The Eat and Run Diet

To Cleanse or Not to Cleanse

When I first started my Eat and Run Diet back in May, I took a vow -- that I would never make myself do anything that I was not prepared to do every day for the rest of my life.

No crash diets or mountaineering expeditions for me.

"My final rule," I wrote, "is not to deny myself any food or put myself on any exercise regimen that I can't realistically sustain. The last thing I want to do is lose 40 pounds, brag about it on this blog, then land on the cover of People magazine like poor Kirstie Alley. Would I lose more weight a lot faster if I spent six hours a day at the gym and went cold turkey on carbs? Probably. Am I likely to do that every day for the rest of my life? You gotta be kidding me."

Three months since making that promise, I've found that exercise is the easy part. When I'm not in the gym running on the treadmill or working out with my trainer, I'm walking (not cabbing it) to business meetings in the city or walking three miles around Centerport Harbor near my house in Long Island. The other night, my daughter, Caroline, and I walked half an hour in the 80-degree heat from our apartment in The Village to an Italian restaurant on the Lower East Side and back home again.

I'm also eating better and more moderately -- smaller portions, fewer carbs, more fruits and vegetables. I've also been able to stay away from sugar and sweets thanks to apples, nuts, fruit bars and Splenda.

When I step on the scale in the morning, I see proof positive that I've shed 20 pounds in the last three months. At 182, I can see the 170s just over the horizon. And, thanks to the strength training I've been doing at the gym, my body is better toned than it was in college.

So, what's the problem? In a word, patience. While my goal is still to slim down to 155 (the upper range of the BMI for a 5'6" woman like me) by the end of 2010, I'd love to get to my destination a whole lot sooner. And that's why, even though I'm planning to continue the diet and exercise regimen that got me this far, it's tempting to cheat and do something radical -- just this once -- to catapult me to my goal right now.

For example,

1. A 30-day escape to Canyon Ranch. I've been to that wonderful health resort many times in the past (with and without my daughters), and I've always come back rejuvenated. I'm sure that a month of monastic seclusion with nothing but small portions of healthy food and large doses of fitness classes would melt those final 25 pounds like butter.

2. A three-week Master Cleanse. While the idea of living on nothing but water, lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne pepper scares the crap out of me, I've got to admit that my friends and colleagues who've gone in for a cleanse or two look pretty good. After all, I forced myself to go on a three-week roadshow to take my company public. Could a 21-day cleanse really be much worse?

3. The New York City marathon. I've heard that marathon runners can eat all the carbs they want and still lose weight. While I struggled to run a mile around the track in high school, I've read about 70-old-year nuns who run 26 miles without breaking a sweat. What's my excuse?

Realistically, though, I can't picture myself doing any of these things. While I love Canyon Ranch, I can't abandon my kids, my boyfriend or my business for a month until I get my groove back. As for the Master Cleanse, I can barely survive a one-day fast on Yom Kippur. Three weeks of starvation? Thanks but no thanks. Running the marathon? While I can hike five miles without breaking a sweat, the truth is that those 70-year-old nuns could outrun me any day of the week.

So, despite the temptation of doing whatever it takes to get thin fast, I think I'm going to stick with the Eat and Run Diet for now. It may be slow and steady, but I feel confident that it's going to get me where I want to go and keep me there for many years to come.

A Fitness Plan for the Rest of Us

Last week, I got so excited about my Eat and Run Diet that I decided to post a link to it on Facebook for all my friends to see.

A few days later, I received a lengthy email from a classmate I hadn't spoken to since high school. Boy, did I get an earful!

"In this economy and the fact that I am tightening my belt for my youngest son's college education (he graduates in 2010), I cannot afford to spend money on gyms, etc. and find myself working (sitting) at the computer for 9 to 10 hours a day just trying to keep my mid-five-figure-a-year job," Lynn Mitchell Frick wrote me, confessing that she now tipped the scales at almost 250 pounds while I was whining about weighing 185. "Sitting all day is not helping, I know. Move, walk, DO SOMETHING. I'd LOVE to if I could find the time and energy!!! And, I NEVER could afford the luxury of a personal trainer!"

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Here was I, the rich New York City girl, griping about all the weight I was putting on at business lunches and charity balls and how tough it was working out at my fancy health club while my poor high school friend was struggling just to pay the bills and keep her family afloat. Had I completely lost touch with my middle-class Philadelphia roots? Wasn't I still the same girl who rode her bike to the park and took swimming lessons at the Y?

