I was raised Catholic and attended mass until I was 23 regularly. Something changed and I stopped attending, feeling it was not really doing anything for me and I was not getting anything out of it. A choice I know my mother is not thrilled with. We always attended with our parents. My parents, well mostly mom always noted how after communion and before the final prayer many people would slip out to beat the traffic out of the parking lot. I heard many a lecture on this behavior. Even when my siblings and I attended on our own, we never left early even if we wanted to get our Sunday started early, as this is how we were trained. My sister Sue would always grab the church bulletin published weekly with all the church news in it to bring home. She called it “proof of purchase” that we actually attended.
My uncle Ed would come to visit at least once a year from Texas. He was a retired teacher and a Brother in religious order. He would stay in New Jersey for two weeks or so. He had done this as long as I have been alive. He would stay with us and just hang out. It was my father‘s only brother only relative from the Kinsley side of the family. We called him Led for short. My mother always had a low tolerance for Led and his visits. I think because he just came and sat and kind of lived in the past. As kids we loved him. He would be silly with us, take us to New York and generally annoy my mother. Somehow we all kind of liked that.
When my father died and we got older and moved out, the siblings would take Led for the two weeks. We would divide him up for the time he was here so we would all get some quality time. He was up for anything and followed your lead as far as entertaining him.
“Hey Led, how about a cocktail?”
Response #1: “Only if you are having one.”
Response #2: “I wouldn’t say no.”
So one of the first times he stayed with us, I asked him if he wanted to go to church on Sunday and he said yes. Off we went to Saint Greg’s. As my mom lived around the corner from us, it was her church as well. I knew what mass she attended and we arrived just as mass started and Led and myself sat towards the back. I spotted my mother two rows up off the side. As much as she was over Led, she always asked about him and wanted to at least see him for a quick visit when he was here. Except for us kids, it was all he she had left of my father.
I turned to Led and told him my mom was here and told him we will catch her walking out to say a quick hello and make plans to come over for coffee or something. We went up for communion and returned to our seats. I looked over to where my mom was sitting and she had not gone back to her seat after communion. I look in the back of the church and see my mother ducking out the door before the final prayer. I mouth fell open. I could not believe what just happened. She broke her own rule I feared breaking and was taught simply wrong. I can remember just sitting in the pew stunned at what I had just witnessed.
Did she remember she left the iron on? That must be it, because it just can’t be she was in a hurry to be somewhere. I remember discussing with Led whom seemed in classic Led fashion to have no reaction. I think my reaction was purely from the disgust my parents displayed from such behavior.
I spoke to no one about this. The next day I called mother and told her about Led’s visit and was telling how I took him to church on Sunday. Then I told her how we were at the same mass as she was.
Silence
Am I really going to confront my mother about this? Ok I know I should just let it go. But it’s just not in my nature to let something like that slide. A much as I was just giving my mother grief and guilt for my own amusement, I was a little shocked at her breaking of this sacred rule about never leaving early.
“I have to say mom, I was little disappointed in you at mass. I was surprised to see you slip out of church early after what we were told and taught growing up. I was shocked at your behavior. “
Silence
“Well, I was meeting the ladies for breakfast as I always do in Bordentown at ten and I didn’t want to be late.”
Yeah, I know. It was not a nice thing to do and a good person would have let my mother have her dirty little secret and keep my mouth shut. It was too sweet for the picking. I am a bad son. An hour later my phone was ringing off the hook from my siblings. My brother called and told me my mom called him crying.
“Why would you say that to her Tim? Why do you to that to mom?” “That’s your mother Tim!!!”
They could not believe I went after Mom like that. Not a one of them could imagine saying anything like that to her. I had no answer but that I treat my mother like anybody else in my life and if someone lectured my on something and then did the opposite I would call them on it. She is human and justified it as anyone would. Ok, looking at it with some distance I could have used better judgment and cut my mom some slack and not worded the way I did. I stand by my calling her on it in the end, but am sorry she got so upset. At least I didn’t ask to see her “proof of purchase”.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Deal or no Deal
I had a moment while getting my coffee one day. This is something that although I knew this already, illustrated a point that represents our nation’s affliction of bad food, bad habits and the draw of the deal. It’s not a new concept or idea I am painting here. It is one we see every day in life. The light just seemed to go on as I watched this scene happen in front of me.
