Slow Down

There is a certain, almost magical, power you lose as you age. You become mortal. The power that allows you to live forever, immortality, disappears. I am not saying I am old...I'm not. I’m explaining that, with time, you realize that your, once immortal, self is weakened and cannot withstand feats of near-death stunts for cool points. For example, with age, we learn that trying to see how fast your old jalopy can go and gunning the gas to try and make the speedometer reach the triple digits defines the absence of intelligence not the presence of coolness. We, ol' fogies, also think of the cost it will take to fix our old jalopy for attempting this cool factor stunt, because trying this stunt will inevitably lead to our jalopy breaking down. With age comes responsibility. With responsibility comes lack of cool points. My cool factor has come down considerably with age, but I’m still alive. That’s gotta’ count for something.

My neighbors are known for their driving skills. We have many young ‘uns and they love to rush home, pushing forty through the neighborhood…as I once did. We also have many fine feathered-hair retirees who love to let drivers know that they are speeding. I, my fellow bloggers’, am one of the wannabe' young ‘uns. Yes, I still race home almost pushing thirty when, I know, I should be going twenty-five. I am living on the edge, people. Better watch out!

A fellow feathered-hair retiree made me aware of my wild ways, one day. He was sporting the topless look with plaid shorts, knee-high white socks, and loafers when warning me of my speed. Where was Carson Kressley during this straight guy’s time? Oh, but I digress. As I sped by him, at twenty-seven miles per hour, he signaled for me to slow down. Yes, with age comes responsibility. So, I promised to slow down to the speed limit…every time I pass his house.

Week two came and, as I approached his house, my Olivia danced around twenty-three miles per hour. To his dismay, I had not slowed down enough and he was compelled to wave his arms about in order to catch my attention and persuade me to slow down. After much thought, I decided that I should slow down. After all, there are a lot of parked cars, walls, bushes, and trees that can become a hazard and provide blind spots. We do have children and, at twenty-five miles per hour, there is still room for mishaps.

I had become proud with myself. By week three, I became the MOST responsible adult you could have seen driving in a neighborhood. Pushing ten miles an hour in the neighborhood and frustrating every car that followed behind my Olivia, I made sure that there would be no mishaps with children and happy old people. I knew that my fellow neighbor would be excited to see my newly changed ways! As I drove by his house, he fervently signaled to me and mouthed the words “SLOW DOWN.” My jaw dropped. I could not believe what happened. There is no pleasing him! So, I held both of my hands up, while steering with my knees, and mouthed back “10 MILES.” How dare he imply that I’m not a careful driver!

Three weeks I had dealt with that ingrate. I acknowledged his plea and followed through. Would he have preferred I parked my car outside the neighborhood and walked home?!? Heck no! I wouldn't do that. I'd get run over. All of those bushes and parked cars are hazards...not to mention those crazy young 'uns speeding through the neighborhood. There's no way that I would have done that. The more I thought about the situation, the more infuriated I became. So, I decided…no more. I would not play his game anymore.

Week four came and I was done pleasing him. I still drove ten miles per hour in the neighborhood. It was, after all, a good idea…a safe idea…a responsible idea. I am older and I need to be responsible. So, of course, I didn’t plan on speeding up. Plus, travelling under ten miles per hour gave me the opportunity to listen to my favorites songs for a longer period. This drive, however, would be different. As I drove by his house, I slowed down. I cruised by at three miles per hour. Ol’ fancy shorts stared me down and I shifted into neutral. This would be my game, now. I waited for the perfect moment. I revved my engine to show how wild and crazy I could get…then I peeled out at seven, almost ten, miles an hour.

I have to admit, I earned my cool points that time!

Diary of a Fatty Slimdown

“Just do it…Cold Turkey.” I think to myself. Eat healthy. Get my butt off the couch and exercise, instead of watching them exercise while I’m thinking, “You’re effin’ kidding me!”

I’m not doing it “Cold Turkey,” though. I have done that many times and fail miserably on the second day. That’s if I’m lucky. Usually, by the afternoon, I’m watching television and a pizza commercial comes on – zoom over to me –and, there I am, “Yes, could I have your meat lover’s pizza? For delivery…to my couch, please.”

