Two by Two

Two weeks ago we celebrated Hannah's Bat Mitzvah. During the service, she read from the torah about Noah's Ark.

As all my theologian friends know, Noah took two of every kind of animal on board his little boat.

I feel like I have been stuck in a numerology game because during the past two weeks, I gained 2 pounds.

My 1 by 1 turned into 2 to lose.

This week, I lost the two pounds and I am back to where I was on October 16th.

So tomorrow, I am playing the lotto and my numbers will be 2, 22, 10, 16, 1 and 32.

The 2 represents the pounds I just lost. The 22 signifies the 2 weeks I gained 2 pounds. 10 and 16 is the date I was last at this weight and 1 and 32 reps the 132 pounds lost to date.

I know I am not winning the lottery, but let's face it. I have already won so much more than I could ever gain playing numbers.

That said, a nice fat check would be pretty damn skippy too!

The Tao of Stress Eating

“Stress eating.”

The dieter’s crutch, excuse and curse.

These are really just carefully crafted words that, when used together, somehow magically communicate that whatever binge you are on is justified.

So, if , for example, the last few weeks I have overindulged on an assortment of gateway snacks like roasted, salted peanuts by the bag full – well, calling my behavior “stress eating” should not make the behavior seem so marvelously understandable.

It’s not ok.

Deep down inside, I knew last week when I stepped on the scale, my day of reckoning was upon me. I gained my first pound in a year and it bummed me out.

Sensing this genuine disappointment, a few close friends chalked up the uncharacteristic gain to a host of recent events: my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah party; hiring a trainer and converting fat to muscle; not drinking enough water; Lucas’ hospitalization; my birthday, too much anxiety at the office.

Now while all of these factors may have come into play in some way or another, the plain truth is that weeks ago, I opened a door that I have yet to shut.

Even as I type this sentence, I am nourished by the sweet, chewy tang of my favorite pineapple flavored Haribo Gold-Bears: “The Original Gummi Candy.” And isn’t that the surest sign that the heart and head are no longer in full alignment. Here I sit typing away knowing I shouldn’t be gobbling a gummi and yet, what the fuck? You will be happy to know the rest of the ½ ounce bag just went in the trash.

For two weeks, my forward momentum has stalled and I have taken two-baby steps back.

I feel like Winnie the Pooh after gorging on honey and condensed milk at Rabbit’s house. After binging on all the snacks his host could muster, a fat and sated Pooh headed out of the house only to get stuck in the hole.

Watching Pooh struggle to get out, Christopher Robin said:

“There's only one thing to be done. We shall have to wait for you to get thin again.”

'How long does getting thin take?' asked Pooh anxiously.

'About a week I should think,' said Christopher.

'But I can't stay here for a week!' Pooh exclaimed.

You can stay here all right, silly old Bear. It's getting you out which is so difficult.'

###

True dat, Christopher! You are a wise character of literature.

Getting out of a rut is always the difficult part of recovering back to the core of the diet.

But really, it’s not about how much time you put into your diet, because it can never be over.

When Pooh asks “How long?” the answer is forever.

Like Pooh, I know that I can make great progress in a week if I set my mind to it. I also know that the two pounds I gained in the last few weeks can and will disappear if I really focus on what got me here. And what got me here was a strict dedication to my diet, writing down everything I was eating, exercising, and drinking lots of water. All of that has changed of late. I have become lax. Back to basics.

Last night I was invited to a Hockey game with some business colleagues. At the event, I met a stranger who was no stranger at all. She knew me and my family from this blog. Someone who knew me shared it with a friend who shared it with her and suddenly it was as if I was conversing with an old friend. It was surreal to meet a person who I had never met yet knew so much about me and this part of my life.

We spoke for awhile about the diet and were deep into the discussion when our host interrupted with news that a dessert cart was outside the door of the suite. We both passed, yet we both wanted that damn carrot cake!

As much as she said I had inspired her, she inspired me to really try and look forward again.

And today, when I stepped on the scale knowing that the news was not going to be good, I greeted my second consecutive one pound gain as a lesson to retrench myself.

The holidays are just around the corner and when I hit New Year’s eve this year, I want to look at myself in the mirror knowing that the resolution for a better, healthier me was a promise kept throughout the entire year.