I was getting my coffee (coffee only, as I have been donut free for some time now) at a particular chain. I won’t mention the name but it does have two Ds in it. As I was waiting in line a man with three young girls. I would say from age eight to eleven were up at the counter ordering donuts. They had each ordered donut one each, three different types. The clerk then attempted to explain that it was cheaper for them to six as opposed to three. It turned out to cost the same as three. This was explained to the father and he hesitated and then agreed to get two of each donut. The one daughter looked up at the father and asked, “Does that mean we each get two?” He replied, “Yes.” The girl didn’t get extra excited but was simply trying to find out the facts. None of the girls were begging for more donuts, but they weren’t complaining about the bonus either. They seemed as if they would have content with one each.
It got me thinking how we ended up the fattest nation in the world. We have been trained to take the deal as opposed to what is generally less unhealthily choice. The father could have simply said no to two donuts. He was just taking the better deal and did nothing wrong. It is inconceivable to resist the deal temptation in the society of consumption without the thought of consequences.
It is twofold problem. One, it is just not good for you. But that is the overall lesser of the two issues for me. I am sure those little girls ate just one each anyway. I think the lesson that the girls were walking away from that exchange was, damn your health, and take the deal. Worry about the effects later. I think this one event over one extra donut will not kill them. What will kill them is a life time of decisions similar to what happened here times a thousand. Think about the impact that small moment may have on the health of someone over a life time.
I began to correlate that to other bad habits that are inherent to our psyche. The free soda refill is this deal we cannot turn down and actually expect in our dining experience. The restaurants would be doing us a favor my charging us per drink. We might resist the temptation of a second round and saving ourselves just that little bit of bad stuff coursing through our body. I recall at a chain pizza place having at least 6 or 7 refills of fruit punch. The waitress complied and I was thrilled and bloated and for a short time full of energy. She was simply giving me good service and feeding my need for cheap sugar water. At the time, it made me want to go back for sure.
Another chain that is a sit down burger place, offers with every meal unlimited fries as a selling and advertising point. My first thought was no good can come of that when saw it on the menu. I am not sure how much response it gets, but is a scary prospect but alluring temptation for the deal hunter instinct in us all. It was not until the donut incident that in my head it all seems linked together about how our brains have been wired to never turn down the deal no matter the consequences.
I know I can say I had to make that choice and always have gone for the deal without fail. The deal has taken years off my life without a doubt. We simply can’t resist and it is clearly ingrained into our way of thinking and every business plays into it. Like the anti gun folks say, “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people”, I think the catch phrase for this issue is, “It’s not the bad unhealthy food killing us, it’s our life time choices of the better deal.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Finding my Pace Again - Part 1
When I was about 10 or 11, I found running. It was summer and my sister Barbara had come from Arizona. I was playing by the road and my sister began to jog around the block. I laughed at her as she started her second lap around the block. I remember thinking what a nut. By the fourth lap I was running with her. I fell in love with the misery of running that day. In grammar school I ran in a few meets held once a summer organized through school. I think I ran the mile and did the long jump. Neither which I was very good at it. But still I loved the running and for whatever reason I always ran.
When I got to high school I ran 3 years of winter and spring track and loved every minute of the pain, the cold, the heat. We would go for 5 to 6 mile runs. I remember coming home from practice barely able to walk, my shins screaming in pain. But still I couldn’t get enough. I played basketball when I was younger in a league and playing team sports was just not my thing. Although I was on a team and raced against others I think I always felt I was racing against myself. A lot of time I was racing against myself as I was not that fast and never had the ability to compete. It never deterred me from giving it my all. By my junior year during spring track I ran the two mile. It was a lonely race to run being slow. When all the other runner s pulled away it did give me time to think. It was getting a little too lonely and I pulled up a few times with an “injury” before finishing. No one really questioned it as I was not exactly making a difference points wise during the meet.
