of an unexpected ice cream cone, Halloween candy, or a caramel apple.  An indulgence.  A reward.  Sometimes you get it from someone, sometimes you give it to yourself. 

I have recently upped the ante on my journey to (hopeful) lifelong health.  About a year ago, I had my labs drawn for the first time in my life.  Despite the fact that I was still carrying some extra poundage, I fully expected my numbers to be stellar.  Why?  Because I am in very good health, because I exercise regularly, because I have given up many processed foods, pop, and candy.  The only thing my doctor has to gripe at me about is my weight.  My blood pressure is good, my family history is healthy. Of course I should have great numbers. 

My numbers were really all good, all within the normal range.  But I had a few readings that were closer to the boundary than I would have liked.  This scared me.  Because if I tack 10 years onto my life, what will those numbers look like?  10 years from now, I will be approaching 50 (!!), and I can imagine that my metabolism will slow, and I will likely pack on a few more pounds.  I realized that unless I make some changes, those numbers will be closer to the boundary or even over the boundary.  I don't like that idea one bit.

So, after watching the success a close friend of mine had on Weight Watchers, I decided to give it a whirl.  I can tell you that in 10 weeks, I have lost nearly 17 pounds, putting my total weight loss over the past 2.5 years at 35 pounds.  I am approaching my "wedding weight", which wasn't necessarily something to write home about (although I am pretty pumped), and I have my sights set on my high school weight, which all of a sudden seems possible now.

That is not the moral of this blog post, though...I am setting up the story.

Being on Weight Watchers requires careful tracking and monitoring of the foods you are eating.  You get a certain number of 'points' each day, and when your points are gone, you can put no more into your mouth.  Of course, there are loopholes and exceptions, but, by and large, this is how it works.  This process has taught me to make choices.  "Do I REALLY want to spend 15 points on a small Blizzard at DQ?"  That would be more than 1/2 of the points I get in a day.  So, upon doing my research, and finally understanding why, despite running sometimes 10 miles per week, I wasn't losing weight.  I was eating way more points each day than I should have been.

Which brings me to my title...How to treat a treat.

There are days, oh, there are days, I would love to go back to my old ways.  Days where I want to treat myself.  Days where I know I deserve something special, something tasty.  And, usually, I allow myself one day each week where I do treat myself.  This is the only way I can stay on-point for the rest of the week.  But as the week wears on, I find myself falling into the mind-trap that I should have a treat every day.  As I sit in the Panera drive-thru, knowing I should get the 3-point chicken soup, but WANTING the 9 point Mac and Cheese with the 9 point Sierra Turkey Sandwich, I realize that I have been 'treating' myself every. single. day. prior to these past 10 weeks.  Because one day I would eat that, another day, I would eat a personal pizza.  And I thought nothing about 'treating' myself to a blizzard at DQ.  I realized that 'treats' are around every corner...in every convenient fast food restaurant, in every grocery store, in the breakroom at work, and heck, even in my desk drawer.

And, WHY, do I need to have all of these treats?  Have I done something special every day to deserve them?  Am I like a puppy who has done a trick to ear a treat? 

100 years ago, we didn't have such quick and immediate access to treats.  Heck, 50 years ago, we didn't either.  In those days, sugar was the treat...sugar used to bake a cake for a special occasion, or to bake a batch of cookies.  50 years ago, we didn't have an obesity epidemic or Type 2 diabetes spiraling out of control in our population.  We didn't have cases of pop to buy and bring home to put in the refrigerator.  There really wasn't fast food, and there certainly wasn't any such thing as "supersize me".  When you went out to eat, you didn't get enough food for two meals.

I am learning to allow myself a treat, one treat, each week.  I can save that treat for a special occasion...a wedding, a night out for dinner, or a party.  Or I can have my treat on a day when my cravings are just too intense.  But that's it.  It's back to the grind.  I am learning to be grateful that I have healthy food to put into my body, and that I don't need (or deserve) to treat myself daily.  I am learning to make choices about what I am eating.  I am learning that when I am craving a treat the most, I can usually try a piece of fruit or string cheese first.  More often than not, that is good enough.  I am learning to treat a treat like a treat should be treated (that was funny, don't you think?)

And then, I start thinking about how our society seems to be entitled to have treats.

And that is a whole 'nother blog post.