I have been stressed and strained and full of worry about so many things – all of which are either behind me now or truly beyond my control.
Time to say oh, bother to those two pounds.

I can feel the little dark rain clouds lifting already.

© Copyright, Steve Elzer, 2009
All Rights Reserved

Lessons Learned from George Bush

A few weeks ago I hired a trainer. Strike that, I hired a dominatrix disguised as a trainer.

Now I have had trainers before, but none like this guy. The whole experience leaves me questioning my sanity for either I am now an avowed masochist or I have officially lost it.

I suppose it’s human nature to want what we can’t have.

Yes, I would love to look like an Abercrombie & Fitch model, but no matter how much money or time I spend working out with some fitness junkie, I will never have a six pack, unless we’re talking beer.

Paying lots of money to have your ass kicked for an hour is a sure sign of commitment, or perhaps it just means you should be committed -- to a hospital for the twisted.

Exercise has been key to my success throughout this process but there is some subtle distinction, I suppose, between exercise or cardio and weight training. When you are shedding weight like a dog sheds hair on a hot summer day, no matter how much time you spend on a treadmill, your body just starts to sag in areas you didn’t know existed. At a certain point, all the aerobics is great, but you really need to start to tone.

To me SAG has always been an actor’s union and I have never really given a whole lot of thought to what’s sagging because the bulge was always in the way.

For the first time in my journey, I have decided to build beyond the Elzer cardio routine. Time to stop walking past machines that looked intimidating. Time to do more than my weak attempt at bicep curls.

Now to be honest, in the two weeks since I started up with Zack the Trainer from Hell, I have had to reschedule three appointments because of some faux Hollywood crisis or some silly Sigalert. But even with those hiccups, I am still finding time in the schedule for this important date with torture.

After my first focused leg workout, I could barely walk, much less sleep for two frickin days. But the other night, after Zack was done playing Marquis de Sade with what he lovingly called his “fat burning” routine, he had me hop on the treadmill to finish off the night of fun and merriment.

While I was walking and wincing in some dual delusion of agony and accomplishment, I turned on the Treadmill TV and up popped The Biggest Loser.

I have not been following the show religiously this season, but for the skinny at heart, TV does not get any more inspirational than this. As I was throwing my petty little pity party complaining to myself about how much I hated this whole decision to hire a trainer, I was slapped with a serious dose of perspective.

These Biggest Loser contestants were suffering round the clock agony in pursuit of their dream. As much as my muscles may have been aching (and they were), I started to imagine how painful the experience must be for the heavy ones on the tv in front of me.

Sure, I thought, they were on TV playing for hundreds of thousands of dollars, but the stakes for me are higher. I am playing for something much more valuable -- life.

Until I started really focusing on change, my day-to-day existence had been pretty sedentary. I was like a high functioning baby-man. I slept, I woke up, I crapped, I dined, I whined at the freeway traffic or work, and my idea of exercise was lifting a fork to my face or climbing the stairs to my bedroom at the end of the day only to plop down in my overstuffed bean bag with a big bowl of buttered popcorn. I lived some version of this cycle for years – practically my whole life.

Seriously.

And when I think that this ridiculous routine is broken – shattered really – and replaced with getting home from the office, eating something healthy with my family, and then forcing myself to hit the gym for 1-2 hours a few times a week, it almost doesn’t seem real because it has never been “me.”

I don’t like pain. Never have. But pain, weirdly enough, scared me to the point of meaningful change and if pain got me here, I can endure a little muscle stress. Because whatever I am feeling, it’s not 1/100th of the pain those brave people on tv are experiencing with their trainers.

As much as I may love to hate Zack, he isn’t driving me into the ground on some last chance workout.

I lost another 3 pounds this week. Grand total is now 132 pounds shed since January 1.

I am still noshing on things I know I shouldn’t have – mainly peanuts – and I even went to another wine dinner this week, but I still think I have found a way to make it all work.

Dangerous talk, I know.

But I am finally at a point where I can finally see a checkered flag in the distance. It’s still months and months away, but I am more than 2/3rds of the way to my goal.

Today I picked up a new pair of jeans that are 18 inches smaller than my largest pair of pants. And as proud as I am of all the fantastic progress, I also know deep within that I will never cross that proverbial finish line.

