iVillage Total Health

What a girl wants...what a guy needs?

OK, so this magazine called Fabulous from the U.K. just came out with its 2008 Fabulous Body Survey* and the major question—well, the answer to the question, really—caught my eye. Especially because this answer was splashed across three naked bodies. When asked about the "ideal" size:

Women answered Size 8 (equivalent to the U.S. size 6)
Men answered Size 12 (U.S. size 10)
The national average on that side of the pond: Size 16 (U.S. size 14)

One question that perked my little doggie ears inquired, "Which of these female celebrities have the best body?" (OK, the magazine spelled "best" wrong, but I'm just going to pretend I didn't see that.) The boys replied:

Keira Knightley = 6%
Kate Moss = 1%
Abbey Clancy = 11%
Alex Curran = 3%
Coleen McLoughlin = 4%
Giselle Bundchen = 8%
Kelly Brooke = 40%
Holly Willoughby = 6%
Mylenne Klass = 15%
Kate Winslet = 6%

Don't worry, I had no idea who the hell those women are, either. But then I looked up Miss Popular, Kelly Brooke, and found out she looks like this. Of course she does. P.S. I totes have a shiny blue bathing suit JUST LIKE THAT—I'm planning on lounging in it by the pool in Mexico this coming Thanksgiving with my husband's family.

When they asked men, "Do you wish your partner was more body confident?"
77% men said yes.
The rest are single or bastards.

Raise your hand if you've played this game with a partner...the one where you bitch and moan about a body "flaw" (For me, it's my butt, which I refuse to let Dan see head-on, lest he turn to stone. Literally, I will walk out of the shower backwards to avoid a full moon. This is my husband we're talking about here. And I am a body image expert. Shit happens.) and then he/she tells you how beautiful you are—and means it—and then you whine, "No, I'm a fat cow and there are people in Machu Picchu right now who can see my cellulite, it's so obvious." I mean, hypothetically speaking.

What if we could just erase these insipid, frustrating convos and just accept a compliment and—shock—not feel like we have to kvetch in the first place? Surveys like these, even if they are filled with spelling errors, should bolster us up. Our lovers don't want sticks. Or maybe yours does, and you happen to be long and willowy, so it's perfect. The point is, your guy or girl is attracted to you—otherwise they wouldn't constantly be trying to get you liquored up and into bed be your mate. Shake whatchya got, because chances are, it's what they want. Please don't misconstrue this as me saying we exist to please our partners or should place their views above our own. That ain't my tune, and now you don't smell what that Rock is cooking. I'm just saying, on the occasion where you feel out of touch with your bod and unhappy with your bloated belly/uneven boobs/thick thighs, think of these Fabulous men and remember that they, more likely than not, wish you were four sizes larger.

Now go eat something. You look like a twig.

*A "stone," referred to in the survey, is a unit of measurement commonly used in the U.K. that is equivalent to 14 pounds.

Cougar. Skippy Cougar.

Jen from Semi-Charmed Wife inspired me with her recent blog about one's various code names. Hers cracked me up so much, I tagged myself (what? I'm a woman of the 00s!) and am doing it here. Pick a fave and then tell me what YOUR Superhero name is!

YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)
Skippy Cougar

YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
L-Go (actually, it's L-Gol but L-Go sounds better and some of my friends actually call me it!)

YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Pink Greatdane

YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Robyn Harvey

YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
Golle (awesome!)

SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
The Green Martini

NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)
Robert Morty

STRIPPER NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)
Rapture Sugar Daddy (you can't make that kind of stuff up!)

WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names )
Gail Mark

TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
Frank Frankfurt

SPY NAME/BOND GIRL: (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
Halloween Orchid

CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + “ie” or “y”)
Watermelon Tanky (Um, shouldn't this be my Pornstar name?)

HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
Oatmeal Lavender

YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)
The Writing Sunshine Tour

Can an anorexic woman and an obese woman be best friends?

The story of an unexpected friendship between two women - one obese, the other anorexic.

That's the one-sentence synopsis of the newly released movie, disFIGURED, which I just finished watching on my laptop. (There have been public screenings in NY but the DVD became available nationally on Tuesday; my copy was an early review... thanks to Cinema Libre Studio for the consideration.)

disFIGURED opens up with a group of overweight women who belong to a hardcore Fat Acceptance Group in Venice Beach, Calif. Women of various sizes (but all larger than a Size 12) discuss the indignities of living large in a never-too-thin society. Says one woman, tired of being ignored by others: “There’s too much of me to miss, so if I say 'Excuse me' to you once, and I know I have a voice that you are going to hear..and I get this look, then I’m not nice anymore."

One woman suggests gathering a group of plus-sizers together and telling the airlines who insist on charging double for an overweight person to fly to basically screw themselves if they can't meet their more spacious needs.

And then there's talk of the condescending, ubiquitous phrase, "She let herself go” in reference to a woman who has gained weight. "I didn’t GO anywhere," the Fat Acceptance Group member snarks. "I’m right here."

The opening dialogue moves into a rare plotline that I found shockingly real, touchy, emotional, humorous and hurtful, and introspective for viewers heavy and thin alike. Lydia (played by Deidra Edwards...on the left in this pic) is a group member who wants to start her own Fat Acceptance Walking Group. She announces this to little fanfare from the group at large, who see it as her trying to lose weight and conform to society's pressure to be small.

"We are not a self-help group," the leader admonishes. " We are here to get a screwed-up world to accept us"

Lydia: "What about accepting ourselves?"

Leader: "Well, if you’re having a hard time with that then you have internalized that prejudice. You are trying to change your body, Lydia, and that is self-hatred, pure and simple."

Lydia: "You’re trying to change the world. Does that mean you hate the world?"

Leader (with a smirk): "Yeah...I do. Very often. Don’t you?"

Enter Darcy (Staci Lawrence, on the right), a recovering-anorexic real estate agent. When this ultra-thin woman enters the group, the other women stare at her as if she's a dancing cat in a tutu —is this a figment of their imagination? When finally asked what she's doing there, Darcy explains that, at her anorexic core, she feels fat. She wants to join in the movement.

Her honesty (however clouded by an eating disorder mentality) does not win her any fans—one women says, in a slooowww, are-you-mentally-challenged voice, “This is a fat…acceptance…group.”

And Darcy is summarily ousted.

But through a series of not-so-chance encounters, Darcy and Lydia start a friendship outside the group. Both women are struggling within their bodies, within society, with their families, friends and relationships. Though at first Lydia can't imagine why Darcy would want to be close with her (“I’m your worst nightmare,” she says to her at one point. Darcy does not correct her), they grow close, eventually sharing intimate details about Lydia's sex life (watch for a beautifully-shot, rarely-seen plus-sized sex scene in disFigured.)

Things take a downward turn when Lydia asks Darcy for "anorexia lessons," taking the movie for a twist reminiscent of pro-ana web sites.

disFIGURED is a film about weight and body image, but it's much more: It's about love, friendship, stigma, hatred, parental boundaries, bingeing to fuel emotional needs, the pressure to conform, and much more.

Writer Gers (a man!), who also wrote Mad Money and Fracture, says in the press release, “I wrote, directed, co-edited and financed disFIGURED because it’s a movie I wanted to see. The issues of appearance, control, isolation and our complicated relationships to our own bodies seem universal to me and I wanted to spark a dialogue about weight issues. These are the topics we should be making movies about.”

