260 (but I have a really good excuse, I swear!)

After going through a few flaming hoops last week to get my next 90-day supply, I have decided to go off of my diuretic blood pressure medication.  Now nobody start freaking out on me because of this; I'm taking good care of myself, I promise.  But diuretics or "water pills"--while rather effective at dealing with mild to moderate hypertension--are not very helpful when you're doing a low carbohydrate diet.  As a matter of fact, they are anti-helpful, and actually keep you from entering ketosis.  As a result of the combination of constipation and retaining a bit of water, I'm back up to 260.  But I want my numbers to be real numbers.  I need them to be real.  I'm okay with 260.  It's still quit a bit of progress over these past months.

Diuretics tend to tweak your kidneys so that they pass lots of fluid out of your system (by design).  However, in the process, they tend to leech lots of vitamins, minerals, aminos and important acids out of your system before they're actually done with their important jobs.  It's a trade-off: trade excess fluid that builds blood pressure for an inefficient body pH and malabsorption of bio-available nutrients.  When hypertension is moderate to high, there's no question that it's a good trade-off.  But I have actually been feeling so much better blood-pressure-wise that I know that I'm needing them less, and frankly, taking diuretics when you don't actually need them isn't very wise either.  To top it all off, diuretics actually exacerbate constipation, so there's even more reason to try life without them.

I had lunch with a buddy yesterday at our tavern of choice.  It was a bit of a challenge.  I'd never read the "meat" menu.  I wound up with a ginormous Mediterranean chicken salad that was rather good, and made with actual GREEN lettuce, and not just empty iceberg or romane.  But there's scant else on the menu I can eat.  Lots of beef (which I won't touch because it's not organic), and the rest of the sarnie side is just that: bread, bread, bread, bread, bread.  At least I have that salad.  My buddy commented on how much better I'm moving around.  Hell, for me, that's as much a compliment as "you're looking great!"  This falls squarely into the realm of "I'll take what I can get"-ville.  People noticing means there's externally noticeable progress, and that's all good.  It matches up with how much better I feel physically and internally (minus the constipation, of course).

Afterwards, I spent the evening with my friend JB who is serious low-carb, and was a bit of an impetus to me in trying this ANA for myself.  She brought over a "test loaf" of a turkey meatloaf she made, which was stellar.  I tossed it on the grill along with the rest of the Johnsonville brats (that I had that needed to be cooked before I left town anyway).  We chatted about how nice it is to have people in your life that you're close to doing this eating-style as well.  And it certainly is.  No question.  We had a really nice evening of low-carb chit-chat and reinforcing each-other.  She's a Wisconsin girl, and appreciated the mothers-milk bratwurst, too.

My daughter's headed over here in a tick.  Yesterday, she had me prepare her rice. RICE!  I had none of it.  Not one grain.  I even prepared her the stir-fry she was going to make, but when the time came, she was where?  On the phone.  I was comforted in making her the food regardless, and while I have joked with her about her evilness at demanding carbs, it really didn't phase me at all.  I really didn't feel tempted by it all that much, and it didn't seem to negatively impact me or cause a craving that I felt the need to push down.

I had been chatting with JB about how one of the things I like most about the ANA is that I have a consistent level of energy throughout the day now, as opposed to these highs and crashes that come with unstable blood-sugar from both a high-carb diet and with low-cal dieting.  Even when I'm hungry, I'm not on fumes like I was.  That's a huge help to me.  My mood is stable, my brain is more clear, and I have no real cravings like I used to.  That alone is enough to keep me at this.

258.6 (and the ketosis dream becomes reality...)

So I went running around with CCK today after we got up.  First, I made low-carb mochas (which are pretty durn nommy, if'in you ask me, and only 10g carb -vs- the vegan mocha I used to make that totals a whopping 46g!) and mushroom omelets with garlic jack cheese and bacon.  I really am becoming Le roi des omelette du' fromage.  Good thing I really love eggs in all their forms!  Anyhoo, we went to the Low Carb Nation store in the area (sort of: it's a bit of a drive).  Last night, I was bemoaning a desire for cheesecake.  Today, we walk in, look in the freezer case, and spy "Frozen Cheesecake On A Stick".

OMFGLOWCARBPWNIES!!!  Man that thing was good!  They said to let it thaw first.  Yeah.  I heard her say that right before my last bite.  I got some no-carb barbecue sauce, some low-carb baking mix, and an Atkin's low-carb chocolate peanut-butter cups.  At some point I need to come up with a low-carb bread/bun/roll solution.  Glad I'm also a good baker.  I can't really manage to pay $8 for 6 hamburger buns!  And eventually, I WILL eat bread again.  Meanwhile, the baking mix is primarily to work towards one thing: PIZZA CRUST!  I have not switched over to a meat-and-cheese diet without being allowed to eat a fracking pizza!  No-sir-ee-bob.  I'll get it figured out.

Then on to Costco for meat-madness.  6.5lb bag of Chicken thighs, a three pack of organic ground beef, a box of Splenda, a huge two-pack of both turkey and pork bacon, and finally, a home-grown treat: a 20-count box of Johnsonville Brats!  Charlie Murphy[1] would be pleased.

On the way home, I stopped at some gal's house and picked up a bottle of Bayer ketosis test strips that she had no use for (-via- Freecycle).  When I got home, I was able to test myself for the first time, and I am already about 80% into ketosis!  The results showed "moderate" which is one step away from "full-on".  This most likely is the reason why the weight-loss has started again after a stall.  That, combined with the scale reading today, makes me smile inside and out!

