Everyone was kind of caught off guard by my cluelessness – I get to walk around? I get…samples? – but they all were awesome in explaining what I’m supposed to do and where I go. The event was a combination of panels as well as vendors explaining their product to me.

Reebok's booth with their new shoe line

I did make it through to all the vendors…but y’all know me – I’m a nerd. I was most interested in what the panelists have to say. Five panels in particular – a panel on “Carbs, Cleanses and Coffee;” “Fitness Facts & Fibs;” “The Spandex Segment: Fashion and Fitness;” a panel on building a blog into a career as well as the panelist who spoke during the lunch segment about food addiction (who totally had my heart, talking about a subject near and dear to me) – had me doing more note taking than actual schmoozing… but people were spotting my tweets and coming up to me asking “are you Erika?” and telling me “Your ‘fro is way more awesome in person!”

The pearly pink Birkenstocks they gifted me...and y'all know I love my pink!

I’m tellin’ y’all… the ‘fro. It’s awesome. Boss, even.

The epicly-built Reign of @TaburaFitness, who wouldn't be still long enough for me to snap her photo, led the KiwiSweat Pop-up workout class at the end of the conference!

At any rate, I recorded the sessions from the Meet & Tweet and plan to post the important quotes from them…but the event was awesome. Mia Hamm, badass soccer player, was there – I didn’t get to meet her, but tons of people got signed soccer balls from her. Oakley – who apparently makes sports apparel, something I’m mad late in learning – was there; Birkenstock (which totally brought out the urban hippie in me); KiwiSweat, who hosts pop-up fitness classes in NYC (hmmm…) was there; Reebok showed off their new line of running sneaks and Camelbak promoted it’s new product (that I’m totally gonna have to share with y’all)… V8, Vichy, Pure Protein, The Grain Foods Foundation, Sun-Maid? All there. Showin’ off.

My own little swag bag... with my non-processed food swag

I did wind up taking home an awesome swag bag, full of products from Reebok, Birkenstock, Oakley (glasses that don’t slide down your face when you sweat? Dude…), Dogwood Jewelry, Schick (I know, brand overload), but no other product was appreciated as much as the concealer I uncovered in the bottom of my bag…

Yes, that is my hand. With the concealer on it.

Sexy, right?

At any rate, be on the lookout for those quotes from the panels that took place, because transcribing those quotes is taking me a bit longer than I anticipated.

(Side note: it takes me longer to write these short posts than the regular uber-long ones I write! What gives?)

My Recap Of The @FITNESSMagazine Blogger Meet & Tweet is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. 8 Amazing Blogger Weight Loss Transformations Featuring… Me!
2. Vote For BGG2WL: SHAPE Mag’s Best Weight Loss Blogger Award

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You know that saying, it goes somethin’ like “In order to know where you’re going, you have to know where you’ve been?” I’d also stand to argue that “In order to appreciate where you are, you have to understand where you were.” Where I was as a woman is so far removed from who I am today that I look back on my past with tears in my eyes… not because I have pity, but because I know the pain that this woman will have to endure in order to turn into the person I am today.

Feminism, to me, is about allowing women the space to be who they are free of gendered expectations, free of stereotype, free of gendered limitations. I know that a lot of women may turn their noses up at feminism as something that man-haters do, but my eventual embracing of feminism wasn’t born of a desire to hate men. It was borne of a journey that came from learning to love myself and, at the same time, hate the societal standards that prevented me from doing so.

When I first started working out, I struggled with the idea of entering a space that wasn’t very welcoming to women… and that was the weight lifting area. It’s hard to enter a space where you see no one who looks like you – my gym had very little to offer in the way of Blacks, women, or Black women entirely – and make yourself at home, because you consistently wonder if there’s something that intentionally keeps you away from doing so. (Notice how much this sounds like seeing persons of color in any medium, and how difficult it must be to be the first to transcend this.) You eventually realize that yes, there is something that intentionally keeps women out of the weight lifting area: a general societal understanding that women aren’t supposed to be strong. That muscles are the realm of men, and having them would make a woman look… manly. Femininity, as defined by people who aren’t, ostensibly, female… doesn’t include muscles. It was a gendered expectation that was preventing me from becoming my more fit self, and it frustrated me to no end.

Then, I moved on from working out to focusing specifically on food… and the expectation is that I’d starve myself. I’d sustain on carrots and diet coke. That’s what women do. They starve themselves and deprive themselves… and when they’ve starved themselves down to nothing and have suffered enough, maybe then I’d have earned the right to male attention. It’s just what women do to lose weight. Heaven forbid that I eat real food and enjoy myself. I, a woman, couldn’t have a sensible relationship with food. By virtue of being a woman who was changing her relationship with food, I had to be starving myself. It needed to be reinforced that I’d diet myself down to nothing.

The expectation, once I’d lost a respectable amount of weight, was that I’d done so by dieting. (Y’all know that dieting and I don’t get along worth a damn.) Dieting is just what women do. You hate food for making you fat. You fear food because it makes you fatter. You avoid food because you don’t want to be fat. You turn “fat” into a loaded term… you turn against yourself and hate yourself for having fat (news flash: even athletes have fat), you cringe when you see “fat people” enjoying their lives because you can’t enjoy yours because, well, you’re too busy being fixated on fat. It’s just the cycle that women go through. By virtue of being a woman, you’re expected to engage in this cycle.

As I moved on in trying to decide what I wanted to look like, I had to contend with demands and expectations from all sides. On one end, I was being advised that being thin was the ideal. No muscle, no “curve” – “curvy is just pretty language for fat,” and we all know how bad “fat” is – just thinness. On another angle, I was being told that, as a Black woman, I needed to keep my curves. [Black] men love curves, and if I lost mine, surely no man would want me then. From a third angle, I not only needed to have curves, but I was worthless without the right kind of curves. No gut, huge ass, giant breasts. My body wasn’t my own to make the decisions for – everything was a mitigating factor in what my body should look like. The only thing that didn’t matter in the equation was what I wanted to look like in the end.

And really, the amount of flack I received – and still receive – for being a proponent of pole fitness is astounding. The fear that Black women have of everything we do making us more sexual than we already are… prevents us from doing things that we really enjoy, regardless of whether or not they’re inherently sexual. We can’t be sexual on our own terms because we’re too busy trying to mitigate the terms laid before us regarding us. By virtue of being a Black woman, you’re constantly fighting the idea that you’re some kind of whore… and you’ll – by and large – avoid anything that could further that belief, regardless of how innocent the activity is and regardless of whether or not you’d truly enjoy it.

And can you remove yourself from it? Of course, but let’s keep it funky, here. It’s the mentality of the dominant culture. It’s a battle you have to face every day. Every decision you make to pursue your fitness in the way you want in order to achieve the body you desire – be it thin, thick, muscular, runner’s physique, whatever – is challenged by the fact that you shouldn’t know anything about fitness, woman. You’re supposed to diet yourself miserable to please a man, or “thicken up” to please a man. You’re supposed to be a whore, and while you spend your life competing to try to prove that you’re not this thing that society says is so wrong, you’re chastized for not being the whore you’re expected to be.

Losing weight turned me into a feminist because every single time I reached a new level in my journey, I experienced a road block that I’d never experienced before when I was overweight. For me, losing weight was a journey that made me more aware of my surroundings and how they affected me. No longer was I burying my head in the school books, the music, the responsibilities. In deciding to focus more on me, I had to focus on how things affected me. That included the stigmas that prevented me from being able to fully embrace my whole self and the things that make me happy. Lifting weights makes me happy. Swinging on the pole in my living room makes me happy (not, as conventional wisdom would have it, a slut.) Dieting and depriving myself makes me stabby. Knowing these things about myself and knowing how hard it was for me to learn these things are a huge part of what inspired me to start this blog and keep it going.

So, really, I’d have to say that losing weight made me a feminist because I set out to dismantle the things that preventedme from loving myself in all my totality. It didn’t make me a man-hater, and it didn’t make me burn my sports bras – they were too expensive, anyway, and y’all know I’m cheap – but it made me set out to help other women learn the language of self-love and acceptance, embrace the idea of being humble and vulnerable, and for goodness sakes… it made me set out to convince y’all to lift a weight or two and jump on a pole. Make the world a better place. You know you wanna.

How Losing Weight Made Me A Feminist is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. Losing Weight and Losing Identity
2. Friday 5: Five Things Every Feminist Who Wants To Lose Weight Should Remember
3. “Dating While Fat And Feminist,” And The Nasty Things You Learn About People After You Lose Weight

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Post tags: Body Image, body policing, feminism, sex, weight lifting

That was tough for me. I mean, there’s nothing more foolish than feeling like you don’t even want to leave your house. Turning yourself into a hermit. Alienating yourself. It’s difficult to admit that that’s the kind of choice you’re making for yourself, even when it’s obviously to your own detriment. But, as I’ve written before, I have to acknowledge where I’m struggling in order to adequately solve it and move beyond it.

The hardest part of writing that post actually didn’t involve any writing at all. The hardest part of my post was handing it off to The Mister, and asking him to read it. I felt bad – the post is an accidental indictment of his city and the environment that made him who he was – but I had to trust that he would try to look at it all from my perspective and think about how he could help me become stronger and more comfortable.

A big part of this is the fact that I’m just not comfortable. I’m an Indiana girl in NYC and the city is mad intimidating… I rarely know where I’m going, relying heavily on Google Maps to get most places instead of my intuition (I’m a strong believer in understanding my “never eat shredded wheats,” man… and shoutout to those of you who get that reference.) because I don’t know where anything is, and am generally frustrated by my inability to drive anywhere. (No, I drive…and you can try to drive out here if you want… but you will lose either your sanity – because people can’t drive worth two pink pennies – or simply lose every dollar in your wallet, because parking is insanely expensive.) Driving is a privilege that affords you privacy… and peace. You don’t have to wonder why the hell the only other person in your subway car keeps pacing, like he’s arguing with the voices in his head over whether or not he should stab you, if you’re in your own car, instead.

To put a long story short, The Mister figured it out: if I’m going to develop a sense of comfort, I have to become NYC-savvy. You just… you really can’t get by living like a suburbanite in the most un-suburban environment in the country.

He’s pretty damned committed to making sure I become comfortable, too. I mean, a big part of this is probably the fact that if I don’t become comfy, he’s going to be sentenced to a life of wedded non-bliss smack-dab in the middle of the corn belt, and that’s pretty close to death for a life-long big city fella. I’m just sayin’… I’m sure he has his own motives for being so vigilant, but I’m also certain he just wants me to feel whole in his home state.

I don’t know that I’ve ever blogged about support systems before, and how important they can be to someone starting out a new way of living. Lots of people don’t need them – they’re simply nose to the grindstone, straight for the goal, undeterred… and I think that’s great. I also think that, if a person knows they have difficulty seeing the long term goal because the short term instant gratification is so satisfying, a person should accept that they may be in need of a support system to keep them focused.

When I first started out, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I didn’t know about calories, activity, or even vegetables. I didn’t know about cooking, I didn’t know about my body image issues (like, you know they’re there, but contextually you don’t know what they are and how they inhibit your ability to change yourself), or anything about emotional eating. And, most recently, I didn’t know my issues with safety were affecting my willingness to change my body size, and that I need to do what I can to feel more safe. My fiancé, a new addition to my support system, is helping me to parse that out.

I can remember having countless conversations with my sorority sister about food and how her family has always been pretty healthy. We discussed the fact that her family even frowned upon using boxed meals/foods… they were adamant about keeping everything fresh. We talked about how she avoids fast food like the devil because, quite frankly, “if I eat it, I’ma have to wear it… and I’m not trying to have that. It doesn’t taste good enough for all that!” And, before I knew it, I’d learned three things that never dawned on me before, as someone who was morbidly obese: that people do turn down food, instead of just eating everything that comes to them; that it is okay to pride yourself in cooking only fresh meals; and that food, and any pleasures that might come from its consumption, doesn’t have to be top priority.