Watch the trailer here. And leave your comments below. Anyone who has found herself eating Rocky Road out of the pint, only to scrape the carton two minutes later will understand...as will any woman who has sweated it out on the Elliptical while staring at page upon magazine page of stick-like thighs and carved-out waists. Just make sure you see this film—it will open your eyes to your own prejudices, insecurities, comfort zones and ability to change in the most positive of ways.

Hands off Keira's ta-tas!

For those of you living under a nematode somewhere, I have shocking news: The media alters images of women. Yes, I know it sounds crazy. It is. But it's also true. Scars and cellulite get wiped away like a runny nose. Waists get carved our. Six-packs shaded in. Hair changes color. Entire bodies are trimmed and cleaned up. Curvy girls are turned into lollipop heads. Want an AMAZING, jaw-dropping example? Check this out - it's not a famous woman, but a photographer's example of how far retouching can go. Look at her skin, the whites of her eyes, her boobs, her belly button, her hands and thighs. This is just one teeny tiny example of how we are lied to on a daily basis. Show it to your friends and daughters.

Then, write a letter to Keira Knightly telling her how fab she is. The 23-year-old actress is constantly being dogged by rumors about her weight, yet she keeps her cool. Her rack was totally manipulated in publicity stills for the 2004 flick King Arthur...

...which must make one feel like crap about herself. Now, with a new movie coming out, The Duchess, Keira is taking a stand, saying she is "proud" of her Size As and insisting they not be digitally puffed up in publicity pics.

Good Morning America called me for my take on the subject last night. Unfortunately, they called during the only hour of the day when I was not chainlinked to my phone - during my workout (oh, irony, you slay me) at 5pm CST.

Increased personal public exposure notwithstanding, the topic demands attention. According to gawker.com, Knightley has "rejected Paramount Vantage's request to digitally enhance her breasts in publicity photos for its fall drama The Duchess. It's a devastating blow to what remains of the studio's thinning clout, what with pink slips subbing for napkins in the cafeteria, its Oscar legacy threatened by a genre-mediocrity torrent to come, and one of its biggest stars steadfastly refusing to be... well, one of its biggest stars."

How freaking pathetic is it that movie studios - empires - can be made or broken by the looks of its stars...and those looks aren't even real?

Also, how sad is it that I looked at the cover of Self and thought, "Hmm, cool that they didn't airbrush away her entire thigh and left some actual flesh/muscle."?

I Leslie, promise you, wedding cake...

Last night I sucked out layers upon layers of creme brulee filling from my friend Amanda's wedding cake. The top layer. The layer she entrusted me, her Matron of Honor, to bring home after the wedding and freeze for her and her husband to enjoy on their one-year anniversary. All this, despite the fact that I don't even like creme brulee.

Let me explain.

Yes, there was an, ahem, incident last nite. You see, I was MOH in Amanda's wedding over the weekend. It was a wonderful time, especially because I adore being center of attention and the MOH usually gets at least 30% of the limelight, bride aside I love my friend Amanda so much and spending time with her during this incredibly momentous occasion was a privilege. We popped champagne together in the honeymoon suite just before the rehearsal dinner because her fiance was already at the restaurant. We got our hair did (still picking errant bobby pins from my hair) and had fake eyelashes applied and then we poured her into her so-sexy-it-was-silly Monique Lhuillier, latte-colored backless lace gown. I gave a great speech (pat pat). I got to walk down the same aisle I walked down for my own wedding four years ago, as she got married at the Chicago Historical Society, too. Oh, and I forgot about my neck problem long enough to engage in some slightly dangerous but extremely sloppy and fun hopping-in-heels to the song Jump Around by House of Pain.

At the end of the night, my MOH duties included playing bitch to the new bride (I say that in a lovig way...it was an honor being her bitch) and taking home a bunch of stuff that couldn't go to the honeymoon suite. This included a cascading bouquet of Tahitian orchids and the top layer of wedding cake. I had tastes a bit of icing earlier and was surprised to discover I hated it - it was like pure butter, no sweetness at all. I felt safe bringing the cake home. Amanda would pick it up he next day.

Ha! What were we thinking? Anyone who's been married knows nothing productive happens the next day except battling a hangover, counting checks or racing to the airport to catch a plane to Greece (bye, Mandy! Go flight high in the sky!) So she called me and said there was no way they could get the cake - could I just pitch it?

Um...isn't that bad luck? I asked.

But you don't have room to freeze it, she said.

True, I replied, but I could slice it up and freeze a few pieces of it for you.

Deal! She told me to toss the rest, unless I wanted some. Cocky, cocky me thought I was in the clear - Lolly no likey straight butter.

I removed the creamy, white monster from our fridge and plucked the gorgeous pink orchids from the top, wiping the frosting off the stems and placing them in shallow bowls of water to give our place an air of importance.

Then I set about carving that puppy up. I knew I didn't like the frosting so I thought I was in the clear. After Ziplocking a couple slices, I tasted a little swipe of the creme brulee frosting. Nope. Not for me.

But maybe I should try a little more. Just to be sure.

I swear, I thought it tasted like meat. That can't be possible, I thought. Meat wedding cake??! So I tried some more.

Next thing I know, I was using the knife to actually carve tunnels in the cake, extracting five inches' worth of filling at a time and licking it off the knife. Apparently I DO like meaty buttery creme brulle filling.

As I did this, my husband enjoyed a small, smart 100-calories snack pack of mini Chips Ahoy.

I'm a bad, bad person. Amanda's wedding cake has been sullied by my semi bingelike behaviors. They can now blame any marital discord on my appetite and the dark shadow of recklessness which I cast over their marriage.

Off to eat some watermelon...

Are you inspecting my sacroiliac joint or are you just happy to see me?

Looks like I'll be tossing back an extra dose of Valium before flying the friendly skies, in light of this.

Yes, it seems that in an effort to thwart would-be VBP (Very Bad People,) O'Hare is adopting a new, uber-revealing full-body scan to be used prior to boarding. This "virtual reality strip-search" will actually pierce through my Seven jeans and Lucy hoodie like a creepy catcalling construction worker, creating a very precise silhouette of my bod — showing, the Chicago Tribune reports, "shapes, folds of fat and other anatomical characteristics."

And even though facial features are blurred (um, that's great but I'm still standing right there! What if my high school ex-BF is O'Hare's newest scanner?), breasts, tushies and private parts are all fair game. Private parts.

Even worse, what if this scan reveals that inside, I'm just a cute, innocent dancing baby?

My secret will be revealed and my superpowers rendered useless!

Is this a breach of my civil liberties? Or a necessary step to ensure my safety? Or just another reason to wear cute undies while traveling? Or all three?

Typically, I breeze thru security without a care in the world, generally sticking to the same routine when I hit Chicago O'hare airport:

1) Shlep all of my stuff through security because I have an irrational fear of the airlines losing my luggage in a freak fall over Paducah, KY.

2) Shamelessly flirt with the TSA agent while silently shooting him mental eye daggers as he contemplates confiscating my 3.1 oz. bottle of special blonding conditioner.

3) Read trashy gossip mags while the cashier burns a hole into the back of my head with her own special brand of retail eye daggers.

