How I'm losing weight without starving myself, and building a healthy relationship with food.

So I’m in a really good place right now. I’m eating balanced, healthy meals that make me feel satisfied but not gross. I’m practicing portion control and eating whole foods that I cook myself (mostly). I’m NOT calorie counting (I know that I usually eat around 1400-1600 calories, some days less, some days more, but I track portions and food groups, not calories). Every day I drink a magical chocolate protein shake that tastes like dessert. It keeps me full for hours, gives me so much energy that I’ve cut down on coffee, and really helps with cravings. Plus, I can use it to make guilt-free peanut butter cups.

[It Happened To Me: I found a way to make healthy peanut butter cups that taste BOMB. And I don’t even feel gross the next day, because they’re healthy, because that’s how it works when you eat healthy food all the time…]

And yes, I’m losing weight, but more importantly I’m losing inches, and I’m doing it the right way.

I started the program a few months ago, when I saw my high school friend Lesley posting about it on facebook. I’ve done almost every fad diet there is, so I’ve seen a lot of hopeful facebook posts and been through my share of clickbait rabbit holes.

No seriously, here is a list of all the diets/eating programs I have tried. In parenthesis is the number of times I’ve tried:

Medifast (5x)

Weight Watchers (1x)

Atkins (2x)

South Beach (lost count)

Keto (1x)

Paleo (1x)

Jenny Craig (1x)

HCG diet (only 500 calories a day) (1x)

I have survived on almost nothing. I have survived on diet pills, diet coke and saltines (WHATUP 2002, don’t miss you at all!). I have exercised too frequently for too long or not at all because I’ve been so starved. I’ve been through years of really stressful teaching positions that led me to put on weight (talk to me about cortisol if you doubt that stress can and will affect you metabolically), and do drastic things to get it off.

So believe me when I say that when I saw Lesley’s posts on facebook, I approached them with a healthy degree of skepticism, because I really didn’t think it was possible to have a healthy relationship with food, exercise and your body. I thought I was doomed to spend a life treating my body as something bad that needs to be controlled and kept in line.

Last spring, when I started seeing Lesley’s posts, I was opening the medicine cabinet right when I got into the bathroom so I didn’t have to look at my reflection when I washed my hands. That’s how bad it was.

Then I found the 21 Day Fix. It’s all about clean eating, portion control, 30-minute at-home workouts, and a daily superfood shake that tastes like goddamned dessert (and can be made into peanut butter cups). The 21 Day Fix has brought so much simplicity to my eating and exercise routines.

I never thought I could workout at home because I craved the community my gym provided. But the 21 Day Fix comes with a different style of community. Instead of going to the gym, I belong to a challenge group on Facebook full of people doing the same program as me. They’re all over the country, which is WILD, but so cool. We have tons in common, and no one cares when I post about how my cat tries to interrupt my workouts by farting on my dumbbells, so I’m happy. I love these groups, and the people in them. I think they are what makes the program work as well as it does. They keep me motivated and on track.  

My home gym 

It takes time. I do a meal plan for the week every weekend, and I stick to it about… 80% if I’m honest, but I still eat so much more healthily and save so much money because PORTION CONTROL.

The most important thing about 21-day fix is the focus on having a healthy and positive mindset. I got to the point where I realized that I’m capable of losing weight. I can eat less and exercise more and take pills and cut out whole food groups. I’m great at that. But until I fix what’s happening in my head… I’m just going to gain the weight back. Until I learn to change how I think about food, and how I think about my body, there’s no point in any of it. And that’s what 21-day fix has helped me to do.

I used to look at a huge Snickers bar and think “BAD. BAD FOOD. I’m bad if I eat this. If I eat this, it’s a bad day, and everything else I eat may as well be bad too because the day is a lost cause and I can go back to eating good food and being a good, healthy person tomorrow.”

Now, I look at a huge Snickers bar and I see it for what it is. It’s going to taste amazing, but it’s going to make my blood sugar rise and then drop, leading to me wanting more sugar, and if I eat more, I’ll want more, and I’ll feel sluggish for the whole next day. Some days, I decide that it’s worth it to splurge, and I do, because this program is a lifestyle, not a diet, and sometimes you have to eat a Snickers bar. But I make a decision based on information rather than emotion, and whatever decision I make, I have a group of people to support me because they’ve been there too, because we’re all in this together.

So I’m about to begin this journey where I co-host a fitness and nutrition challenge group with Lesley in October. I’m nervous, but I’m excited. And I’m looking for 5 people to join me in this challenge group. 

So if you’re ready to... 

• change the way you look at your body and food
• feel more comfortable in your own skin
• lose pounds and inches
• build a healthy mindset
• save time and money
• see lots of pictures of my cat trying to work out with me and eat all the great food I make

GET IN TOUCH! It’s a journey that you don’t have to go on alone. Join our crew. You'll love it.

