(Letter 1) Dear Flabby Abbey: CALORIES, WTFudge!?!

Dearest Flabby (yeah, right) Abbey,

My very expensive personal trainer has put me on a wacky diet plan that consists of eating in combination (always a starch with a protein) and severely limiting starches, all while consuming 1200 to 1400 calories a day. There is no calorie counting involved, just measuring of portions. My question is, can't I just count calories, eat nutritionally dense, minimally processed foods and get on with my life?! Is sticking to a low calorie diet enough for me to lose weight, or must I be fanatical about what I eat?

Signed,

Sick to damn death of boiled eggs, string cheese and cucumbers

Oh My Lovely Cheesy Egg Head,

First of all, you make me want an omelet. Second of all, send me the check instead of to your personal trainer. Third of all, do not try to use chopsticks after drinking a bottle of wine; you will stain your clothes. Fourth of all (that doesn't sound right), let me answer your question with a question: would you drink a fifth of vodka to refuel after having run a half marathon? No, don't, it's not good. Your body is thriving for a liquid packed with electrolytes to replenish itself. You don't just grab the vodka because it's wet. That would almost kill you...you'd be a human raisin! Okay, connection time:

I'll try to be brief with my response: the 1200-1400 calorie count is the standard BMR for women (Basal Metabolic Rate) which means that if you did nothing but stayed in bed all day, your body would burn 1200 calories for just existing, sounds pretty good to me. So, of course that's the easiest and safest number for your personal trainer to rely on because they are keeping you on a diet that could sustain you if you were bedridden. In turn, this can hurt you because you are not fueling the body for whatever activity you're doing, i.e. walking, running, gossiping, murdering, etc. Therefore, your body goes all Pacman and starts eating your muscle while throwing your calories to the side to store as fat in order to fuel future activities; it's scared it won't get enough later.

Girl, it gets crazy and complicated, and if you want an accurate calorie count, I suggest you look at the Harris Benedict Formula. It's a crazy mathematical equation that lets you know exactly how many calories you should have in day....but seriously, I'm just telling you that so you can see how above and beyond this crap gets...ahhhhhh!!!!!! (nonsense)

Calories used to be the best measure of fuel for your body, but recent studies have proven otherwise. Eating 1200 calories of Tapioca filled Doughnut Sticks (can you tell what my new fave is?) is not the same as eating 1200 calories of fruits, veggies, dairy, and protein. Again, that's like trying to compare vodka to water...they're both wet and clear, but they cannot serve the same purpose. So out with the calories, and in with the protein, fiber, and low fat. If it has 800 calories, but 20 grams of protein and 9 grams of fiber, the calories don't begin to matter! Protein and fiber break down the slowest and do your body the most good, so eat up, sister. Truth be told by your trainer, though, the reason your starches are minimal is because they don't usually contain protein or fiber, and we just discussed that items without those don't really serve a function, but it doesn't mean that they have to be off limits. In fact, nothing should ever be off limits. Again, if you want it, eat it, just don't eat every item of it in a ten mile radius...instant belly ache!

Finally, in answer to your question, yes, ditch the "diet" because if it's called a "diet" then it's not going to work because "diets" are temporary. And no, do not count calories because they don't matter. We're adults, and we've learned over the years that as long as we're active, we eat within proper portions, and we don't go crazy on the fried and processed, our bodies will thrive. You know what good decisions are, and you know what bad decisions are, and the only reason you have a personal trainer is because you want someone outside of you to hold yourself accountable to a plan because without that person, you're more likely to scribble outside of the lines...and that's okay. (Do you really plan to pay for a personal trainer forever...?????)

Always, always, always, always strive to be healthier, let that be your number one goal.

I don't know if this helped, and if you want further explanation on what I'm talking about, you know where to find me. I care about your happiness; I care about your mentality; be you, which is absolutely beautiful...! Now, about that check....