4) Grab two McDonalds Fruit & Yogurt or make my famous Starbucks oatmeal (ask for a grande cup of boiling water, only half-way full; add the contents of a pre-prepared Ziplock full of one cup oatmeal, brown sugar and craisins. Stir, top with skim milk, and enjoy a hug from the inside.)

5) Wait five hours while my flight is delayed.

6) Pass out before take-off, more recently with my blinged-out cervical collar on for support.

Now it looks like I'll have to add pre-flight bikini wax to the list :-(

Regardless, no flying for me this weekend. My friend Amanda is getting married and I'm Matron of Honor (her sister is Maid of Honor and is precisely one foot and 60 pounds less than me. We will be a visual treat up there!) The really exciting part is the ceremony and reception are at the same place Dan and I got married, so I get to walk down the aisle again! With a different guy that I barely know, true, but still. Wee!

And my friend Julie had her baby yesterday! And my sister-in-law is due in a month-and-a-half! So much great stuff!

Enjoy your weekends, my loves!
Leslie

I've got a crush on...Blake Lively?

Seriously. I'm about two Foul Balls away from switching teams. What is it about her that makes me wanna throw her down on the bed and tell her what a bad, bad Gossip Girl she's been? wish I could be her BFF? Is it her crazy luxe life on TV? Her impossibly luscious long tresses that are so completely opposite from my three-strands-of-fettuccini-width ponytail? Her tall girl-ness and the promise of sharing wardrobes?

I don't care if she had a nose job. I don't care about her borderline pornographic OMFG Gossip Girl ads

All I know is I need to nail this down and get it out of my mind ASAP because my infatuation, ignited a year or so ago when I fell into the trap of watching GG, is now leading me to think bad thoughts. As in, "Maybe I should see Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants, Part 2." In theaters now. And I never even saw Part 1!

I believe this is part of a generalized phase I've been going through in which I mentally vacuum up the most craptastic reality TV as possible...I've moved from excellent taste (Project Runway; Real World, So You Think You Can Dance) to bow-my-head shame (Tila Tequila; Rock of Love; [don't hate me] I Love Money.) The other day, I even turned on this stupid "I Want To Be On a Japanese Game Show" thing...on purpose.

What is wrong with me?

My friends are phat

A New York Post story, oh-so-delicately titled "Who's Your Fatty?" talks about how to "discuss downsizing" with an obese friend. You know, what to say to her because heavy people are dumb and don't know they're overweight to begin with. They definitely need others—particularly those who purport to love them—to get all in their face about it.

In the lede, 31-yr-old Victor waxes philosophical about his clinically obese friend of 10 years...they never discussed size, even when she sat down on and broke his couch. Eight years later, he decided to pipe up and tell her that, "at about 500 pounds, she wasn't healthy and had to do something about it."

Wow, Victor is sooo smart! Sage, even.

I bet his friend had NO idea she weighed 500 pounds. I bet she totally forgot that whole "breaking the couch" incident!

I mean, trust me, I get it - I get that many people may be legitimately concerned about a girlfriend who seems to be gaining weight suddenly or even one who has been heavy her whole life. Yes, we want our friends to be happy and healthy, and the prevailing notion in our society is that if someone is overweight, they are neither happy nor healthy.

As we know on a rational level, though, this is not true. You can be "fat but fit," you can be quite thrilled with life despite an extra 20 pounds. Maybe your friend is dealing with a divorce or lost her job and is temporarily turning to ice cream sundaes for comfort. This should pass. Maybe your friend has a medical condition you don't know about and is on steroids or another medication that is causing the gain. Or maybe she's simply not a natural Skinny Minnie and is satisfied with her 180 pounds. I just think that unless your friend specifically asks you for advice, this is not a conversation that will end well.

Example:

Thin Thea: "Heavy Holly, I love you and treasure our friendship, but I notice you've been overweight your whole life and all of those months spent toiling away at the gym and on Weight Watchers and at your therapist's office don't seem to be doing anything. I'm concerned about your health. What can I do to help?

Heavy Holly: (crickets)

Thin Thea: "I mean, remember that time you couldn't get up from my sofa? O when those guys on the streets called you that horrible name? I want to help that come to an end."

Heavy Holly: (sound of door slamming)

I'm not saying we have no right to be open with our friends about important, personal topics. And we all know that weight falls in a different "taboo" category as opposed to, say, smoking or drinking too much, or even anorexia or another eating disorder at the opposite end of the spectrum from obesity. All of those things are fair game. (Right? Am I wrong? I feel like the entire show Intervention is based on these kinds of issues. And no one would even fault you for approaching a girlfriend who was hooked on coke or Vicodin.) But when it comes to a buddy who's 30 pounds or even 100 pounds overweight, IMO, bringing it up will create a rift in the relationship and rub salt in a likely open wound. Or, if you're lucky enough to have a friend who is heavy but happy with her body, you'll insult her terribly.

(OK, I just remembered there was an Intervention with a food-addicted, obese young man.)

Then again, another woman interviewed for the Post story made her decision to say something to a newly chubby friend sound awfully virtuous:

"I thought, if I'm not going to tell her, who will? I'd want her to tell me, so I sat her down and told her I've noticed her weight gain. It was a tough conversation, but ultimately for the best."

What do you all think?

Oh, PS, in the NY Post story, there was a little link you could click, "How to tell your friend she's fat" (seriously- who the eff is in charge of editing this publication?) that took you to a list of tips for talk to a friend about weight, such as:

* Ask yourself: "Is he or she overweight?"

"This is the first thing you have to do! Look at yourself and see if you're being too critical of your friend," says Dr. Susan Bartell. "If you're not and she's legitimately overweight, then you know you can say something."

* Don't bring it up with an audience.

The worst thing you can do is talk about weight at a party or in front of other people. "Wait until the two of you are alone to tell your friend you think she needs to lose weight," says Bartell, adding, "and I wouldn't bring it up at the dinner table."

* Talk health, not looks.

"Don't say a word about how she looks, and instead focus on her health. Tell her you're concerned about her, her heart and blood pressure," says Bartell. "If you bring up the superficial aspect, she'll feel attacked and it won't be productive."

* Offer your help.

Once you open your friend up to the idea of losing weight, you have to follow through and be there for them. "Offer to go to weight-loss meetings and the gym," says Bartell. "She'll know you're sincerely concerned."

Do these "helpful" tips make the conversation more appropriate?

The most amazing food product ever. EVER.

An idea this important deserves a huge photo.

It's the frosting shot.

That's it. The mother-effing frosting shot. A shot of frosting. No BS. No "I'll eat the whole cupcake but we all know the top is the best part." Just pure, unadulterated creamy, buttery Sugary Utopia. In a little paper shot cup, which makes it even more fun.

Dark chocolate frosting. Cream cheese frosting. Peanut butter and sprinkles frosting. Lemon buttercream frosting.

Raise your hands it you just got - I believe the term, as coined by Chef Andrew from Top Chef is - a culinary boner.

Because I did. And the closest cupcake shop to our place is vegan. Lolly needs some meat.

PS Just for some droolish fun. I swear, if I'd known about these types of places, I would have registered there for our wedding. I wonder if these shots come with nutritional info per the new NYC law??

