The Hometown Tourist

Back in July, I attended the dinner party to end all dinner parties. The women in charge of food are some serious chefs (one with a fancy French degree to prove it). There was an obscene amount of amazing food ranging from Israeli couscous with eggplant, tomatoes, onions and feta (my fave) to grilled salmon to summer squash. There were no fewer than three chocolate desserts, including my flourless chocolate cake – which, after being mocked for its presentation (swaddled in six pounds of heavy aluminum foil), proceeded to silence its critics with its undeniable awesomeness. And there was bacon. Goodnight Rebecca, hallelujah St. Peter, was there bacon. Halfway through the cooking process, someone referred to the dinner as having been “baconized,” a term that will doubtless remain in our collective lexicon for all time. There was some form or fashion of bacon in just about everything. Someone drew the line at bacon grease on the grilled bread. Killjoy.

So somewhere in the midst of Cholesterol Fest 2009, one intrepid participant floated the idea of running a 5K in the fall. (Incongruous? You decide.) At least half of us proclaimed interest, myself included. We agreed to be in touch after the party to make a plan. And that’s the last serious talk I heard about the 5K for a while. I admit it: I was hoping our heady notions of Team Bacon would wither and die in silence. I mean, that’s what happens, right? A bunch of people get together, you all start talking about going skydiving or taking a road trip to Cape Cod or running a 5K, you pretend for a night that it’s actually going to happen, and then everyone politely forgets it ever came up.

A few weeks ago, an email went around asking who was still interested. “Sure,” I responded, “I’ll do it.” I still didn’t think it was actually going to happen. And we all see where this is headed. On Sunday, I got an email from a friend I will call Coach. (Since she ran track in high school, we decided this qualified her to be the trainer and captain for Team Bacon.) Coach did not politely forget our plans to do this 5K. Just when I thought enough time had passed… just when I thought I was not going to have to make an excuse for why I couldn’t run this race… Coach sent out an email to notify us that she had registered each and every one of us and pre-paid our registration fees. The email didn’t say “don’t forget to register.” The email said, “You are registered. You need to confirm your T-shirt sizes, and you owe me $28.”

Shit.

Let’s go ahead and get it out there that I am not now nor have I ever been an athlete. I did not play sports in high school. My second PE credit was for a class called “Heart Healthy Fitness.” We once spent an entire class period lying on the gymnastics mat so we could get our resting heart rates at the end of the 90 minutes. True story.

I have done a lot in the last 14 months to get myself in better shape. As I’ve mentioned before, I have exercised more in the last year than in the rest of my life combined. I have some endurance. I’ve done some running on the treadmill (though not so much in the last few months). But now I’ve committed myself to running five kilometers as part of an actual, organized event. With other people. On the street. Did I mention the running?

Here’s the thing. I think this 5K is going to be one of the best experiences of my life. I really can’t think of anything that could be more encouraging or rewarding. I think it will boost me mentally, emotionally, and (obviously) physically. I’m not worried about how fast I run. I’m not really worried about running the whole thing, though that’s definitely the plan. I want to get out there, line up with all the healthy, running-type people, and push my body to do something I never could have imagined.

So I am making a public declaration. My big mouth got me into this 5K mess, and my big mouth is going to ensure that I follow through. On October 18, I am running in the Race to Remember: National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial 5K. No whining, no excuses, no reneging. I pledge that if I do not train for and run this race, I will make a $100 contribution to Sarah Palin’s political action committee. That’s really the most horrifying (and publicly humiliating) penalty I can fathom. If the threat of having my name forever associated with a financial contribution to Sarah Palin’s political career doesn’t get my ass in gear, nothing will.

Fine print: I reserve the right to let myself off the hook if I am prevented from participating by an unforeseeable act of the Universe, such as injury, illness, or weather. Also, I’m not saying I won’t make concurrent contributions to Planned Parenthood and the ACLU.

Here goes nothing!