I also started a facebook group around having a more healthy mindset around fitness and nutrition, so if you want to join that, ask and I’ll add you!

If you just want to chat, I love talking about this stuff, so get in touch!

And Lesley, I appreciate you so much. I was going down a really unhealthy path, and your relentless positivity, your constant support, and the 21 Day Fix saved my butt. Thank you.

Email me
Go to my Coach website (although I haven't really updated it yet)
PS: Yes, I made my Beachbody Coach website URL Leahnopants. 

A sample meal I made that's on-plan... These are fajitas, from before I started eating meat again. Replace the tofu with blackened chicken. 

not good enough.

my before picture is hideous

i’m disgusting

rolls of fat collecting around my middle almost down to my awkwardly skinny ankles.

my after picture is great, but somehow i think it’s just the angle

that i don’t really look that good

i can’t even appreciate my after picture because now i constantly compare myself to it.

i look at myself in the same mirror,

under the same lighting,

in the same position,

in the exact very same spot,

and i think i look fatter now than i did when i took the pic a month ago

and i’m so very disappointed because this is what i do.

i get thin,

i get fat,

i get thin,

i get fat. because i’m

destined to repeat this

disgustingly unhealthy cycle,

to never be satisfied,

to never settle.

but at what cost?

I can’t even appreciate my after picture, because i’m constantly comparing myself to it,

wondering if i’ve let myself go.

i panic.

first slowly, bit by bit,

little drops of fear collecting until i’m lying in a huge puddle of bright red failure, like a scene from CSI Miami, and Callie Duquesne’s about to show up with her perfect body and shiny blonde hair and take pictures of my horribly gory demise from moderately overweight person to thin person who was never totally satisfied with herself to slightly heavier person who’s on her way to becoming fat again.

and i’m trying to figure out when it started, when i first became a person who wasn’t comfortable in her own skin, but the memories are hazy, faded and blurry, strung together at random and mentally photoshopped by years of overanalyzing and my writerly imagination filling in the details that i don’t remember, probably never remembered.

I wasn’t born hating my body

sometimes I get glimpses of it, quick flashes of what it might be like to just enjoy the feeling of the sun on my skin, eyes closed, not a thought in the world, but then

walls of reality slam down around me, ruining everything because for just a second, I wasn’t worried that I look fat from this angle, the stretch marks on my legs are showing, I’ve eaten too many carbs today, and I should sit up straight and suck my stomach in and drink 3 liters of water so no food can fit in me and then lace up my sneakers and run until and I can’t feel feelings anymore and the trees in front of me swim and sway and threaten to swallow me whole

because i’m

not good enough.

no matter how much weight i lose it’s not good enough

i should lift more weights

eat less carbs

cut out processed foods, because gluten is bad! so are things that have more than 5 ingredients! ew!

because we sit here and

judge people’s bodies

judge what food they put in their mouths

and when

and judge

judge

judge

judge

judge

judge

judge

judge

judge

judge

judge

and where the hell has that ever gotten us?

when you strip away

all the things that are supposed to keep you warm and happy and comfortable in your own skin

bulimia is the blanket you choose

you wrap yourself in lies

black is slimming

that’ll look great if you wear some spanx underneath

minimize this, maximize that

[[[and not now, but at some point CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT HOW WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE SO THIN AND STILL HAVE BREASTS? thanks society, for creating an ideal for female beauty that’s LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE for 95% of the population to obtain without plastic surgery, because when you get that thin your boobs go POOF,

but that’s a rant for another day.]]]

swathed in deceit

wrapped in illusion

push it up

suck it in

lift

tone

burn

tan

dye

paint

NO

just

NO

because it’s still

not good enough

there will always be jeans that don’t fit

there will always be someone with nicer abs than me

even if i make my body the most perfect thing it can be, abs of steel, muscles coiled around my bones like ropes

there will always be someone else who does it so naturally

so even if i finally build myself the perfect body, there will always be someone else who didn’t have to work as hard because they’re not BROKEN AND SAD like me.

so i’ll never be good enough.

i’ll never be thin enough,

pretty enough,

young enough,

have hair that’s

long enough,

i’ll never squat enough,

bench enough,

run far or fast enough.

i’ll never BE enough

so you know what?

i’m done.

and i’ve been trying to write the ending of this poem for a few days now, because i want to to end with hope, even the tiniest sliver of low-carb sugar-free portion-controlled panic-induced hope. but this isn’t a lifetime made-for-tv movie about anorexia. those always end well, with the beautiful girl in the hospital surrounded by loving family, and then they cut to a scene of her playing some sport because she got strong again, and yay, no more eating disorder. but what they don’t tell you is that you never get over an eating disorder. you’re never fixed. you’re just stronger than you were before, and that’s the best you can hope for. so this isn’t the end of my story. i’m going to struggle with this for my entire life.