Flabby Abbey

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar (...to cover my exhaustion, of course)

How many times have you woken up and thought, "Just ten more minutes...what I would give for ten more minutes"? How about those mornings and you wake up only after having slept for five minutes when in reality it was six hours? Those mornings are the pits. When we were all school aged, we wished for snow days all the time because there is something magical about sleeping in on a weekday, an unscheduled weekday at that. I always enjoyed it when I found out really early, like at 5 a.m., on that school day. Those were the days when I had anticipated going to school and doing the morning gettin-ready routine, but instead my mom would whisper that I could stay asleep...best.news.ever! Now, as a teacher, that news can  be either angels singing or the devil's curse...all depends on when the EOCs are scheduled. Anyway, my point is those mornings were treasured. Those are the few times when God gave us, the students, the gift of time. You cannot even begin to tell me that you didn't have one of those days where you worked furiously like a lab rat trying to find the cheese in order to complete an assignment or prepare for a test. We learn that when given the opportunity, take it, and snows days were there for the taking. Unlike today's day...

Now, we're adults (what? that's crazy. I refuse to believe it or model it!) Snow days just mean bundle up and get to work, but good luck trying to find a sitter for your child because school just got cancelled. Am I right? There have been a few days when it seems the whole county has shut down for snow, all except for the Waffle House, of course. Oh, the Waffle House, the amazing Waffle House, the house of waffles and hashbrowns for which we rely on to serve us during the most dangerous blizzards, when returning from the latest away PHS football games, and probably after any nuclear war because there is not anything that can be done to take down the Waffle House...if we go under attack, that is where I recommend you take refuge. (I love their pickles!!!) Sorry, I almost forgot where I was going with this...it's just, there's not a Waffle House out here...waffle stands are everywhere you look, and I hear they're amazing, but there's something about the place mat with all of the pictures and words like "scattered, smothered, and chunked" to describe a dish...and their pickles, are you kidding me? Where do they get those pickles? They are the ones who taught me to put pickles on my bacon, egg, and cheese...okay, that's enough, I swear this post is not about the Waffle House...(and now, I'm slightly pouting...sad face...)

Oh yeah, I was talking about how at once we were given the gift of time in our youth and those turned out to the best of days because regardless how you spent it, you still had a break from the everyday grind. For the first time in my life, I do not have three jobs. That absolutely blows my mind and I barely know how to feel about it. I mean, I am totally adjusting to this housewife gig, but there are so many times where I feel like I should be somewhere, but there's really no where I am suppose to be but here...weird. Even though I have been given all of this time that I have never had ever, I still feel the need to fill it with something semi productive, and you know me well enough to know that means going to the gym. I've made it a goal to go to the gym for four hours a day because that's the amount of time I was getting in back in the states. Plus, from the subway station to, just to, the gym is 1.75 miles (my husband just calculated it for me) and if I'm going to walk that much, then I should make my time worth it. So, I finally have a schedule! But what happened after a few weeks of that schedule? I wanted a day off, or two days off, do I dare say three...eeeeeek. I woke up, had coffee with my husband, and told him that I just didn't feel like going to the gym that day. He said what every husband would say, and the thing they are suppose to say, "Then don't, just take a day to relax." Those words just seemed so simple coming from him: "a day to relax." Ha, relax? I wish! Because these were the thoughts that were going through my head when trying to decide what I was going to do:

"I can just go ahead and go the gym. The clothes are right there, you'll feel better when you're done. Just go ahead because if I don't, I'll get upset. I'll feel awful all day. I'll look at the clock and think what I would have already had done by that hour. I'll think about all the miles I didn't cover. I'll feel so guilty that I won't be able to relax. My guilt will turn into anxiousness, my anxiousness turns into sleepyness, sleepyness turns into a nap, a nap turns into waking up angry, waking up angry turns into raging grumpyness, raging grumpyness turns into self bullying, self bullying turns into self medicating, self medicating turns into snacking randomly in the kitchen, snacking randomly in the kitchen turns into fit pitching, fit pitching turns into self loathing, self loathing turns into mirror staring, mirror staring turns into pinching, sucking, and prodding, pinching, sucking, and prodding turns into sobbing... " and at the end of this crazy cycle, my amazing husband walks through the door expecting to find his wife bouncing around the house with a great big smile across her face because she just had the whole day to relax. Instead, he walks in the door to find me, sitting at the counter with my head in my hands, tears in my eyes, and I don't want to be touched, or talked to, or loved, because who could ever love a big, lazy, worthless, invalid like myself!!! I'll then cry and make big deals about everything for the rest of the evening...like telling him that he could do better, or accussing him of thinking some girl on the internet is hot...all because I chose not to go to the gym. That is ridiculous!