I can remember having daily conversations with my boy, a former (according to him, you never stop being a Marine, so he’ll probably harass me about the “former”) Marine, about his commitment to his exercise regime. “I spend all day at my desk, I’d rather be at a MMA (mixed martial arts) class than sitting on the couch watching TV. Besides, I like the way I look.” And, I’ve got to be real – even though I was a stay-at-home-mom at the time and spent almost all day watching TV, the part of what he said that resonated with me the most was “I like the way I look.” It wasn’t said with a “shrug,” as if to imply “acceptance,” it was said matter-of-factly. It was said in a way that implied “I wouldn’t have my body any other way.” I couldn’t say that I was able to give off the same vibe in talking about myself. I had accepted my shape, but had never had those same feelings before. It was through him, that I learned that my body image could use some work.

It was also through him that I learned the importance of a real and true commitment. Not a bullsh-t penny-annie commitment where you work out for a few days and then fall all-the-way-off. I’m talking, three-sports-at-a-time-plus-running-so-you’re-active-seven-days-a-week kind of commitment. Freakish commitment. Not only does your body benefit from it appearance-wise, but you push your understanding of what it means to be “sore”…what it means to be “tired.” You realize that your original understanding of “done” gets pushed beyond what you originally planned for. You start feeling like maybe… juuuust maybe… you had the game all messed up. Maybe… juuuuuust maybe… you were a little bit (or a lot) lazier than you thought, and, well, very few people earn their wings (or weight loss) by being lazy.

And my Mom… ohhhh, my Mom. My Mom is courageous. Fierce. She’s also an evil Scorpio, which means that she’s always my biggest cheerleader, in her own special Scorpio way. She’s just… remember when I called my Mom scared on the way to Rockefeller Center, and she referred to me as “the cowardly lion, calling the Wizard for some courage?” From her, I’ve learned (and am still learning) that fear can often a good thing. Whenever I’m afraid to the point where I’m calling her, it means I’m heading off into new waters and need reassurance that I should keep going. It’s so bad, that at this point, even she knows how it goes. She’ll even tell me, “Eventually, you’ll stop calling me when you realize you’re not calling me because I need to talk you down off the plane… you’re calling me because you need me to tell you to jump.”

Now, I have this super-dope dude in my life who is trying to see Brooklyn from an all-new perspective – no longer as a single man, but a family man. With a child and an almost-wife to think of. He’s got his own learning curve to deal with, as well as having me to work with, here.

Fun times.

He’s helping me claim the city for my own, and a big part of that is… well… going out into it. He started by finding the water for me – literally:

The view outside the Fulton St. South Street Seaport

which helped me out a ton because, quite frankly, I miss the freaking beach. Not because I like being naked in the sun, but there’s something peaceful about looking into never-ending sky and sea… with the occasional cruise ship interrupting your view. I just… like the water.

Follow that up with a trek across… none other than… the Brooklyn Bridge (of course he couldn’t take me on the Manhattan Bridge first):

with more… yep, you guessed it… water:

He ain’t slick.

Let’s also talk about the bright idea he had to order some lime and tomatillo tortilla soup – take-out – at 10 at night, and we should walk to go get it. “Oh, come on… it’s not that far! It’s not that big of a deal! We’ll take the dogs.”

Yes… I went, and yes, I lived to complain another day.

There’s also the actual safety component of the post I wrote about, though, that can’t be faded away with some fun foot travels. For that? Actual self-defense training. The unfortunate thing about someone encroaching on your space and disrespecting your boundaries is that, no matter how “scary” you look, if the end goal seems beneficial enough to the perpetrator, they will violate your boundaries. It doesn’t matter where you are, or who you are. None of that changes the fact that you can always fight, and if you fight, you can always try to win.

I’m learning a lot from this. Not only that there are amazing and beautiful places worth exploring in this giant, massive, monster of a city… but that there are places for me, here. That greatly affects my ability to be comfortable. It’s nowhere near as bad as I thought it might be, but should it get bad some day, I can be prepared to fight to win.

My support system is invaluable to not only my weight loss but to my growth as a person. I can’t go on, eating bad food, being lazy, not committing to anything or never leaving my house… always afraid of something. They were always there to give me the extra push I needed in the direction I wanted to go. Each one acted as a mentor to me in the way in which I wanted to go, and those are the only people I even let in on my desire to lose weight, because I looked up to them and admired the parts of them that I wanted to rub off on me. They were willing to yank my head out of my hindquarters when necessary, and cheered me on when I needed it. Everyone needs a support system like that. I’m eternally thankful for mine.

Do you have a support system? What have they done for you lately? (Ooooh yeah!)

The Importance Of A Strong Support System is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. Portion Control: Gaming The System
2. Q&A Thursday: How Can We Support BGG2WL?
3. Death to “The Strong Black Woman”

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Why? “The Housewives of Dr. Phil.”

I don’t know how I managed to catch it the first time, but I’ve been hooked ever since… for one particular reason.

The entire episode is nothing more than Dr. Phil himself, in a room with six women: a woman who was cheated on by her husband and has thoughts of killing him; a woman who was so depressed about her weight gain that she spent her entire day in bed beckoning her maid to do everything for her while having an emotional affair with another man; a woman who has a history of verbal abuse (be it from her mother, Mom’s significant others or her own significant others); a woman who could not date to save her life; a fifth woman who is incredibly attractive (at least, to me she is) and, apparently, flaunts it inappropriately; and a sixth woman.

That sixth woman is why I’ve been so interested in this show.

Meet Alana. (Uh-lah-nuh – she’ll feel some kinda way about you saying “Uh-lay-nuh.”) Alana has been overweight her entire life. Alana used to weigh well over three hundred pounds. Alana had gastric bypass surgery, followed up by a few corrective surgeries for clean-up work. I… it’s hard to explain Alana, because in a lot of ways.. she is me. Without question.

She used to be the charming funny girl, feeling like she had to accept everyone because she didn’t want anyone refusing to accept her. Less judgmental because she felt like she didn’t want anyone judging her. There’s also an element of “if I cast my net wide enough, the more people there are that I can claim as friends… I can still be popular even if it’s not because I’m ‘hot’” at play here, as well.

She was traumatized by her peers because of her size. She has a sister close-in-age who was slim at the time, and always felt like she was compared to her in a negative way. I feel like, by watching Alana, you could tell that she always felt some form of pressure to look more like her sister. It’s as if the heat was always on her from family even if they didn’t beat her over the head with it.

Alana and I both share that. I’ve always had jokes (I admit they weren’t always funny, but I sure did always crack ‘em anyway), and I’ve always been non-judgmental. I never considered whether or not it was because I was trying to encourage non-judgmental attitudes around me, though I could see myself fearing someone snapping back at me with “What do you know? You’re fat.”

When I started to gain weight – somewhere around elementary school – I was picked on by my peers, but when I moved… it rarely came up. I was the charming funny girl.

I’m not vocally judgmental like Alana, though – never have been, never will be. I certainly make judgments – we all do – but I avoid verbalizing ‘em. I’m not mean unnecessarily – I do bust out attack mode to protect myself and my daughter, but who else would? – and the phrase “skinny bitch” isn’t in my vocabulary. I never felt threatened by other women, just because I’d always felt like I was in another realm. Attractiveness is a competition – the competition is what encourages you to look better – but I simply never chose to compete.

But damn all that, though. We both lost weight and have new figures to praise. It should be that easy, right?

No. Absolutely not.

I think we take for granted, sometimes, the things we leave tied up in our appearance. As I was telling a friend last night, things change when you lose weight. Whether you want to admit it or not, a lot of our sense of self-value can get tied up in whether or not we look like “the ideal,” and this is especially different for Black girls. Even when we’re built like “the ideal,” we certainly still don’t look like her. Going from being unnoticeable and practically getting away with murder to being much more attractive to many more people and being an attention-getter is difficult. It messes with your sense of self.If you’re not careful, the fact that others value you more because of your appearance will cause you to value yourself differently because of your appearance.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t feel like I’m looking at a different person. In fact, I know I’m not. I’m still active in my community, I’m still Mommy, I’m still giving, loving and accepting. I’m still empathetic. Like, I’m really not that different. But everyone around me changes in ways that I haven’t. It makes it hard to understand who you truly are and whether or not you value the right things about yourself when the people around you insist on acting like you’re someone different because you look different.

Me and my old face

When Alana talks about modeling, I cringe because that’s what I’m dealing with mentally right now. The idea of looking at yourself in the mirror or in a photo and saying “Wow, that’s me?” and being amazed is… it’s something I can’t put into words. Even now, it’s hard for me to embrace and accept that I’ll be standing in front of an audience in a neon pink bikini for a figure competition next year. It’s hard for me to look in the mirror and see such a different face than what I’m used to. It’s hard to understand that these [much, much smaller] breasts, this [much, much smaller] tummy and these [much, much smaller] hips belong to me.

The strange thing about looking in the mirror and “not feeling like I’m looking at a different person” is that I still don’t expect to see a different person. If I’m not careful, I still feel like I’m staring at a stranger in the mirror. It’s hard to not look in the mirror and see the old me… still happy, still overweight. It’s hard for me to understand the life that I have, even though I love it and I live it happily. The connection I have to the old, overweight me and my fear of changing into someone even more different from who I am now (and who I was at 328lbs) makes it difficult for me to see myself at competition level. It’s almost frightening to me.

Me and my "new face" ...because I refuse to take a serious picture.

I think the theme, here, is acknowledging how much of ourselves and our identity is wrapped up in our appearance. How much of who we are is tied up in what we present to our peers? I mean, Alana admits that she was the “jolly fat girl” because her appearance called for it – she didn’t place judgment because she didn’t want to be judged. I can even understand her belief that it’s now her time to judge others and demand that they vy for her attention. (If you are drawing more attention, it only makes sense that you’d use more discernment in who you allow to get close to you. That’s just life.) But all of that was based on her appearance… so perhaps it is inevitable? Perhaps as your appearance changes, so goes your personality?

I reject that. Alana says, “Looking in the mirror, I’m lost.” I think that’s key. If you are lost as a person – unable to recognize your strengths, unable to identify your weaknesses – I do believe it’s easy to adopt society’s principles about what makes a person worthy. (Worthy of what? Who knows.) I think when you feel like you have no idea who you are, you let your peers tell you and it becomes too easy to get sucked into that.

I cling to the things that I’ve always loved and adored, because the person I’ve always been fits into it all seamlessly. Things that are new – like a figure competition, for crying out loud – that could potentially change my sense of identity… scare the hell out of me.

What this is teaching me, really, is to be open to changing. Be open to seeing what I grow into. Be less stubborn about clinging to who I used to be, and be more excited about the possibilities that come from what I will be tomorrow. Even though it’s hard to look in the mirror and see that this is me, I still look in the mirror and say “Wow, that is me,” and I smile at what my hard work has brought me. Each day is an opportunity to embrace the fact that everything about me – including my appearance – is always evolving, always changing and always deserving of my love and praise… or my reflection and effort to change.

So… in support of Alana and her continued growth, I’ll still try to watch every Tuesday. I’ll still root for her because I feel like so much of where I came from (and still am overpowering) is where she is and has been. I suspect the same is for a lot of women out there. Here’s to hoping she — really, here’s to hoping we all heal happily and healthily.

Losing Weight and Losing Identity is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. How Losing Weight Made Me A Feminist
2. Not-So-Big Love: When Losing Weight Turns Into A Marriage Proposal
3. Did I Just Plateau? Why Am I Not Losing Weight?

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© Erika for A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss, 2012. | Permalink | 54 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: attitude, mentality

• Tara Parker Pope’s article for the Well section of the New York Times about veganism was paired with a Room For Debate which asked if veganism was a viable option for everyone… and right there, in the middle of the answers.. you find me. Pardon me while I peppa seed all across your computer screen.
• The Root is doing a series of articles discussing the “obesity epidemic in the Black community,” leading up to a symposium they’re hosting about how we can solve the “crisis.” The second article in the series… is an interview with me. Nothing funnier than having your Mom call you in the middle of your day, shouting “Erika! You’re on the front page of The Root! Your face is as big as day!”
• Jeff Johnson – lovingly remembered as Cousin Jeff, at least for me – now has a show on blis.fm called The Intersection, and about 40 minutes into it… you see me. On video. In red, no less. (Side note: the video description has me listed as a nutritionist… sounds like another certificate worth pursuing, hmm?)

