“Watch out stores, here I come to shop for that perfect reunion wardrobe,” I said, proudly.
The reunion was a Hawaiian luau theme, so I shopped for a flowery evening gown, a new bathing suit, and a casual pantsuit and capri set. Tears slid down my cheeks as I tried on a one-piece bathing suit in a wild turquoise and lemon color, not the usual black one with the long attached skirt.
When we flew to the reunion my husband was beaming as much as I. We held hands and I felt like it was a second honeymoon as we stepped proudly into the ballroom.
“Wow, you haven’t changed a bit,” said Jennifer, one of the three girls I use to hang with in high school. I was so flattered and proud inside.
“No, she hasn’t, she keeps getting better all the time,” said my husband, smiling. I winked at him and silently thanked him for keeping my secret.
Suzanne Baginskie
Broiled Zucchini and Feta Boats
MAKES 6 SERVINGS EACH SERVING: 1.5 GRAMS SATURATED FAT
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon finely chopped garlic
3 zucchini, halved lengthwise
salt, to taste
white pepper, to taste
¼ cup low-fat feta cheese
Heat broiler. Heat olive oil in a large nonstick, ovenproof skillet (with ovenproof handle) set over medium-low heat. Add garlic and sauté for 15 seconds, or until lightly golden (be careful not to burn the garlic). Arrange zucchini halves cut side down in skillet; season with salt and white pepper to taste. Increase heat to medium and cook zucchini for 5–6 minutes, or until just carmelized (again, be careful not to let the zucchini or garlic burn).
Turn the zucchini over and season lightly with salt and white pepper; cook an additional 1–2 minutes. Arrange feta cheese on the sides of zucchini and then transfer to the broiler; broil for 2–3 minutes. Serve at once.
Reprinted from Fitter, Firmer, Faster. ©2006 Andrew Larson, M.D., Ivy Ingram Larson. Health Communications, Inc.
The Secret
Truth, like surgery, may hurt, but it cures.
Han Suyin
For years I searched for “The Secret” to weight loss. If I found “The Secret,” then I could pass it on to my daughter and share it with the world. She and I have lost a little more than fifty pounds each. Together we’ve lost the equivalent of one of those little Olympic gymnasts we saw on TV. We found “The Secret.”
My daughter is a wonderful example of the correct way to lose weight. She looked in the mirror one day and said to herself, “I like who I’ve become and what I’ve done with my life. I don’t like the way I look; I think I’ll do something about it.” She found what suited her: help on the Internet. The online source for weight-loss support helped her to establish guidelines for food intake and exercise and also offered a support group for tips and advice. She stayed within the calorie, carb and fat counts outlined for her. She joined a gym and faithfully exercised three to five times a week. From April to October she steadily lost weight, going from a size 18W to a 10 Misses. Her confidence and self-esteem zoomed through the roof.
I started last fall on what I had hoped would be my final effort to lose weight. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very successful. Health problems and medications, especially the amount of insulin I was taking for diabetes, hindered my success. I finally started researching weight-loss surgery. I found a lot of information on the Internet, talked to people I knew who had had the surgery and started telling others what I was considering. People knew people who had had the surgery. I learned that weight-loss surgery is not a magic bullet but is another tool to use in a comprehensive weight-loss program. Three months ago, I decided to go for it.
I am fifty-six years old and have had problems with compulsive overeating all my adult life. My struggles with weight loss started at age six when I observed my older sister and aunt suffering as they tried to lose weight. I decided then that I never wanted to diet. When I was ten, my new stepmother let me know I was fat, and dieting became a constant in my life. Even as a teenager, when I swam and water-skied all the time, my father and stepmother kept after me to just not eat and to slim down. But nobody ever really helped me choose good foods or change my eating habits. Eventually every effort failed.