I think where everyone else lived for the meets, I lived to train. If I could have just trained and never ran in a meet, it would have been fine. I would be sitting with a teammate last period before practice and being looking out the 40 degree rainy day. He would complain we would have to run in this weather. Inside I loved the thought of it. My favorite feeling was being 3 miles out away from school, soaking wet, hot and cold, nothing to do but turn around and come back the 3 miles. It was great motivation for finding and keeping a decent pace.
After high school I still ran but slowly slipped into being too busy. Going to school and working full time allowed little time for running. That’s what I have told myself. As I grew bigger I was still active but never went back to the running. I swore one day I would do it again. By the time I hit 35 I came to the realization that this body would never again run as it once did. I just couldn’t. What a sight that would be, never mind just the feeling of pulling all I retained over the years around the track. I missed the pain; I missed the solitude and the ability to be completely absorbed in the misery of it all and still somehow feeling the most content in the midst of all that. Never again.
I began walking two years ago. I was still in denial I would ever run again. After walking about 6 months around my neighborhood every day, it happened one rainy cold night. I spontaneously began to run. Not fast mind you but this body began to move like it hadn’t in 20 years. It was a short run and back to walking I went. “What the hell was that? “I thought. I eased back into it. Little by little I ran a little more and walked a little less. The treadmill helped a lot in retraining my legs to remember how to do it.
Starting off slow on the treadmill, I had idea what my pace should be. As the months went by I felt the memory in my legs returning as my speed and distance increased. I hit new goals each time I ran. Much like running on the street to a far point and having to run back, I found setting a time total had the same effect. I have no choice but to run until the time is up. Whatever the pain I feel and however much I want to quit, I have to finish. This shaped my brain and legs to push harder and faster. I found the joy of suffering was lessened a little by not having the elements of weather to add to the experience.
It was a slow process returning to running. The first five minutes of every run for me is hell as I think why I am doing this. But I always find a good pace and settle in. The first summer I ran a few 5ks and did very well. I was still fairly slow but once again I am racing against myself. Running these races is still a solitary experience. I have my head phones on, the course crowd thins out. I am running down a path through the woods. Peaceful, painful but a rush hits me as I approach each finish. I want to run faster to be done with it but at the same time I do not want it to end. As the conflict in my brain concludes several things happen to me when I hand in my running receipt to the timers. I feel elation then a wave of emotion comes over me. I momentarily break down and sometimes cry. I have no idea why. I can only speculate that I can’t believe I just ran a in a race when I had convinced myself It would never happen again. It only lasts a moment. The 5k races are not that far for me at this point. It’s actually a shorter distance then I used to running now. I am still trying sort out why that happens.
The first time I ran 3 miles out and had to head back, the misery of it all made me just kick up my pace and I felt a feeling that was I thought was long gone. No one else can push me; I have no one else to depend on. It’s just me out on the road. I look at my watch to see how I am doing as I hit certain landmarks of the distance I have covered pushing myself harder. The memory in my legs is now restored after 20 years dormant and I have found running and my pace again.
When I got to high school I ran 3 years of winter and spring track and loved every minute of the pain, the cold, the heat. We would go for 5 to 6 mile runs. I remember coming home from practice barely able to walk, my shins screaming in pain. But still I couldn’t get enough. I played basketball when I was younger in a league and playing team sports was just not my thing. Although I was on a team and raced against others I think I always felt I was racing against myself. A lot of time I was racing against myself as I was not that fast and never had the ability to compete. It never deterred me from giving it my all. By my junior year during spring track I ran the two mile. It was a lonely race to run being slow. When all the other runner s pulled away it did give me time to think. It was getting a little too lonely and I pulled up a few times with an “injury” before finishing. No one really questioned it as I was not exactly making a difference points wise during the meet.