Dude…where am I going to pop up next? [insert innocent smile]

What Do The NY Times, The Root & The Intersection All Have In Common? Me! is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. The Myth of The Food Desert: Where The Root Went Wrong
2. Study Says Common Food Chemical Packs On Belly Fat

The FULL list of meal plans is currently available. Check it out and get your copy today!

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Post tags:

Shape Magazine hosted a call-out for favorite weight loss bloggers out there, and enough of y’all were kind enough to mention ME! (And thank you for that – as always, I’m eternally humbled that y’all think enough of what we do here to have me recognized for it!)

From what I gather, there are six categories of awards – my category is Best Weight Loss Blogger – and the winner from each will be considered a finalist. From there, SHAPE will pick one to host a video series as well as receive a feature in their magazine!

That being said, now I need even more of you to help me out here. Click this link to check out my profile on SHAPE and from there, you can vote for A Black Girl’s Guide To Weight Loss! Vote. Vote often (from different computers, even.) And for goodness sakes, let’s win this thing together!

Vote For BGG2WL: SHAPE Mag’s Best Weight Loss Blogger Award is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. 8 Amazing Blogger Weight Loss Transformations Featuring… Me!
2. Vote For Me! And Other Awesome BGG2WL News
3. Welcome to A Black Girl’s Guide To Weight Loss!

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I’d said a long time ago that this doesn’t resonate well with me, especially since it’s not sustainable – who can give 300% forever without eventually becoming resentful and burning out? – but also because it’s unrealistic. If the end goal is for it a part of my every day life to be active, then I need to introduce that in ways that are flexible. Can’t get to the gym? What do I do?

My goal tree is much more about markers for success, because I strive to keep my goals in mind at all times. Every move I make, I make it with my goals in mind. It’s not in an obsessive fashion, it’s in a mindful fashion – every step I take has to move me closer to my goals, and if it would impede my progress in any way, it simply has to be set aside. It’s not a matter of deprivation when you simply understand that there are goals you want to achieve more than you want to eat that doughnut or skip that gym.

But how do you satisfactorily convince yourself that you don’t want that doughnut more than you want to achieve your goals? My personal belief – at least, this is how I approach it – is that whenever I intentionally do something that might get in the way of me achieving my goals, even though I know I want to make progress and I want to go to the gym instead of hide in my bedroom, I’m sabotaging myself. Plain and simple. And, while it’s easy to handle external sources of sabotage, how do you deal with sabotage that comes from within yourself? Not like you can divorce yourself, put yourself out of your house, stop taking your own phone calls…. you can’t do any of that. But what can you do?

The almost-hubby sent me this article, as a means of supporting me through getting beyond my own struggle, but I think it’s valuable to have, here:

This morning I stepped out of bed and into the view of a mirror. I thought, “Oh my God, I’m so fat” and then threw on some clothes thinking, “Hide it. Hide.” Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror a second time stopped the negative talk. My face struck me as sad, fearful, and ashamed. It shocked me. I don’t normally think of myself as sad, fearful or ashamed, and yet there it was, evident as the written word all over my frowning face.

Wow. First thing in the morning and my brain is writing horror stories. I wonder why I still feel trapped in judgment and negativity. I left my abuser almost two years ago. Will this cycle of hating/liking myself ever end?

According to neuroscience, the answer to that question is entirely within my control. Hallelujah! Yes, the abusive cycle recurring in my own mind will end.

In class, we’re learning that neurons in the brain do not have to die, nor do we cease the ability to grow new neurons with age. This is important because the neurons in our brains create information hubs of a sort. Thoughts (encoded as electrical impulses) travel from neuron to neuron depending on our memories (where they’re located) and how we’ve thought in the past (what paths are currently available). The great thing about growing new neurons is that, if we practice, we can reroute our old thinking pathways into entirely new ways of thinking.

In short, by forcing myself to think in new ways, my brain will form new thinking paths and use them instead of the old, negative and abusive ones I’m using today.

If you think I’m wrong, consider the person who had a stroke three years ago, losing all control over his right arm. He considered amputating his arm because it only got in his way. Then he heard that it may be possible to re-learn how to use that arm and decided to participate in the therapy offered. A year later, he can use his right arm completely.

According to PBS’s show “The Secret Life of the Brain”, that man created new neural pathways to allow his recovery. He sweated and concentrated on using his arm, and, over time, his brain responded by growing new neurons and creating new pathways for thought.

If a formerly paralyzed stroke victim can grow new ways to think and affect his physical movement, then I can grow new ways to think and affect my mental and emotional condition.

First, I’ll believe that I can change my thinking patterns. Belief is possibly the best predictor of success. Napoleon Hill said, “Whatever the mind can conceive and believe, the mind can achieve.” If I can think it and believe it, then I can do it. If I only think it then neglect to believe it, there’s no success.

Second, I’ll picture new pathways forming in my brain where there were none before. I’ll imagine them growing and connecting to positive memories and experiences. I’ll practice thinking good things about myself while picturing these pathways as they form. I’ll do this for 10 minutes every day, five in the morning and five minutes at night.

I tried picturing these new pathways for one minute just now, and it was really tough. I swear, I began to feel sweaty. But a stroke victim in the PBS video sweated as he flipped dominoes because he was thinking so hard, so I’ll take the perspiration as a sign that I’m on the right track.

Third, I will post sticky notes around my house. This is an old trick that maybe you’ve tried with affirmations in the past. (I did, then ended up letting the notes fall to the floor because I was so tired of sensing they did not work for me!) But these sticky notes will be simple pictures that look similar to this:

When I see this picture, I will think of one positive thing. It can be about me or someone I love or about the weather…doesn’t matter so long as its positive and I believe it. Then I will imagine that thought traveling through my brain in the most efficient path possible. I will spend maybe two seconds imagining the positive thought’s path, then go about my business. [source]

(Sounds real “The Secret-y,” doesn’t it?) But this is how things like vision boards work. This is how things like goal trees work. Any visual representation of your goals…

I think this article, in relation to the internal dialogue that leads us to act for the moment (skipping the gym or eating unnecessarily) instead of being focused on our goals, is important. In my own case, I have to make new, fresh connections to being out and about on my own in a new body. Hell, the body I have is still pretty new… but that’s beside the point.

When I shared, a few months ago, that motivation is something that can only be achieved on the inside – inspiration can compel you to feel inspired, but you still have to find that motivation to move even when the inspiration is long gone and forgotten – people were dumbfounded.

I clicked on this hoping to be, inspired. I wasn’t. Read more of the same. Its in you. You have to do it. Your health, better you. And I’m still not motivated or driven to do better. [...] People talk about getting over it like it just comes overnight. It doesn’t. I know. I’ve tried and failed…so now what. What’s the motivation to eat a carrot stick, celery and water when the body, like an addict’s, is screaming, begging and pushing to eat/drink sugar, salt and so on. What suggestions are there for the drive to combat that? [source]

Motivation is an active choice within you to get up and get it done. Motivation is entirely mental, and I think this idea of needing to create new pathways that connect the action and activity to the achievements we desire is important. Addressing the self sabotage by developing a new internal dialogue which allows for the motivation that can let us make decisions that focus more on our goals? That’s how you do it.

I said, before, that you can’t wait to feel motivated to do what you know you’ve got to do…but I now realize that I should add to that. I still believe you have to move regardless of how you feel about it, but if you don’t feel that compulsion to contribute to your goals, you should ask yourself why. Asking myself why is how I came to the conclusion that I did about myself and my eating habits, and it’s also how I was able to devote so much effort to overcoming that.

I believe this was a huge part of how I stay on top of my game with my former emotional eating habit. I’m constantly reinforcing for myself that, no matter how stressed out or sad I may be, nothing is ever solved with a cookie. That has made it easier for me to turn down sweets, snacks and anything else. I don’t connect the junk food to anything beneficial to me other than an enjoyable taste, and even then, thanks to clean eating, I’ve learned that most of these things taste like crap, anyway. It’s far easier to turn down something you see as merely “an enjoyable taste” as opposed to seeing it as “something vital and necessary for the betterment of my well being before I go and cut my boss.”

Defeating emotional eating is, in a lot of ways, all about this process. Defeating sabotaging behavior in general is all about this process. When you figure out what the problem is, you start to devise your solution… and it takes a lot of self-affirmation, a lot of self-awareness and a lot of self-care. There are lots of people in the world who go into weight loss like a diver into the water – nose first, focused, driven, determined to get to the end. Those of us who aren’t, more often than not have to go through this process of breaking down the negative connotations we’ve associated with doing what we need to do to succeed, as well as make new connections that help us put our goals and our fit-minded selves into perspective.

Lots of people cringe at the thought of “constant” awareness, but I believe it gets easier as you make your way through this process. At least, it did for me before, and I’m betting it will for me again, moving forward.

Thoughts?

Self-Sabotage, Internal Dialogue, Motivation And Focusing On Your Goals is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. My Re-Dedication And My Goal Tree: How Do You Manage Your Goals?
2. Setting Goals: How, Why & Who Do You Tell?
3. Q&A Wednesday: Hey Erika, What Are Your Goals?

The FULL list of meal plans is currently available. Check it out and get your copy today!

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Puns are never intended. I promise.

It was relieving, but it was also important. Identifying and acknowledging the problem, as well as accepting that the problem exists is a key element to being able to solve the problem. I cannot address what I refuse to see. I learned that the hard way when I first began to address my emotional eating. Taking this path has proven to be successful for me, so I’m going to keep at it.

In deciding that I wanted to move forward with becoming a personal trainer, I also decided that I wanted to have a far more toned, fit, pillar-of-perfectionesque body. Basically, what I was working towards before I moved. I’d definitely call the issues with the harassment a derail – that’s a gross simplification, but still – but luckily, I didn’t gain weight. I wasn’t emotionally eating, and my caloric intake was stable, so I didn’t gain. My body definitely changed with the lack of weight lifting and pole dancing (my apartment is FAR too small for a long-legged lady like myself, not to mention the ceilings are far too high for me to put up my pole), but I’m okay with that. It’s what happens when you neglect your commitment. You begin to lose the muscle you worked hard for in the first place.

It’s frustrating, and it sucks, but it happens.

I’m approaching this all as a brand-spankin’ new start. It’s essentially where I was back in 2009, when I realized that I was an emotional eater. I had a problem that was holding me back, I needed to address it and find ways to get around it while I plotted out how I intended to defeat it, and I have real progress I want to make both mentally and physically. I know this path, I’ve traveled it before, and after learning that I can succeed this way, I’m convinced that I can do it again. I don’t know how much of it I will blog, but I think keeping a record of this is best for me.

My first start is to set my goals firmly in place, and I’m going to do that with a goal tree… at least, that’s what I’ve been calling it.

It looks a lot like a family tree, starting with my overall final goal at the top. Take my sample, for example:

At the top, you might see something that says “become the fit Oprah.” Not sayin’ that Oprah ain’t fit, but that Oprah’s empire isn’t fitness-centered. I’m not tryin’ to shade the almighty Queen. Pardon me while I bow.

But the next question, after that, should be how do I do that? That’s what those first bubbles attached to the sides are – two ways that I’ve identified that can help me achieve those goals. (And, no, that doesn’t say “put a hit out on Gayle.” Stop squinting your eyes.)

There are multiple ways to approach my goal – and all of them need to be addressed – but the one I’m focusing on, in the middle, says “tighten up, toots!” which is the one branch of my goal tree that was negatively affected by my newly-developed hermitness. Now that I’m fully tackling it head on, I had to figure out my plan of action.

Instead of settling in on losing weight, I’m focusing more on burning fat. That way, I’m not out here losing muscle and thinking it’s okay because I’m still “losing weight.” Therefore, I’m working on modifying my body fat percentage. By focusing on the amount of fat my body carries in comparison to the amount of actual important and legitimate stuff there is, I can cheer on my muscle development as well as my fat loss and be pleased. I plan to do these by staying on top of my food intake – which, c’mon, I’m an all-star at this, baby – while staying on top of my yoga for stress relief, hitting the weights as well as training for my first big race.

Because I have two goals that could potentially run counter to one another – getting back to my pre-injury running ability and building muscle – I have to keep my running light, but still effective for training. I’m not trying to kill myself out on someone’s track.

