You're gonig to wear THAT for your wedding?

I do not wish to be the type of person who slowly, sadly shakes his head, pining for a simpler past, longingly opening conversations with “When I was a kid…” Moreover, when I become aware of an unfortunate societal trend, I try to prevent cranking up my inner curmudgeon, cynically inquiring of my peers, “What has gone wrong with our society?”

Having said that, something has gone wrong with our society because — when I was a kid — brides-to-be didn’t shove tubes up their noses to lose weight before their weddings.

While skimming TV channels, images of young women commuting to work with feeding tubes hanging from their noses flitted across the screen. They didn’t seem ill; quite the contrary, they looked to be “in the pink” (yet another reference from “when I was a kid”). The reporter explained that some women with upcoming nuptials are resorting to a severe calorie-restricted crash diet to drop ten to 20 pounds in the two weeks prior to their big days. That unto itself is not newsworthy; long before “I was a kid,” I imagine women (and even some men) resorted to last minute diets in order to present their best in front of friends, family, and God.

What was exceptional was that, in these cases, the method of choice consisted of consuming only 800 calories a day, delivered in the form of shakes served through a medically implanted feeding tube threaded through the woman’s nose, down the esophagus, and into her stomach. The tube remains in place ten days and the procedure costs about $1,500. Side effects include bad breath, constipation and dizziness. (Nothing says, “kiss the bride” like halitosis.) The doctor performing the procedure said, “At first I decided not to do it for people who just want to lose a few pounds. But then I thought, why should I say five or ten pounds are not enough? People want to be perfect.”

As long as there has been belly fat, there have been odd and controversial get-thin-quick schemes.

Yet, this is beyond the pale.

Excellent versus Perfect

Did you know there is an International Association of Print House Craftsmen (which has several women members)? In the day of $99 ink jets and 24-hour print shops, these folks still “bleed ink.” What they construct with printing presses and paper is art – pure and simple.

If you didn’t know about the IAPHC, don’t feel bad. I didn’t either. One of the perks of my occupation is that I get to meet an expansive array of people from a gamut of occupations; some of which I had no idea even existed.

Take the Appraisal Institute. Never having the experience of buying nor sell multi-million dollar office complexes, I never realized that a spot-on, no variation, exact appraisal on the value of such properties — and hence the interest on the loan to purchase them — can cost one hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars. Decimal points really do matter. The folks of AI are dedicated to that.

Speaking of decimal points, one of the more mesmerizing people I have had the pleasure of meeting is Paul Kingsman, 1988 Olympic Medal Winner for swimming. That award would not have been his had he been five one-hundredths of a second slower. To understand what a short period of time is that, blinking your eye takes about ten times longer than the difference between Paul’s race time and the person who did not win.

Paul hails from New Zealand and now lives in Northern California. As a speaker and coach, he helps others become “distraction proof;” staying focused on what matters so they can achieve outstanding results, in any manner in which that applies.

I interviewed Paul, and although I expected good stuff, I was blown away by what I picked up. We discussed how some things can be simple but not easy. He also pointed out that mistaking “notoriety” for “substance,” especially in this media-consumed culture, often distracts us.

However, as a “recovering perfectionist,” what most resonated was “excellence versus perfection.”

In my interpretation, attaining excellence lets us evolve to new levels. Chasing perfection however, leads us to a frustrated place of stagnation.

Handling the food addiction: What to do when slip-ups happen

He was celebrating four years of sobriety. When I asked how he knew it was time to initially seek help, he said, “I finally realized I had no control over alcohol. I thought about it all the time. I couldn’t wait to drink. I was obsessed with it.” As I listened, I thought, “Substitute the ‘food’ for ‘alcohol,’ and that’s me.” It was one of the triggers in getting me to lose my weight.

It was also the instant I realized that overeating is every bit as much of an addiction as drugs or alcohol.