I’m going to start with exercise. I notice that, somehow, I feel better and eat less when I exercise more. It messes with the endorphins and makes me fly up to cloud nine. Better than LSD, not that I have any ground to base that on.

Tough decision coming up. What program should I try first? As most fatties have, I find a plethora of choices in my exercise library. Different Firm programs, Tae-Bo, Step Aerobics (one of my favorites), Exercise ball programs and Beachbody programs…what to do?!? What to do?!?

Top Three Reasons for Using Time Out

Dr. Arthur Staat, during the 1950’s, took psychology into a new realm. His study on psychological behaviorism practiced reinforcement to adjust preferred behaviorisms. His “time-out” method incorporated previous theorists and his studies on “behavior modification, behavior therapy, behavioral analysis, and behavioral assessment.”¹ Commonly practiced among classrooms and households during modern day, experts have modified the time-out method. Some theorists place objects in time-out, rather than the child; while others assign no time limit and no “time-out spot” for time out, labeling it “personal time” to reflect.

When I began teaching preschool two-year-olds, I fervently preached how the role of time-out is overrated and unnecessary. After witnessing serious behavioral issues in the classroom, I quickly learned that the time-out method can be a beneficial disciplinary tool when the use is limited and time-out is performed with efficient and effective methods. Time-out is a big deal and, if we overuse or abuse the time-out method to address every undesired behavior, the potential role time-out plays will be minimalized. I have found that reducing time-out to three main underlying causes will emphasize the unacceptability of one’s actions.

Reason One: Superiority Complex

The theory of “Individual Psychology,” coined by Alfred Adler, incorporated the following aspects: “the development of personality, striving towards superiority, psychological health, and the unity of personality.”² Adler termed both inferior and superior complex, noting that it is our inferior complex that motivates us to reach our superior complex and vice versa. Since then, theorists have expanded on the complexes. Some negate the fact that the two do not need to be present or that the basis of the complex can stem from other sources, such as an inflated ego or narcissistic behavior.

It is important for adults to discover the reasoning behind a child’s superiority complex. Through treating the initial cause of the complex, one is able to prevent further continuation of the behavior. At the same time, the behavior needs to be addressed. Therefore, we use time-out as a supportive means to reflect on and tackle the attitude.

Reason Two: Harming Self

Similar to the superiority complex described in reason one, this plays a pivotal role in discipline. More than likely, reason one and two intertwine with each other when handling issues regarding the child harming him- or her- self. This instance involves the child knowing more than the adult and proceeding in an action that will result in self-injury.

Reason Three: Harming Others

Once a child is able to understand emotions, we are able to teach empathy. What many fellow co-workers of mine consider “the hippy approach,” it, in fact, teaches children how to love and be nice to one another, how to communicate emotions and how to understand that one’s actions causes a chain reaction and affects others.

When a child hurts another person, no matter what the age, it is important that the child understands the seriousness of the action. Therefore, time out is a rare occurrence, but signifies the importance of how not to treat others.

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1) Emeritus. (2012). Biography. In Arthur W. Staats & Psychological Behaviorism. Retrieved from http://www2.hawaii.edu/~staats/bio.htm

2) Fisher, Molly. (2001). Theory. In Alfred Adler. Retrieved from http://www.muskingum.edu/~psych/psycweb/history/adler.htm#Theory

I think I can

My turtle is purposely challenging me. Perhaps, I think, he has it in for me. I think he is showing me up. I have done a total of one work out since I decided to begin my fitness regimen…and that workout totaled fifteen minutes of exercise and forty-five minutes of trying to get my face to not look beat-lobster-red. I can whine and complain about all the time-consuming events that occurred since my last workout, but – fact of the matter is – I didn’t work out…bottom line.

 

On the other hand – ever since I discovered this really cool water filtration rock for reptiles – my aquatic turtle, Filburt-Sebastian, has been plugging away at that rock. On his first day, it took him (almost) the entire day to climb up that ginormous rock. I was very tempted to step in and take Filburt-Sebastian off of the rock – for fear of him hurting himself – but, he peaked my curiosity, I wanted to see where he was going with his hiking trip. As days passed, Filburt-Sebastian worked harder and harder. Every morning, I would find him ploughing away. It was almost like “The Little Train that Could;” actually, it was exactly like “The Little Train that Could.” Before I knew it, that little sucker was taking two to three trips up and down that mountain each day.

