Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Just a case in point: Checking on one random day, I see that I consumed 1782 calories, near the very top of my maintenance range It was also a BIG day for exercise - running, walking, canoeing and even 2 short SP strength training videos. According to the tracker, I burned 522 calories. This was way out of the ordinary. I usually burn about 250-300 calories per day. Fortunately, the following day was my scheduled day off from exercise.
708 of those calories (40 %) were “snacks.” I think it’s time to face the fact that I don’t have snacks, I eat extra meals. I know that 6 small meals per day are recommended for diabetics. Fortunately, I’m not in that group, but their regimen seems to work well for my body too.
My husband says I’m eating all the time and I suppose it looks that way. I have this internal clock, my unique personal clock that expects fuel at certain intervals. What’s changed for me is what type of fuel I’m using. Greek yogurt with FiberOne cereal is one choice, not the donuts DH favors. Instead of Oscar Meyer “oven fresh” deli meat my sandwiches now contain chicken or turkey that I’ve roasted in my own oven. DH prefers that now too and even does a lot of the roasting himself!
I even LIKE the replacements. I don’t think I could continue if I felt deprived. Yes, my Greek yogurt is the organic kind with fruit. That sugar isn’t my problem. It’s the sugar from digging into the container of ice cream that used to sabotage me.
Now I find that I can eat a lot comparatively and still be within my range of 1460 – 1810. On days that I don’t workout I stay at the low end. If I’m active, I eat more. It’s becoming automatic – FINALLY.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
That was my Dad’s question 25 years ago when I returned from a “Turkey Trot” charity run. It was Northern Virginia. There were about 1000 participants and I was 40 years old. It was also my very first 5K.
Dad was blinded by love, but he also remembered that athletic little girl that used to make him proud. We hear lots of stories about the humiliation of being the last one chosen for teams. I was the one choosing the team. If I didn’t happen to be the captain, I was one of the first picked.
So what happened to me that I had to train for 6 months to run a 5K? Society happened. By the time I got to high school, being strong and fast wasn’t admirable in a girl. So I joined the others, bought makeup, put on the pointy toed high heels and became a spectator. I recovered somewhat as a young mother. I wanted my daughters to be active, so “for my age” as they say, I was quite fit, just not an athlete anymore.
When I told Dad that my time of 30:51, of which I was very proud, was in the bottom 25% of the finishers, he replied, “That’s pretty crummy, ‘enna?”
I had to laugh. I loved my Dad and I knew he wasn’t really being critical, just honest. He still remembered that little girl who used to beat the boys.
There was a book a few decades ago called “Innumeracy” which compared the inability to understand number concepts to the better known “Illiteracy.”
Dad wasn’t alone. As a society, we don’t have a good idea of how far a mile or a kilometer is. How long it takes to cover it. How big a portion is. How much our food weighs. Sometimes, we don’t even realize how much WE weigh if we let things get out of hand.
Even worse, there’s those movable numbers as I wrote in my blog yesterday. We don’t have any idea what it means to be a size 8 anymore.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Today is Veterans Day which originally was called “Armistice Day,” the day that ended WWI which at that time was “The Great War” or “The War to End All Wars.” Sadly, that didn’t happen.
On Sundays my blog entries tend to be more introspective, possibly because I never plan an intensive workout or because I’m on my way to church and thinking ahead.
After my father’s death, I became active in the Sailors’ Association of his WWII ship. I maintain their website and have attended their last 5 reunions. They’ve come together every year since 1964 and have just voted to continue the tradition. I think each old sailor wants to be the last man standing.
My Dad and my Mom have been quoted in my blog, usually in a funny way. Today though, I want to say “thank you Dad” and thanks to all those members of the “Greatest Generation” who left their ordinary lives, went off and saved the world and then returned to live their average lives again. Thanks to their spouses who “kept the home-fires burning” as the old song went. Their sacrifice should be recognized as well.
Finally, this isn’t just about a generation disappearing daily. Millions have served since then in a variety of situations and circumstances and they deserve our thanks and support also.
I’m familiar with the charitable efforts of our military in our communities, for example the annual “Toys for Tots” campaign. However, I was surprised by the level of need for holiday support BY military families as well. I was appalled at the number of military families finding themselves in dire financial straits and the need to appeal to the community for help.
“Thank you for your service” is a comment we hear often now and that’s as it should be. However, I hope we won’t stop with easy verbal affirmation. We must support the real physical and economic needs of military families. No one who is ready to lay his or her life on the line for us should have to stress about providing Christmas presents for their families.
Edit: Once again comments have prompted some additional thoughts on my part. My husband is a Viet Nam vet also, so I vividly remember those divisive days and did not intend to open old wounds.
However, while the experiences of some returning vets are reprehensible as stated, the treatment we received from those who supported the war was in my view equally bad. I’m referring to the company and coworkers who viewed my husband’s return with distain because they “had to give him his job back!” He was warned that the law only required them to do that for one year. I consider that being virtually “spit upon.” I do not want that to happen again to anyone regardless of the proper words being spoken.
Whether you (or your parents) were in Viet Nam, in the streets or going on with your normal lives while others served. Let’s do the right thing now.
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