We don’t like to think of overeating as an addiction for several reasons. First of all, it’s part of the norm to eat too much. That would make us a country of addicts, and true as that might be, we sure don’t want to admit it. Moreover, there are no age restrictions, you can do it in public, and it’s legal. Eating too much might make you fat, but a cop won’t pull you over for a 300-triglyceride level, it won’t cause you to black out, nor do unwise things you’ll regret with morning’s light.

Merriam-Webster’s Medical Dictionary defines addiction as, “persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be physically, psychologically, or socially harmful.” Let’s be clear; when you’re hiding goodies in your purse, lying on the bed to tighten your belt, or avoiding social gatherings because you’re afraid of the reactions; it’s a safe bet you’ve met the entry qualifications for addicted.

The bigger problem is, unlike the more nefarious addictions, we cannot “just say no.” As difficult as it might be, an alcoholic can swear off booze, and a smoker can refuse cigarettes. We, however, must continue to indulge while learning to set arbitrary, always shifting, sometimes ill defined limits about what constitutes “too far.”

Sure, a half-gallon of ice cream is a pretty clear violation of self-control. One could say the same for a quart, maybe. But where do we draw the line? Is a cup all right? What about two? To the alcoholic, an ounce is too much. For us, where does it start?

Let’s set the stage: A healthy, thin person consoles herself after a rough day with “chocolate therapy,” downing a pint of fudge-brownie-chocolate chunk ice cream and a couple of devil’s food cookies as a chaser. After sharing with her co-workers the next day, they all laugh knowingly.

“I’ve been there,” says one, “Sometimes, you just need to go with it.”

No one thinks she’s addicted. She looks great. She’s healthy (albeit sporting a humongous sugar buzz). Yet, when I do the same actions for the same reasons, I’m out of control?

See, it’s not really about the overeating, but the internal dialog. A healthy personality analyzes the calorie overload and thinks, “Well, that was over the top. I better cut back tomorrow” — and she does, regaining her balance.

The food addict blows it out of proportion, thinking, “Oh my God! I blew it! How could I do this? This is awful! I can’t believe what an idiot I am!” Berating her very worth as a human being she finally decides she’s a complete failure. With that observation, she gives herself permission to let herself totally go and accelerates over the cliff.

Yeah, we’ve got issues. Yeah, it stinks. But handling mistakes is part of the process. If guilt and shame were motivational, we’d be skinny as rails. It’s not about perfection. Everyone slips up; success will be determined in how we handle it afterwards.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.

The fantasy of perfectionism

I am a perfect-o-holic.

Sure, I know it’s folly; yet I can picture that magical happy place where all goes according to plan and everything works out as I imagined. I have a plan.

Today, I become the pinnacle of modern workplace efficiency. Without exception, every single solitary item on my to-do list will be accomplished — even those lingering on the pad since ‘07. Phone calls will be returned in a timely, upbeat, eager manner, complete with all the necessary and required information at hand. Today, every goal will be exceeded; every deadline shall be beat. Should I spot a customer, client, co-worker, or vendor, I shall stretch out a warm enthusiastic hand in friendship, greeting her with passion, warmth, and energy; developing the ultimate positive reputation. Today, all reports will be finished on time and with precision. Today, the five-year backlog of filing shall be ended. Facebook farm games, really cute cat videos on YouTube, and forwarded emails with titles like “LOL! OMG! You’ve got to see this!” shall not deter me from my mission. I am a rock. (I shall be so effectual that I will have even had enough spare time to properly arrange my computer’s desktop icons in perfect order. After all, I owe it to myself to have some fun.)

Moreover, I will not ignore my most important relationship. Mark this date; for it is when I became the perfect spouse. Should my loving wife require assistance, no matter what else I am doing, I shall immediately — sans attitude, of course — cease all other pursuits, and lavish upon her all the attention she so richly deserves. As illustration of how central is our shared life, I will make time to clean the bathroom, prepare dinner, wash the dishes, pay the bills, and even massage her aching feet, expecting nothing in return. Today, I am the perfect husband.