Recently I’ve received the same request from two of my friends. It seems friends of theirs have asked them whether I might be willing to talk to them about how I’ve lost weight. What a compliment! And of course I said yes to that win-win situation. It’s not only a matter of wanting to send good diet and fitness juju out into the world, though that is certainly a plus. As I’ve mentioned before, I find it useful to talk about what I’ve done and what I’m doing.

I’ve been thinking about what I can tell these women. I did refer them to “How did you do it” for starters. But while it might contain some helpful details, that entry is hardly revolutionary. These friends of my friends are both well-educated and fully-informed women who clearly know how to lose weight. So how can I expand my answer to that question in a way that might give them something new to consider?

One thing that helped me was taking an honest look at my own relationship with food. I should back up. Before I did that, I first came to the conclusion that I actually have a relationship with food. I don’t know if that turn of phrase is useful to me because I’m so fond of analogy, because it gives me a starting point for introspection, or for some other reason. Regardless, when I say “my relationship with food,” I mean the collection of ways in which food and eating are a part of my life.

Let me give a common example. I tend to want to eat when I am sad; I’ve known that for years. (I think many people – overweight or not – tend to feel the impulse to eat when they are sad.) So I considered that fact from every angle I could imagine. I wanted to see what it could tell me about the roles food and eating play in my life. This list is just a suggestion of the kinds of questions I asked myself.

1. Why do you eat when you’re sad?
2. How do you feel when you’re sad and the idea of food comes to mind?
3. How do you feel while you are eating? What do you do physically? What do you experience emotionally?
4. How do you feel when you finish eating? What are the physical and the emotional sensations?
5. What foods do you want to eat? What foods do you not want to eat?
6. Where and how do you eat?
7. When do you stop eating?

And so on. Until the last year, I never really thought that deeply about my behavior. Analytical as I am, that’s hard to believe. Now I’ve gone through a similar exercise for all kinds of scenarios. Because of course I don’t just want to eat when I’m sad. I want to eat when I’m celebrating, when I’m bored, when I’ve already eaten so I might as well eat more… When don’t I want to eat?

Understanding that impulse to eat has helped me learn to control it. Let’s go back to the “I eat when I’m sad” example. Based on my answers to those questions, I know (among other things) that when I’m sad, food can (temporarily) comfort me, protect me, and rescue me from my feelings. So I figured that if I didn’t want to use food that way, I needed to find something else to comfort me, protect me, and rescue me from my feelings. I needed to replace food with something else. (It’s like dating other guys to get your ex-boyfriend out of your system.)

And so I dance it out. I go to the gym. I make plans with friends. I buy shoes. (Yes, the shoe thing gets a little dangerous.) The point is, I try to change my behavior from something that is ultimately self-defeating to something constructive (or at least to something non-destructive). At first it was a very conscious decision. It was like breaking any habit. I would realize I was about to do it, stop myself, and very deliberately substitute the new behavior for the old. Eventually it became a little more routine, and maybe even a little easier. As with any habit, however, it’s easy to relapse. I have a lot to say about breaking old habits, developing new ones, and the inevitable relapses, but that will be for another entry.

On June 17, 2008, I brought my 2001 Accord to Brown’s Arlington Honda on Lee Highway in Arlington, Virginia. This post is going to be long. If you get nothing else out of it, get these four points:

1. I asked them to figure out why my “SRS” light was on.

2. They told me nothing was wrong but that they could turn the light off; the labor would cost $96.50. I said no thanks.

3. On August 4, 2009, my car failed Virginia’s state safety inspection because the SRS light was on. The inspector told me that “nine times out of 10″ with 2001 Accords, the SRS light comes on because of a problem with the seatbelt. He referred me to the Honda dealership because they have extended the warranty on this issue and are supposed to fix it for free.

4. Today, the mechanics at Brown’s Arlington Honda inspected my car and determined it had the same problem that has plagued many other 2001 Accords. They had to replace the driver’s side seatbelt buckle. There was no charge; the parts and labor were covered by an extended warranty.