I think where everyone else lived for the meets, I lived to train. If I could have just trained and never ran in a meet, it would have been fine. I would be sitting with a teammate last period before practice and being looking out the 40 degree rainy day. He would complain we would have to run in this weather. Inside I loved the thought of it. My favorite feeling was being 3 miles out away from school, soaking wet, hot and cold, nothing to do but turn around and come back the 3 miles. It was great motivation for finding and keeping a decent pace.
After high school I still ran but slowly slipped into being too busy. Going to school and working full time allowed little time for running. That’s what I have told myself. As I grew bigger I was still active but never went back to the running. I swore one day I would do it again. By the time I hit 35 I came to the realization that this body would never again run as it once did. I just couldn’t. What a sight that would be, never mind just the feeling of pulling all I retained over the years around the track. I missed the pain; I missed the solitude and the ability to be completely absorbed in the misery of it all and still somehow feeling the most content in the midst of all that. Never again.
I began walking two years ago. I was still in denial I would ever run again. After walking about 6 months around my neighborhood every day, it happened one rainy cold night. I spontaneously began to run. Not fast mind you but this body began to move like it hadn’t in 20 years. It was a short run and back to walking I went. “What the hell was that? “I thought. I eased back into it. Little by little I ran a little more and walked a little less. The treadmill helped a lot in retraining my legs to remember how to do it.
Starting off slow on the treadmill, I had idea what my pace should be. As the months went by I felt the memory in my legs returning as my speed and distance increased. I hit new goals each time I ran. Much like running on the street to a far point and having to run back, I found setting a time total had the same effect. I have no choice but to run until the time is up. Whatever the pain I feel and however much I want to quit, I have to finish. This shaped my brain and legs to push harder and faster. I found the joy of suffering was lessened a little by not having the elements of weather to add to the experience.
It was a slow process returning to running. The first five minutes of every run for me is hell as I think why I am doing this. But I always find a good pace and settle in. The first summer I ran a few 5ks and did very well. I was still fairly slow but once again I am racing against myself. Running these races is still a solitary experience. I have my head phones on, the course crowd thins out. I am running down a path through the woods. Peaceful, painful but a rush hits me as I approach each finish. I want to run faster to be done with it but at the same time I do not want it to end. As the conflict in my brain concludes several things happen to me when I hand in my running receipt to the timers. I feel elation then a wave of emotion comes over me. I momentarily break down and sometimes cry. I have no idea why. I can only speculate that I can’t believe I just ran a in a race when I had convinced myself It would never happen again. It only lasts a moment. The 5k races are not that far for me at this point. It’s actually a shorter distance then I used to running now. I am still trying sort out why that happens.
The first time I ran 3 miles out and had to head back, the misery of it all made me just kick up my pace and I felt a feeling that was I thought was long gone. No one else can push me; I have no one else to depend on. It’s just me out on the road. I look at my watch to see how I am doing as I hit certain landmarks of the distance I have covered pushing myself harder. The memory in my legs is now restored after 20 years dormant and I have found running and my pace again.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Babe, Lou and Delores
I have always been a Yankees fan in some degree or another. My dad took me to my first game with field box seats in 1978. The memory is strong. They gave out team yearbooks that night and I still have mine in mint condition. So over the years I have been to a lot Yankees games, playoff games and a World Series victory parade. I have a particular fondness for the history and legacy of the team. It is quite a story, as a baseball and history fan. The legends of the baseball begin and end with the Yankees. It is undeniable whether you love or hate them.
A client of mine is born and bred NYC native and hardcore Yanks fan. I have always enjoyed discussing it with him; the trades, the great plays, players and the history. He is a full season ticket holder. His office is littered with Yankees items. Hanging in his conference room is what I think is the best item. It is a photograph of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig on the back of a small fishing boat. They are out at sea and both smiling. A boy leans on the rail of the boat looking on. They are both also holding their poles up with fish on them out of the water. Lou has one fish and Babe of course has two fish on his line. From a historical point of view about the players and the men they were, this is the statement the photograph makes to me: Babe clearly the flashier, bold one and Lou no slouch but a little more humble with only one fish. It always makes me smile and shake my head when I see it. I have asked my client where he found the print. He never seems to give me a straight answer. I have asked him several times and I finally gave up pursuing it with him. I did some research based on the name on the name of the company stamped on the print. I never got a response from the company. I have found no record of the print other then with my client.