Hold on a minute, I replied. While it's certainly true that I've been fortunate in my career, I don't believe that health and fitness are attainable only by people who have the time and money to work out with a trainer. If it were, then Kirstie Alley would weigh 137 pounds. Remember, I added, both of us were pretty thin in high school.

As we emailed back and forth over the next couple of days, Lynn opened up to me about her battle with weight. It wasn't just a money issue, she confessed. Turns out that she had tried the South Beach Diet and lost 40 pounds -- but that was when she still worked at an office. Now, between working from home as a remote employee, eating her husband's good cooking and undergoing a hysterectomy, the weight had come back with a vengeance.

"When my husband lived in Queens, we walked everywhere and I loved it," she said. "It's just not an option in the burbs. My house is too small for a treadmill, and I really cannot afford one, either. I tried a gym, and the hassle of waiting for equipment was more than I could stand and the cost was ridiculous. I had one training session, and then I was on my own. No one was there to help me stay motivated, so I quit going to the gym and working out so money was flushed down the toilet.

"So, although your life allows you certain benefits," she said, "Maybe if you could say something like, 'Although I have or use this, I think that that would be a great substitution.' I have that thought when I watch cooking shows, too.

"Does that make sense?"

In an instant, it clicked. Yes, it does, I wrote back. To take a page from the Food Network playbook, you're saying that I should show people who are not gourmet chefs how they can make a delicious pie with a frozen crust that they can buy at the supermarket. Not everybody wants to learn how to whip one up from scratch in a mere five-and-a-half hours.

So what's my fitness plan for the rest of us?

1. Walk, walk and walk some more. No matter where you live -- the city, the country or the suburbs, there are plenty of great places to walk, especially in the summer. And you can pick up a pair of no-frills $20 sneakers at your nearest Wal-Mart, Kmart or Target.

2. Join the Y. In addition to my upscale gym in Manhattan, I also belong to the YMCA in Huntington, a five-minute drive from my house in Long Island. For a low $85 a month, my boyfriend and I and his entire family can go there any time we want and use the treadmill, the bike, the pool and the exercise machines. And, unlike my gym in the city where I pay $95 a session for a personal trainer, I could hire one at the Huntington Y for half the price (which, come to think of it, may not be such a bad idea).

3. Find a friend. Facebook, for all that I love it, isn't the only place to find moral support. Find a neighbor, a co-worker or a family member to join you at the gym. It's a whole lot more fun than going alone. When I'm in the city, I often go to the gym with my daughters. In Long Island, I go to the Y with my boyfriend. There's nothing that brings people closer than sweating it out together.

4. Get snacking. Surround yourself with low-cost, wholesome foods you love to eat. Fruits and veggies cost less than ice cream and frozen dinners, and they've got far fewer calories. While I still love bananas and green apples, I've expanded my snack plate to include almonds, cashews, pecans, strawberries and raisins. Yum!

5. Read. Novels, magazines, self-help books, anything you can get your hands on. For my 50th birthday last week, a friend gave me a copy of the best-seller French Women Don't Get Fat. Since then, I've been devouring it -- voraciously. Sure beats taco chips and Milky Way bars.

FYI, I stepped on the scale this morning, and, to my surprise, weighed in at 183. Then I went to the gym with my daughter, Caroline, and logged 45 minutes on the treadmill, finishing my workout with 30 crunches.

I feel so much lighter now that I've shed all those excuses, and, Lynn, trust me, so will you.

Personal Training: Just Do It -- Carefully!

It's been 19 days since my last post, and you're probably wondering what happened.

No, I haven't fallen off the wagon again -- in fact, I'm down to 185. And, no, I haven't been hit by a bout of writer's block or a crazy New York City taxi driver.

It's nothing that dramatic or dire. Two weeks ago, after a conversation with my daughters, who are my biggest fans but also my toughest critics, I decided to take a step back from this blog and re-think it. Oh, Mom, Julia told me, you're making it look too easy. Everybody knows that exercise is boring and painful and that most people can't stick to a diet. You've got to tell it like it is, Caroline said. But I want to inspire people, I retorted, to motivate them to keep going when they feel like they're ready to quit.

But, looking back on my postings, I saw they had a point. There was clearly another side of the story, a side that I wasn't telling. If diet and exercise were fun, everybody would be doing it -- and they're not.

So, starting today, I'm not going to sugar-coat it anymore. (Unless I can do it with Splenda.) I'm going to lay it on the line and show you the good, the bad and the ugly of what it takes to try to get in shape.