The basic gist of this, is that you keep on branching out your goal tree until you have spelled out, for yourself, in basic bare bones how to accomplish every goal on your list. In other words, it helps you plan. If you want to lose 5% of your body’s weight in fat, then you’ve given yourself five ways of checking your barometer for success. Did you stay on top of your yoga practice and relieve stress? Did you hit the gym as often as you wrote down? Did you stay on top of your clean eating? Are you lifting like you said you would? If not, and you aren’t progressing towards your goal, then you’ve got an immediate response as to why that’s happening.

Though I have plans to blog about internal dialoguing tomorrow, I do want to say that there is a mental aspect of this that’s required to make it work – it means that your goals have to be front and center in your mind non-stop. Every step you take has to be a step that will help you accomplish your goals.

Yes, even at work. How can you manage stress if you’re out here messing up at work and borderline getting fired?

I don’t think this method is for everyone, though, because some people benefit more from having those deadlines by which to reach x amount of pounds lost, but I find that that doesn’t work too well for those of us who are trying to commit (or, as it were, recommit) to a new lifestyle. That being said, I’ve got to ask: how do you set up your goals, and how do you keep track of your progress?

My Re-Dedication And My Goal Tree: How Do You Manage Your Goals? is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. Vogue Shows Us How Not To Manage Our Children’s Weight… Or Project Our Insecurities Onto Them
2. Self-Sabotage, Internal Dialogue, Motivation And Focusing On Your Goals
3. Setting Goals: How, Why & Who Do You Tell?

The FULL list of meal plans is currently available. Check it out and get your copy today!

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Taken: February 26th, 2009

I like writing about the things I’ve learned and struggled with along my way. The things that I’ve used this site to reinforce for myself, the things I’ve used this site to remind myself of along the way and the things I’ve used this site to rant about. This site has served as my backbone in a way, because I’ve certainly had to remind myself of a few things in my own moment of weakness.

But without writing about myself… I suppose I’d be doing the very thing that I’ve always claimed is so harmful, and that’s pushing myself to the back burner instead of keeping myself and my own betterment in the forefront. So.. let’s talk about me, where I’ve been and where I’m going.

My tummy trying to tighten back up!

Mentally, I had began to settle a little too much into the idea that I was happy with where I’d gone with my figure. I’d gotten so close to my goals, perhaps I’d felt like I was going to just slide right on through. It didn’t help that so many people were so surprised with all the weight I’d lost, that I kept getting the compliments. It starts to seep in, so to speak. I was dangerously close to believing my own hype. If you know that you have so far to go, give yourself credit for your journey thus far but you shouldn’t be impressed with yourself until you get there.

Then.. I decided that maybe… juuuuuuuust maybe… I’d want to compete in a figure competition. For no other reason than to be “The Formerly 330lb Girl Who Now Can Compete In A Figure Competition.” It was the awakening and goal shift that I’d needed.

So… I’ve spent the past few months shifting my energy toward muscle building. I need my skin to conform to an actual figure once it finally does what it’s supposed to do. I’ve spent time trying to step my game up in the cardio level, because my last major challenge is defeating this fear I’ve had of getting my heart rate too high. An awful experience with a prescription medication left me with a fearful response to my heart rate creeping a little too high. Learning how my heart behaves and training it to endure a little more will help me be a better marathon runner. I’m embracing that challenge head on.

My goals have shifted, and though I am happy with what I have now and am thankful, I look forward to the challenges that my new goals present. What’s more, is that I am thankful that I have this site and posts like this to remind me to always take steps to reclaim my humility – to never get so high off your own hype that you forget how hard you worked and how much harder you will have to work to get there. To act with my goals ever present in my mind, and formulate each step so that it always brings me closer to where I’m going. Not just walking to watch myself… though I do look good walking. (#justsayin’)

We all have different goals, no doubt, but I think that’s an important point: to not get so high off of our own hype, or so comfortable that we fail to realize how hard we need to work to achieve our goals. So no matter how crazysexycool we may think we are now, we have realistic goals worth our realistic effort. What are your goals? Just a little belly pouch? More toned thighs? Let’s hear ‘em!

So.. Where Am I Now? is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

The FULL list of meal plans is currently available. Check it out and get your copy today!

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Post tags: weight loss inspiration

Gooey, chocolatey, rich, deep dark brownies. I’d even make a cream cheese center for them. It was written. Consider it already decided.

I scoured the Internet looking for an adequate recipe that I could manipulate, and eventually found one that I’d stored away for the future. I wrote down the ingredients, and took off jogging toward the grocery store to snatch up what I’d need.

Never mind the fact that I was hitting the grocery store on Christmas Eve, and never mind the fact that I spent at least half of my time preparing to elbow little old angry ornery people who didn’t believe that common courtesy includes not blocking the entire center aisleway because they want to decide on whether or not to buy some darn maraschino cherries. Never mind that. Christmas was coming, and I was baking brownies.

I got home, put away the groceries, and went on about my day… until, oh, somewhere around 7PM. Figuring I’d get a head start on the Christmas cooking, I got on with the dicing, chopping, marinating… and then, I saw it. The dark chocolate I’d purchased for the brownie recipe. I let out a long, deep sigh… grabbed my mixing bowl… and got to work.

At first, the entire experience was exciting! Melt the dark chocolate in with the butter. I love to bake, so this was heavenly for me. Who wouldn’t enjoy making something awesome with real ingredients?

But then… it started to become a little suspect. The amount of butter was… troubling. Then… we got to the kicker: two cups of sugar?! Two cups of sugar? Suppose I’d actually baked a recipe with that much sugar in it. Who, in this household, was going to eat it? Me?!

Then I got to the cream cheese center… and I couldn’t even bear it at this point. Another half-cup of sugar. What on Earth? Is this what it takes to make a delicious batch of brownies? They have to be full of that sugar, fat and salt trio? For real?

At this point… I was just curious. I layered the brownies and the creamy cheese center in the baking pan. After staring at the pan for a while, I slid it into the oven and waited… patiently.

Too patiently, almost.

I considered what I’d find once the brownies were finished. Would I go flying back into my sugar addiction? Would they taste disgusting to me? Would I wind up trying to swallow the pan whole like we see in all those teenage girl movies? I just wanted to know… how would this play out?

The brownies finished, and I grabbed the pan out. They looked… like brownies. Nothing magical about ‘em at all. I grabbed the spatula, chopped a chunk out of the corner, and lifted it out. I blew on it, slid it into my mouth and… nothing.

That’s right. Nothing.

Don’t get me wrong. They were absolutely delicious… but I think the thing that made “brownies” such a “golden standard” for deliciousness and amazement and “Mmmmmmm” for me was gone. The emotional attachment to food, the ability to crave those brownies and that feeling they gave me, was gone. The kind of euphoria that comes from a well-made dessert was no longer attainable. It just wasn’t happening for me.

For years, I used to overindulge on cheaply made brownies. I used to act a complete and utter fool with a good box of individually-wrapped brownies in private. Now? Nothing.

I thought long and hard about this, as I stared at the pan of brownies… with no desire to dig in the way I used to. Did that mean that the problem was how I used to eat them? My response to baked goods was that unnatural?

Or was it the fact that I took great pains to make sure that my ingredients had limited additives and preservatives? Limited unnatural interference? You know, the stuff that food manufacturers do to their food to make it “irresistable?” I had made a delicious brownie… and it was, in fact, resistable. This was new… it was also frightening.

So… in making the brownies, was I expecting the unnatural reaction that I’d get from, say, a brownie filled with high fructose corn syrup? A brownie mixed in a giant robot machine with someone flipping the dials to get the chemical combinations just right so that I’d never be able to put it down?

And what did my reaction mean for my sugar addiction? I’ll never proclaim that I’ve completely beaten it – I question whether or not that’s possible – but the fact that I wasn’t experiencing that euphoric feeling in response to that bite? How I just bit into it… appreciated the taste… and was over it? Was I on my way back to a balanced appreciation of sugar?

I can do that? I guess so. What a Christmas gift to myself – knowing that I had, in fact, come farther in my journey than I thought. Knowing that I was one step closer to just feeling completely free. And by “free,” I mean “not pacing and worrying about the potential for my falling back into my bad habits every time I taste something with even a hint of sugar in it.”

I wound up putting the brownies in the fridge, and leaving them there. The next day, after Christmas dinner, I offered my daughter one… but she was actually uninterested. Instead, she reached for a mango and asked me to cut it. I peeled the skin, sliced thin strips off of it and handed them to her on a saucer. The rest, I killed it myself.

No more brownies… but mangoes? I think I could get addicted to those.

The Day I Gave Up The Brownies is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

The FULL list of meal plans is currently available. Check it out and get your copy today!

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Post tags: sugar addiction

“You know it’s love when you start giving up stuff you really like to see them happy.”

When I posted news of my engagement on the blog, a reader asked me what I meant by the following:

I know myself. The old Erika would’ve made a man like my current fiancé take off running in the opposite direction. I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate him for who he is if I were the old me.

Excerpted from Not-So-Big Love: When Losing Weight Turns Into A Marriage Proposal | A Black Girl’s Guide To Weight Loss

 

and really, it’s easy. Sort of.

My weight problems were a result of an emotional problem I had. Love is an emotion, a volatile one, at that. If I couldn’t handle my emotions properly and believed that the answer to all of my troubles could be found in the bottom of a container of Blue Bell, please believe that my lack of communication and problem solving skills would affect any relationships I’d engage in. Please believe I’d not be able to identify when a man actually loved me because I didn’t know what love looked like. I didn’t know what it felt like. I didn’t know how to identify it. And because I didn’t know how to identify love or the feelings it brings out of a person, it affected the love I gave and how I showed affection. It affected a lot. I just wasn’t a pretty picture.

It doesn’t sound like someone that a person who desires marriage would be interested in for anything long term. Someone emotionally stunted? Yeah, not so much.

When I talked about loving myself before, I wrote that I looked at how I loved my child – what I would sacrifice for her happiness, what I would struggle to acquire for her, what I wanted to ensure she would always have mentally as well as physically – and I wondered why I didn’t love myself the same way. It was through learning that process of giving love to myself in a very deliberate fashion that I learned what it was like to love someone. I mean, my daughter? I’d never even questioned my love for her. I’d never questioned what it felt like to love her. I’d never studied how hard I work to make her happy. I’d never questioned why I do the things I do for her. But turning that love back onto myself? There lied the challenge.

A combination of love and faith in that love got me to where I am, now. The things I’ve given up for Mini-me, the sacrifices I’ve made for her and the faith I had in the fact that I was doing the right thing all paid off, because those sacrifices are beginning to pay off for me in the end. Learning to sacrifice for myself? Win. Learning what it looks like to sacrifice, and see that sacrifice pay off for the recipient? Double win. Having someone in my life who is attracted to my ability to love and commit and sacrifice? That’s everything.

Can you imagine pouring everything you’ve got into someone who can’t give it back? Can you imagine displaying a willingness to give up everything for a person, and they not give in the same way? To value someone that highly, and know you aren’t seen worthy of the same? You’d leave, and rightfully so.

Loving myself requires effort. I have to show it every day. In the face of opportunities that might feel much more rewarding (like, say, binge eating), I have to make the hard choice out of love. I did it every day for my daughter, I learned to do it for myself and now, with a third addition to my household, he’s someone else I do it for.

In the book The Road Less Traveled, M. Scott Peck once wrote that we apply meanings and feelings to love that don’t, actually, belong there… that once we realize that love is not essentially romantic and not, essentially, a feeling, we get to the point where we realize that love is an investment that requires work and effort to grow. It’s foregoing instant gratification for the pursuit of a higher goal, which is – more often than not – some kind of growth. While Peck was speaking spcifically to the growth of another individual, it’d be years after I first read the book that I realized it could apply to the growth of your own self, as well.

I do what I need to do for me. I know I’m beating an emotional eating habit. I turn down the things that trigger it. I don’t allow certain things in my house. I don’t give myself the chance to make excuses. I make the hard decisions for me because I know that I’m not ready to find out whether I’m ready. I am on an active path of loving myself, and I feel the benefits of such. It’s how I give, and it’s changed how I love. I’m more free, and I’m more vulnerable, and I’m happy.