Several years ago I went to Cooperstown, to the Baseball Hall of Fame. On weekdays, you can dig into the archives in the basement. You give them a subject; they come back with boxes of photos on your subject. You sit at long tables, put on white cotton gloves and go through the endless supply of donated photos given by people, newspapers, photographers etc… I searched all photo with Lou and Babe together. I sat for hours looking at items with the two. I had no idea they barnstormed with each other, each having their own team playing exhibition games in small farm towns. It was clearly neat stuff to search through. After a while I saw it. There was Babe and Lou on the dock in fishing outfits and the boy standing near the tied up boat. As I turned over each photo, it got better: Them getting on the boat, them fishing, and them getting off the boat. Wait…I backed up looking through the pictures. Five or six pictures, but where was the one of the two of them on holding the fish? It was not there. Whoever donated these pictures pulled that one out and sold it. I was frustrated. I searched the rest of the boxes, but no sign of it. I went to every shop in collectible shop in Cooperstown and no one had it or knew what I was talking about it.
A few years later I had a desire to own a VW convertible Beetle. The only thing I ever purchased on EBay is a 74 Super Beetle convertible. I fell in love with it as soon as I saw the picture. She is green and looks like a little piece of candy when she goes by. I could not resist. The downside was I had to drive just over the New Hampshire border to get her. My brother agreed to drive with me and retrieve the classic car. We drove up and stayed over and the next morning I purchased Delores. Yes Delores. That is what I named her. Just came to me when I sat in her the first time. Don’t ask.
I had this idea that I could just drive her back to New Jersey with my brother following me. The previous owners assured me she ran great. I was very excited. So Pat and I started off. We were driving about 30 minutes when she began to lose power on the interstate in Massachusetts. I managed to get it to the next exit then towed to a repair shop. It was a Saturday and they were about to close in the afternoon. I was beside myself. I should have just towed her back initially but did not really think it through. So the guys at the shop tried to get her started with no luck. The owner of the shop and I discussed options as clearly I was not driving my little piece of candy back to New Jersey.
I was sitting in his desk chair in his office while he was making arrangements to have her put on a flat bed and shipped to my house. My brother was out talking to the guys at my car. I was just sitting in his office. Frustrated, pissed, and very down about what a moron I had been about this whole thing. So here I sit in this small town, quiet in this office very upset. I started looking around. We were an hour from Boston if that. The whole office was cover in photos from floor to ceiling. All Red Sox stuff. It didn’t really surprise me. I was sort of going around the room taking it all in, trying to calm down.
Then my eye catches it. You have to be shitting me. Son of a bitch, there it is. He has the fishing picture of Babe, Lou and the boy on the back of the boat! Among all this Red Sox history is the photo I have been hunting. I just sat there still, now thinking, what a perfect end to a perfect day. A Red Sox fan has the prize I have been desperately searching for. It was not a good beginning for Delores and I. After seeing the picture I wondered if this was an omen about relationship with her.
I still have not found the photograph anywhere else and Delores and I although have some rocky moments but have settled into a good relationship. Someday I know I will find Babe and Lou, and drive them home in the back seat with the top down.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Facing the Hole
Four years and 8 months. That is how long it’s been since I have had a donut. It was the first step in the transformation from old Tim to new Tim. Yes I know when and where I had my last donut. I love donuts more than anything. They are top on my list of ex-girlfriends I don’t deal with anymore. It sounds like no big deal to most I am sure, but to me it was a major step in trying to do something, anything to change the path of misery that had become my life.