The story of how my grandpa invented jogging

Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I believe I have told you all before that my Grandpa invented jogging. This is a fact. I am not making this up, or glamorizing his involvement in the running movement in general, or being boastful, or even just acting all pie-eyed over an idol of mine. It is fact.

Here, I offer you proof. (May take a moment to load. Stand up and stretch your neck and wrists to avoid turning into me protect yourself against HDBS, or Horrific Debilitating Computer Syndrome).

This is an article from the Chicago Daily news, dated April 6, 1968, and the photo shows my grandpa on the left, a YMCA "physical instructor" in the middle and the then-President of the Chicago Board of Health on the right. In one of the best ledes of all time, the writer warns readers not to call police if they see my grandfather running on the street when they peer out from their windows. Why? "He's a jogger."

This, my friends, is the ultimate claim to fame...for he and I both.

Now, all of you Weighting Game readers are about to be richly rewarded for visiting with me so regularly - my grandfather, Mort, has agreed to answer a handful of questions you might have. Oh, please, grab hold of yourselves! It's embarrassing. Pick yourselves up off the floor and take stock of what this opportunity means. It's like being able to email with the founder of the question mark. Or the woman who created the first cupcake. Or God.

Some suggestions re. what you may want to ask him below in Comments:

1) Leslie tells us you judged the 1968 Boston Marathon, won by Amby Burfoot, current Editor in Chief of Runners World. How did you get this chance and what are some of your favorite memories?

2) Jesse Owens was on the National Advisory Board of Road Runners, Inc, the national NFP of which you were President (see here, page 1, for more info.) Did you ever meet him? What other celebrities have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?

3) Legend has it that us you once rescued a family friend suffering from horrible clinical depression decades ago, before therapy and anti-depressant drugs, by helping her get out of bed and exercise regularly. How did you know the power of exercise light years ahead of the world's best doctors?

4) Tell us about how cute Leslie was as a little girl.

5) What is the "Crotch Muff"? Leslie says you invented something by that name to help keep women runners warm, as well as the "Breast Muff." Please explain yourself.

6) I hear you designed a running shoe for Hush Puppies (see here, page 5-8, for original sketches). What have been some of your favorite running shoes through the years and what features would you suggest I look for in my own pair?

7) Sometimes I get a little overzealous and obsessed with working out. Any tips to help keep myself in check?

Or, ask him whatever you want! The man is the original Fountain of Knowledge and, quite frankly, I can't believe Esquire or GQ haven't tapped him yet for a profile (Morty is an extremely natty dresser, as well as the inventor of jogging, and rocked plaid madras and all-black suits way before Old Navy or The Mafia, respectively.) He's also insanely romantic...go read this love poem he wrote to my grandma in 1946 at Huffington Post (you'll have to skim through some of my sappy writing to get to the actual poem, entitled Just Stuff.)

Calorie-induced sticker shock

A few months ago while writing at Starbucks (sigh...), the baristas whipped up a treat - dixie cups full of this uber-rich, crack-like drink called a Java Chip Frappucino. This stuff was heaven - like an orgasm for your mouth (but not in the gross way I now realize that sounds.) Creamy, milky, chocolatey, smooth but simultaneously crunchy from the chips. And since they samples were little, it was basically calorie- and fat-free! Right? I mean, I had four of them, but still.

So wooed was I by this frappufrenzy that I hopped over to Starbucks' nutritional data page to check out my new favie drink.

Bad move. Bad, bad move. At 460 calories and almost 20 grams of fat (mostly saturated), downing a Grande was like eating a Snickers bar plus a 3 Musketeers.

Or was it a good move? After all, I was now armed with enough info to prevent myself from falling victim to the nutritional bomb that is the Java Chip Frappucino.

Well, now New Yorkers don't have a choice in the matter - starting this Spring, NYC became the first city in the country to start implementing a law forcing chains like Starbucks and TGIFridays to post the calorie count of every item...in the same size and font as the price - no min-italics here.

I'd heard about this law but it fell off my radar until WG reader Elle emailed me a link to this MSNBC story.I love the quote in the story, from 45-year-old construction company owner named Juan Restrepo who had just learned his beloved Dunkin’ Donuts corn muffin was packed with 510 calories and claimed he would be quitting them for good.

“My daughter warned me about them,” he said. “I just didn’t listen.”

Oh, Juan. ALWAYS listen to your daughter! Haven't you learned by now?

Not all muffins will be this honest with you.

This reminds me of a story I'm working on for Women's Health on fast casual food (Panera, Cosi, Fazoli's, etc). All of these places sent me nutritional breakdowns of their foods and I remember Dan flipping through Panera's info and actually shrieking in horror when he read that his fave turkey sandwich had more cholesterol than steak al forno! (They sneak it in all stealth-like through mayo or pesto spreads.) He has since adjusted his orders accordingly.

Anyone out there live in NY and wanna tell us what it's like to walk into Starbucks and see "600 calories" splashed across the scone display? Would you all want this kind of information or is ignorance bliss and you just want to be left alone with your bagel and cream cheese without horrifying calorie info being shoved down your throat? Do you ever go to the nutritional websites of restaurants and look up different items? Or is peering into the Subway glass at the "Six under six" sign the farthest you want to go?

Eat up!
xoxox,
Leslie

Take your job and shove it where the lipo don't shine

Picture this: Winter of 1992, I am a sophomore in high school, riding shotgun as my mom drives me to the mall to apply for a position at the Gap. I was too young to commandeer the wheel myself (yet old enough to be beyond-embarrassed by our wood-paneled minivan) but I had a permit to work at 15 and was ready to start selling some preppy V-neck cardigans.

As we neared the mall, my mom asked me if I thought I should take my ear cuff off. Might the Powers That Be at the Gap find my ear bling too alternative?

I flipped open the visor mirror, looked at the $5 hammered silver cuff from Claire's Boutique, and decided yes, perhaps it was a bit too "out there" for such a mainstream store (the fact that this ear cuff was the most alternative thing about me speaks volumes about the trouble I would later get myself into as a rebellious 22-year-old.

I took the cuff off, got the job, and then quit a month later because a) I was horrified about being forced to wear a turquoise tie with little giftboxes all over it and b) this gig was seriously cutting into my makeout time with school badass Bobby "My license plate says AWESOME" Banderton.

My one-month career at the Gap is now a distant memory but I'll never forget the shame and anger I later felt towards myself for taking off that ear cuff. Why did I need to conform to society's standards? (Ooh - foreshadowing for the kind of woman I would grow into!) And why would I even want to work for a company that cares about my choice in jewelry? (Note: In retrospect, I don't think they would have even noticed.)

I wish I could say that was the last time I sacrificed my self-image to get a job but then there was the cocktailing gig in grad school were I wore a tiny top the size of a Ziplock bag and black latex (yes) pants to my interview, netting a job offer to serve alcohol without so much as a request to see proof of age.

And just yesterday, my newly pregnant friend R. had a job interview and found herself wearing a flowy top and stretchy black pants in an attempt to conceal her bump. Who's gonna hire someone they'll have to send off on maternity leave in seven months?

I've been thinking about all of this ever since I read an article in the Chicago Tribune's Red Eye a few days ago about people getting Botox to look younger and, theoretically, up their odds of landing a job:

"As Janine Seck searched for a new job last summer, she couldn't help but feel she was off her game.