but there is hope.

because today, i’m going to eat something with more than 30 grams of carbs in it and

you know what?

i’m not going to have a panic attack.

maybe i’ll stop when i’m full.

maybe i’ll stop when i’ve stuffed myself.

maybe i’ll obsessively cut it in half and then log it into myfitnesspal.

but maybe not.

and tomorrow, i’m going to lie out and read a book in a bikini and every time i wince and cringe and want to curl up into a ball or go inside or readjust myself so i look better i’m going to remember that

my stretch marks are battle scars

my hair might actually grow long again

my lovehandles are a trophy, not a source of shame

and if what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger

if we really believe that

then we shouldn’t hide our scars

and if anyone says a word to me about them

any of the marks 20 years of disordered eating left on my body

if someone says one single disrespectful word

i’m going to tell them the story of the battle taking place inside my skin

i’m going to read them this poem.

Vault: Gym Rat Acceptance Speech

Posting this, originally from last spring, to hopefully get me out of my lazy funk and back into GAM (Gym Addict Mode): 

I think I have a problem. I'm addicted to working out.

Looking back, I'm not exactly sure when it began. I remember my first road race quite clearly. It was a 5k. I was 6. I kept the shirt until ninth grade, when it actually disintegrated in the washing machine. Mom was not pleased. Then again, I always had a tumultuous relationship with washing machines. Or, one might say, a healthy appreciation for cerulean blue crayons and a tendency to not empty the pocket of my polo t-shirt dress before putting it in the hamper.

I remember the feeling with odd clarity. The word I used at the time was jello.

"Mama, my legs feel like jello." 

"Leah, that's great! That means you worked hard! You should always push until you feel like jello." 

Can you tell a competitive distance runner gave birth to me?

My knees wobbled, and I imagined myself as some human/Gumby hybrid. Even at age 6, I don't remember this being negative. I remember thinking it was awesome.

Fast forward 20 years... 

20 years, dozens of track/xc seasons, half marathon, Marathon, boxing, swimming, aqua jogging, stress fracture #1, stress fracture #2, anorexia, bulimia, diet #1-17, freshman 15... 20... 40... oh shit, I'm no longer a freshman, but I'm still fat, weight watchers, boxing, yay I look better in a bathing suit than I did when I was 16!

Despite all that, I've never been a gym rat. Until now.

Now that I think about it, it's E's fault. Three or four weeks ago, she suggested that I go to spinning and pilates on Tuesday night with her. When I did this, she went on to suggest that we do three classes in a row the following Wednesday: pilates, boxing, and yoga.

I should mention that we are damned good at pilates. I can say this because for 4 years I thought pilates was boring and easy because I was doing it wrong. So for those of you that are thinking, "Yeah, whatever, I could do three classes in a row if two of them were pilates and yoga," guess what? No you can't. The fact that you are thinking that is proof that you wouldn't last. Pilates, when done well, can burn 700 calories in an hour. Long story short: pilates, boxing, yoga = hella workout

That day I had an epiphany. Well, actually, I didn't have the epiphany until later, and when I explain you'll get why. I'm not sure what happened during those three hours. It's like I blacked out, except there was no whiskey involved. My memory of that night is a large, empty, cavernous space.

It was wonderful. Bliss. Glee. Joy. My mind was blank. NOTHING was in there. No lesson plans. No lists of parents to call. No frustrations. No feelings of inadequacy. No emotions. Nothing.

There was also very little brain activity. I could make my body follow instructions, but that was it. If you had walked up to me and told me it was 1975, I would have believed you without question. If you had told me that my whole life, what I thought of as purple was actually red and vice versa, I would have believed you without question.

This actually happened after yoga:

Someone: Hey, what's your last name? I want to friend you on facebook.

Me:

Someone: HELLO?

Me:

Someone: Hey? You there?

Me: ...wait, what?

Ever since then, I can't stop. If my day's been fine, I just relax. If my day's been terrible, I work out until I can't think thoughts or feel feelings anymore.

It's wonderful. And it works better than whiskey.

Maybe I'm looking at this all wrong. Maybe it's not a bad thing. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe instead of calling it a problem, I should be treating it like an award.

And awards call for acceptance speeches.