As an adult I regularly pursued whatever fad diet was popular at that time. I’d do what many do, the yo-yo thing, lose some, go off the diet, gain back more. Finally I decided to get serious help from doctors, therapists, nutritionists and God. With them in my corner, I was able to change some long-standing habits. I quit eating compulsively whenever I was feeling hurt, angry, happy or sad. I identified the roots of my feelings and learned to deal with emotions without food. The surgery has been a tool to help me complete the process. It has taken many years to get to this place. I still have 120 pounds to go to reach my goal weight. My energy level is way up; my use of medications is way down. I have gained what it takes to be successful at weight loss.
My daughter and I each, in our own way, have found “The Secret” to weight loss. “The Secret” is doing what works for you.
I would recommend her way first. Her way is the better way. My way works when diet efforts don’t work—but you still have to work to reach your goal. That is why I know we will succeed and the weight will stay off: because we were, each in our own way, ready.
I have every confidence that with God’s help and guidance we will both reach and maintain our goals.We are far too happy with today’s results not to succeed.
Marilyn Eudaly
Seeing Double
I am an identical twin. I can look fabulous and frumpy on any given day, as people often can’t tell which one of us they are talking to. Along with the benefits of having a twin sister, there is a torturous downside. The better she looks, the worse I look.
My sister and I were raised in a fairly competitive household. We were athletic in our youth and enjoyed many years of karate training and tournaments, often competing against each other. Since graduation and the births of six children between us, we have both gained and kept some unwanted pounds.
Bikini seasons, weddings and class reunions have never even come close to motivating me to lose weight as much as some good old competition with my sister. I’ve always been the heavier sister and I have no problem admitting it, although I’d like to point out that I’m not THAT much heavier. A goal of mine is to be lighter than my sister. I’ve achieved, but conceded, that goal twice, given that she was heavy with each of her daughters at the time.
My weight problem can be attributed to my love affair with white flour topped with any type of sugar: doughnuts, cakes, cookies,muffins and flavored bagels aremy vices. The thought of going “carb-less” makes me shudder. Whole grains, sure,more fruits and vegetables, okay, but NO carbs, NO WAY! Getting over this “sticky” situation will surely be the key to my weight-loss success.
I have tried national diet programs, workout videos, aerobic classes, and recreational sports like softball, golf and Rollerblading to try to shed a few pounds. All of these activities died a quick death when I got sick of “counting” my food, got tangled doing the “grapevine” or got used to enjoying the cold ones after the game. My treadmill seems to be the only exercise that I enjoy. Watching the “fat grams burned” increase is more rewarding than watching the triple sevens appear on a Las Vegas slot machine.
When I finish my jog-stumble-walk on the treadmill, I realize that it wasn’t all that bad, and if I can just keep the kids from joining me on the next jaunt, I might actually start seeing some results. The fact that I panted on a zero incline and at almost reverse speed proves that I am not healthy at my current weight. Nor am I happy that my sister is looking pretty good right now as a result of her minitriathlon training.
When she finishes her race, I will be there to congratulate her on her success and share in her excitement, just as she does when I have personal triumphs. Whether it is a lower number on the scale, the discovery of a great light dinner or the purchase of a new
outfit from the regular-size section, I know that she’ll share in my joy.
Now, if only I can figure out how to plant some nacho chips in her cupboard. They are her vice, and if she spots them, it will give me bragging rights for at least a week.
Selena Hayes
Drinking Herself Fat
Asingle conversation across a table with a wise man is worth a month’s study of books.
Chinese proverb
Determined to lose weight, my friend Julie and I started an exercise program, which included a brisk thirty-minute walk every morning. Julie cut her food intake to 1,500 calories a day and diligently recorded every bite she put into her mouth in a food diary. But more than a month after she started the strict regimen, the scale had hardly budged.
“What’s wrong with me?” she lamented one morning after our walk. “I’m burning up more calories than I’m taking in. Why aren’t the pounds melting away like they’re supposed to?” Julie opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice. “Want some?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ll just have water.”