Let's start with personal trainers. Five years ago, I joined a top-rated health club near my apartment in the Village. Like most clubs, they gave me a free session with a personal trainer. My trainer was an energetic 25-year-old guy who radiated fitness and health. Do you have any medical conditions I should know about?, I remember him asking me. I told him about the lower back problems I'd had since I'd picked up Julia from her crib 14 years earlier and spent the next three days on the floor. I also told him about the soreness I had in my neck and shoulders after spending way too many years in front of a computer.

The first day, we started off slow, working the circuit of machines to strengthen my flabby muscles. After a session or two, I was feeling more confident. Then my trainer started increasing the weights, spurring me on to even greater athletic challenges. One morning, as I was doing squats in front of the bench, he handed me a barbell. Hold this behind your shoulders, he told me, then do 10 more squats. A little hesitant, I reminded him that I was 45, not 25, and that I didn't want to injure myself. He shot me a look that said, "Wimp!," so, like an idiot, I did what he said.

The next day, I woke up sore. I don't know what I pulled, but my neck, shoulders and back muscles felt like they were on fire. The next day was even worse. Finally, I broke down and went to an anesthesiologist who gave me muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatory drugs and later to a physical therapist who put heating pads on my back. Eventually, I stopped going to the physical therapist (too busy with work) and quit taking the meds (didn't want to be dependent on drugs) and, over time, I began to feel better.

But I never went back to the gym -- until I started the Eat and Run Diet two months ago. And, while I briefly worked out with a trainer at my apartment last year, I was careful never to do anything that I thought would hurt my back.

But, yesterday, when my trainer, Gina, handed me a barbell to balance on my shoulders while doing squats, I decided to take the leap of faith. After two months of working out with machines and free weights, I felt that I was ready. But first I wanted to know how much the barbell weighed. Fifteen pounds, she told me. I'll try it, I said. And I did -- without breaking a sweat.

Today, the day before my 50th birthday, I woke up feeling fine. The only pain I feel in my back and shoulders is a little soreness from having spent the better part of an hour writing this blog post.

And, now, I'm off to the gym!

Falling Off the Wagon, Getting Back on the Treadmill

After six weeks on the Eat and Run diet, I thought I had it nailed.

No sweets, no Coke, long healthy walks, weekly workouts with my personal trainer. In place of my free-floating anxiety was a sunny optimism about the future. Yes, we can! For the first time in my life, I was looking forward to going to the gym.

Then reality hit. Those fancy Asics running shoes that I bought to reward myself for those three-mile walks around the lake etched two big blisters on the insteps of my feet. (Only later did I realize that I could remove the insoles and replace them with ones more friendly to my arches.) Now sooner did I get those blisters under control than I discovered another, more painful one on my right pinkie toe. I felt like I was at Girl Scout camp all over again.

But that wasn't all. On Wednesday night, I slipped on a cocktail dress and heels to attend the Red Cross Ball at the Pierre Hotel. Inside those pumps, my throbbing pinkie toe felt as big as Manhattan. And, because I hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, I asked the waiter to bring me a Coke so that I could get through dinner without falling asleep at the table. By the time dessert came, I was so hopped up on sugar and caffeine that I dove right into the brownie and creme brulee without even thinking.

By the time I stepped on the scale the next morning, I was solidly in the 190s again. Even worse, it rained so hard that my suit jacket got completely drenched as I walked around town to client meetings. That night, exhausted from the pain, the rain and the fundraiser, I decided to stay home and watch a movie. After all, I deserved a break, didn't I? At 10 PM, having fallen asleep halfway through the BBC version of Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, I woke up with a start. The anxiety and depression that I thought I had banished forever were back with a vengeance.

Friday morning, I went back to the gym to work out with my trainer, Gina, a 34-year-old Mom with four-year-old twins who's thinner than I was before I even had kids. Tired and sluggish, I sat down at the rowing machine and started pulling the weights, annoyed that I'd let myself fall off the wagon so easily. Then we went upstairs and I started lifting weights and doing squats, my body reluctantly following her commands.

But, as I began to feel the sweat pouring down my shirt, I felt the endorphins kicking in. Finally, a dose of sunshine! After setting up two sessions with Gina for next week (yes, I'm planning to double my fun!), I hopped on the treadmill and cranked up the volume. At 4 miles an hour and a 2.0 incline, my heart raced up to 140 beats per minute, torching those evil calories and igniting fireworks of euphoria in my brain. That's right, Bruce Springsteen told me on my iPod, baby, you were born to run!