Though her resume boasted 15 years of retail management experience, the 42-year-old felt she looked tired and not as fresh as the bouncy twentysomethings vying for the same positions. Despite a new haircut and updated wardrobe, Seck sensed her interviewers were as conscious of her aging face as she was.

'You could kind of tell with those cute questions, like asking when I graduated from college,' said Seck, of Old Town. 'They were trying to figure out how old I was.'

After eight unsuccessful interviews, Seck last August did what she had previously only associated with Hollywood vanity: She got Botox injections in her forehead and around her eyes to smooth the lines and wrinkles she felt made her look weary.

Six interviews later, she got a job with an outside recruiting firm—and she credits Botox with helping to get her groove back.

'After the Botox, I marched into the interviews with much more confidence,' she said. 'I guess I wasn't afraid to smile as much.'"

If shooting a paralyzing toxin into your face in order to secure a job isn't enough to convince you the world has gone to hell in a knockoff Louis Vuitton, how about this: Opera singe Deborah Voigt was let go from a production in London's Royal Opera House four years ago...because she was "too big" for the black dress she was supposed to wear.

*CoughFreakingBullCrapCough*

So what did Deborah do to lose the 100 pounds she "needed" to drop in order to sing well (even writing that makes me dizzy with confusion)? When Weight Watchers and Jenny Craig didn't work, she got gastric bypass surgery. And then she got her job back.

This is so un-Barbra Streisand, I can't even believe it.

In the press, Deborah claimed that she was not forced to get her stomach permanently, surgically reduced; she did it "because I wasn't feeling well, because my knees were hurting, because I would cross the street and feel as though I wasn't going to be able to catch my breath." This may be, but it seems her move to surgery eerily coincided with her job loss.

And this quote from the former fat lady kind of breaks my heart:

"I am able to play the pretty girl parts with much more conviction, and that's really something that is very satisfying."

Have you ever altered your appearance in order to get a job? Dressed a certain way (I don't mean put on a suit for corporate America - I mean presented yourself in a false light to up your odds). Cut your hair? Covered up a tattoo? Or what about something more hardcore, like Botox (any actresses reading this)? Is this just a continuation of the pressure we all face to appear a certain way? Ashlee Simpson, are you out there???

Can I be this little girl when I grow up?

Wow - the most incredible, inspiring reader mail has been pouring in lately - and this one included a video (hey now!) It's from reader Sonn, who many of you may recognize for her uplifting and insightful comments. Sonn shot this video of her adorbs daughter Amy, age four, in June at a county fair. There's no sound, so imagine surfer beach/steel drum music playing.

What happened, according to Sonn: "Amy heard the music and just started dancing like crazy. And people started to stand around and watch, and she just danced all the more. Totally non-self conscious. I *love* how she slows down in the middle of her dance to chow on a giant chocolate dipped ice cream bar she is eating. Now THAT, to me, is total success over cultural pressure. She is out in public, strangers are looking at her. Her thighs are showing. She is eating fattening, sugary food. And she is dancing and moving and enjoying her body without restraint, and she is LOVING it. The smile at the end just moves me."

Me, too, Sonn. I just KNOW anyone who watches this will melt.

Why don't we all leave a message for Amy? Clearly she's more into running around in a sprinkler or having a summer sleepover right now and not tied down to a computer, but I bet her mom will, one day, relay our sentiments. Mine?

Amy, I remember dancing like this - with total freedom, no reason to be self-conscious, just grooving to the music and moving any which way by body told me. Ice cream was so important back then becuse it tastes so damn good and I never even contemplated what a calorie was before licking the chocolatey coating 'til it melted away, revealing the cool, creamy treat. If people were watching me, so much the better. Because I rocked. And so do you.

When did the Sun-Maid Raisin girl get all Rodney Yee on us?

Here she is, early 1900s:

Innocent and pure; a bit - sare I say - hirsute; pale as a ghost and rockin' a bonnett.

And here she is attempting some sort of Triangle Pose, peering out from a People Magazine during my flight back from NY last week:

Girl is in capri-length yoga pants; has a tan; is slimmed down...and is still rockin' a bonnett (tho slightly less puffy.)

Hmmm. Did this change need to happen? The old Sun-Maid gal was so relatable, with her slightly plump forearms and Jolene Bleach secrets. This new one seems more like one of those fit models in the magazines that makes me want to get a six-pack airbrushed on. And while we're at it, why does Strawberry Shortcake suddenly look like a Bratz Doll? She used to be so laid-back and oh-so Berry Cool. (Here's a good before and after shot.) And, according to The New York Times, my cuddly wuddly Care Bears are being reinvigorated with "a fresh look this fall" consisting of less belly fat and longer eyelashes.

I swear, if Jessica Rabbit gets a breast reduction and Hello Kitty starts sporting a mouth, I will not be a happy camper.

Wait...so am I beautiful or smart?

Yes, it's an obnoxious title, but don't hang up on me yet. Hear me out.

Last nite, my grandparents threw a big shindig for my parents' 36th anniversary (we're Jewish and in our religion, 18 is a significant number - it represents life - so 36 is TWICE the cause for celebration! Plus, who stays married for 36 years anymore?! I'm very lucky to have grown up with such strong role models for marriage...)

Anyhow.

My neck was really bothering me - Dan and I actually had to pull over on the highway and switch places, firedrill style, so I could ride passenger and lie down. So as soon as we arrived at the restaurant, I made a beeline for the bar before I even said hello to anyone. My grandpa saw me, immediately could tell I was hurting, and ordered me a martini. He is my soulmate, truly (funny story to come in a minute).

Drink in hand, I turned around and saw my cute little grandma peering up at me from 4'11" and I told her I couldn't hug her because of my neck. As she and I were talking, I overheard a friend of hers, whom I've only met once, saying very loudly, "Is that Leslie? She is so beautiful! Just gorgeous. Oh my God, look at how beautiful she is!"

Then, in rapid-fire succession, a number of my parents' friends - many of whom I've known since I was a little girl - approached me, and the very first thing they said was, "Leslie, you look so pretty!" or "Look at how gorgeous you are!" (Or else they complimented me on the recent Today Show appearance, which was lovely, but even then, it was along the lines of "You looked great on Today!")

At the risk of pissing a lot of people out there off, can I just say that this annoyed the shit out of me?

I know this sound ridiculous and unappreciative and ungrateful and of course it's better than having people make fun of me for looking ugly and I'll probably get some horrible, disfiguring accident for even dare say this, but why is "You look beautiful" the automatic go-to for greetings? This might sound bizarre but when you hear that 10 times in a row, it makes you feel invisible, like you don't even exist. My cousin heard this all go down and turned to me and said, "Leslie, you are so smart!" And I said, "Huh?" And he said, "I just want to be different - I want you to know I love you for being smart." How freaking happy am I that he just moved to Chicago?!

I'm sure if this blog entry were posted in a larger forum, I would be absolutely berated for sounding like a prissy bitch, like, "Oh, poor me, I'm too pretty." That is NOT what I'm saying. What I'm saying is this: You do not need to greet people with a compliment on their looks each and every time you see them. It's a lazy fall-back way to say hello. When I see my friend Renata's little girl, who is always getting complimented on how adorbs she is, I make a point of NOT saying, "Oh my gosh, look at how beautiful you are!" She needs to hear that she's smart. Or kind. Or did a good job finishing up her turkey and Cheerios.