Julie poured herself a tall glass of icy-cold juice, gulped it down and refilled the glass.
“Mind if I take a look at your food diary?” I asked. “Maybe I can spot what’s wrong.”
Julie opened the drawer of her kitchen desk and took out a spiral notebook. I began reading the pages. “Do you have orange juice every day after our walk?” I asked. Julie nodded. “How come you didn’t write it down?”
“I guess I never thought about writing down what I drink. I only write down what I eat.”
I peered at the nutrition label printed on the side of the juice carton. “Look at this, girlfriend,” I said. “Eight ounces of orange juice has 120 calories. Calories you didn’t write down in that diary.”
“But orange juice is so good for you,” Julie said. “I usually have two glasses after I exercise. Three if I’m extra thirsty.”
“That means you’re taking in more calories than you burned up during the walk,” I said. “And that’s before you eat a bite of breakfast.”
“But think of all the vitamin C.”
I picked up a calorie chart that was lying on the kitchen counter and flipped to the fruit and vegetable section. “An average-size orange has only sixty calories,” I read, “and fiber that the juice doesn’t have. You’d be way ahead to drink water for your thirst and eat an orange for your vitamin C.”
“I can’t believe that never dawned on me,” Julie said, a stunned look on her face.
“Let’s do this,” I told her. “You try to remember everything you had to drink yesterday, and I’ll look up the calories.”
“Two cups of coffee.”
“Black?”
“No. Both cups had a big splash of flavored creamer.”
“Would you say two tablespoons?”
Julie nodded.
“That’s seventy calories per cup.Write down 140 in your diary. What else?”
Julie began reconstructing what she’d had to drink the day before. There had been cereal with whole milk for breakfast, a can of cola for a midmorning pick-me-up, another when her energy began to sag late in the afternoon and bottled water with lunch.
“What about dinner?”
“Two slices of thin-crust veggie pizza.”
“That’s in here,” I told her, studying the diary. “What did you wash it down with?”
“A wine cooler. Strawberry.”
“Did you have anything to drink after dinner?”
“Well . . . I’m pretty sure I had a mug of hot chocolate while I watched TV. But I didn’t put marshmallows in it.”
“Get your calculator,” I told her, “and let’s crunch some numbers.” I began calling them out while Julie punched buttons. “One-forty for creamer. Two-forty for orange juice. One-fifty for whole milk. Three hundred in the colas. Water, zero. Strawberry wine cooler, two-fifty. Hot chocolate, no marshmallows, one-fifty.”
Julie’s fingers were flying on the calculator keys. When the final sum was displayed, her mouth dropped open. “I drank more than twelve hundred calories yesterday,” she said in disbelief. “That’s almost my total daily allowance. And I didn’t chew a single one of those calories. No wonder the pounds aren’t falling off.”
I put my arm around my friend’s shoulder. “Now that you know what’s wrong, how are you going to fix it?”
“For starters, I’ll study this chart and look for low-calorie alternatives for my beverages. And you can bet that from now on, I’ll write everything in my diary, solid or liquid.”
And that’s just what she did. The big splash of coffee creamer was replaced with a small splash of skim milk. She poured skim milk rather than whole over her cereal, too. She drank no orange juice but ate an orange or half a grapefruit instead. The sugared colas were replaced with bottled water, and a four-ounce glass of dry, red wine took the place of a wine cooler. The hot chocolate was eliminated entirely.
Calories saved? More than eight hundred!
Soon Julie’s body fat really did begin to melt away. By taking in no more than 1,500 calories a day—most of which she tried to consume in nutrient-dense food—and continuing with our walking program, Julie lost almost ten pounds in a month. By the time swimsuit season rolled around, she had reached her weight-loss goal of thirty-five pounds.