George Bush taught us many important lessons, but one of the most memorable was never land your jet on the tarmac and declare “Mission Accomplished.”

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

In my religion, today marks the beginning of the New Year.

We are officially entering an intense period of self reflection, reconciliation, introspection, and ultimately atonement. In a few days, we will ask for forgiveness for our weaknesses as we look to follow a path with our lives that corrects deficiencies and seeks to improve the way we interact with friends, neighbors, family, colleagues and perhaps most importantly, ourselves.

This is a time for me as a Jew to really drill down and dig deep to reflect on whether I am leading the life I aspire to lead. How can I improve as a father, a husband, and friend? Have I acted in ways that I regret? How can I be a better man?

For years, I would sit in temple, listen to the Rabbi, read the prayer book, participate in Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services and ask for the power, strength, conviction and commitment to change.

But for the first time that I can recall in my lifetime, I am returning to temple feeling as though I made significant progress towards the better me I soulfully sought a year ago. For so many, change is elusive, and always just out of reach but it is possible if you want it bad enough.

I am humbled and grateful for the transformation we have experienced as a family since January. As we celebrate the High Holy Days, the Elzers wish you all a very Happy New Year and we send our heartfelt love and gratitude to an army of countless friends who continue to support this life-changing journey every day in every conceivable way.


May peace, health, happiness and laughter fuel your lives for many, many years to come.

I'm Back!

I was sweating it.

I know it seems like I say that often, but my anxiety this week was more than the usual pre weigh-in jitters.

You see, to quote the title of the Tyler Perry film, I Can Do Bad All By Myself.

I have been testing the limits of dieting during the last several weeks and I really expected to see a gain for the first time since beginning this odyssey in January. But happily, my worst fears were not to be.

After a pretty extravagant wine dinner earlier in the week, increased “snacking” and several meals out, I still managed to lose a pound. The total loss to date: 125 pounds.

Of course, these diet deviations come at a price. The weight is clearly coming off more slowly

These days. That happens when you grab a fist full of nuts here or a bite of chocolate there, but striking a balance in the real world of eating is the goal. And I definitely have become more daring in recent weeks and that is not a good thing.

Can one stray and still stay in bounds and in control? My history with this suggests the answer is a resounding “no.” And while the results may lean in my favor right now, gravitating towards food that is supposed to be off-limits is really not wise.

The deviations began a few weeks back when Lucas was rushed to the hospital.

As a parent, you are never more vulnerable than the day your child faces a serious health crisis.

The stress eating began pretty much the moment my wife called from our pediatrician’s office and said our doctor was insisting that Lucas be taken to the hospital in an ambulance. That weekend he came down with the flu, spiked a nasty fever and by Monday apparently was not getting enough air into his lungs.

As I hung up the phone and headed for the door of my office I stuffed my pocket with a massive fist full of sugar-free candies that I keep in a bowl on my coffee table. Normally I might enjoy a few a day, but by the time I made the trip from Culver City to Tarzana, all the candies were gone. I wasn’t even conscious of the consumption. It was just the beginning of the binge to follow.

Now I know that sucking down a few sorbitol filled candies is laughable when compared to those who rally a real bender of a binge.

I readily admit that what I now consider over indulging is pretty frickin’ ridiculous compared to the destructive damage I would have done eight months ago. Had this occurred last December, the starting bell would have been an appetizer consisting of a couple of Hickory Burgers at Apple Pan. The new me cheats in a much more reasonable and measured way. This time, I plied my pain with a mondo bag of apple chips and an orange. When I confessed my breach to Amy, she looked at me and laughed.

All thru the week that Lucas was in the Intensive Care Unit, I was trying my best to fight off the irresistible urge to eat and cheat.

On the third day in the hospital, when Lucas was finally beginning to show signs of improvement, his appetite returned. Since it turned out he had a bad case of the Swine Flu we decided to let him go hog wild with the hospital food. “You want turkey and mashed potatoes, son? Knock yourself out!” So for the last few days that Lukey was in recovery, he was able to have everything his little heart desired. It got to the point that I think he was looking to stay an extra day in the hospital just so he could get an IV drip of carbs.