Whatever happened to that love we once had for snow days and getting that time off? Why couldn't I relax like I had intended? Why did I spend all day with my abusive inner-fat kid? I blame three things: estrogen, Jennifer Aniston (her perfection drives me crazy), and internet pop-up adds (it's like they know you didn't go to the gym). The next morning, I went to the gym, and I worked it super-duper hard, but during my long haul there, I forced myself to think about how I spent the previous day. It was my choice to stay home, my choice, and do you know what else is my choice? My feelings on staying home. I didn't have to feel guilty; I chose to, like everyone who is reading this right now. You know you do the exact same thing. We are terrified to take the day off from something, especially working out. I promise, a day off is ten times better than going everyday. Give your muscles time to remember their purpose; we put them under so much abuse that they retaliate with debilitating soreness. There are more times where I have to use the handicap bathrooms because of the side handrails instead of the others...my legs will just give out. Anyway, I decided that I will no longer feel guilty for taking some Abigail time. And I know some of you are like, "Well, going to the gym is my (insert name here) time; that's the time away from all of my house duties." I agree, working out is great if that's what you use as your release, but as soon as it feels like an obligation, breathe! Go get your toes did, girl!

As women, we keep ourselves wound up so tightly that we think that's the only way to function, that if we give our bodies or our minds an inch, they'll take a mile. So what if they do? You're still in control. You owe it to yourself for your day off to be a day off, do not ruin it with guilt. I am actually using that same philosophy right now while eating a cinnamon biscuit...I am enjoying it and I refuse to ruin it with guilt. In fact, I'll have more after this one (who am I kidding? you know there's already more than one on this plate). So, again I stress to you to not run your life with guilt; it's not fair to you, nor is it fair to your family. My husband walking into the house to find me ready to kill the creator of weightwatchers is nothing he deserves. Figure out what those moments are that use to be enjoyable but now feel like a task and fix it...take a day off...go to the Waffle House. I promise everything will be okay. I mean, look at Superwoman, she even took days to get her hair done...

*Side note: Please note that despite the amount of time I go to the gym, I love to eat. I'm heavier than ever, but I have a healthy heart! So when you see me and my lumps, my lovely lady lumps, don't think of me as a liar about working out...I can still stomp you.

I'm Not A Cougar...I'm A Tiger!

Once upon a time, I had a class of students challenge me to wear a different outfit everyday to school for the entire school year. Not only did I do that for one year, but I did it for two. What does that say about me? I am pretty irresponsible when it comes to managing my money. Yeah...I just can't seem to make myself pay more than the minimum on my student loans, but take me to New York and Company, and all of the sudden I have turned into Lindsey Lohan at an open bar...

Needless to say, I have a lot of clothes. That challenge forced to me go through my closet, rip off four year old price tags (you know it's bad when you're taking off Goody's price tags), and dare to mix and match. I have spent the past year purging and donating in order to avoid the title of "hoarder" but there still seems to be an abundant amount. I can't help it...it is, or was, an addiction. I had to get my fix. Every woman knows what I'm talking about when I mention the adrenaline rush of a really good sale...uhhhh...especially when it's DAT (Day After Thanksgiving). I'm just saying last year those other fools didn't have a chance to get their Paula Deen Pots because I was sitting on the display...no lie.

This past year, however, I have had an epiphany (and yes, Lacey, that's a real word) when it comes to my clothes. As stupid as it sounds, I learned that the clothes don't make a teacher. I liked to dress the part, but more than that, I truly loved my job teaching high school. It's not that I felt like I had to dress a certain way in order to be good at what I did, I just used that profession to justify all of the outfits...oh the glorious outfits, and shoes!...gotta love the shoes! Take me as a teacher and take away all of clothes, what would you have? A lawsuit, of course! Dang...teachers get fired for less these days...geesh! Seriously, though, you'd still have me and all the energy I have to give to my students. So to break it down, my classroom awesomeness has nothing to do with my attire, but it has everything to do with me and what I bring to the table. Awesomeness doesn't have a "look."

Do you see where I'm going with this? Your level of bodaciousness doesn't have an outfit, a car, a haircut, a height, or a weight; it has everything to do with you being you...a positive you. A you that looks at the world as something possible; a you that doesn't get deterred easily; a you that will try something multiple times before judging it; a you that is true to you.

"Abigail, I know you, and you don't usually just talk about something for the sake of talking about it. How does this relate to our estrogen abuse?" Good question...