I have been driving around for almost 14 months since Brown’s Arlington Honda told me that light was meaningless (and tried to fleece me for nearly $100 to reset it). In effect, I have not had a functional seatbelt for more than a year. If I am being uncharacteristically restrained in my commentary on this issue, it is because HOLY FUCKING SHIT, DO THE FACTS NOT SPEAK FOR THEMSELVES? Whew. Better.

As you have probably guessed, I am less than pleased with Brown’s Arlington Honda. But the SRS debacle is only beginning. If you’re still reading, I will share with you the rest of the story.

I plan to drive this car until its mandatory retirement age, so preventive maintenance is important. Replacing it with a comparable (to me) car would easily cost me two or three times the car’s actual Kelley Blue Book value. That fact has recently been reinforced as I’ve watched my friend Brian from Building Wealth Together trying to deal with the total loss of his own car.

When I brought the car to Brown’s Arlington Honda last year for the SRS light, I also got an oil change and tire rotation. As part of that, they executed their “47-point inspection.” They didn’t find the nonfunctional seatbelt. No. But they did find $1,995.93 worth of other “recommendations.”

Front Engine Mount Broken: $309.00
Right Engine Mount Cracked: $245.00
Front Brake Job: $299.00
Rear Brake Job: $219.00
Battery Weak: $139.99
60,000 Mile Service: $479.00
Power Steering Fluid Flush: $119.99
Fuel Induction Service: $139.95
Wiper Blades: $45.00

I brought my car in for a light on the dash, and they were telling me I needed $2,000 worth of service! And you know, if they hadn’t been so greedy, they could have had me. The engine mount stuff scared me. That doesn’t sound like something you can ignore; I didn’t want to be dropping my engine on the Key Bridge at rush hour. I probably would have paid for the battery replacement and for the brake job. I don’t know what a power steering fluid flush is, but I might have done that. It’s $120, and I need to keep this car running. But then they had to suggest a $140 fuel induction service, too. Here’s my admittedly skewed logic: it’s just too coincidental that my car would need a random sounding flush and a random sounding induction service at the same time. I mean, what are these things? If they’re making that up, what else are they making up? And yes, even I know that $45 for wiper blades is absurd. I know that dealerships are notorious for overcharging; it’s a price I was always willing to pay because I felt more secure going to “the Honda people.”

Not. Anymore.

The $479 for “60,000 Mile Service” is what put them over the line. I wish I still had the list of stuff they said was included in that service. It was a laundry list; there were maybe two or three dozen things on the list. (Tellingly, there seems to be no such standard list on the Honda website.) Probably half of the things were “inspect this,” “inspect that.” It seemed they were asking me for a lot of money to “inspect” things (which presumably they were already doing for free when they found $2,000 worth of problems). The service also included the changing of filters, topping off of fluids, adjusting of things… basically, it sounded like “spring cleaning” for my car. But $479? That seemed completely out of line, even for a dealership.

After much research (I bet car dealers hate the Internet), I found a mechanic in my area whom I will refer to as “Reputable.” I took my car to Reputable, gave them the list of recommendations from Brown’s Arlington Honda, and asked for a second opinion. Here is what Reputable had to say:

Check the engine mounts; replace the front engine mount; test drive: $92.00
Mount (part): $116.53
Air Filter (part): $12.22
Shop Supplies: $10.00
Remove the wheels and inspect the brakes; no problems at this time: $46.00

Total Cost with Tax: $283.19

Um, yes please.

I don’t remember all the explanations they gave me of the dealer’s recommendations vs. the reality. I do remember them telling me that I had about 3,000 more city miles before I’d need new brakes. For the record, I still haven’t needed those brakes.

When Brown’s Arlington Honda called this morning to tell me the seatbelt issue was covered by warranty, the mechanic wanted to be sure he mentioned a few “recommendations” they had for my car. I told him to put it in writing.

