Wil's Method for Success: "Cut the Crap!"

Every night I make a cup of herbal tea. You probably think I drink it because I just want something warm and cozy to help me relax at the end of a long day, but actually, I drink it in order to remind myself to stop eating. I even call it “stop sign” tea, because the rule I have is that once I drink my tea I’m done eating for the day.

Those of you following my blog know that I’ve been fighting an “up-bulge” battle since the marathon in early November. Via a very strict diet and extremely intense workouts, I’ve lost most of what I have gained over the last several weeks. But, it’s definitely been a fight. I’ve actually enjoyed the workouts, but in the back of my mind I’ve wondered how I will keep them up at this frenetic pace.

My bigger problem has been food. I’ll be good for 6 days, and then blow it on the seventh. This of course causes me to have to work even harder the following week, running farther, swimming faster, using my resistance bands until my arms feel like the same rubber that the bands are made of.

This week was no exception. Throughout the work week I worked out so hard that trainers at my gym nodded their approval as they walked by. I ate so much salad that I was waiting to grow buck teeth and a cotton tail. I weighed in at Weight Watchers and saw that I was even closer to where I needed to be. And then the weekend came.

This weekend I went to the bat mitzvah of some very close family friends in Baltimore. In order to succeed, I packed a healthy lunch (turkey on whole wheat with spinach and mustard), several healthy snacks (apple, fruit, almonds, water) and even a “treat” (one dark chocolate Hershey miniature). I did my resistance band workout and ran 8 miles before my mom picked me up for our four hour drive to Baltimore.

Once in Baltimore, I fared even better. At every meal for the course of the weekend (and I think there were 4,000 of them; at least it felt that way), I always went for the healthiest choices I could. I followed my Weight Watchers trick of filling up half my plate with vegetables, ate lean proteins, even skipped the bagel at the Saturday afternoon feast of bagels and lox (and I mean “feast”. According to our hosts, we collectively ate 380 bagels, 25 pounds of smoked salmon, 5 large whitefish and 9 loves of Challah bread). I worked out at the hotel gym each morning, doing my resistance band workout followed by close to an hour on either the recumbent bike or treadmill. At the Shabbat dinner on Friday night, I even found the only other runner in the entire crowd of about 80 people and chatted about running and marathons in the hope that just thinking about exercising would help shed a few calories.

On Sunday after brunch (meal number 4,000), Mom and I got back in the car for our drive back to New York. And that’s when all hell broke loose. I had avoided decadent desserts all weekend (and I’m talking about things like chocolate fountains and pastries brought in from Paris) just to blow it all over an ice cream at a rest stop in Delaware. I single-handedly ate an entire can of nuts (no, not the little single serve packets you get on an airplane), and had my first bag of potato chips in over 3 years.

I got home to my husband and kids in the midst of decorating a homemade cake they’d made to welcome me home (and if you’re curious, yes, my husband is the male version of Mary Poppins). My husband, Wil, knows that I would likely tell the kids I loved the cake and take just one bite to show them how much I loved it, so he didn’t object when they asked him if they could bake one today. And that’s exactly what I did. Then, while brewing my “stop sign” tea, I lopped off another piece of cake that Shaquille O’Neal would have trouble finishing.

I was just pulling out a fork in order to dive into the cake when Wil came into the kitchen and asked me what I was doing. I quickly relayed the struggles he already knew about. He quietly asked me why I had been struggling, and I told him that I think that I’m just destined to fail, and that maybe my reign as “Fit Girl” is just coming to its natural end. Wil is a man of few words (which might help people to understand why we get along so well. I get to do all the talking), so he simply said, “Cut the crap.”

I was shocked. My supportive, wonderful husband was being curt and rude at the same time. “What?!”, I yelled back, while at the same time trying to decide which tae kwon do move I could pull out of my archived repertoire that would make his death equally painful to him and satisfying to me.

Then, Wil told me a story about a conversation he’d had with Olivia over the weekend. Wil had been doing laundry, and was emptying the pockets of Olivia’s jacket before throwing it in the wash. In doing so, he found some stuff that only a second grader would consider treasures: a few “silly bands”, a bracelet, and a fortune from a Chinese fortune cookie. Wil read it: “Discipline is the refining fire by which talent becomes ability.” Wil went to Olivia and asked her if she understand what the fortune meant. Her reply, “Well, yeah. Even if you’re good at something, you have to work really hard at it to get even better.” And as Wil told me the story, I pictured Liv rolling her eyes and thinking “ugh, I have to explain everything to them.”

When Wil was done with his story, he continued: “Ali, you’re good at this. You’re good at being healthy and coaching others. You’ve inspired people in my office who I’ve shared your story with who you’ve never even met. This is what you were meant to do. So quit f***ing it up with cake and ice cream. Oh, and your tea is getting cold.”

Wil is right, and my not quite 7 year old already understands what my husband had to spell out for me. It’s OK to work really hard at something and actually be successful at something.

I took my wedge of cake and threw it in the garbage, then I reheated my tea and sat down to enjoy it. I thought about all the work I will put in next week by working out and eating well through three different holiday parties I have next week. I can’t wait for the challenge, and even more so, I can’t wait for the sense of accomplishment I will feel.