I know not everyone will be able to relate to that, and while there are people who don’t care to read me talking about love all the time… don’t worry. I don’t care to blog about it all the time, either. However, because I talk about body image, compassion and learning to love oneself… and because my view of “love” is all-encompassing, I think it makes sense to mention here.

Soooooo, as snarky as I was being, I was actually kind of truthful. “You know it’s love when you start giving up stuff you really like to see them happy.” And just like your body thanks you and shows you, in return, the benefits of that kind of love by loving you back the same way? I’ve learned that pouring that kind of love into other human beings causes the exact same effect. It’s a powerful cycle, and can only make life better.

How Do You Know When You Love Someone… Or Yourself? is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. Not-So-Big Love: When Losing Weight Turns Into A Marriage Proposal
2. Big Love: Dating While Losing Weight
3. “Don’t Lose Any Weight.. I Love A Big Fine Woman!”

The FULL list of meal plans is currently available. Check it out and get your copy today!

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© Erika for A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss, 2012. | Permalink | 7 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: love, relationships, self-love

She always had on workout clothes… whatever those were. She just always looked like she was headed to orrrr just leaving a rough and rugged workout session. I hated that. She couldn’t ever just have on a cute outfit, some heels and have freshly ran a comb through her head. No. Just workout clothes.

She was always talking about how she “eats whatever she wants,” but when I look at her plate… there was no pie. There was no ice cream. There was no snacks. There was no big hunk of meat in the center of the vegetables. There was no fried anything. Who WANTS food like that?

She was always walking somewhere. I mean… always. Her gas bill must’ve been crazy low, because the chick was always walking. Da hell? How do you walk everywhere? Everywhere? Really?

And grocery shopping with her… awww, good grief. Grocery shopping with her was beyond annoying. She’s always turning her nose up at things she sees in the aisles, and reaching for staples. Stuff that had to actually be cooked. WTF? All these glorious foods in boxes that only require a little microwaving… and you want to cook? How stupid is that?

She was always saying “no” to things, too. “No cookies, no cupcakes… I’m not in the mood.” How is someone “not in the mood” for cupcakes? CUPCAKES? Hell, the PRESENCE of cupcakes gets me in the mood for cupcakes! How can you say no to that? The possibility OF cupcakes in and of itself is serious business… it is not to be turned away. Ever!

Her little frame… it was hard for me to not hide my scowl, wondering how on Earth she pulls it off. I mean, I’m comfortable in my own skin an’ whatever… but her? I bet she sticks her finger down her throat. There’s no way a woman can look like that without going to extreme and drastic measures.

She’s so obnoxious… with her glowing skin, ponytail swooshing back and forth as she walked somewhere…ugh. If I could be me, but look like her… I’d be happy. No one wants to be that damned obnoxious about looking good, anyway.

I swear I used to think these things about that fit bitch.

Well, until I became… that fit bitch.

It’s actually kind of interesting. The position I’m in, because I write for this blog, makes it especially ironic because when people DO ask me how I became “that fit bitch,” I can just point them to this blog. What answer do I get?

“I don’t wanna read all that shit. I just wanna look like that… and eat what I eat.”

It’s so funny… because I used to swear that I could accomplish that, too – eating what I eat and looking the way she looked. It never dawned on me that her benefits were the result of her lifestyle, much like my consequences were the result of mine. And until I changed that, I had no choice but to live out the consequences of my lifestyle. My lifestyle – the combination of choices that I make each day.

I didn’t want to be obnoxious. How bizarre is that? I didn’t want to learn how to live and be healthier because I perceived it as being obnoxious. I never actually questioned what I found to be so obnoxious about it in the first place… I never questioned whether or not it was fear that kept me from pursuing living like her. I just wrote it off as being obnoxious, and went on about my merry little way.

And, isn’t it funny how that works? I decided that it was obnoxious because it wasn’t common place. She was “being different for different’s sake.” She was “being uppity… turning down cupcakes.” She was “being stuck up – bourgeois, even – by turning her nose up at the stuff in the grocery store aisles.” Not once did I ever ask why… because I felt indicted by her choices. Her visible decision to not live like me felt like a judgment on MY lifestyle choices, and instead of opting to learn and understand why she does what she does, I wrote it off. Even though I knew that how I was living wasn’t working for me, I wasn’t ready to be humbled and receptive to learning how the way SHE lives was working for her. Funny how that works.

Don’t get me wrong – I know there are lots of people who find me obnoxious right now… with all my proselytizing about sugar and processed foods and being active and no quick fixes and no excuses, blahhh, blah blahhh, blah blahhh… all that bouncy mess. I’m also acutely aware of the fact that that’s the reason why many people “cling” to me. There’s literally NO representation of that kind of woman in our day-to-day lives (at least, that’s the truth for many of us) and while I might annoy the hell out of the people I deal with on a daily basis… they still have an outlet to satisfy their curiosities regarding how I live the way I live and why I make the choices I do.

I’m also aware that lots of people feel like the choices I make are a judgment of them personally. They’re not. Lots of wonderful people make – what I’d consider – misguided decisions every day. The choices I make for me are what works for me… and while I certainly don’t judge another person, I definitely make a judgment regarding any decision – if I like it, I adopt it for myself. If I don’t, I let it fall by the wayside. That’s how life works. It’s not meant to be personal, it’s not meant to be taken personally.

I’m always amazed by how we allow ourselves to be ruled by the perception that others hold of ourselves. I mean, I’m more amazed by it NOW because I’m more conscious of it now.. but even still, do we fear being “the obnoxiously fit bitch?” Do we hold ourselves back because we fear offending the people we love the most? Or do we write off the opportunity to learn a little something from someone we think may have the answers because we fear feeling told “you’re doing it wrong?”

In the grand scheme of things, how much weight do their thoughts truly hold with us? Enough to prevent us from achieving our own goals? Really? The same America that scowls at the presence of “the obnoxiously fit bitch” could also use a lesson or two in how to be fit… what, with the 60%+ of Americans being overweight, at at least half of that number being obese.

So… I’m sayin’. Stop looking at your neighborhood “obnoxiously fit bitch” as if something is wrong with her just because she’s different. Ask her why she makes the choices she makes. Accept that her answers might make you uncomfortable, and embrace that discomfort as an opportunity to grow. And for goodness sakes, adopt her cupcake philosophy. Just say no!

On Becoming “That Fit Bitch” is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

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1. On Being and Leaving Behind “The Fat Bitch”

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Post tags: culture, perceptions, society

The bouquet I put together for my Mother, complete with a surprise inside!

You know, mommyhood rocks.

I get to be jostled out of my bed every morning by a very moody little girl demanding cheerios with blueberries. I get to be awaken from my naps by sloppy kiddie kisses and hot toddler breath. I even get to watch as she runs across the house, completely pantsless.. and before I can question where the pants went, I see our puppy running behind her… pants in mouth.

I get crayons on my wall. I get food on the ceiling (don’t ask – I sure didn’t.) I even get big spongy alphabet tub toys in my toilet. I get all that… and she’s only 3, for crying out loud.

Alas… I get the most important thing of all. I get life.

My daughter has given me this sense of vibrancy that I don’t think I would’ve had otherwise. I value watching her drink down her milk with one hand, because I remember when she first reached for her bottle as an infant. I love watching her read, because I remember how frustrated I was trying to teach her the alphabet. As mad as I was watching the puppy chase my pantsless daughter across the house, I still laugh a little because I remember the first time she started walking, and I actually cried. Like a total punk. I mean boo hoo, no-kleenex-can-save-my-face-so-get-me-a-washcloth tears. She teaches me just how growth can change a person for the better, forever. She’s an everyday reminder.. right there in my face. Begging for goldfish crackers.

She’s fearless, too. Fearless like nosedive from the bed; jumping up from four feet in the air (and staying there); putting up her dukes and scrapping with the equally fearless puppy; climbing the jungle gym, sitting all the way up, and screaming “This is my world!” I mean, she’s a super hero.

Before her, I was just content. My daughter taught me how to live. That I could run, jump, play, become excited by something other than food and geek stuff and just overall be the person I was born to be.. the person I accidentally raised in her.

The person who, as I type this, just demanded that I play that darn “I’mma Be” song on my iPhone. ‘Cause that’s what I really need in the morning… the Black Eyed Peas. (I won’t lie.. her dancing is downright hilarious.)

So today, on Mothers’ Day, I’m celebrating what being a Mommy has given to me. The photos, the memories, the crayon-covered walls… but most importantly, the motivation to live. Because now, I have many many many more years to spend with her… repaying the favor with my own brand of hilariously embarrassing dancing. I’m saving that for her teenage years.

What are you doing to celebrate Mothers’ Day?

Celebrating Motherhood is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

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1. Fat Girls In The Media: Celebrating Obesity?

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I think people who really have your best intentions at heart are allowed to express their concerns to you about becoming healthier; however, there is a thing called tact! – Chanel

i’d rather not have anyone call me fat except for me. I decide when I need to hit the gym and i decide when and if i am happy with how I look. – Elledub

Honestly, though I may dislike hearing it, I think my family and friends should be allowed to call me fat. I’ll tell you why. As I’ve stated before (maybe not here, but on my blog or Twitter), I didn’t really notice the weight gain. I knew it was creeping up, but I still looked (in my mind) pretty good. When people started making comments, inclusive of a student that had absolutely NO tact whatsoever, I took stock in what they were saying and decided that I needed to do something about it. – Tracy

Honestly, anyone who loves me had better tell me if I’m picking up weight. – Winnie

I wish to God one of my friends or family members had had the courage to tell me I needed to do something about my weight a few years ago. [...] Now that most of the excess weight is gone, everyone is all “OMG, you look great”, but I can’t help but to wish someone had remarked on my weight before. But that’s easy to say on the other side of the fence… – Sister Toldja

I think that “other side of the fence” is a big part of this. As I wrote about the conversation between my Mother and my sister, it’s hard for me to think about what my response would’ve been to someone telling me I was gaining too much weight. I mean, I was a snappy chick… quick to rain jokes down upon the head of anyone who was willing to step to me about my weight. I could only imagine what kind of torrential terrible twenties tantrum fit I might’ve thrown had someone told me that I was any less sexy, dope, amazingly gorgeous, downright stunning and perfect than I believed I was in my own head.

And that’s not to say that being overweight means that I couldn’t be sexy, dope, amazingly gorgeous, downright stunning and perfect. It means that since I saw “fat” as a flaw (and let’s face it, most of us do), having someone remind me of a flaw I was diligently ignoring felt like the chink in my armor turning into a hole. And that’s, well… unacceptable.

I think of the countless times my girls tried to get me to hit the gym with them. My best friend, an avid runner, actually offered to walk with me one day. (Do you know how hard it is to get a runner to slow down for your slow behind?) My mother made side salads for dinner, while making sure that the more calorie-heavy parts of the meal were “all gone” by the time I’d go to fix my plate. Apparently, everyone had something to say… but no one was saying it. Meanwhile, I was gaining weight at a rate of about 20lbs a year.

Am I making that gain everyone else’s fault? Nope. It’s my body, my responsibility to learn how to care for it, and care for it properly. However, what kind of climate was I creating where the people around me couldn’t even tell me – in love and in kindness – that something was going on with me? Couldn’t express their concern for me?

Frankly, I ain’t the one. I can’t afford to be the one.

Let’s say that you and your girls are getting ready to hit a major event. Before you all walk out the door, you check each other out to make sure you’re all looking good. Isn’t the expectation that one of them will tell you if you’re the one looking a mess? We expect our friends to tell us if we’re looking a fool before we walk out of our houses, but they can’t tell us we’ve put on too much weight?

Is it the fact that we, as women, tend to be so objectified – everything has to do with sexuality and sexual appeal – that we’ve equated “you’re gaining weight” with “you’re unattractive?” Are we so used to everything being about attraction, that being told we’re packin’ on the pounds must also be about being attractive (or, in this case, less than attractive?) It couldn’t simply be a “Hey… check on your health.” type situation? It has to be about “cute?”