Tech found front lowwer [sic] ball joints very loose recommends replacement: $420.00
Tech recommends to align the wheels: $99.00
Tech recommends to replace the timing belt package: $880.00

Regarding that last “recommendation,” the man who called me said, “Do you know what a timing belt is?” I do. “Well, do you know that it’s time to replace your timing belt? If you don’t replace it in time, you will have to replace the entire engine. And there are no warning signs. It just goes out.”

Well, maybe that’s true. I am not a timing belt expert (though – surprise, surprise – my Google searches seem to indicate my situation is hardly dire). But I’m going to take my car to Reputable and have them look at my front lower ball joints and my timing belt.

Brown’s Arlington Honda, I’m taking the high road here. I’m not going to call names. I wish my grandmother were alive, because I’d like for you to stand in front of her and endure the worst words she ever said to me: Shame on you.

On Monday I was reading The Advocate online when I saw an Associated Press article by medical writer Lauran Neergaard. The article discusses the effects of obesity-related health spending on the rising costs of healthcare. More than nine percent of all healthcare spending is now on obesity-related conditions. The article says that “new research shows medical spending averages $1,400 more a year for an obese person than for someone who’s normal weight.” The article doesn’t mention how much is spent on people of “normal” weight, though, so it’s unclear how significant that difference is.

I’m not arguing that point. Of course I will stipulate that being not-obese is generally healthier than being obese. What upset me about the article is the notion summed up in this comment: “The new study’s look at per-capita spending may offer a shock to the wallets of people who haven’t yet heeded straight health warnings.” The suggestion seems to be that perhaps seeing the financial cost of obesity will motivate people to lose weight. Like people just need a little push. I’m sorry, but is she seriously suggesting that society needs to give the obese another reason to lose weight?

While I am not medically obese at this time, I have spent almost my entire adult life that way. I still feel obese and see myself as obese. And I still struggle with the way I eat, how much I eat, and the reasons I eat. Of course I am perfectly aware that obesity significantly increases the risk of diabetes, heart disease, and cancer. While I have never considered the dollar amount of that risk, it is in no way surprising to me that obese people have higher healthcare costs than non-obese people. What I reject – what I rail against – is the notion that waving that statistic at the one-third of Americans who are obese will in any way motivate people to lose weight.

What does Neergaard think goes on in the minds of obese Americans? What would possess her to think that the threat of expensive healthcare might lead to weight loss where other factors have not? Being obese is wretched. I could write all night and not begin to cover the ways that being obese has made me miserable. Being overweight in America is to be relegated to pariah status. If that isn’t “motivation” enough to lose weight, nothing is. Nobody is going to wake up and say, “Oh, my weight means my healthcare costs will be higher. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll just lose weight right now.”

I think the argument that many people believe is something like this: Being fat is bad, yet some people are still fat. If we explain to fat people that being fat is bad, they will take steps to be not-fat. And if they don’t, they are being unreasonable.

If only it were that easy! When someone loses a significant amount of weight, people love to ask, “What made you do it?” I personally get this question all the time. It is a standard part of any feature article or segment about significant weight loss. Sure, there is often a precipitating event. But there have been many moments in my life that should have prompted me to lose weight. I don’t know why I was able to lose the weight this time. I also don’t know that I’ll be able to lose the additional 20-30 pounds I want to lose. And I definitely don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it off. What I do know is that the threat of higher cost of healthcare doesn’t even begin to figure in to my decisions about food.

Last year I made several commitments to my physical and mental health. The most visible result of my efforts has been some pretty significant weight loss. I could probably blog daily for a month and only begin to describe the ways in which losing that weight has changed my life. Maybe I’ll get to that later. Right now I want to talk about a strange question people ask regarding my experience. “Oh my gosh,” they exclaim. “How did you do it?”

To be clear, it’s not a rhetorical question or an exclamation of surprise. They are literally asking what steps I took to lose this weight. Okay, so here’s the thing: there’s only one way to lose weight. You create a calorie deficit. Call it whatever you want. Calories out must exceed calories in. What kind of answer are people looking for? It feels like they want to hear, “Oh, I figured out that if I eat a side of Wendy’s fries with my pizza, some miraculous chemical interaction occurs that cancels out all the calories.” Or, “my secret is that I never go to the gym.”