I have been a bad blogger of late. Too much time has lapsed in between posts. Much has happened in our lives that really deserve more introspection and analysis and I shouldn’t gloss over. For instance, before the hospitalization, we took a trip to Lake Tahoe and I never shared how we took on the challenge of the Family Summer Vacation. After Lucas was released from the hospital, one of our first adventures was a tasting at a country club to help determine a menu for an upcoming event we are planning. Finding a way to taste thru multiple plates of appetizers and main courses without giving in to gluttony was memorable. Returning to the scene of the crime 5 days later to taste thru 14 separate desserts was torte torture.

So much has happened since we last reconnected.

Every day is a new hurdle and I know I need to commit more time to the blog. It helps reinforce resolve and just taking the time to think of behavior offers me a forced perspective, if you will. Simple, random bites of this or that add up and can lead one astray in the worst possible way. The truth is there is no such thing as a simple or random anything.

Every step further off the path – every bite no matter how trite – is like a gateway drug.

As I finally sit down and try to put the last several weeks into focus, there were blow-ups where I once again felt the family was sliding down a slippery slope and maybe I just didn’t want to tackle these fears – whether they are real or imagined.

What I do know is that it is too hard to write about these events so long after the fact.

I will do my best to be much more diligent in updating the blog. I know in my heart – and in my head that keeping this site current is critical if I am to continue maintaining the momentum in the right direction.

Ó Steve Elzer, 2009

All Rights Reserved

If A Picture Says A Thousand Words

 

From top to bottom, photos taken last December thru yesterday of the transformation in our family. 

Going Under the Knife To Stay Away From the Fork

A little more than a year ago as Amy and I were celebrating our Anniversary weekend down in Laguna Beach, we invited some friends to join us for dinner. We were dropped off at the restaurant by the hotel driver and were planning to return to the hotel by taxi when our friends offered to drive us to the resort.

All was fine until the four of us walked back to the valet in the alley and I saw his car. It was a Mercedes, but honestly, I have had meals bigger than this car.

Now you should know that the proud owner of this puny little putt-putt was once a man of considerable girth.

But one day, out of the blue, he magically started losing lots of weight. He told his friends and colleagues that he was “dieting” – and he wasn’t lying. He was dieting as much as anyone “diets” when you have had gastric bypass surgery.

While I was one of the few who knew the truth, I believe he shared his “secret” with me in hopes that I, too, would consider this wonder diet. To this day, I remain troubled that this procedure was apparently such an embarrassment to him that he couldn’t reveal to his close friends, relatives, or even co-workers that he had undergone the knife to help him stay away from the fork.

That night, as we ate dinner together, I watched as he nibbled and poked at his entrée leaving probably 90% of what was served on the plate. I remember his cheek-to-cheek smile as he was beaming in all his thin splendor.

When you finally lose lots of weight, it is amazing how much you do the simple things again, like smile.

All thru that dinner, I watched my friend and wondered whether I should bite the bullet and take the bypass plunge, but three words kept flashing in my mind: Quality of Life.

I watched as he slyly and artfully dabbed a napkin to his mouth and spit up a bite from his meal. I saw him prodding and toying with his food. I know that this surgery is a last resort for so many people who feel helpless, but if I had to spit up in my napkin every time my stomach was over sated, I would be a miserable wreck.

Truth be told, I wrestled with the idea of the gastric bypass for a long time. And as each fat friend lunged for the lap band, I would be drawn into what seemed like weeks of intense internal debate.

Despite my size I take few decisions lightly.

So when my doctor first broached the topic years ago, I went into a tizzy – talks with doctors, internet searches, surgical mortality statistics, you name it, I considered it.

And as the years flew by and my waist expanded, every friend and acquaintance who made that leap onto the operating table would pass along the name of their doctor and they would strongly encourage me to join them on their way to the happy weigh.

Well, call me Mr. Buzzkill, but I think elective surgery is crazy.

Look, when your insurance company forces you to see a shrink before allowing you to enter the operating room for one of these surgeries, they are probably trying to tell you something.

Nowadays the quick fix of the lap band or the bypass are shoved in your face like a big guy scarfing down a Big Mac. You drive down the freeway and the variety of weight loss surgical procedures are advertised in huge “WAR IS DECLARED” sized bold type on countless road signs.