Dr. Stacey over at Every Woman Has An Eating Disorder recently wrote about this whole phenomenon:

"I sent out a website link recently, highlighting a professional accomplishment of mine (which contained a bio and photo), and received from several recipients, 'You look really pretty.' Now, it's not that I don't like to hear that. I do. But, how about the fact that I've accomplished something, that I'm more than the sum of my features, that I'm making strides as a woman, but that society keeps throwing me back in my allotted space? How about that? Is 'pretty' the greatest compliment of all?"

Am I overreacting? Call me out if I am. What have your experiences been with this?

PS As for the funny story about my grandpa, after about 3/4 of my martini, I was significantly buzzed. I went up to him, looked him in his eyes and said, "How come I feel like you're the only one in this family who understands me?" And his response was as follows:

"Leslie, do you remember when you were just a baby and you had colic and we strapped you to my chest with a rope [Me: What? Did I grow up in the hinterlands or something? Why was rope involved?] and I held you and you stopped crying and never had colic again. We have a bond. Then, you urinated all over my chest."

I told him, "Trust me, grandpa, you're one of a lucky few who can say that." About the peeing, I mean.

Hello, cutie!

Remember when, a few weeks ago, I desperately begged you to send me pics you've snapped of your naked boyfriends body-positive signs and images found around town? Well, check out this email I just received from snap-happy Weighting Game reader Shannon (reprinted with her permission):

Hey girl, I have to start out saying I love your blog and your book. Sooo awesome. You really know your stuff!
Anyways this is a pic of my desk at work. On my computer I stuck a little sticker that says "Hello Cutie" I was eating one of those little oranges, I think they call them Clementines, it had that sticker on it, so I put it on my computer for a nice little hello each day.

Thanks for your hard work and your heart-felt, funny, witty, and kind writing!

-Shannon

And her pic:

Ummm...loves it! See how something so tiny can still make an impact? I envision that lil sticker's message seeping into Shannon's subconscious every time she sits down at her computer. Looking up the names of Brad and Angie's new twins? "Hello, cutie!" Sending a raunchy e-birthday card to a friend? "Hello, cutie!" Trying to look busy while avoiding work by typing out lists of her favorite childhood cartoon characters? "Hello, cutie!"

The weird thing is, when I was in college, I found a similar sticker on an apple I was eating. It said "Juicy and delicious!" And, I swear, I peeled that sticker off and pasted it to my fake ID with the hope that its slightly salacious innuendo would distract bouncers from the fact that I clearly was not a 5'2" blonde named Stacia. Great minds think alike!

PS This is my inspirational and very body positive blog/pic of the day. Bravo, Semi Charmed Wife!

A minute on the lips, a lifetime in the food journal

I may be a writer, but I've only kept a food diary during a select few times in my life:

1) Sometime around fourth grade, when I wrote things in my beloved red patent leather Hello Kitty diary like, "Dear Hello Kitty, Today Lisa and I had toast sticks dipped in peanut butter and corn flakes today and it was SO YUMMY!!!!!"

2) During my freshman year of college when I was making my way towards full-fledged anorexia. My entries looked something like:

Two hardboiled egg whites

Small apple

Butterscotch disk

Salad with a scoop of kidney beans and salsa

Two Diet Mountain Dews

3) While recovering from that superfun period - my nutritionist had me fill out forms verifying I was getting 12 servings or carbs a day, 7 fruits and vegetables, 5 proteins, etc.

So the bulk of my experience with chronicling my intake has been unenjoyable, I think it's safe to say.

But now, a new study of nearly 1,700 participants by researchers at the Kaiser Permanente Center for Health Research has found a rosier side to keeping a food diary - if you're looking to shed pounds in a safe way, writing down what you shovel in your mouth can be a strong predictor of weight loss. In fact, those who kept daily food records lost twice as much weight as those who kept no records.

"The more food records people kept, the more weight they lost," study lead author Jack Hollis Ph.D., has said. "Those who kept daily food records lost twice as much weight as those who kept no records. It seems that the simple act of writing down what you eat encourages people to consume fewer calories."

One particularly cool aspect of this study (IMO, anyway): It's one of the few studies to recruit a large percentage of African Americans as participants. Forty-four percent, to be exact - a staggeringly high number. Why is this important? A number of reasons, including the fact that African Americans are more likely to suffer from medical conditions that are worsened by obesity, such as diabetes and heart disease. It should also be noted that the people in this study adhered to a heart-healthy diet called DASH (Dietary Approaches to Stop Hypertension) and attended weekly group sessions, plus they exercised for at least 30 minutes a day.

What this diary study means for anyone trying to lose weight: Get yourself a cute little journal or even just a stack of scrap paper - what matters is that you're actually writing down every half-chocolate muffin you scarf down before your 8am meeting or every stalk of celery you munch on while cooking dinner. You can even text yourself!

U R ETing 2 spoons PB

The success comes from holding yourself accountable and upping your awareness. I bet I'd be less likely to grab that gallon of Mint Chocolate Chip and a spoon if I had to write down, "Family-sized container of ice cream."

And that, my friends, is why I don't keep a food journal.

I'm also now afraid of eating wedge-shaped foods (note #18). Stay away, apple pie!

Tada! Here I am...

Watch the segment from TODAY:

The beautiful Natalie Morales interviewed me - check out how hot she looks...and yes, that is a little bump hiding under her top. She's due in September!

I didn't know we were shooting in the plaza until, oh, 90 seconds before going live! It made sense though - exercising safely outdoors = shooting outside. I signed autographs with Al Roker (kidding) but it was cool to have people cheering!

Thanks to Catie, Kim, Jill and Angie for meeting up with me for a drink on Tuesday night - so fun getting to know everyone! I have to take a stand, tho, and say this: Thin-crust pizza will always, always be the sad black sheep cousin to Chicago deep dish. That's just the way it is.

Summer Exercise Safety

Hey everyone!

I'm in NYC, working from a girfriend's office and generally just acting like I own this town. Last night we ate at this cute spot called The Grey Dog's Coffee where I washed down a chicken and avocado salad with a pint of sangria and then splurged on Pinkberry ($-wise, I mean; a medium with mangoes and strawberries costs more than a martini. OK, half a martini). I'm in NYC to appear on the Today show, spouting off about everything you need to exercise safely outside in the summer...not including obvious gimmes like sunblock and bug spray. Here's the scoop.

Watch the segment from TODAY:

Drink up!

HydraCoach hydration monitor calculates, monitors and provides instant feedback on fluid consumption. You just punch in your weight and activity for the day and it spits out a personal hydration goal. Then, it coaches you to drink more (or less, for you overachievers out there) as the day goes on! It's like a mini Jillian Michaels, in water bottle form. I need this considering the majority of water I drink during the day comes from inadvertently swallowing some while brushing my teeth or showering.

Sigg water bottles are reusable so you're not leaving a mini-carbon footprint every day, plus they have a water-based, non-toxic coating baked into the interior – nothing leaching into your H20. (Perhaps you've heard of BPA, or bisphenol-A, a lovely toxin that seeps out of plastic bottles and mimics estrogen in the body? Yucksters.)