I raced back to my apartment and hopped on the scale. 185! I hadn't seen that number in years! (After lunch and dinner, of course, it was a different story, but it was great to see it just the same.)

Today, it's raining again, but I don't care. I ran 30 minutes on the treadmill this morning, and I'm feeling great. I'm back in Long Island now, and, assuming that we get a break in the weather, I'm planning another five-mile hike to the Vanderbilt Museum and Centerport Beach tomorrow morning.

Who says you can't relive those glory days?

Hitting The Road: Your Mileage May Vary

One of the first questions I get asked when I tell people about the Eat and Run Diet is, How do you know it will work?

The truth is I don’t. I’m not a diet doctor, I’m not a nutritionist and I haven’t lost 100 pounds by eating a popular brand of fast food sandwich. But I am a pretty smart cookie and I’ve got to believe that, if you subtract more calories a day than you add, you’re going to lose weight. Just do the math.

My problem is that I live in New York City, not Canyon Ranch, and, for all that I’d love to eat nothing but flaxseed on egg whites and 12-grain toast, that’s just not reality for me. Or for anybody else I know. That’s why I consider it a major victory that, during a week in which I met a client for lunch at Pizzeria Otto, snacked on chips and dip at the Do Something fundraiser, and went out to eat with my boyfriend’s family at a Japanese steak house, I actually dropped a few pounds.

Yes, dear reader, I stepped on the scale this morning and am proud to report that I am now down to 189. I have broken the 190-pound barrier. Wahoo!

How did this happen? Last Monday and Tuesday, I did my usual 2.5-mile circuit around Centerport Harbor. I also did a lot of yard work around the house. On Wednesday morning, I worked out for an hour with a Pilates trainer at the new gym I’m thinking of joining in the city. Wednesday evening, I walked back from a gallery opening in the East Village to meet my brother, Dave, at Japonica for dinner (about 30 minutes), then walked him back to his hotel across from Penn Station (another 30 minutes). On Thursday morning, I worked out for an hour with my personal trainer at The New York Health & Racquet Club before jumping on the treadmill to get some cardio. On Friday, it rained so I took the day off. Then, on Saturday, I walked the 2.5 miles back to my house in Centerport from neighboring Greenlawn. 

But it was yesterday – the day after I ate way too much hibachi at that Japanese steak house in Huntington – when I decided to hit the road in earnest. As I circled back toward the house through the Centerport firehouse parking lot, I continued straight on Little Neck Road instead of turning left on Prospect. As I walked uphill toward the Vanderbilt Museum, I found myself using calf muscles I’d forgotten I even had. I had to stop a couple of times to catch my breath, but somehow I found the burst of energy I needed to make it to the top. Then came the easy hike downhill and, suddenly, Centerport Beach came into sight. After spending a few minutes enjoying the view, I turned around and headed home with only the image of a sparkling bottle of Poland Spring to keep me going. (Note to self: Next time bring water!)

Once I finally got back to the house (a good two hours and 5 miles after I’d left), I thought about some of the people I’d seen along the way. There was the Mom and her daughter walking their dog, the high school kid in floppy green shorts, the two older women chatting quietly under the trees, and a couple of athletic-looking bike riders peddling uphill without breaking a sweat.

I also saw a man about my age, a little overweight, jogging slowly (but probably as fast as he could), huffing and puffing as he made his way uphill at the same time as I was walking back from my triumph at the beach. Our eyes met for an instant as we gave each other a nod of support as if to say, “We can do this.”

Since I embarked on the Eat and Run Diet about a month ago, several people – including my boyfriend, Ray – have expressed their doubts as to whether a diet that lets you eat all the carbs you want as long as you walk or run them off can really be effective. To be honest, I don’t know. Will I need to walk two hours a day in order to reach my goal of losing 40 pounds by Dec. 31, 2010? Will I need to work out three times a week? Will I need to run?

The truth is, everyone’s body is different. Your mileage may vary. For me, I intend keep walking until I find out.

Until next time!

Rosalind

Why the Best Rules Are No Rules At All

The problem I have with most diets is not the hunger pangs, the calorie-counting or the luscious dessert carts reluctantly sent back to the kitchen.