Or is it the fact that everyone’s threshold is different? Southerners have a different definition of “putting on weight” than Northerners. Miami’s definition is different from Houston. Mississippi wouldn’t understand California. An extra ten pounds vs an extra hundred or so. For someone to acknowledge that I’ve put on the pounds, when “put on the pounds” means “ten pounds” to them? I won’t even lie. They just might get the finger.

I think about myself now. I get at least one comment/email/tweet/anonymous whatever a week calling me a “fat bitch.” I usually laugh, but every now and again I raise my eyebrow and wonder… “Once upon a time, I couldn’t get people I love to tell me I was too big. Now, I’ve got strangers telling me I’m fat? What part of the game is that?” 330lb Erika might not’ve had that reaction. 180lb Erika, however… is tickled.

It goes back to that “other side of the fence” note I made earlier. Looking at the person I am today, I can acknowledge that this is the person I needed to be to get to where I am. Allowing the people I love to feel comfortable addressing my flaws might’ve helped me become this person much earlier on in my life. If I keep them close to me because I trust their influence to make me “better,” why exclude health? Why exclude weight? If the people who love me want to offer me solutions, why not be open to them? What do I have to lose?

And let me clarify.. I’m talking about people who love you. The ones invested in you as a person. The ones who are there for you at your worst. They deserve to be able to help make you better, and enjoy you at your best. We can talk about “haters,” but I fully believe they’re not worth talking about. Nor are they worth thinking about. People who mean you no positivity aren’t worth time or brainspace.

No, really. I mean that. So those family members who insist on spitefully bringing up your weight – the ones you know mean you no earthly good, and usually never have any support to offer you beyond “Yo booty gettin’ kinda big” – you can give them a polite “I’ll take that under consideration,” and change the subject… while mentally giving them the finger.

My plea is just that we not shut out the people who we trust to see the worst of us. Don’t prevent them from helping to develop the best in you: the healthy you! I’m talkin’ about those people who – like my friends (who, I’ll have you know, are still my tried and true friends fat or skinny) – are willing to walk through the fire with you, support you and offer you solutions to help you get to where you want to go. Where you need to go.

This journey isn’t one that we can go on alone. You will always need a support system that will giggle with you at your failures, cheer you on through your successes, and help you learn from both. You trust them to have your back, so trust them to tell you about something you might be overlooking… like your weight. If you love them and they love you (and you know it), give them a chance. They very well may have the answers, resources and support you need.

Be happy, but most importantly… be healthy.

Who Should I Allow To Call Me Fat? is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

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1. Who’s Allowed To Call You Fat?

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Post tags: blackness, fat, mentality, social eating, stigmas

Calorie counting helped me see... that this one pot pie is two servings. Yes. TWO.

I get so annoyed by people who say things like, “Oh, I don’t believe in calorie counting.” or “Calorie counting is silly.” I always ask them, “Well, why?” It’s almost always some dumb answer like, “Well, I don’t want to know how many calories my favorite foods are.” or “I’m not going to prevent myself from enjoying my favorite foods because of a few calories,” or even “I just think it’s stupid.”

Um, so that’s supposed to be enough to convince me – ME – to give up what I’m doing? Because you don’t like it?

Let me explain to you the reason why calorie counting is a practice that I believe in. I can sum it up in one word.

Awareness.

When I first started my journey, I believed that my eating habits were wholly unrelated to my exercise. I was told “Exercise, and the weight will come off.” I wasn’t told “Exercise and consciously limit your intake to reasonable levels appropriate for what your body needs, and the weight will come off.” I got incomplete advice, and that was to my detriment.

It wasn’t until months later that I realized that regardless of my exercise habits, if I wasn’t putting crap in my mouth on such a regular basis, my body couldn’t possibly keep putting on the weight that I was as quickly as I was. If I wasn’t eating as poorly as I was, I wouldn’t be overeating in search of that “belly full” feeling. If I wasn’t clinging to such poorly made foods, I couldn’t possibly overeat the way I was, and consume the amount of calries I was consuming.

That’s not the message you get every day.

And I’m not gonna lie – there are some people who don’t come from that kind of meager understanding of food. There might be people out there who understand that concept of “It’s ok to indulge, but you do it moderately.” There might be people who understand that the “true” definition of “moderately” means “a couple of bites, then push it away.” Someone like me, who had never understood the concept of “moderately” or never really embraced the concept of “limiting myself,” “clean eating” or even “conscious eating”… don’t take away the one thing I cling to – calorie counting – because you think it “sounds silly.”

Calorie counting empowered me. It taught me the true understanding of what each plate, each dish, each serving and each bite did to my body – this body, this temple that, although over the years has collected a few piercings and a tattoo or two, I have grown to love and appreciate and admire. It taught me that a handful of my favorite snack food was the calorie equivalent of a hearty lunch. It taught me that my favorite juice drink had the caloric equivalent of what I eat for breakfast. It taught me that it’s probably not a good idea to get a giant jug of said favorite juice drink and drink it throughout the day.

Calorie counting taught me to understand the relationship between how much I eat in a day, and how much my body burns in that day.

Calorie counting taught me the patterns for identifying “harmful” dishes (dishes harmful to my daily calorie count) when I have to dine out.

Calorie counting taught me, in a roundabout way, that the fastest way to fill myself without slaughtering my calorie count was to indulge on vegetables. Calorie counting taught me to come up with creative ways to cook those vegetables, lest I be bored to death by my 365th serving of broccoli.

Calorie counting gave me a basic foundation that I could use to develop my own understanding of food… a foundation that I could build from and one day not need to cling to calorie counting anymore.

There are people in this world who have healthy relationships with food. There are people who were born into families who helped teach them that. Considering the number of Americans who are currently overweight, and the number of us who have eating disorders on either extreme of the continuum… I’m not sure there are more people with healthier relationships than there are people without.

So, as this challenge draws to a close, I say this:

If you truly participated in the challenge, I hope you re-read this post, take the numbers you collected and really evaluate your eating habits and start trying to identify your patterns. If you started, became discouraged and stopped… I implore you to start again, because it may be you who needs to develop this kind of understanding more than anything. If you chose to not participate at all, and find the things I’ve written even remotely intriguing, perhaps giving it a shot for a few days may get you what you desire.

The awareness that I received from calorie counting is invaluable. It’s not about nitpicky numbers – it’s about the ability to know and identify. It’s about an awakening and understanding that I never had before. And someone who doesn’t understand that or just has that “naturally healthy” understanding of food will never get that. But I know my needs, and I know my weaknesses. Calorie counting helped me cure that, and I hope it could do the same for you.

Why Am I Calorie Counting? is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

Related posts:

1. Understanding Calorie Counting: What is it? Calorie Counting Defined
2. Understanding Calorie Counting: Creating Your Calorie Goal and Being Honest About It
3. Understanding Calorie Counting: The Payoff – Why Am I Doing This To Myself?

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© Erika for A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss, 2012. | Permalink | 19 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: calorie counting, Challenge!, habits, Healthy Eating, overeating

So, today…was pretty amazing.

As you may know by now, I did a segment with The Dr. Oz Show about healthy quick fixes for weight loss. This was a long time coming for me, because it signified a lot. I mean, a lot.

The screenshot of the video before pressing play on the Dr. Oz website. See how they did me? I look like I'm swooning here!

I said, in early 2010, that I wanted to be a part of this show. I think that it’s incredible what he and other shows like his are doing by educating the public, because I feel like I’m a prime example of what can be done with a little educating. Not only that, but because Dr. Oz reinforces everything I’ve already said to my mom, I feel like he’s pretty much helping me get and keep her healthy. Being on his show is a minor – and I do mean minor – way to say “thank you.”

The day was pretty busy. Usually, every morning I get up, get the baby ready, throw on my sweats and my kicks, and I’m out the door. Walk her to the bus stop, walk the dogs, and I’m headed for the gym. Today, not so much. After waking up at o’dark-thirty (that’s country talk for FAR too early) to get Mini-me and the puppies all situated for the day, I had to get fancy. Hair, makeup, pack my bags and workout clothes. Yes, workout clothes. Some things never change.

With a bag full of clothes, lip glass, high heels and my collection of electronics, I hopped in the car the show sent for me and off we went… into Brooklyn’s notorious traffic. I mention this because the longer it took to get to Manhattan (which, in theory, shouldn’t take that long…but it’s still NYC traffic), the more anxiety I felt. It was approaching levels of anxiety I hadn’t felt since I’d first defeated my food addiction, and I felt uncomfortable because I didn’t think I was prepared for that feeling. Nothing had tested me since then…until today.

In the back seat, I tried to focus my mind on something pleasant, and breathe. Looooooots of breathing… and thinking about the sand and ocean that I gave up for… honking horns and rude cabbies in my way. I grabbed my phone and called my Mom, who loves to crack jokes on me when I’m in this state. Why? Because she’s a Scorpio…er, because she’s Mom, and she knows what makes me feel better.

“Did you call me for your daily dose of courage?”

“Ugh. Bye, Mom.”

All it took was one joke, and I instantly felt better. And, just like that, I was at Rockefeller Center.

Yes. That Rockefeller Center. And it is as epic as it looks on TV. I was escorted from the car to the lobby, from the lobby to guest services, from guest services to my dressing room and… from my dressing room to the set. Yes. In my workout clothes, and my ‘fro potentially lopsided. That is how I met Dr. Oz for the first time.

This is also the first time Hair and Makeup saw me for the first time.. and immediately snatched me up once I was done on set.

“We love your hair, but it’s too large for the camera. We’ve got to shrink it down.”

And, when I tell you, this resulted in six hands (and forearms) resting on top of my ‘fro in order to get it to come down… if you thought it was big on-screen, y’een seen nothin’ yet. You might’ve noticed that it was still lopsided on screen? Yeah, that’s because when I tried to fix it right before I went on, the hairstylist – who was probably 5′ tall with a footstool – came rushing in and pressing back down on it. It took everything in me to not give her the “I need to pick my afro, mama, because it’s flat on one side” face.

It was nice to be pampered, yes, but it was also making my anxiety levels rise. Every time I touched my hands and felt how cold and clammy they were, I was being reminded of the fact that I was scared and had good reason to be. Dr. Oz’s show reaches millions of people, and I could potentially be making a total fool of myself in front of all of them. I could be poorly representing the community we’ve built here. I mean, it’s national TV. It’s time to get live. It’s time to represent!

By the time I got back to my dressing room, my clothes were gone. “Wardrobe’s got ‘em. Once they’re done steaming, they’ll return them.” For me, that was a sign that I clearly had time. They hadn’t even brought my clothes in? Please, I’m going to be here for a while.

On the countertop of my dressing room, laid two chocolate cupcakes, a skewer of fruit, and a small dish of cashews.

Let me type that again. Two chocolate. Cupcakes. A skewer. Of fruit. And a small dish of cashews. Sure, there were a few bottles of water there as well, but who’s worried about water when you’ve got cupcakes to concern yourself with?

I briefly thought to myself – “Why would I eat a cupcake when I’ve got fruit and nuts? What happens if I get that old sensation from eating those cupcakes? What happens if I eat those cupcakes and my emotional eating flares-up? Who would I have to blame for a choice that I know is wrong?” and all I could think about was my cold, clammy hands and my struggle to make sense of anything around me.

And then, it hit me. Immediately, I dropped to the floor, folded my legs in lotus pose, and put my hands in the “gesture of no fear.” In the middle of my tiny dressing room. Didn’t even think to close the door. I just needed to sort out my thoughts.

One palm facing forward, the other facing up. “This is the gesture of no fear. I practice this gesture because I am fearless. I am strong, I am powerful, I am calm, I am unshaken.” Over and over, I repeated it to myself. The executive producer came and ran through the segment with me, and after I typed out my notes for what I wanted to say during my time, I put my hands back in my “gesture,” stared at my notes and said to myself a bit more. “I give away my anxiety, I take in my environment’s cool, calm, collected and efficient vibe. I am unshaken.”

After I was dressed and mic’d for my segment, I was (unfortunately) told to stand for the rest of the time period because I wouldn’t want to wrinkle my dress… which meant no more meditation.

At least, not sitting down.