Don't be a victim

AirDrives earphones let you jam to G. Stefani but also allow you to hear ambient noise, like traffic or someone approaching you from behind.

Tip: According to the Department of Justice, nearly one quarter of violent crimes occur during leisure activities away from home...like running.

Fight back

The New Balance/Via pedometer has—get this—a panic button. That is so Jodie Foster! Keep track of your steps and know that should, God forbid, anything happen, you can pull up a lever and sound a 120 decibel screeching alarm (for comparison, a power saw is 110 decibels...your baby crying for two hours straight is about 200 decibels). Plus, you can keep track of your calories! (sarcasm, ok?)

Tip: There are now some studies suggesting that walking 10,000 steps a day is the best. Try starting with 2,500/day as a goal.

Keep track of your heart rate

NuMetrex sportsbras and tanks incorporate a heart rate monitor into the clothing itself. I haven't been so psyched about a techie clothing product since Hypercolor shirts. Not only can you ensure you're in your target heart rate zone without taking your pulse, but you can avoid overdoing it - crucial in heat and humidity.

Tip: According to the American Heart Association, your maximum heart rate is about 220 minus your age. You want to stay within 50 to 85 percent of your maximum heart rate—this range is called your target heart rate. For a 30-year-old woman, 95 to 162 beats per minute is your target heart rate.

Stay cool

Champion's O2Cool line is made with two moisture-wicking layers and is eco-chic (made with fibers). Besides wicking sweat away, mesh panels and mesh-vented bras add cool ventilation.

Insider tip: This stuff is on sale now!

Be seen at night

For you super hardcore nighttime exercisers out there, illumiNITE clothing gives ya head-to-toe reflectivity. A special material acts like a bazillion little mirrors working together to reflect light back to its originating source, meaning drivers see your entire silhouette.

If you wanna be seen but don't want to light up like a Christmas tree, make sure your gear has reflective stripes or logos. Try Lucy, maker of all things gorgeous and beautiful. I especially like their Interval Skirt, which has a cute reflective design on the front left hip and back right hem. Plus, their website touts the skirt's contoured waistband as being "anti-muffintop," which makes me giggle.

Tip: The largest number of pedestrian accidents and fatalities occur during the morning and evening hours as the sun is rising or falling. People are almost twice as likely to get in a car accident the Monday after Daylight Savings Time, as we’re not used to changes in sunlight.

P.S. For even more ways to stay safe when pumping it outside this summer, check out these links from iVillage:

Beating the heat

Lightning safety

Carnival ride safety

Be sun smart

Be safe at the beach

Wear a helmet!

7 Steps to summer safety

Why Dara Torres rocks my aqua socks off

“The water doesn’t know what age you are when you jump in, so why not?”

—Dara Torres, who at age 41, is the oldest woman ever to make the U.S. Olympic Swimming Team

She earned her first gold medal at age 17, but on July 5, in Omaha, Torres set a new U.S. record time of 24.38 in the women's 50-meter freestyle semifinal at the Women's Olympics Trials. That means she qualified to compete in two individual events in the Beijing Olympics.

If that's not reason enough to be blown-away impressed, check this out: She's a new mom. And she battled bulimia for years while training for previous Olympics games... and beat it. I had the honor of interviewing her for Locker Room Diaries about it, and her candor and bravery were astounding. Here's the section from my book:

When it’s out of your hands
Olympic gold medalist and model Dara Torres didn’t have a choice when it came to getting on the scale: Her swimming coach insisted. It started at age 18, when she was a freshman at the University of Florida. At first, since weigh-ins were held on Mondays, many of the swimmers, Torres included, would starve themselves on Sundays. When their coach learned of this, instead of getting the girls help (what a silly idea!), he decided to weigh them twice weekly. So, the self-imposed starvations simply doubled. Then he started with the surprise weigh-ins, little pop quizzes. How could the girls keep up?

Torres found a way. She became bulimic.

At 6’0” and 155 pounds of mostly muscle, she was still being told to shed pounds, so that she would look intimidating on the starting block. During draining training swims, her coach would actually pull her out of the water and feed her chocolates for an energy boost because she was so fatigued from purging in an effort to make weight.

Today [in 2006], after nine Olympic medals spread out between 1984 and 2000 (she retired for seven years in between), Torres speaks out about her eating disorder and battle with the scale. During her retirement, she weighed herself only once or twice, when she was gearing up to serve as the first female athlete to pose for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Now, at 38, when speaking to teenagers, she encourages them not to be ashamed about reaching out for help. She’s happy that the National Collegiate Athletic Association, the governing body of all collegiate athletics, currently advises coaches to avoid frequent weight and body composition checks. And she never weighs herself.

“There’s no reason,” Torres said. “I don’t want to become consumed. I don’t need that stress in my life.”

Watch Dara compete in the 50m Freestyle and the 4x100m Freestyle Relay, starting August 9. For updates on Dara's events, visit NBCOlympics.com for more information.

Leslie takes Manhattan

Attention New Yorkers and select New Jersyeans:

I am coming to NY!

I'll be appearing on the Today Show Wednesday July 9 (my grampy's birthday!) - the topic is exercising safely outdoors in the summer...more on that to come. A few of you have emailed me in the past asking if manbe we could have a big Weighting Game get-together the next time I was in town so I say, let's do it. I want to get at least a handful of RSVPS here so buckle down, sign up, and let's party!

The time: TUESDAY, July 8; 7:30pm
The place: Heartland Brewery, 127 W. 43 St (between 6th Ave. and Broadway)

Are you in? Let me know...

PS No getting drunk for Leslie - I have to be fresh-faced and bright-eyed the next morning!
PPS Not only do I love NY, I love NY, 2!

UPDATE: It's ON!!! See you there, Palmtreechick, Kim, Avi, Jill, anyone else?!

They tried to make me go to rehab...

Everyone, everyone, simmer down. I have an announcement to make:

Leslie Goldman, Weighting Game blogger and lover of lifting weights, is back.

That's right, I've received clearance to hoist five pound dumbbells! Side and front lat raises, plus biceps curls!

My enthusiasm may sound sarcastic, and in a way it is (I mean, seriously? I was lifting 15 pounds per arm for biceps, pre-bedrest.) But as it turns out, I was likely lifting overly heavy weight before, straining my neck and upper chest instead of focusing on good form. So now I have to pay extra special attention to keeping my shoulders back, my neck relaxed and my muscles STRONG. Sure, it takes 118 reps to feel any kind of burn, but it's progress. And I've certainly learned a lesson.

Join me for a brief look back at how far I have come:

June 12, 13 and 14: Total and complete bed rest, with the exception of getting up to pee.

Then I was released into the world, wearing a cervical collar and scared that the slightest little bump while driving could break me in half. Feeble and weak are not fun feelings, let me assure you.

Next, my physcial therapist gave me the go-ahead to walk for a mile or so, plus a few beginner exercises to start increasing my range of motion. No weights or any exercise with impact in the foreseeable future.

Soon, every passing PT appointment resulted in more and more exercises for me to do at home, including chin tucks to strengthen my neck, side leg lifts to stabilize my hips, cervical traction (I have my own unit!) and more. Within two weeks, our family room became overrun with rehab equipment, including yellow and red latex bands hanging from the sliding glass door, a kid-sized arm floatie device to lay beneath my neck while executing an advanced chin tuck, mini barbells, a foam roller and more. It's like we have kids but instead of toys, our floor is covered in medical devices. I like to call this style of decorating "Gimp Eclectic."