To celebrate, she added back some of the “forbidden” treats she missed so much, a soothing mug of hot chocolate—with marshmallows—being at the top of the list. But she is immersed in the habit of keeping a food diary, recording not only what she eats and drinks every day but also how many calories each food or beverage is worth. On the facing page of the diary, she keeps an exercise log. As long as calories consumed don’t exceed calories burned, she knows she’ll maintain the ideal weight she worked so hard to achieve.
And when asked what her favorite beverage is, Julie doesn’t hesitate. “Water,” she says. “Delicious, refreshing and zero calories!”
Jennie Ivey
The Un-Diet
Fortune and love befriend the bold.
Ovid
“No, Sue, honest, you don’t look fat,” my sister said.
It was the first day of my new job at a local lawn care company and I was in a panic.
“Are you sure?” I turned sideways in front of the mirror and sucked in my stomach. She had to be lying. My skirt was biting into my waistline, and I couldn’t button my jacket. How had those extra pounds gotten there?
I’d always been vigilant about my weight. One careless remark when I was ten years old, “Oh, isn’t she just a cute, chubby thing?” did it. I could read between the lines, f-a-t. Living in a family of skinnies, this certainly wouldn’t do. And so began a lifetime of dieting. The hard-boiled egg diet took me through my preteen years and then it was on to high school with the grapefruit diet. My early career days were marked by the cabbage soup diet—much to the dismay of my coworkers. All of these kept me from being fat. But I needed to be thin. So I experimented with the Target Zone diet, Weight Watchers and the Pyramid diet. And once I even tried fasting.
Just a few carefree months of living diet-free, like the rest of my gal pals, resulted in my present dilemma— starting my new job feeling like a blimp.
I took one last look in the mirror. Drats! The outfit needed something. I know! I quickly knotted a brightly colored scarf around my neck; let them focus on that instead of those holster hips down below. There was nothing else I could do about it now; I grabbed my keys and purse and flew out the door.
As soon as I walked into the office, my boss gave me my first task. “Here Sue, take these notes out into the warehouse and sort them by name. Each lawn specialist has their own labeled slot in the mail center.” She gave me an encouraging smile and went back to typing.
I opened the door and my jaw dropped. There in front of me stood the most handsome guy I’d ever seen. His muscles rippled as he hoisted a huge bag of fertilizer over his shoulder.
r /> I waved.
He grinned.
I felt some chemistry.
I slipped back into the office. “Who’s the cute guy out there with the blond hair?”
“That’s Bruce,” the secretary in the corner said, "and he's dating someone."
From then on, I volunteered to do the notes each day and every other menial job that involved traipsing through “the guy area.” If that meant putting up with the horrid chemical smells in the warehouse, so be it. I got to see Bruce.
I wanted to look my best for him, so every morning I was up at dawn, camouflaging those extra pounds. Black was in, prints were out, and by the time I was done primping, I almost believed I had a chance.
And one day it happened. He sauntered over as I was slipping notes into the slots.
“Hey Sue, what’re you doing Friday night?” Bruce smiled and his tanned face crinkled. This gorgeous guy was really asking me out!
“I’m not sure,” I tried my best to sound nonchalant. “Besides, I heard you’re dating someone.”
“Nah, nothing serious,” he put his hand on the wall behind me, bringing us closer together.
“Well . . .” I hesitated, hoping he couldn’t hear my heart thundering in my chest.
“C’mon, just burgers and a movie,” he pressed, “how about it?”
“Okay,” I said, feeling giddy, “sounds like fun.”
We had a blast together, and he asked me out again. And again. With each date we grew closer, and within a few weeks we were an item. I was enjoying myself so much I forgot to worry about weight, exercise or that much hated four-letter word: d-i-e-t.
About a month later, Bruce came over to meet the family. It just happened to be the day my younger sister was going to the prom. She looked gorgeous as she drifted down the stairs in a swirl of peach silk, her blonde hair cascading around her shoulders. I looked at Bruce, who obviously agreed; his mouth hung open as he watched her sweep into the room.