I can't tell you how many times I heard in my college years, "Oh, you're a dancer...or you dance? Hmm, you don't look like a dancer." "No, I don't, but neither do Umpa Lumpas, but they still get the job done." That was at the time I was my heaviest, so I didn't have the long, graceful body that dancer's are expected to have (nor do I have it now). But you know what, for my height and weight at the time, I could bust it out Umpa Lumpa style! I brought heart to every move I made, and I did my best. Even though my best wasn't the best...it was still 100% me.

I have met many who are terrified of starting that path to a healthy lifestyle because they feel that they don't have a look that matches the role. Oh, that makes my heart break. Or they feel that because they look a certain way they have to act a certain way. Oh c'mon, this is not high school anymore...let-it-go. Be true to yourself and adopt whatever healthy habit you want to adopt, don't worry about how you look doing it...within reason, of course. If you show up to yoga on crack while drinking a Redbull you might get a few side glances...but again the key word is healthy, and that doesn't sound too healthy.

This advice works in both ways, though. The idea that "dressing the part doesn't create the skill" goes for those who go overkill on their attire. Just because you see someone in the step class wearing leg warmers, shiny blue leggings, high top Reeboks, a g-string leotard over a hot pink sports bra, and a sweat band holding their feathered bangs in place doesn't mean that she's Suzanne Summers and knows all. Dressing the part kills me: "Oh yeah, I'm a runner. What? Didn't you see the sticker on my car that says 3.1. Yep, that's me. I ran a 5K four years ago...that's where I got this nifty t-shirt that I wear everyday when I'm not running, which happens to be everyday." or "Oh yeah, I do Zumba. I'm mean I've got the shirt, the pants, the shoes, the cds, fifty rubber bracelets, 60 facebook friends who do it, and next month's schedule of classes when I might actually start taking a real class. But until then, I'm just going to wear all of this cool gear and be one big false advertisement because I'm a cool kid..." (It's not being able to count to eight, it's what you do with an eight count...can I get a halleluiah!) I'm not dissing these individuals, but it is usually this type of person that scares others from trying something new. I was guilty of "fearing the outfit" when I went out for new activities, but that fear didn't affect anyone but me. I'm not saying that you shouldn't hold on to even the smallest accomplishments, I'm just saying don't let others and their accomplishments hold you back from yours.

I was holding myself back. I've seen others hold themselves back, and it's all because of a "look." If you have the drive, the energy, and the want to do something, then do it. It's really that simple. Do not let anyone intimidate you. Even if they are number one in that activity, then learn from them. Everyone who has ever started one of my classes all had something in common at one point: they all had a first day, they all had a first class, they all had a group of "firsts" that must be overcome.

So again, our superbaduberdeliciousness of a personality cannot be wrapped up in a look, an outfit, or a body type. I do advise you to show this side of you slowly when you begin something new. You can't just show everyone at once...they'll be too jealous. They'll be like, "Oh my gosh, I hope one day I can have an ounce of their superbaduberdeliciousness...just an ounce..." Don't go and scare everyone off your first day. Be tiger...prowl around, let them admire you, and claim your territory!

"Umm, No Cheese on the Burger, but Can You Add a Hotdog on It? Thanks..."

Okay, Followers, we did it! We've made it to the month of September, the fourth month of existence for this blog. I remember the day I wanted to start this blog, and this is a true story....as much as I want to hide in the closet about it, here it goes...

Again, everyone knows that I married my husband in Korea on very short notice. We had a plan to get married in the states when he came home on leave, but we just couldn't wait another minute. So with me being a girl with a bit too much estrogen, I did what all brides do and started planning, hence, bridal portraits! Yep, bridal portraits after the marriage. My girlfriend, Shannon, introduced me to an incredible photographer, April Sirit, a couple of years ago, and I wanted her to do them (this story has a point). April lives in Raleigh, which meant a four to five hour road trip for this girl...dun dun dunnnnnnnnnn (the evil, foreboding music notes). What happens when Abigail drives???  She sleeps! I'm a narcoleptic driver...serious as my cellulite. And it's instantly; by the time I hit Asheville -BAM- I'm out, and there goes Sadie (my car's name) holding her own. So, what do I do to keep myself awake? Eat!!! What do I eat? Multiple fast food drive-thru items!!! Remember when I said in the introduction that I was a dieting-food-junkie?...yeah.