It's the never-ending list of rules that tell you what you can and can't eat, what you can and can't do, whether you're a winner or a big, fat loser. For all that I love solving business problems, the last thing I want to do when I sit down to a nice plate of pasta is whip out my calculator and start doing the math. And, while I'd love to look like one of those 22-year-old actresses walking down the red carpet on Academy Awards night, I don't think I could bring myself to go on a starvation diet of lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne pepper for more than five minutes. And there's no way I'm going to limit myself to pre-packaged, portion-controlled, microwavable "food" delivered to my apartment, either. Just the thought of it is enough to make me run out and gorge myself on black-and-white cookies.

That's why, when I decided to get serious about losing weight after my annual physical last month, I realized that I wouldn't last a day on Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Master Cleanse or The Zone Diet.

Because, when it comes to following rules, the only rules I can stick to are my own. Which is probably why I dropped out of Corporate America 20 years ago and have been working for myself ever since.

So what's a self-employed, self-motivated, self-confessed non-dieter to do if she wants to lose 40 pounds and slim down to her fighting weight of 155 by the end of 2010?

Here are five rules I came up with a month ago, and they seem to be working for me:

(Yes, dear reader, I am now within striking distance of 190.)

Rule #1: Run toward restaurants, not away from them.

While this may seem counter-intuitive, it actually makes sense. After all, you can't reach your goal if you don't have a destination and, unless you're a confirmed masochist (which fortunately I am not), the prospect of depriving yourself of the joy of eating just doesn't seem like a goal worth striving for. So, instead of condemning myself to a lifetime of protein shakes and nukable entrees, I decided to set a goal that would really motivate me -- a nice big plate of linguni topped with seafood and marinara sauce. The catch: I've got to earn that high-calorie meal by walking three miles a day and/or exercising for at least an hour. Will I work for food? You'd better believe it.

Rule #2: Ask yourself if that Milky Way bar is worth the hike.

While I gave up McDonald's a long time ago, I couldn't seem to kick my addiction to Coke. Any time I needed something quick to pick me up before a big meeting, I'd reach for a can and tell myself that this would be the last one. Then there were those early morning espressos with three (or even four) packets of sugar that I told myself I needed to wake up my brain. And, yes, there were those Milky Bars I grabbed because I didn't have time for lunch. Anyway, I dropped those "friends" a month ago and -- surprise! -- found that I didn't even miss them. Now, I drink unsweetened ice tea with Splenda when I go out and wolf down an 8-oz. bottle of Poland Spring after a workout or a hike. Sure, I'll treat myself to something sweet once in a while (like the amazing gelato at that ice cream store on Bleeker Street) -- as long as I'm prepared to walk it off.  

Rule #3: Put on your shoes one sneaker at a time. 

Like most New Yorkers, I love to walk. But how fast was I really walking in low heels and Birkenstocks? Not very. And those casual strolls from Restaurant A to Restaurant B just weren't burning all the carbs I was consuming. So, a month ago when I got serious about walking, I fished out an old pair of New Balance sneakers from the closet of my house in Long Island and laced them up. It's amazing how much faster you can walk with a little ankle support and some spring in your step. Last week, I walked the 1.3 miles from my apartment in the Village to Penn Station in 22 minutes -- and that was with a backpack that contained a pretty heavy purse. Not bad for an out-of-shape Girl Scout leader who's pushing 50!

Rule #4: Eat only food that your grandmother would recognize.

I never paid much attention to where my food came from or what was inside it. As long as it tasted good, I ate it. But then I read an eye-opening book by nutrition writer Michael Pollan called In Defense of Food. Rather than eat the processed foods that have made the agro-industrial complex rich, Pollan believes that the best diet is one that our grandparents would have recognized -- mostly fruits and vegetables with some healthy fish, meats and oils thrown in. Some of my favorites: Bananas, green apples, seafood salad and hard-boiled eggs. I'm getting hungry already.

Rule #5: Don't do anything that you can't do tomorrow, next week and every day for the rest of your life.

My final rule (though I'm sure I'll come up with more) is not to deny myself any food or put myself on any exercise regimen that I can't realistically sustain. The last thing I want to do is lose 40 pounds, brag about it on this blog, then land on the cover of People magazine like poor Kirstie Alley. Would I lose more weight a lot faster if I spent six hours a day at the gym and went cold turkey on carbs? Probably. Am I likely to do that every day for the rest of my life? You gotta be kidding me.   

Remember: The best rules are the rules that work for you. Don't let anyone take away your God-given right to eat a hot fudge sundae any time, anywhere you want!

Until next time!

Rosalind