Worth the Hassle to Be Healthy

Kim of the wonderfully elitist Good Hair, Kim Luck commented the other day on Tracey's post about people naysaying low-carb dieting as "not real weightloss" and said:

I couldn't be paid to care if the way someone chooses to drop pounds includes drinking heavy cream through a straw.

And I was obviously like, "BFFs!" It also reminded me of a recent trip to Starbucks.

I'm not a big fan of Starbucks' coffee, but I'm a big, big fan of the fact that they'll sell me a cup of heavy cream for the price of a glass of milk. If I find myself with absolutely no desire to think about what to have for lunch, I just pop down to the Starbucks in my office building, buy a cup of heavy cream, and mix up a protein shake. No one has ever questioned me or even looked at me funny there.

I was on my way home from work the other day, though, and decided to stop in the Starbucks I pass by anyway rather than:

• go out of my way to the grocery store, or
• stop at the bank to get cash, since corner bodegas are known for only taking cash.

"May I have a grande cup of heavy cream, please?" I asked the barista.

"A cup of what?" he asked.

"Heavy whipping cream," I said.

"Do you . . . want ice in it?" he asked.

"No, thanks," I replied. "Just the cream."

He poured the cup halfway full and then said, "You don't want anything else in here?"

I said, "Nope, all cream."

He said, "Let me fill it up for you."

I said, "Uh, yeah, thanks."

"Are you gonna drink this?" he asked, looking so weirded out.

"Sure," I said. "I'm going to mix it into smoothies and cook with it and stuff."

He handed it to me, saying, "You are the first and last person who will ever ask for this."

I laughed, but this sort of thing happens way too often for comfort, especially since I eat practically every meal out. Whether it's a McDonald's cashier telling me "we don't do that" when I ask for a bunless burger or a deli including the rice with my grilled chicken when I ask them not to, low-carbing takes a little bit of gumption.

Sometimes I don't want to deal with the strange looks and just take the bun off later myself, but usually I remind myself that any amount of hassle is worth my health.

"Just Water Weight"

Lots of people like to complain about low carb diets. Naysayers are always either trying to convince us that butter, cream, and eggs are bad for us and that we NEED grains to survive, or they're attacking the straw-Atkins-dieter who eats a slab of bacon for every meal and zero vegetables. One of the criticisms that drives me the most crazy, though, is the one where people fully acknowledge low-carbers' impressive results, but they immediately dismiss it as "fake" weight-loss, because "it's just water weight".

I mean, really? Is is so necessary to put successful dieters in their place that we have to resort to devaluing all of their efforts with the notion that because they aren't losing weight "the hard way" (starvation), they aren't really losing it at all?

It only takes reading the science behind any low carb or low glycemic eating plan to understand that once you stop spiking your blood sugar with sugary and starchy foods, you no longer have huge excesses of insulin causing the storage of new fat, and your body goes to work to burn off your current excesses of body fat for energy. You basically become a fat-burning (NOT water-burning) machine.

Now, it's true that while your body is switching over from carb-burning to fat-burning, the initial, almost immediate, weight-drop on an eating plan like Atkins comes from the release of excess water weight. Primal eating expert Mark Sisson has even said that some people can carry 10-20 pounds or more of retained water, depending on their size, due to the highly inflammatory nature of the standard, grain-filled American diet. So those first pounds may not be pure body fat, but does it really matter?

After losing a few pounds of "water weight", my clothes fit better, my face looks less bloated, and I noticeably have more energy and find myself able to move easier. If the first however-many pounds of lost weight on a low carb diet comes from the release of water our bodies had no business carrying around in the first place, I guess I just don't see what the big deal is.

As I see it, successfully de-bloating yourself on your way to fat-burning is "real" weight-loss. It's an initial payoff that tells you you're doing something healthy and right, and it should be a great motivator to keep at it. Don't let anyone try to tell you it doesn't count.

Cheat and Feel Empowered

Tracey and I spend a lot of time discussing how other low-carbers love to act like they never make mistakes. Before I knew anything about the diet, I once asked the most popular Belly Fat Cure blogger how she's handled her need/desire to "cheat" on the plan.

Her response? "I've never cheated."

My response? "LIAR!"

Now, kidding aside, I really do believe there's a possibility that this woman has stuck to her diet all along. On a plan like the Belly Fat Cure, you're allowed enough savory carbs that chips, pasta, and even bread are all acceptable.

But Tracey and I crave sugary baked goods! Cupcakes! Cookies! Ice cream! And lots of them! Most of me truly does believe that my body is better off without sugar, but part of me doesn't want to live life without it.

My way of dealing with it is to let myself have what I want when I need to but to remind myself how much better life is without it the next day. On Friday night, for instance, I could have brought along a low-carb protein shake or meal replacement bar to my recently-married friend's get-together, but I knew there was no way I was going to be able to pass up pizza, Doritos (my favourite!), chicken wings, homemade banana pudding with Nilla wafers, and the top layer of their wedding cake.