The gift of February 7

On February 8, I lost a lot.  I lost my mother, the person who knew me better than I knew myself, my friend.  And each year, at this time, I think about her.  I think about what I lost.  I think about how things might have been if February 8, 1999 not happened the way it had. 

What I don’t often think about is the gift I was given on February 7.

In 1999, I was 23 years old, married, with no kids, living in Becker, MN.  I was working, and enjoying married life, and the freedom of life on my own.  Ed worked in the cities at the time, and worked every other weekend.  On the weekends he worked, I often went to my parents’ house for “chick day”, a day where my mom and I , and my sister if she was around (she was 17 at the time and busy with activities), would spend the day together watching movies, playing nertz, and having fun.

On February 7, I met my mom at my aunt’s house.  We had a birthday party for my cousins.  My grandma and grandpa, and several aunts, uncles, and cousins were all there.  Like most Backes gatherings, it was a good time.  Lots of visiting, lots of food, a good way to spend an afternoon.

I was planning to meet Ed at his work in Plymouth when he got done at 6, and we were going to head over to Jamie’s house that night.  I had taken the next day off, so I didn’t need to be home or in bed at any certain time.  We finished at my aunt’s house with time to spare, so I went home with mom to spend an hour or two. 

We had the best time.  We talked and laughed, and had so much fun.  I will remember it forever. 

Before I knew it, it was 5 pm, and it was time for me to leave.  I didn’t want to go, we were having so much fun.  She walked outside with me, and borrowed to me her “Best of KQ” tapes (yes, tapes) to listen to.  We walked into the garage, she reached into her car and gave me the tapes.  She gave me a hug, and stood in the driveway, with her smile, waving at me as I drove away.

That was the last time I saw her, and my last memory of her.  Little more than 12 hours later, she was gone.

I am just realizing, completely, how much of a gift I was given in spending February 7 with her.  I didn’t know I was saying good-bye to her, but in a way, it was a fitting good-bye.  I pulled out of the driveway, watching her wave to me, feeling so much love for her and feeling her love for me in return.  It was a perfect ending to our relationship.  Had I known it would have been the last time I would see her, there would have been things I would have needed to say, things I would have wanted to say, things I won’t ever get a chance to say.  But there wouldn’t have been laughter.  There wouldn’t have been fun.

So why am I sharing this sob-story with the world?  Well, first of all, I like to share pretty much everything there is to know about me.  Losing my mom has been a huge part of my life, and losing her has contributed to the person I have become today.  And I want you to understand that about me.  I am stronger because of it.  I am stronger because I have been through much, much worse than anything that has since challenged me.  And I am stronger because I choose each day to live in a way she would be proud of.

But, more importantly, I choose to share this story because I want to drive home the fact that we are not EVER guaranteed tomorrow.  And I know it sounds hokey, and cliché, but each day really is a gift.  I am so thankful that I spent that day with her.  I am so thankful that our time together that day didn’t consist of arguing or disagreements (because there was plenty of that between us at times, too :).  I am so thankful that I have that memory of her, waving goodbye to me. 

I won’t ever forget that.

Fortune Cookies

Ed and I have recently begun a tradition. He usually eats at a Chinese restaurant once a week or so, and he usually picks up a fortune cookie for me. We make a big deal about it. I feel it, rub it, and tell him that our fate is in my hand.

Ed and I have been in this mode for the past, oh, say 10 years or so, where we feel like nothing GOOD ever happens to us. We work hard, and we are good people, but it seems like luck, karma, or whatever it is you want to call it just isn't on our side. Now, granted, in the grand scheme of thing, we know we have a good life, and we KNOW it could be much, much worse. But you know those people who seem to have everything fall into their lap? Well, we have no such luck. We kind of live under the notion, "If it can go wrong, it will".

Well, my New Year's resolution has been to put forth positive energy and eternal optimism, even in the face of trials. Because I have begun to realize that perhaps it is my state of mind that reinforces this lack of "luck". I am expecting the other shoe to drop, I'm anticipating the worst-case scenario. I don't expect good things to happen, I don't expect to be rewarded for my hard work. So, I have kept my chin up! And, let me tell you, it has been a challenging first three weeks of 2012!

Friday, Ed presented me with my fortune cookie. He said he labored over which cookie was his, and which should be mine. He weighed them in his hands, studied them, and decided on the cookie that should be mine. I unwrapped it, and it said....

"It is hard to see the sky from the bottom of the well"

Here's to pulling myself out of the well, and believing in bigger and better things for 2012!