Within three weeks, my short walks turned long. I was able to get back on the Gauntlet and I even learned how to ride the recumbent bike without my butt going numb. My neck had regained its full range of motion when looking left and right and I was growing less and less scared to turn around when tapped on the shoulder, rather than move my entire body around like a robot.

Today, I'm hitting the gym and will be able to do about 20 minutes of cardio - I've even gained permission to try the Elliptical! - plus PT exercises and light weights. It feels great. I never knew I'd get so excited over lifting 5 pound, blue rubber-coated dumbbells. But I am.

It seems like more than a handful of bloggers out there - many of whom frequent this site - have been falling victim to back and neck issues lately. I'm not saying there's a blogging/back pain epidemic, but I can tell you this: A physical therapist recently told my husband, "Laptops keep me in business." So let me be your lesson. As Juno put it, I can be your cautionary whale:

* Watch your posture- the second your head inches forward to look down at a screen, it triples in weight, according to your neck. (Same goes for cooks, pathologists and those people who comb beaches with metal detectors.)

* Don't push yourself too hard in yoga. I was in Plow for an extended period of time two days before my back seized up, and a week later, I happened upon this article in Self, which revealed that nearly 4,500 people ended up in the emergency room after yoga injuries in 2006, with injuries ranging from rotator cuff tears, exacerbated carpal tunnel syndrome, torn cartilage in the knees, and lower-back and neck injuries such as - ta-dah! - herniated disks.

* Lift appropriate weights. In retrospect, I suppose lifting 17.5 pounds in each hand for upright rows may have been a wee bit too heavy. But I did it because I thought I needed to keep going up in size to stay strong. Wrongzo!

* Appreciate your health. Truly, you don't know what you've got 'til it's been gobbled up by a bulging disk. Today I was walking down the street and saw people running and all I could think was "I hate you!" "You are so lucky to be jogging on this goreous day." Maybe next summer, I'll be one of them. Until then, I'm focusing on getting stronger, keeping my shoulders back and chin tucked and, maybe one day, writing in a coffeehouse again.

Enjoy the weekend, everyone!

Amy needs rehab, just like me. AND she has neck problems, too! (Note hickey)

Allright, let's do this shit

A couple weeks ago, I invited you to send in questions for Dr. J. And boy oh boy, did you have questions! You ladies are not shy at all. Truly, shameless women after my own heart.

Dr. J was away on vaycay (*love the rhyming!*) but he's back and has all the info you could ask for in the Departments of Poop and Fiber (I actually minored in this back in college). Behold, more than you ever wanted to know about fiber, bloating, menstrual cramps and why a runner's poop might be different from a speedwalker's.

Intestinally Fortitudinously Yours,
Leslie

You: "What does it mean to be regular? For my body, regular is when I poop once a day, but my husband considers himself regular if he poops after every meal (3 times a day). I read somewhere that 2-3 times a day is normal. How do I reach that goal?"
Dr. J: "Normal bowel movement frequency ranges between 3 BMs per day and 3 BMs per week. If you fall between these extremes, there is no need to do anything to have more or less frequent BMs. However, if you have symptoms of abdominal pain or discomfort, straining or difficulty expelling the stool, you may have a problem even if your BM frequency is normal. If this is the case, I would recommend discussing your symptoms with your family doctor."

Bottom line (heh heh): If you're dropping kids off at the pool three times per day, call me and I will arrange some sort of magazine subscription for you to help pass the time at the toi-toi.

You: "Can a girl get too much fiber?"
Dr. J: "It is theoretically possible to get too much fiber but in practice this is quite difficult. Fiber intake is associated with gas and bloating as the bacteria in the colon break down the fiber and use it for food.
However as a byproduct, gas is given off. The more fiber you consume, the more gas is produced. Even if you are used to eating large amounts of fiber in your diet, too much fiber will produce significant gas which
will limit the amount that you can ingest. Furthermore, it is quite difficult to harm yourself by eating too much fiber. The only caution is that fiber may interfere with the absorption of some medications and you should check with your doctor regarding the timing of fiber ingestion if you are on any medications.

Consuming large amounts of fiber is not like abusing laxatives because there are a number of medical benefits of fiber such as healthy bowel function, colon cancer prevention and prevention of heart disease and diabetes. The only benefit of laxatives are if you are constipated."

Bottom line: Your biggest risk is farting yourself out of popularity.

You: "Are there different types of fiber? Metamucil works great for me, but I tried Benefiber and it was horrible--bloating, gas, awfulness. Is there a difference between getting fiber from food and taking a supplement?"
Dr. J: "There are two main types of fiber - soluble and insoluble. Soluble fiber is the type that can be dissolved in water. Soluble fiber tends to be the form that is most beneficial for heart health, weight loss and diabetes prevention. One example is the All Bran fiber drink mix which contains 10 grams of fiber in each mix. Insoluble fiber is the type found in All Bran Fiber bars. This type of fiber works to maintain regularity of bowel habits. Although each person may respond differently, soluble fiber tends to be associated with less gas and bloating than insoluble fiber. The benefits of obtaining fiber from food sources is that you also get all of the vitamins and minerals which are present in foods. These are not present in supplements. Thus, the best way to get the fiber you need if you can't get it in your diet is to try food based alternatives such as All Bran bars or drink mixes."

Bottom line: Dr. J works for All-Bran

You: "Usually I'm as regular as a Swiss watch, but then I get PMS, and the constipation kicks in. Not bad, just enough to make me uncomfortable and (even more) bloated. Why does this happen, and what should I do about it?"
Dr. J: "It is common to experience changes in bowel movements at the time of menstrual periods. These changes are likely due to the normal fluctuation in hormone levels which occur at the time of menses and are also the cause of many symptoms of PMS. Unfortunately, constipation, or diarrhea for that matter, may be additional symptoms of PMS. As far as treatment goes, understanding that the constipation is associated with your periods allows you to intervene before the constipation becomes bad. Some considerations would include increasing fiber intake around the time of your period though this may make the bloating worse. Alternatively occasional use of a laxative during these times may help."

Bottom line: Being a woman stinks.

You: "How do I know if I have IBS?"
Dr. J: "Irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) is a condition which is associated with abdominal pain or discomfort and changes in bowel function. It is diagnosed based on symptoms – requiring both the presence of abdominal pain or discomfort and a change in bowel habits (either a change in frequency or a change in consistency of stool). If the pain gets better after a BM this is another indication that you may have IBS. If you are concerned about IBS you should discuss this with your doctor as there are a number of options for treating IBS."

Bottom line: I don't wanna poke fun at IBS because I know it can be awful. No joke to be had.

Bonus Q!
You: "I'm so embarrassed, but I have to ask! How come my poop is big-ish and floaty when my main exercise is walking, but it's hard, small and sinks when I'm running a lot? Does running really compact it all together? I drink tons and tons of water to combat constipation...but I much prefer my once-a-day walking poops to my twice-a-week running poops - but I definitely prefer to run."
Dr. J: "This is an interesting question. The reason stool floats or sinks is based on the amount of air in