So I just ate it. All of it and as much as I wanted of it. I didn't make myself feel guilty about it, and I had a much better time at the party because I wasn't putting pressure on myself to "perform" the way the diet wants me to.

But the next day, I went right back to eating low-carb. And yesterday, three days later, I was down 4.2 pounds.

Diet Advice, Social Eating, and Feminism

(Cross-posted at Unapologetically Female)

You know the standard diet tips that are always showing up everywhere? The ones we've all heard a million times, but the magazines keep printing them, and the thin and bubbly morning news anchors keep filling segments with them? Sometimes, I feel like the media is droning out an endless Lost-style radio signal telling us to take the stairs, use smaller plates, and stop eating hours before bedtime.

While I find the repetition of many of these tips mildly annoying, there's one that I keep seeing that really gets under my skin: the one that advises we avoid eating alone.

The logic behind this tip is that people who consume most of their food in the presence of others apparently let their self-consciousness about appearing gluttonous get in the way of stuffing their faces. And while this advice may work wonders for some people, it's totally lost on me for a couple of reasons:

1) I've realized over the years that I'm what you might call a social eater. For me, food -- especially junk food full of sugar and starch -- is more fun when it's being shared. While I can stay on track with a healthy eating plan with few problems by myself, I often find a way to use getting together with friends as an excuse to stop caring about what I'm putting into my body. Sadly, this has meant that the times in my life when I feel the most fulfilled socially are also the times when I tend to gain the most weight, and rededicating myself to health and weight-loss often means having to isolate myself for a while in order to develop new habits.

Part of the problem is that I feel like I'm less fun (maybe even less me) when I'm ordering a salad instead of fries and drinking water instead of soda. I've never smoked, and I rarely drink, but I imagine the psychological process involved is similar for people who smoke or drink socially. I have this strong feeling that such indulgence is somehow necessary to my good time. Remember that study that came out a few years ago claiming that people with fat friends are more likely to also be fat? It made sense to me, because I think people just like surrounding themselves with like-minded people who enjoy similar things. Katie and I talk a lot about how there are so many people out there who just don't seem to care about food the way we do, and we both agree that it's much harder to relate to these people socially. Similarly, I doubt someone who thinks a party isn't a party without alcohol would get a lot of enjoyment from hanging out with me, but if you're always in the mood to get together and consume a large pizza and a tube of raw cookie dough, I'm your girl.

2) Those who know me well know that I'm a raging feminist who resents how women in our culture live in a regime in which we are constantly judged by our behavior and appearance and encouraged not to take up too much space. And the "friendly" dieting advice telling us not to eat alone actively counsels us to yield to insecurities derived from societal rules about how much and what types of foods women should be eating. In a culture in which we are are constantly taught that men are entitled to rich foods in large amounts and women are not, diet advice that encourages this sort of self-surveillance in women (anyone else read Foucault in college?) serves to further entrench gendered oppression and inequality.

My problem is that my feminist consciousness makes me want desperately to rebel against diet culture, even though I often actively participate in it, and that creates an ambivalence in me about eating that makes me go back and forth between trying to eat really healthfully and wanting to lash out at the diet industry by eating whatever the hell I damn well please, thankyouverymuch. It's not that appetite and/or fatness are inherently feminist, but in our sexist culture, unapologetic appetite and/or fatness in women is inherently political. And throughout my life, I have taken a special pride in being able -- in the presence of others -- to "eat like a man". I don't know that it's ever even really occurred to me to worry that people might think I'm eating too much, but I hate it when other people know I'm watching what I eat, because it makes me feel antifeminist and stereotypically girly.

I'm interested in hearing what others think about this. Do your individual health goals sometimes end up conflicting with your self-image or your personal politics, and if so, how do you deal with it? Which conventional diet/fitness/health tips annoy the crap out of you?

Louis C.K. on the Differences in the Way Fat and Skinny People Think About Food

In case you're like me and don't ever actually watch the videos people post, here's the part I like:

I hate skinny people, because they don't empathize with fat guy problems. You ever have a skinny friend, and you try to tell him, "I just wish I could have one doughnut and fuckin' walk away. I wish I could do that. I wish I had the power to eat a doughnut"? And your skinny friend's like, "Well, just eat the doughnut, then. What's the big deal? Just have a doughnut if you want one. Totally go ahead and have one. Just enjoy yourself and have a doughnut if you like them." Fuck you! You don't get it. It's a whole spiral that begins with a doughnut and later I'm killing hookers and don't even remember what happened.

It's not just that I hate skinny people for not understanding why I want to eat a lot; I hate them for not wanting to eat a lot themselves. I really do have a co-worker who buys a two-pack of wrapped doughnuts every day at lunch, eats one, and offers the other one around. Sometimes he doesn't even finish the first one. I really hate him. And then my other co-worker always takes the second one but also goes to the gym every morning for two hours, so I don't have to hate him as much.