You have to understand I love all donuts. I was getting quizzed the other day which are my favorite. The food and drinks I love most, I cannot say I have a favorite one. For example; I love beer, however I could not tell you what my favorite beer is. I love all beer. I think each beer, however lowly or fancy has its place. That is my way of indentifying if I truly love a food or drink. So when it comes to donuts, not one stands out for me. They all have equal pull on my taste buds.
My normal morning ritual on my way to work is to stop at WAWA and get my coffee and salad for lunch. Every morning I walk past the donuts. Do I sometimes linger or look longingly in their direction? Do I think about the good times we once had? Do I think about grabbing a bag and opening the case and reunite? Yes, I do. But each morning I manage to keep my wits about me and know that my most beloved ex-girlfriend tried to slowly kill me for years. Mind you it’s a two way street and I know that. I should have walked away a lot sooner than I did.
One day I was on my normal routine walking into WAWA thinking about my upcoming day and walking to the back to grab my cup and poor my coffee. I looked up after grabbing my cup and on the open counter surfaces, adjacent to the coffee pots were open boxes of donuts. Not a box, but boxes. All the normally bare surfaces were covered with glazed hunks of deadly joy. I reeled. I stopped and felt pins and needles over my entire body. I felt my face get flush. I could feel a kind of tunnel vision to only seeing the donuts. It felt like an eternity as I moved 3 steps to the coffee. It turns out to be the one year anniversary of the store. To honor and thank the customers they offered us free donuts. So not only was it a donut temptation I might pay for normally, it was free! I walk past the case every day. Somehow having them locked up in plexiglass case allowed the temptation to be a lot less strong. It’s tempting but easy in my one day at a time struggle of food addiction.
I poured my hazelnut coffee into the 24 ounce cup, hand shaking and my only thought: do I take a one? Initial wooziness of such a sight wall to wall donuts began to subside as I put the lid on my coffee and had my back to the plane of boxes. The pins and needles tingling began to ease up a little. My thought began to change from “take one” to “don’t need one”. I grabbed my salad and headed to the counter to check out to pay and make a fast exit. I was greeted by more open boxes. The store manager was checking me out at the register and he turns to me and says warmly, “complimentary donut?” I just shook my head, handed him my cash, and declined his offer. I explained I have been off donuts for 2 and half years. I did tell him he was killing me with this. An older woman behind me was saying how awful that is for me and she doesn’t even like donuts but is having one. I walked out the door with coffee and salad in hand. I climbed into my car and took a deep breath. I had just been tested and I passed.
This story takes a stranger twist in the last few months. I have been hunting for a new job for years. I finally get a call from a friend and old coworker that he has an opening coming up and would I be interested. Yes, it's working for Dunkin Donuts. What are the odds? Okay to be fair, they don't make donuts where I work. All the uncooked ingredients are there, but no actual finished donuts. I had to go on a business trip out of state a few months ago. I check my work email to find out it was Donut sampling day back at my office. I felt relieved to be off site the day they loaded up the lunch room with 5 different kinds of new donuts. My desk is the closest to the lunch room. I am not sure what would have happened.
Once in a while I eat much worse things than donuts. What the donut has become is a symbol. I have managed for almost 5 years to deny myself something I truly love. I know I could have one once in a while and it would do me no harm. In this process of losing weight and setting goals the donut has always been the constant reward. When I hit 300 lbs, I will have one. When I lose 100 lbs total, I will have one. I have repeatedly made this part of the goal reward. The day comes when I have hit my goal and I say to myself, if I have gone this long, I can save this reward for a harder goal.
So on it goes. Still no donut reward to date. So now the donut to me comes to represent my success through will power, change in my lifestyle, making smart healthy choices when required. It says you can do this. You have the ability not to give in and fight on. The question I battle with now is what happens when I have that donut I have promising been myself. What are the consequences? I know all my skills, knowledge and will power will simply not vanish. But the denial of this one luxury somehow although torturous at times is worth the value and pride I feel when saying no to it. So my new goal is to have my first donut if I maintain my health and weight on the 5 year anniversary in August no matter what. (Don’t hold me to it.)