Don’t get me wrong – I was well aware of the fact that it is more than a little heinous to be in a recording studio and sitting on the dressing room floor meditating, but for me, it was all I knew to calm myself down and avoid eating those freaking cupcakes. Even though I’ve written about throwing away food, I felt like I should be beyond that. There was no reason I couldn’t get beyond this, by any organic means necessary.

So here I am: standing in my high heels, pretty blue dress, and no sitting. And cupcakes staring me in the face. How powerful was my head, here? “I am fearless, I am unshaken. Fearless. Unshaken.” I was realizing that I had experience telling myself no. I’d had experience saying no, accepting my fate as a former emotional eater and now making decisions that help me maintain that status as a former emotional eater. I didn’t need to drop to the floor, I just needed to remain conscious of myself and my progress. And, just as I realized that…

“Erika, come with me.”

“Alrighty then.”

Went out on stage to tape, and the audience was a bit overwhelming. I’m not particularly sure if it was because it was so many of them, or if it was because I could visibly read the reactions on their faces to my “transformation,” but I briefly remembered the executive producer’s advice “It’s just a conversation between you and Dr. Oz; the audience isn’t there.” Once I stopped looking at the audience, the entire thing felt much smoother. I’m sure people will have their own ideas on how the segment went.

While on stage, as we wrapped up the segment, Dr. Oz asked about my blog (!) and I told him that it’s simply a chronicle of everything I’ve learned on my journey.  I always downplay what we do here (for modesty’s sake), but even then I felt bad because this site has become a telling of so many stories that simply aren’t just me anymore. It’s about so much more than weight loss, or body image, or booty paint now, and I carry the burden of representing that. “Burden” isn’t even the right word – perhaps I should say “challenge.”

After the segment wrapped (and a little dancing with the Doc… they were playing “Soul Man” after we finished. I couldn’t help myself!), I snuck off to my dressing room to get right back into my sweats and kicks, and right before I headed off, two of the show’s producers praised me for the segment and told me they thought it went well. Before I knew it, in came Dr. Oz, too! (And, I’ll be typical for a minute. He is a very handsome man. All those women love him for the right reasons!) I felt good and, with any luck, I’ll be asked back. I did a few more things at NBC Studios and, as they roll out, I’ll share them here as well.

After the convo ended, I snatched up my badge, grabbed my bag, and headed out the door. Cupcakes? Untouched. Fruit? Untouched, again.

I tell this story this way because there are a handful of small victories that I experienced that day. In fact, it’s difficult to type this without getting teary-eyed. As someone who’d always had “stage fright,” for me to be able to get on stage for a show that is broadcast to millions without shaking or stuttering? For me to finally be able to serve as a representative of my blog on The Dr. Oz Show? For me to have learned how to successfully calm myself down from the highest anxiety levels I’ve ever experienced in my life WITHOUT food? For me to leave chocolate cupcakes untouched? Listen. You’ll never know what those little victories feel like to someone who used to swallow a bag of Verona cookies whole in one evening.

After the segment ended and I was finally in my car heading home, phone calls went to both The Future Mr. BGG2WL (can’t give away my last name yet!) and Mama BGG2WL, because both had been trying to keep tabs on me allllllllll day long, but to no avail thanks to the poor reception. Both proud, both supportive, both happy for me. They knew I’d finally cleared a hurdle I’d had my eye on for almost a year, but there was so much more to it than that for me. To be a part of a show that talks about turning quick tips into small victories and small victories into much larger ones, all while experiencing one of the greatest victories that a former emotional eater could experience? Knowing that power, that sense of pride… I’m never giving that up. Ever.

I hope you enjoyed the segment, y’all, and I hope you think I represented you well.  In the end, that’s what matters most.

PS: To those of you who keep asking about the dual-pocketed blue dress I wore… $34.99 at H&M. I had it on a few sizes too big (to accommodate all the contraptions they strapped to my back/around my waist) but I still think it looked awesome.

Life In The Land Of Oz is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

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2. Black Women, Body Image And Our Relationship To The Life-Sized Barbie

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"Sex In Progress?" Nope.. not over here.

If I can talk about stretch marks, cellulite, emotional eating and poop… surely, I can talk about this.

Besides, it’s my blog. C’mon. C’mooooooooon.

As I’ve mentioned a few times before, I’m abstinent. That’s right. I’m not having sex. Last time I had sex? Let’s just say the President in office used words like “strategery.”

And in any other context, it’d totally make sense for you to ask me why, on Earth, I’d bring this up on a blog for weight loss and wellness. But today, it’s important.

Why? Because my experience with losing weight has caused my sex drive to increase to such a monumental degree… that if I didn’t put a [chastity] ring on it, I might’ve lost my mind.

Mind you, my decision to remain abstinent had more to do with my desire to spend this time focusing on myself. I’d broken up with the boyfriend I had when I first began, realized that I needed to spend some time being selfish and made my decision to keep my body to myself – literally – for as long as I needed. Undergoing the changes that I’ve endured throughout this time period left me vulnerable emotionally (abandoning emotional eating and trying to find ways to cope with stress that weren’t addictive in nature? very vulnerable) and I think I would’ve either been extremely paranoid of anyone around me romantically, or become emotionally dependent upon them. That’s not fair to anyone. I’ll keep me to myself for the time being.

I first noticed it after about the 50lb mark. I mean, I’ll be honest – part of me was just excited to be able to possibly “do my Beyonce thing someday,” and I figured that I was just feelin’ myself a little bit. No biggie, right? I mean, it’s exciting to recognize that the effort you’re putting through is causing such major changes in your body, and even if you don’t feel physically sexier just yet… you certainly feel empowered. And power is always sexy, right?

At the 100lb mark? It wasn’t just “Oh, I’m empowered! I’m Super Woman! This is sexy!” It wasn’t even “Oh, I’m abstinent so that I can be selfish and focus on myself right now.” It was “Oh my gosh, why am I always horny?! I can’t take this! This can’t be life!” It was obnoxious. Couple that with the fact that at events, men (women?) who haven’t seen you in a while are so in awe of your changes that they want to touch you… and keep touching you? I’ll be honest. It made life rough. Men, who I’ve known for years, would stand near me and insisted on touching me more suggestively than they ever had before… wrapping their hand around me and resting it on my hip – my hip that no longer had a spare tire resting on it and was a nicely-shaped curve – and it took a lot of blinking, deep breathing and thinking-before-I-spoke to keep me from throwing abstinence out the window and ducking away in a damn linen closet somewhere. And did I mentioned the heightened sensitivity you feel in places where you’ve lost weight? Good grief.

I didn’t say I was proud of it. I’m just tellin’ the truth.

At the 150lb mark? I straight up gave up and became a hermit.

I’m kidding… sorta.

I feel like it came in waves. Just when I was getting used to it, another wave would come over me and I’d have to reacclimate to what I was dealing with all over again. It’s not that it got increasingly worse, but if I hadn’t struggled to become accustomed to what my body was feeling? It might’ve felt that way.

Of course there’s a scientific explanation for all this, right? Right.

Let’s talk about sex drive for a minute. Your libido is the thing that makes you want sex. It’s what compels you to want to get down to business. Primarily controlled by testosterone levels in the body, its what gives you the ability to put forth the energy necessary to develop and satisfy a sexual appetite. Men might make way more testosterone, but women are more sensitive to it.

What role does weight play in sex drive?

Men aren’t alone with sex problems caused by poor blood flow. Research shows overweight women’s sex drive and desire are affected by the same problem.

“We are beginning to see that the width of the blood vessels leading to the clitoris [the area of the vagina most closely related to sexual response] in women are affected by the same kind of blockages that impact blood flow to the penis,” says Susan Kellogg, PhD, director of sexual medicine at the Pelvic and Sexual Health Institute of Graduate Hospital in Philadelphia.

When this happens, says Kellogg, a woman’s body is far less responsive, and a drop in desire is not far behind.

Complicating matters further for both sexes: The more body fat you have, the higher your levels of a natural chemical known as SHBG (short for sex hormone binding globulin). It’s aptly named because it binds to the sex hormone testosterone. Doctors theorize that the more testosterone that is bound to SHBG, the less there is available to stimulate desire. [source]

If you listen to Dr. Oz (my personal crush – or is that just my libido talking?) tell it, he’ll say the following:

“The big issue on weight loss, for me, is that it allows your hormones to work the way they’re supposed to. When you have that belly fat that I was showing you earlier, it becomes metabolically alive. It begins to convert hormones. It’ll convert your estrogen levels in the wrong way – which is why it’s associated with different cancers… breast cancer, uterine cancer and the like – but it also does bad things to your testosterone. And women have testosterone, too. Any guy who’s got a big waist, I can guarantee you, begins to have problems with testosterone levels. ‘Cause if your testicles are a normal size, and the testosterone that’s being made by the testicles is being converted by your big belly into estrogen or other things, you don’t have any left. The same goes for women. So one of the surefire ways to re-light the sexual adventures in your life, is to get rid of that belly fat.” [source]

The increase in my sexual appetite was noticeable to me because my entire journey has been about learning, listening to and answering to my body. It was ever-present to me because I noticed that certain things I would do would either remind me of sex or would make me think something sex-related. While I think that can be super duper fun in the right contexts… I certainly think it can also be dangerous, especially for those of us who might be feeling a little insecure with our bodies. Insecurity + an increasingly growing sexual appetite = recipe for disaster: how many times do women do things they eventually regret because someone told them “what they wanted to hear?” Especially when all you want to hear is that you’re “beautiful” and “sexy” and “amazing” and all those other vague words that really excite us for some weird reason? Yeah… no. Nothing worse than having that void to fill, letting empty compliments from strangers fill that void and then being left empty when your stranger decides they can no longer benefit from what you have to offer.

In all seriousness… losing any weight is going to be an awesome experience, but for those of you in committed relationships? Just… tell your mate to get ready. And for people like me, who will be single when they experience those waves of libidoey goodness? Especially those of you who may have a lot to lose as well? Consider taking some time out to learn how to understand and appreciate your new sexual appetite. You’d hate to have someone around who’d simply appreciate how voracious you’ve become, only to decide there’s nothing else to enjoy about you once you’ve “normalized.” Besides, considering how much you’ll be learning about yourself and your body? You might be far too excited by yourself to want to be bothered with anyone else.

No pun intended. I promise. (Sort of.)

Weight Loss… and Your Libido is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

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1. A Very Big Piece of My Weight Loss Story
2. The Math Behind Weight Loss Plateaus
3. Stop Defeating Your Weight Loss Efforts Before You Begin

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© Erika for A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss, 2012. | Permalink | 48 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: abstinence, hormones, libido, relationships, sex, sexual appetite, testosterone, the body, weight loss and sex drive, your body

Um, I took that as a sign. “Put the damn cigarette down.”

However, as my teen years faded, so did the swoop bang… and I picked up my boyfriend’s nasty habit. It wasn’t even regular cigarettes. It was cloves, for crying out loud. Easily, the most expensive habit an early 20-something could develop. I’d eventually leave that boyfriend behind, but his nasty habit remained.

The cloves, at about $9 per pack, were a struggle. The smell, the taste…. the way I could inhale smoke and exhale stress… it was seriously my habit. I’d smoke 5 a day – breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner… and sometimes a last one for a snack before bed. It was how I dealt with life. Work stress? Grab a smoke. Home stress? Grab a smoke. Not because the answer to my stress was somehow laced within my cigarette… but because I felt like I couldn’t access the answer unless it was through a cloud of clove smoke.

Obviously, considering the dire straits I was in at that time regarding my weight, the smoking wasn’t doing anything for my weight… or was it? I was still as overweight as I’d always been, clove or no clove. It didn’t protect me from myself, yet I do wonder… would I have weighed even more if I didn’t smoke? I mean, if the “logic,” so to speak, said that I was using smoking the same way I used food… then if the smokes weren’t there, would I have binged?

Then, there’s the issue of this, which appeared on NPR earlier last week:

Scientists say they have finally figured out how smoking helps people keep off extra pounds.

It turns out that nicotine activates a pathway in the brain that suppresses appetite, according to a study in the journal Science. This discovery should lead to better diet drugs, the researchers say.

The finding comes after decades of research showing that smokers tend to be a bit thinner than nonsmokers, and that smokers who quit tend to put on weight.