Here goes:

I couldn't have become a gym rat workoutaholic alone. I had a lot of help. I would like to thank:

• My mom, for giving birth to me, because distance running is in my blood; for teaching me at a very young age the importance of jello in all forms; for providing expensive athletic footwear whenever I requested it, from toe shoes to racing flats. 
• My dad, for passing along his genes, as well as his posture. As a kyphotic superstar, I spent most of my life with hot legs and a big belly. Even when I was anorexic, I still had lovehandles. Without this natural propensity towards stomach flab, I would never have discovered the love of my life: pilates
• Michelle, my pilates/fitness instructor/guru, who is an incredible athlete as well as teacher
• Britney Spears, for going off the fat-bald-crazytown deep end and still ending up with a six-pack.
• My baby ipod, for being the perfect size to clip into my right pigtail during long runs. 
• H, for inspiring me to at least attempt to qualify for Boston
• Asics, for creating such an orgasmic running shoe. The fact that I could probably ramble on for another 1000 words about the intricacies of my Kayanos is proof of my supreme reign over all things nerdy runner. 
• My heart rate monitor, for teaching me a valuable lesson: If you burn 1900 calories running, you have to immediately inhale at least half of those calories as soon as you stop running, or else you'll dry heave, go to bed, wake up at 4 a.m. starving, and eat everything that isn't nailed down. 
• C, for supporting my hatred of pants. This is tied to working out because if I didn't have muscles, I would not go sans pants nearly as often. I haven't seen Cindy in years, but when some guy pointed at me and said, "Is that girl not wearing pants?" Cindy casually responded with, "Nope. She's awesome." Thank you. All APCs (Anti-Pants Coalitionists) should have such a broad support system. XOXO
• My college XC / Marathon coach, for teaching me how to eat while running and not hurl. It is a valuable skill to have when you're a workoutaholic like I am. Related sidenote: No matter how good you are at this, do not, I repeat, DO NOT try to do this while running uphill. You will puke. 
• My gym, for not only supporting, but expecting people to do multiple classes in a row. 
• My roommate, D, for introducing me to bodybuilding.com
• My friends, for being just as into all of this as I am. There is something so wonderful about going out on  Friday night with a group of people who take out their phones to log calories as often as I do. I feel normal around you. This is a rare occurrence. It's also a compliment, in case you didn't know. :) 

Thank you all. Without you, this would never have been possible.

Joseph Pilates (obvi)

Gym Pet Peeves: Judgmental Treadmill Ladies

Judgmental ladies on zero resistance piss me off. You know what I mean. I didn’t specify what area of the gym because you find these ladies everywhere, but there is an epidemic of them in the cardio room, so that’s the example I’ll use.

Picture this: You’re on the treadmill, stationary bike or elliptical, they are right next to you. You’re hauling ass on some insanely high level of resistance, and to the outside world, you appear to be trudging through a mixture of mud, quicksand and molasses. Sometimes it looks like you’re barely moving. Sweat pours down your face. You look like you’ve had the crap kicked out of you. The lady next to you is going buck wild, flying along at a dizzying pace on level .0001. There is nothing wrong with this. To each her own.

But then she leans over and looks at you in her judgy-faced glory, eyes narrowed, lip curled, eyebrows raised, thought bubble above her head containing the words, “Wow, I’m going soooo much faster than you.” You had to go there, didn’t you? Now that you have my attention, I can look at the numbers on your machine and see that I’m working 79,000 times harder than you because I’m 79,000 times stronger, yet you judge me? You somehow think you’re better? Guess what? You’re not pushing yourself. Know how I can tell? You have NO resistance on the machine, and you have enough mental and physical energy to give me the stink-eye. Crank it up a notch and mind your own business.

The worst thing is, it is impossible to ignore these ladies. I’m not talking about the ones who glance over at your machine occasionally. I’m talking about the obnoxious ones who lean over too far and won’t give it up. You can look at my machine all you want if it makes you happy. The issue is that they don’t give it up. If you ignore them, they get bolder. They lean closer towards your machine. I make a big show of looking at the TV in the opposite direction, checking my watch, drinking my water, yet they won’t let up until I make eye contact just to get them out of my personal space.

I have experienced some success with the following reaction. Be warned, this is not for the faint of heart. This is for dealing with a first class obnoxious bitch who really won’t leave you alone. Allow her to give you the condescending eye. Wait 10 seconds. Then look at the numbers on her machine. Don’t glance. Turn your entire face, partially turn your shoulders, and stare at the digital display on her machine for at least 6 seconds. Then, do the same thing with your own machine. Look at her legs, pretending to gauge the pace. Look down at your own legs. Look at some spot in between both sets of legs, so you appear to be comparing the respective paces. Look back at her numbers. Look at your own. Raise your eyebrows, curl your lips into a hint of a smile, and nod slightly.

If you follow my instructions perfectly, the following thought bubble will appear over your head:

“Hmm… No wonder your legs are moving so much faster than mine… You have your machine set at the easiest level. Well, good for you, joining a gym for the first time. We all had to start somewhere.”