You have to understand I love all donuts. I was getting quizzed the other day which are my favorite. The food and drinks I love most, I cannot say I have a favorite one. For example; I love beer, however I could not tell you what my favorite beer is. I love all beer. I think each beer, however lowly or fancy has its place. That is my way of indentifying if I truly love a food or drink. So when it comes to donuts, not one stands out for me. They all have equal pull on my taste buds.
My normal morning ritual on my way to work is to stop at WAWA and get my coffee and salad for lunch. Every morning I walk past the donuts. Do I sometimes linger or look longingly in their direction? Do I think about the good times we once had? Do I think about grabbing a bag and opening the case and reunite? Yes, I do. But each morning I manage to keep my wits about me and know that my most beloved ex-girlfriend tried to slowly kill me for years. Mind you it’s a two way street and I know that. I should have walked away a lot sooner than I did.
One day I was on my normal routine walking into WAWA thinking about my upcoming day and walking to the back to grab my cup and poor my coffee. I looked up after grabbing my cup and on the open counter surfaces, adjacent to the coffee pots were open boxes of donuts. Not a box, but boxes. All the normally bare surfaces were covered with glazed hunks of deadly joy. I reeled. I stopped and felt pins and needles over my entire body. I felt my face get flush. I could feel a kind of tunnel vision to only seeing the donuts. It felt like an eternity as I moved 3 steps to the coffee. It turns out to be the one year anniversary of the store. To honor and thank the customers they offered us free donuts. So not only was it a donut temptation I might pay for normally, it was free! I walk past the case every day. Somehow having them locked up in plexiglass case allowed the temptation to be a lot less strong. It’s tempting but easy in my one day at a time struggle of food addiction.
I poured my hazelnut coffee into the 24 ounce cup, hand shaking and my only thought: do I take a one? Initial wooziness of such a sight wall to wall donuts began to subside as I put the lid on my coffee and had my back to the plane of boxes. The pins and needles tingling began to ease up a little. My thought began to change from “take one” to “don’t need one”. I grabbed my salad and headed to the counter to check out to pay and make a fast exit. I was greeted by more open boxes. The store manager was checking me out at the register and he turns to me and says warmly, “complimentary donut?” I just shook my head, handed him my cash, and declined his offer. I explained I have been off donuts for 2 and half years. I did tell him he was killing me with this. An older woman behind me was saying how awful that is for me and she doesn’t even like donuts but is having one. I walked out the door with coffee and salad in hand. I climbed into my car and took a deep breath. I had just been tested and I passed.
This story takes a stranger twist in the last few months. I have been hunting for a new job for years. I finally get a call from a friend and old coworker that he has an opening coming up and would I be interested. Yes, it's working for Dunkin Donuts. What are the odds? Okay to be fair, they don't make donuts where I work. All the uncooked ingredients are there, but no actual finished donuts. I had to go on a business trip out of state a few months ago. I check my work email to find out it was Donut sampling day back at my office. I felt relieved to be off site the day they loaded up the lunch room with 5 different kinds of new donuts. My desk is the closest to the lunch room. I am not sure what would have happened.
Once in a while I eat much worse things than donuts. What the donut has become is a symbol. I have managed for almost 5 years to deny myself something I truly love. I know I could have one once in a while and it would do me no harm. In this process of losing weight and setting goals the donut has always been the constant reward. When I hit 300 lbs, I will have one. When I lose 100 lbs total, I will have one. I have repeatedly made this part of the goal reward. The day comes when I have hit my goal and I say to myself, if I have gone this long, I can save this reward for a harder goal.
So on it goes. Still no donut reward to date. So now the donut to me comes to represent my success through will power, change in my lifestyle, making smart healthy choices when required. It says you can do this. You have the ability not to give in and fight on. The question I battle with now is what happens when I have that donut I have promising been myself. What are the consequences? I know all my skills, knowledge and will power will simply not vanish. But the denial of this one luxury somehow although torturous at times is worth the value and pride I feel when saying no to it. So my new goal is to have my first donut if I maintain my health and weight on the 5 year anniversary in August no matter what. (Don’t hold me to it.)