The car is my safe place. I can eat whatever I want and as much as I want, and I want a lot...from everywhere. I am literally that person that acts like I'm ordering food for other people just so no one judges me. I throw out pronouns like "she" or "they" ("I think they said no lettuce on that burger, please...") and I order food for these false people, with a diet coke of course. Ummm, I'd venture to say that one day you could see me on episode of Intervention because I went to the point of shooting up pancake syrup, dehydrating and crushing burritos so I could snort them, and liquefying cheese fries to put in an IV bag so I could mainline them...ooooohhhhhh yyyyeeeaaaahhhh. Back to my story, so I'm falling asleep at noon in the car and decide it's fast food time. I get my goods and my diet coke and get back on the road. With each bite that I am taking, I'm thinking about my wedding dress; the same wedding dress that I tried on that morning just to make sure it zipped up. That concern was lost somewhere between a taco and a chicken nugget. For the entire drive, I'm asking myself why I do what I do in the car, and that's when I finally told myself that I had a problem, and I needed help, and at that time my inner-fat kid told me that help was at the next exit in a Dairy Queen. I did not go to the Dairy Queen! I called my husband (aka my sponsor for not being a food junkie) and told him that I had an idea: "I want to create a blog addressing weight issues and concerns and other related obsessions that I have because I know there has to be someone else who does this to themselves!!! I want to feel better about being me..." Needless to say, by the time the photo session started, I was sweating out french fries and guilt, but I was motivated to live my life differently. I was thrilled!!! I got back in my car and swore I would start that minute! Okay, well, maybe after this milkshake; I'll start after the milkshake! Yes, a new life for Abigail, when I'm done with this hotdog, a new life for this girl! Whoo hoo, alright, yes, empowered, I will feel empowered when I finish both of these combos from Arby's! I'm stoked, I can't wait, this is sooooo exciting, after this McFlurry, I am totally hammering out this idea....(sad to say, I speak truth about everything I ate on my way home).

The next morning, I felt defeated. We do that, though, don't we? We get ourselves really jazzed about living a healthier life. We go to the store to buy all sorts of fruits and veggies, spending a ton of money, but that's okay because it's promoting a healthy life and we're worth it. We buy workout clothes, new tennis shoes, download songs, kiss our Jane Fonda poster, and hit the road for our first run, and we're running. Oh yeah, we're running, and it feels good. Oh yeah, people are driving by and saying, "Oh, I should run like her," and we're like, "Yeah buddy, this workout counts double because I'm doing it in public, whoo hoo..." and then we start breathing hard, and oops, side stitch, that's okay, breathe differently, and wow, what is my toe doing, is there a rock in my shoe??? Nope, it's just my toe freaking out, but I'm doing great. Yeah, doing good, getting to the end of the road, taking a right turn, uh oh, a hill, avoiding the right turn and taking a left, yes...sweet...going left takes me down hill. And we're still running, and we're doing okay, and yeah, okay, here we go, and we're jogging, and why do my lips feel dry? Hmm...it's okay, lips get dry, and yeah, I'm doing a little less than okay, and wow, ten minutes have gone by, let's walk it out, oh yeah, and we're walking it out...! We feel great! We did it! Let's celebrate with a piece of cake because, hey, we did go out work out today...(sound familiar). We wake up, sore, feeling terrible that we ate the cake, and we give up because we feel defeated...but Monday, we'll start next Monday...Monday for sure!

We all do it, and that's because we lack the ability to find balance at that moment (a future post topic). It took a few days, but I decided to go forward with the idea of a blog, mainly because I desperately needed to know that I wasn't alone, and throughout this journey, I've learned that I'm not. Again, I blame estrogen. The emails, facebook messages, and responses that I get provide so much nurture. This helps me every day. So, my point is that even though I stalled about making a commitment to this, I did it, and I'll continue to do it. I am proud to report that I have not had another series of drive-thru marathons; however, I will admit that one night I did eat two meals from the Waffle House, but since then, I've been clean. And that has nothing to do with the fact that I don't have a car over here in Korea, nor a Korea driver's license, nor are there drive-thrus. Nope, it has nothing to do with that. The amount of bakeries across the street have nothing to do with any new addictions that I might have, uh huh, not this girl...(guilty face). Thank you for following me for three to four months now and letting me get some things off of my chest. I wanted to use this post to remind you that we're in this together! We're a group of estrogen abused girls who exhaust ourselves daily by dieting and hating others...so I'd say that we're pretty much normal.