If anyone ever tells you that low-carb and Atkins are BS, respond with a polite "BS to you too" because you now know someone who is living proof that this works.  It is easy, it is fulfilling, it is energizing, it is affordable, and I think it may be my ticket to a different life...



[1] For those not fortunate enough to have been raised in the Cheese Belt, "Charlie Murphy" was a character in the Johnsinville bratwurst ad campaign in the 80's.

260! (Induction begins...)

Well, to say that the low-carb thing is working is minimizing it.  And I haven't even been doing it properly.  Well, it's now time to start, all proper-like.  But first, a few pictures.

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That strapping lad to the right is me, circa 1982 or '83. I was about 14, and a freshman in high-school.  Tubby my entire life, this was me at my most healthy.  Ever.  I was playing freshman football (nose-guard / defensive end) until I tweaked my knee / ACL.  I never got to play an actual game under lights, but the exercise and weight-training helped get me in the best shape in my life up to that point.  I was also in swing choir, and was doing a lot of dancing.  Additionally, we had a 24' above ground swimming pool in our back yard.  I swam daily.

This pool is a very formative part of my life's picture.  Shortly after this photo was taken (on July 31st, 1983) I dove "wrong" into that very pool and impacted the bottom with my full body mass directly on my head, shattering my C4 and dislocated my C5 vertebrate.  Instantly paralyzed, I drowned.  That incident is a different story for a different time, but it lays the groundwork for the next 27 years of my life.  I went from a BMI of about 16 to 26 or so in a matter of weeks as muscles atrophied and lack of mobility quickly converted muscle tissue to fat.

To say that I've struggled with my weight since then is such an understatement that it's almost laughable.  The short form is this: I have always comforted myself with food.  Always.  And the years and decades that followed only saw that coping mechanism grow and grow.  Frankly, it grew in exactly the same proportion that my gut did.

Fast forward a few decades. It's now 2008.  I'm a vegan, and have been for three years.  At one point I was a 290lb vegan.  Now, I want to make this very clear: veganism is great, and practicing it really helped me understand food better, and it also helped me sharpen a few very useful cooking and baking skills.  So I want to reinforce that it wasn't veganism or vegetarianism that kept me fat.  It was me alone who did that.  This picture is me at the lowest weight I'd been at since highschool: 253 or thereabouts.  I'd been dieting (low-fat LCD) and exercising pretty regularly, including some pretty strenuous back-yard and construction work on the house and yard that my then-wife and I'd just moved into.  I was pretty happy about things, and about my progress, although I'd slowed in the weight-loss department recently due to a bit of a carb-laden blowout 40th birthday weekend in San Francisco.  Some upsetting personal news when I got back put me into a bit of an emotional shock, and obliterated my appetite.  I went from 258 to 253 in about a week.  The strife resolved, and I relaxed and started feeling a more normal appetite return.

I'd held a goal of hitting 250 for quite a while, so getting this close was a near-victory in and of itself.  And what does one do when victory seems within sight?  Why celebrate, of course!  So, I started getting lazy (or more correctly, I started eating a more reasonable amount of calories again, since frankly I'd been starving myself up until that point).  Refined carbs were back, and the weight started coming back on.  Quickly.  I'd missed my goal by three pounds,  Three pounds!  I'd never been that close to that goal in my adult life.  I got close.

Then life changed.

In late 2008, a slew of things happened that made life vastly more challenging than it'd ever been before.  My estranged step-daughter returned from California with a raging heroin addiction, and came to me for help in getting clean (something I fortunately or unfortunately have skill in myself).  My relationship with my then-wife had been in a state of flux for the better part of six months, and this was presenting its own challenges.  In early November of that year, I asked my partner for a divorce.  While amicable as could be hoped for, it was still emotionally devastating.  I was now 41, with an addicted kid, heart-wounded, unemployed, with no prospects, no resources, and very little direction.  I remembered "celebrating" Christmas eve (not that I observe Christmas) by eating a half-pound of brie, a quarter pound of smoked gouda, and a box of crackers.  By myself.  It got worse from there.

I stayed in the house with my step-daughter (hereafter referred to simply as "my daughter" because I consider her so and always will), slowly going through the accumulated crap in my life, trying to figure out what in the hell to do next, where to go, how to live, and getting progressively more depressed.

In January of 2009, I applied for residency at Great Vow Zen Monastery (the monastery my sangha operates in northwestern Oregon).  I thought this was a brilliant idea.  As a resident, you are only required to contribute towards the cost of your food (about $500 a month).  I could afford that.  Cheaper than renting my own place.  It'd give me time to work on my issues, my stress, and my zen practice (which had become increasingly more important to me the year prior), lose some of the weight I'd put back on, and possibly save some money.  I applied for residency before I'd ever gone on retreat.  That was a less-than-skillful decision on my part.

In early March of 2009, I went on weekend retreat.  This retreat--Beginner's Mind--while calendar short, was long on experience.  One thing this retreat taught me was that I was in no way, shape or form ready for monastic life at Great Vow.  I was back up to about 290, and simply couldn't cut it.  I remember the heart palpitations as I walked down to the dining hall for breakfast.  I remember the constant sweating, the dizziness as I stood up from my chair, the near-black-out I had after walking kinhin.  At the closing circle of the retreat two days later, when it was my turn to share any insights I'd had, I shared this: "I know I'm not ready to live here.  Not yet, anyway..."

-To Be Continued-