 

Now, he greets me daily atop his rock – basking in all his glory – mocking me.

I think I like my dog, Apollo, even more now…

…hike your way back May 1st.

What not to tell a fatty

Because I had worked in the health industry – oh, the irony – for a while…I’ve discovered many things. I’ve learned how easily people are willing to share fitness advice with a fatty…even if they are wrong. I have also figured out that anyone feels free to comment on one’s grocery cart and give nutritional advice. Then, of course, the ultimate lesson…a fatty’s worst critic is a former fatty.

Despite these “lessons for a fatty,” I have some lessons to share of my own. I will dispense these lessons not to fellow fatties – for, they already have learned them – but to fellow critics.

Yes, I do realize that fad diets don’t work. I’ve probably tried them all.

Yes, I know it shouldn’t be called a diet…it’s a “lifestyle change.”

My collection of fitness videos, probably, out-numbers any fitness library’s collection. So, I know how important exercise is for the body.

In my goal to accept myself as who I am, I have purchased enough self-help books to qualify for a doctorate’s in counseling.

Every body is different…what works for one body may not work for the other.

Everybody is different…what works for one may not work for the other.

By the way…did you get the previous two? Take a minute. Okay, minute over, moving on…

The final lesson for my critics…I love who I am. I can change my weight, but you will always be a close-minded critic. Deal with it. I’m off to enjoy my life.

…enjoy your lives and I will see you April 30th.

Overweight Names

I love the word “fatty.” I love the way it rolls off your tongue. I love how one can make it sound as if it is some morbid type of cariño or some jerk can make it an insult. I choose to see it as a cariño. I like to think that I am deserving of the “fatty” cariño.

When I worked at Curves, we had to do body compositions for the members on their first visit and every month afterwards. Most members had a high amount of body fat. I had to find many different ways of kindly telling a member how much weight she should lose…as if they hadn’t already known. Many of them would say, “I’m fat.”

The irony of my likes and dislikes? How can I love the word “fatty” and, yet, cringe at the word “fat.” As part of the Curves team, the members and I would come up with so many different ways to call ourselves overweight…

Fat
Fatty
Fluffy
Full of Love
Overflowing with Love
Extra Love
Big
Chunky
Chunk-a-roonie
Chunkers
Exra-Insulated

Hmm, we use to have a lot of cute funny names. In the end, it all meant the same thing.
We are overweight.

I like “fatty,” though. Perhaps, I should stay overweight; so, I could keep the name “fatty.” Ha, ha. Only kidding, guys and dolls.

…hope to see all of you cariñosos April 20th.

Diary of a Fatty Slimdown

Yes, I know, I know. How many people share their stories of dieting and exercise? I’m no different than Shaniqua or Bob from down the street. Yet, I have given in and making my struggles public in the hopes that I will make myself feel obligated to lose the weight. I have no idea if this will work, but I know that I will soon find out.

I have struggled with my weight from childhood. Coming from a Mexican, overeating family…we share our love through food. Heck, we share every emotion through food. We offer guests food. When we are guests, we are polite and accept food offerings. Long story short, food has always been in my life.

In high school, I found that minimizing my eating to one meal a day – or none at all – helped my weight loss. I went from a size eighteen to a size eight in less than one semester and felt fabulous. However, with time and stress, I piled it back on.

By the time I hit college, I tried several ways of keeping my weight down. One way was traditional bulimia…binge and purge. I enjoyed every food and then some, but didn’t have the consequences of eating too much. When I grew tired of that, I exercised six to seven hours a day to make up for my one or two meals I ate. You can’t live life like this, as I learned.

So, I worked on myself. I worked on accepting myself as I am…an overabundance of joy. I worked on not focusing on vanity and focusing on the quality of the person. I, for the most part, feel that I have achieved that.

Now, here I am, at twenty-nine years of age and knees cracking – I’ve always had weak knees – and, at times, finding that I need to catch my breath. This is not the way to live and, if I don’t do something about it, I will only get worse with age. Plus, it will only get more difficult to lose weight with age.

So, my darlings, will you care to join me in my last ditch effort of losing weight? Would you like to come along for the ride?

…no foolies…come back April 10th.