Years ago, it was not so en vogue. I dunno, it seemed like it was more a celebrity oddity that helped the likes of Al Roker, Carnie Wilson or Randy Jackson.

But to us biggies, it was more than tabloid fodder: it was the cure all to fat dreamers everywhere.

The whole thing seemed so innovative and so simple. All you had to do was cut open your pesky stomach and you would be good as new. I guess the idea of a brain bypass freeway sign was nowhere near as marketable or medically appealing.

I recall a conversation probably 6 or more years ago with a dear friend who wanted a bypass but apparently wasn’t fat enough to qualify. So I remember her confessing her plan to go on a nasty, desperate binge to GAIN weight, just so she could get her insurance to pay for her stomach bypass. And for the record, she did the former and never followed thru on the latter.

So where is all this going?

Back to that alley behind the restaurant where this sad but true saga began.

As the valet drove up, my friend told Amy and I to get in the back seat. But I knew immediately when the car pulled up that I was too big to fit into the rear compartment of the car. As he moved his seat all the way forward, I started to freak out.

I swear, if I had the Fire Department Jaws of Life, I would not have been able to squeeze my fat ass into the back of that small death trap of a Mercedes.

After trying every which way to fit my very round body into that fairly square space, I just gave up. If there was such thing as a fat guy hell, this was it – an alley in Laguna Beach with my former fat friend smiling at me and the smell of french food wafting in the wind.

A few minutes later, I was wedged into the front seat with my massive gut pressing against the steering wheel as I was driving us all back to the hotel. I was embarrassed and ashamed and the experience ruined what had been a perfectly wonderful evening.

As I look back on this humiliation now, many things come to mind.

First and foremost, while I have savored losing nearly 14 inches off my waist, not until this very moment have I ever given a moment of thought to what I now concede may be the ultimate former fat guy perk. Forget new clothes. That is thinking way too small.

How about fitting into a brand new car?

Now I may covet many things, but trust me, a smart car or a mini-cooper is not in my future. Nor is the Mercedes that caused me such indignity.

But the experience made me think about this diet in a new way.

Hindsight always brings such clarity, but obviously I am glad that I didn’t succumb to the temptation of the surgery. It is very easy to say that now, but 15 months ago as I pulled myself out of that car, I was closer than ever to just slicing my stomach open and doing what had to be done.

I don’t mean any of this as a knock to my friends who took that option. It just wasn’t for me.

I guess when it came down to it, if I decided to go that route, I would have been forced into a life where I would get a few forks of this and a few spoons of that and I happen to like food way too much to never be able to enjoy a place like Lawry’s again.

Ultimately, the surgery seemed to me, forgive the pun, like a bit of a short cut. And liquid diets are too.

Whenever you cut back that much of your food intake, you lose a lot of weight quickly. It's not rocket science. But at some point you gradually add to your portions. So it should come as no surprise that I know a few people who went for the surgery only to gain much of their weight back.

A few weeks ago I had a check up with my diabetes doctor who used to be the head of weight loss at Cedars. He is also the first doctor who suggested that I consider either the bypass, lap band or the pouch.

When he saw I was down another 30 pounds since our last visit, he couldn’t have been more excited for me, but he said that the odds were stacked against me in terms of keeping it off.

Here is the sad fact: most people who have been heavy their whole lives can not sustain their weight loss very long, much less forever. Like a Ferris wheel at any fair, you go up and you go down and the circle just continues until you get off the ride. So I am in the same boat as those who bypassed their anatomy.

Whether you go for surgery or the old discipline of diet and exercise, ultimately you must cut your portions and eat properly to succeed. It’s not voodoo, it’s not magic, there is no short cut and there is no fad. It’s not about your stomach, it’s about your mind.

This blog really has forced me to think about defining moments in my life as a dieter. I remember being crushed by the cruel irony of a former fat friend who lost so much weight he was able to purchase a sports car that was too small for me.

I remember his infectious smile during dinner – the smile of a man who had finally conquered the teeter-totter of weight loss.

I remember back then thinking his grin was so smug, but I know he was genuinely happy with what he had achieved.

Look who’s smiling now!

© Copyright, Steve Elzer, 2009
All Rights Reserved