Researchers made the discovery after stumbling onto a major clue recently, says Marina Picciotto, a professor of psychiatry at Yale and one of the study’s authors.

The clue turned up during experiments looking for chemicals to treat depression, Picciotto says. A scientist at Yale named Yann Mineur was giving mice a chemical that’s a lot like nicotine, she says.

“He was watching these mice and he said, ‘You know what, they don’t eat as much as the mice that didn’t get this medication,’ ” she says. “And so he decided to follow that up. It was a window into how nicotine might be decreasing appetite.”

The scientists knew that nicotine must be triggering a response in certain brain cells. So they started looking at cells in the hypothalamus, a part of the brain known to regulate appetite. And they focused on a type of nerve cell, called POMC cells, known to be involved in eating behavior.

Sure enough, nicotine made these POMC cells more active. But the researchers still needed to figure out how nicotine was communicating with these cells.

To find out, the team took a closer look at the different types of receptors on the surface of the cells, Picciotto says.

“And we actually thought that maybe the same nicotine receptors that make you want to smoke, that make you rewarded when you smoke, would be the ones that also control appetite,” she says. “But we were wrong.”

So the team looked at another type of receptor. These receptors don’t make you feel good — they’re involved in the so-called fight-or-flight response that occurs when animals or people encounter a threat.

It turned out these fight-or-flight receptors responded to nicotine in a way that reduced hunger. That would make sense from an evolutionary perspective, Picciotto says.

“The fight-or-flight response is one where you actually want to preserve your energy to do something very important,” she says. “So maybe you don’t want to be out there eating while you’re supposed to be running away from a tiger.”

Strangely enough, when I gave up smoking, it was the same time that I gave up processed foods.. and that was two years ago on this very day, June 13th. It was the day that I decided to stop using outside resources to relieve stress in my life, be it sugary and salty foods or cigarettes. When this article refers to “fight-or-flight” response and energy preservation, to me that’s talking about stress reduction – an overstressed person releases a lot of energy being anxious, and we all should “preserve our energy to do something very important.”

What’s interesting, to me, is that this information is going to be used to “create better diet drugs.” What I’d really like this information to be used for, is for us to realize that smoking – much like food – alleviates stress in the same way that adequate coping skills would, as well… and that the answer to this is, quite frankly, to develop those coping skills. It makes the smoking and the food seem that much more useless.

As I’ve said before, developing stronger coping mechanisms has made me a much more capable person. I don’t need to rely on an outside chemical or resource to stabilize my emotions or regain my ability to be a problem solver anymore. I allow myself the space and time to assess whatever is causing my emotional reaction, and I trust my instincts in regards to creating my solution. I no longer need a breakfast, lunch and dinner smoke.

The rest of the NPR article above mentions using “the patch” as an adequate means of helping one quit smoking, as well as nicotine gum. I know that there’s also prescription medication – my Mother used it when she quit a few years back – that works very well but I, true to form, went very cold turkey. What can I say? I’m young, cheap, with limited resources and didn’t want to be a clove addict for the rest of my life. Besides, the state of Florida was adding almost $2 worth of taxes to my habit, bringing each pack to an astonishing $11. No thanks. In the interest of cheapness, it had to go.

When I quit, I kept myself busy to the point where I wouldn’t need to smoke. I had at-home workouts. I had jogging to do. I had yoga. I had bellydancing. I was in hyperdrive and loving it. When problems arose, I was quick to solve them simply because I wanted to get back to the other fun stuff I had to do. For anyone embarking on that struggle, might I suggest assessing the situations that compel you to feel as though you need to smoke, and doing what you can to alleviate that stress… and experience your “reward” from being a problem solver, not a chemical reaction in the brain? Arm yourself with stress relievers – anything from nightly boxing classes to jogging to meditation (!) to stressballs – and give yourself time to think, and the space to be vulnerable so that you can acknowledge your stressors. No matter how strong we may think we are, we are not impervious to stress. Not now, not ever.

How do you deal with stress? Do you struggle with quitting smoking? Did you struggle? How’d you get beyond the habit?

My Struggle With Quitting Smoking And Weight Gain is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

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© Erika for A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss, 2012. | Permalink | 14 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: emotional eating, stress, stress reduction, stress relief, stressors, vulnerability

I mean, let’s be real, here. Few issues are as thorny, on this blog, as ones involving dating and relationships. Let’s just say that y’all are very protective of your dating prospects and the ability to pursue them. I ain’t mad at it… I am confused by it.

I wrote the following:

How do you handle dating while losing weight? I’ve already admitted that after a break-up in the early part of my journey, I became abstinent and didn’t date. I was not only vulnerable, but working through insecurities that would’ve only made dating an embarrassing experience for myself. I valued having time that was mine and mine alone because, quite frankly, I’m dope and interesting when I actually pay attention to myself and learn about me.I mean, I can understand a desire to date – if for no other reason but the sake of company and being sociable – but I wonder if there’s a part of a woman’s journey (and I specify gender there for a reason) where, if it’s extensive enough, she’d benefit from not dating. My journey was like literally demolishing a building and rebuilding it from scratch. Would you let anyone set up their home in your building, knowing that it wasn’t completely solid, sturdy or even able to provide adequate shelter? If a house is still being actively rebuilt, I wouldn’t rest my head in it.

Excerpted from Big Love: Dating While Losing Weight | A Black Girl’s Guide To Weight Loss

People kept assuming that by referring to “rebuilding,” I was referring to their bodies… but I wasn’t. I was referring to their minds. I was referring to the reality that in order to live a more fit lifestyle, you have to demolish everything that gets in the way of developing that in order to do what you have to do. And really, no shade, but I’m generally of the mind frame that most people need to take some time off to reassess themselves and what they want before they go out and date. Most people need to know what it feels like to put themselves first and treat themselves right before they dive head first into treating someone else “right.” Most people need to know what it means to love themselves before they commit to loving someone else.

When I write, I write with myself in mind. Everything I’ve ever written on this blog, I’ve written for myself. Writing in my moment of clarity gives me something to look back to and read when I may be struggling. I write a lot about compassion, because I find myself involved in an environment where there isn’t much compassion, and my writing serves as a reminder. I wrote a lot about getting over sabotage because I found myself encountering people who didn’t have my goals and best interests at heart. I write a lot about body image and learning to love myself because I struggled with the idea that I could simultaneously love myself while wanting to change myself.

That last sentence is important. I learned that a huge component of loving myself is accepting that I am not perfect, I am worthy of love even in spite of this nonperfection, and that I’m even worthy of love during this process of change because I’ll always be changing. I stopped chasing perfection, and instead decided to strive for excellence. At least with excellence, there’s an implied understanding that the goal isn’t “working so that I never have to work anymore.” There’s not some finite point that I should feel guilty about not reaching. The goal post is always moving when one strives for excellence, as you are constantly learning what’s possible as you progress forward.

Why am I saying all this? Because these are the things that I addressed that made me a different person. Addressing these things changed how I approach life. How I approach relationships. And while I understand that for the woman who only wants to lose 20-30lbs, the issue may be far more topical like food changes, a godawful soda habit, or learning to cook a little more… for the woman who’s in a strange place, like I was, who needed to lose upwards of 75lbs altogether? You might have a challenge that is as much emotional as it is physical.

For me, I dated during my weight loss journey. I dated a couple of men – some who’s intentions were more noble than others – but there were lots of time between them, because there were specific parts of my journey that all out demanded time for self-reflection. I advocate for that approach because as I reached new hurdles, I needed to allow myself to be vulnerable enough to jump over them… and that’s not something that can be done with everyone. However… there was one man who not only supported my self-reflection as a friend, but encouraged it. When I admitted my experiences with sexual assault and binge eating… when I snotted up his shirt sobbing about things that I was thinking and feeling… he was there, wanting to be trusted, wanting to be caring and wanting to help me grow. He saw how I was learning to love myself, and he contributed to that love by adding some of his own. He was just… always there, and always enjoying it. He wanted to be there.

And then, when he came to my house a week or so ago… when he knocked on the door… when I opened it, holding back two huskies who obviously smelled him on the other side of the door and were excited to see him… he was there. On one knee. With The Ring in his hand.

So, yeah. I’m currently engaged. Squeeeeeeeee!!!!!!

Back to seriousness, though.

Suffice it to say, I think that there’s a genuine connection between where my head and heart were, how I treated the relationships I was in and how I understood care and love. And once I changed how I approached those, it became easier for me to find what I was looking for… or, rather, for it to find me.

It is not my intention to talk about this as if it is “the ultimate fairy tale.” It is my intention to talk about this wonderful addition to my life that I wouldn’t have been able to experience without reassessing my headspace. I know myself. The old Erika would’ve made a man like my current fiancé take off running in the opposite direction. I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate him for who he is if I were the old me.

I bring this up in conjunction with the Big Love post because so many women claimed that it was unnecessary to “assess their headspace” during their journey because that wasn’t a legitimate reason to not date. If anything, it made it easier for me. It made dating easier, for starters, because some men simply weren’t on my level. It made it more enjoyable, because I was more able to speak up for myself, felt less desperate and felt more capable. I didn’t have to struggle so much with being a people pleaser, and believing my desire to be a people pleaser would be the most important thing (or the only thing, for that matter) to make a man stay with me.

This won’t be the situation for every woman who embarks upon a weight loss journey, but this is how it was for me. And though every woman isn’t on a weight loss journey, I think that it should be a goal for everyone to be, at least, emotionally solvent… to be able to give as much as they get. My journey not only granted me that peace… it’s brought lots of joys along the way, one of those being the man I’m going to marry. If all it takes to bring a little light into your life, is to reassess oneself emotionally… there’s absolutely nothing to lose, and a lot [of love] to gain. The changes I’ve embraced along the way have changed my life for the better, now, in more ways than one. And I couldn’t be happier.

Squeeeeeee!!!!!

Not-So-Big Love: When Losing Weight Turns Into A Marriage Proposal is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

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1. Big Love: Dating While Losing Weight
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© Erika for A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss, 2012. | Permalink | 76 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: dating, relationships, sex

…the scale.

Oh, the horror.

As I’ve said… I’m a proponent of “fit,” not thin. So… I make a big deal about lifting weights. I mean.. a big… big deal.

I get e-mails asking me if I’ve mourned my lost curves, and the reality is that no, I didn’t have to hold a funeral survice for my curves. I’ve still got great ones. I work hard for ‘em, and I love what my hard work has produced.

Truthfully… the scale feels like a car crash in slow motion every time a weight lifting woman steps on the scale. The pressure to continually see the numbers decrease coupled with the desire to actually build muscle in a respectable fashion is… difficult to handle, to say the least.

That being said… let me offer up Exhibit A:

You'll just have to deal with my 'fro... long time readers already know how I am with my hair. LOL

I weigh more in the picture on the right… than I do in the picture on the left. Why?

Muscle!!!

Listen…. if you are a weight lifting woman, let me tell you something. A cube of muscle that is an inch tall, an inch long and an inch wide…. weighs almost twice as much as a cube of FAT that is an inch tall, an inch long and an inch wide. If you don’t believe me? Visit a butcher at a grocery store and ask them. Think of the last time you chopped a chunk of fat off of a piece of meat, and think of the last time you chopped a chunk of muscle off of a hunk of meat. You and I both know which weighs more.

So, as a weight-training woman, why would you torture yourself with the scale?

In the comparison photos above, there’s almost a 15% difference in my body fat. Yes: My body fat, on the left, is approximately 38% on the left; on the right, it’s approximately 22%. That means that approximately 22% of my weight is comprised of fat. I’m okay with that progress, because I’m still progressing.

And speaking of progress, just because I know some will want to see a real comparison…

No, I don’t mourn the curves I had… ’cause I’m still perfecting the curves I’ve got!

As someone who is serious about her weights, I’m abstaining from the darn scale. Who’s with me?

Photo Proof: The Stupid Scale Doesn’t Matter is a post from: A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss. Thanks for reading!

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© Erika for A Black Girl's Guide To Weight Loss, 2012. | Permalink | 63 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: body fat percentage, fat loss, scale, weight lifting, weight loss, weight training