Monday, April 4, 2011
My Ex-girlfriends
I go to the same chain convenient store (WAWA) every morning for my coffee and my lunch. The place is nothing but landmines. At first it was hard to resist. I got better at it and finally used this analogy to justify how I was doing it. Walking in and looking at all the premade breakfast sandwiches, cakes, cookies and donuts, I began to refer to them as my ex-girlfriends. We had fun once; I really enjoyed myself with you. But ultimately you were bad for me and we were no good together. It was unhealthy relationship overall with a few happy moments. It just wasn’t meant to be. So we had to part ways. This doesn’t mean we can’t see each other and co exist. I just cannot be with you. I say this as I walk past the glass case of fresh donuts every morning. I have just worked around another impulse.
A thing I hear from a lot of people I tell my story to is how I must have lost the desire and taste for all the bad and unhealthy things I ate. They assume that’s what happens. I can only speak for myself but it is the furthest thing from the truth. My desire to eat, my longing for a fast food burger, a shake and fries, it is still all right there, right on the surface. I can smell it to this day and I haven’t stepped foot in a fast food place in over two years. So to say I have lost my taste for it would be a lie. The only thing I can relate to is being an alcoholic. I love food so much and always will. I am a foodaholic. So the desire isn’t gone, I am in better control what happens after the desire.
I eat a certain amount of food each day and that is it. It’s controlled calories in small portions but does satisfy my desire by being very tasty. In these years I have never been miserable. I am sometimes hungry but since what I ate tastes good, I can live with it. I eat this way six days a week. On day seven I eat what I want. I go twenty four hours and sometimes a little more eating as old Tim. I am much more careful to make sure it is not garbage food. I think all week about my twenty four hours and the enjoyment it will bring me. It takes my mind off the immediate desire to eat something I should not. I will enjoy it on Saturday. Another impulse avoided.
All this said, I still fall victim to being in a situation that my impulse will take over and I feel myself standing at a party eating chip after dip soaked chip at the buffet unable to stop. What I have learned is those moments will happen. You need to live with it, own it and know tomorrow you will be better. I stopped punishing myself over those moments of weakness. If I didn’t bend when I felt those regrets and accept it and move on, I would fail and my impulses would win. I can’t eliminate my ex-girlfriends; they have as much a right to be at the party or be in the store as I do. They need to see other people and attempt to make them happy as they made me. I promise not even to be jealous when they are in someone else’s hands. Just try not to take years off their life like you did to me.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
back to blogging.
The last time i played with this, i was using the pen name of hector valez. I have no idea why. I had a cult following of two people. I couldn't handle the pressure. The demand to maintain wore me out so i retired. Writing is a young man's game after all. Who knows how long this will last.
Triathlon season is about on me and my training has been not going very well. I am going to try to use this as a tool to help me train better. If i write about it, then i have the pressure of having to actually succeed at my training and not be a slacker. I have done some writing about my weight loss which i will share here as well and it will help me edit that writing mess too.
So ok, this is my own personal form of therapy i am inflecting on anyone who dares to read more then this post. I promise not to get too personal. No discussion of bowel movements or anything of that sort. That is another blog on another site. (email me and i will point you to it.)
What sparked this revival is a blog i read recently that had me bust out laughing. I am not saying mine will be that way, but it just made me want to write things down that happen once in a while. I am not a list person. Once in a great while, i am required actually writing a list as i can't seem to hold all those things in my head. Once i sit down and make physical list, i never actually look at it again. the mere act of writing it down seems to cement it in my head.
So i guess i am using this forum for the same purpose. I seem to be slipping on training and my health a little bit. I have not been writing at all. I have not been taking photos at all either. So i am hoping this will force all parts of my life both physically and mentally sagging right now to be more firm as it were.
this is the blog that inspired me: http://katehatesdates2929.blogspot.com/
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