I blame the low-carb craze for the fact that so many people ask me this question. Yes, I’ve seen people drop dramatic amounts of weight very quickly on these low-carb/no-carb diets. Many of them love to tell you how they’ve shed 30 pounds in six weeks while gorging themselves on bacon and butter and full-fat cheese. I know it works. I just happen to think it’s about as healthy, sensible, and sustainable as bingeing and purging or eating nothing but iceberg lettuce. But to each her own.

I have a few stock answers to the “how did you do it” question:

1. “I burned more calories than I consumed.” Okay, yes, it’s sarcastic and patronizing. But ask a stupid question… Still, I typically only use this answer when I’m in a seriously bad mood or talking to someone who annoys me.

2. “Diet and exercise.” This is the easy, cocktail party answer. It’s accompanied by a modest smile, a slight head shake, and a shrug of the shoulders, meaning, “What can I say?” The follow-up question tends to be, “Did you have a trainer?” I didn’t, but it’s something I’d love to try.

3. I tell them as much of the truth as time allows (and as they seem interested to hear). I mean, this is a pretty complicated subject. Even touching on the basics takes a significant amount of time. I’ve tried to come up with a 15-second answer, but there’s too much to say.

The truth is that I completely changed my life. I changed my life to the point where sometimes I don’t even recognize myself – physically, mentally, or emotionally. I feel like friends I’ve made and coworkers I’ve met in the last six months or so don’t know “me.” The change has occurred in three phases. First, there’s the behavioral change. That’s what people are asking about when they question how I lost the weight. Then there’s the physical change. I still need to lose a significant amount of weight, but my appearance has already changed rather dramatically in the last year. Finally, there is the change that can’t be seen.

So what behavioral changes have I made? I drastically cut my intake of calories and fat. I stopped eating fast food cold turkey. I stopped drinking alcohol. I developed a repertoire of health-friendly foods to prepare at home. I eliminated eating out as much as possible without letting that interfere with my social life. When I do eat out, I do careful research. Most restaurants have menus on their websites; I try to pick out what I’m going to eat before I even get there. I patronize places like Potbelly and Boston Market, which list complete nutrition information on their websites.

I talk about food with my nutrition conscious friends like Care, with whom I have entire conversations about such things as fiber and flax seed. Actually, I talk about food with everyone. My apologies to those who have had to endure my lecture on the virtues of Fiber One Bars. I keep a daily journal where I record everything I eat, along with the calories, fat, and saturated fat (if available). I note my weight in that journal as well as what exercise I’ve done that day. I bring my lunch to work. I try to divide foods into individual servings after I buy them. For example, I’ll cut my block of reduced fat cheese into 1 oz. servings so I can know exactly what I’m eating when I grab a piece of cheese. On Sundays I try to prepare for the work week by filling snack-sized zipper bags with single servings: 20 mini-pretzels, 55 goldfish, or 16 reduced fat Wheat Thins. And yes, I count. I count everything.

I’ve made a conscious effort to add certain foods to my diet. Blueberries, beans, all things Fiber One, fish, avocado (this was not a stretch), walnuts, apples, turkey chili… just off the top of my head. I’ve worked out more in the last year than the rest of my life combined. I have admittedly been remiss in my gym efforts since I started working full time. For a while I was at the gym five or six days a week – and it made me feel so good. I finally get the whole “runner’s high” thing. If I know I’m going out to eat that night, I try to eat less (especially less fat) that day. I actually think in terms of weeks as well as days when it comes to counting calories and fat.

I have tons of quirky food-related behaviors. But it bears repeating: there is only one way to lose weight. Eat better, exercise more. I’m not trivializing the effort required. Changing my relationship with food is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Way harder than earning that A in microeconomics. Harder than a bad breakup. Even harder than learning how to drive a standard. But how to do it isn’t even a question.