To achieve these lofty goals, I must reserve time for me, for should I falter, all who depend on me will be let down. Therefore, I shall rise with sufficient time to allow for hours of meditation and soul centering. After which, I shall adorn myself in a made-in-the-U.S.A. fashionable, waterproof, breathable, sweat suit with state-of-the-art walking gear. To which, I will attach a heart monitor, fire up some inspirational music, grab the walking weights, and tread briskly for miles; assuring my heart rate remains in its ultimate target range the entire time.

Upon returning home, I shall shower in purified, alkaline, ionized microwater, and then prepare the most important meal of the day. My healthy breakfast consists entirely of 100% organic, all natural, unprocessed, non-fat, free-range, locally grown, high-fiber foods. Further ensuring complete balance, I masticate each morsel 32 times, one for each tooth.

This will be my new dawn, my genesis, my beginning. All will be perfect!

Before the rooster crows, I am gently roused by my ascending, progressive, Tibetan chime, Zen alarm. Noticing the early hour, the stars against the dark night sky, and picturing all I will accomplish this perfect day in perfect order — I jerk my certified organic ivory-colored, imported, Egyptian cotton blanket over my head, slam the snooze button, muttering, “Yick, there’s always tomorrow,” just like I did yesterday.

A thought crosses my somnolent synapses, “Maybe, this all-or-nothing attitude is overwhelming and holding me back? Would I be more productive if I set more realistic goals?”

Pondering the revelation, I realize that if I did, I’d actually have to change. Why would I do that when everything’s perfect?

One of these days

One of these days, I'm going to get back on track with my diet. Really. I'll burst out of bed inspired, invigorated, and enthused. I'll clear the kitchen, throw out the junk food, pull out my motivational books, and start weighing, measuring, and monitoring anything that crosses my lips. No crumb of cuisine will be too trivial to escape my scrutiny. Yep, that's the way you lose weight you know. One of these days, boy am I going to get my eating act together! I'm just so busy right now.

Someday soon I've got to start exercising. I could wake up earlier, strap on some tunes, and stroll around the block. It's just so warm in bed, and I've been waiting for the rain to stop; my raincoat is so old, I'd look silly walking around town in it. I'm looking forward to a patch of blue sky so I can get back out there.

Just as soon as I can get around to it, I need to start a journal. I've been organizing my thoughts - even thinking about jotting down a few notes. I considered using a yellow-lined pad, but I really want to keep my thoughts and feelings for years. Recording something so important on any old bland notebook would be tacky, so I'm toying with buying a deluxe, leather-bound journal - maybe even an expensive pen. When I can put away a few dollars, I'm so there.

In a little while, I think I'll even go again to my meetings. It's just, well, you know how it is: holidays, travel, celebrations... who can control themselves with goodies everywhere? A slip-up here, some sloppiness there - boom - eight pounds! I almost went back last week, except it's so embarrassing to keep putting on the same pounds - so I'll knock them off first, and then head back. In a few weeks, it'll be a better time anyway.

One of these days real soon, I'll get it all together. I've been planning it a long time; I just want to make sure I do it right, no mess-ups allowed. So I'm waiting until life settles down before I get started. Let me tell you though, when the time is perfect, there's no stopping me.

I can feel it coming, one of these days, real soon, right about the corner...

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus, THINspirational speaker and author lost 70 pounds over 14 years ago. He has a free motivational e-zine at www.THINspiration.com. His book, THE SHADE OF TREE IS THE VERY BEST SHADE THERE IS, is available at www.ShadeOfATree.com. He can be reached for presentations or comments at 707.442.6243 or scottq@THINspiration.com.

Taking The Pledge

The pledge is all the thing; apparently, everyone's doing it.

Searching the Internet, I discovered 7,570,000 entries for "Take the Pledge." As examples, one can abandon old-fashioned round light bulbs in favor of newer CFL curly neon bulbs by taking the "Energy Star Pledge." According to their website, 549,033 bulbs have replaced! I'm a little concerned about that count however. For instance, if a bulb burns out, do they subtract one from the count?

Another organization requests we take an "End the Stroke Pledge." I cannot envisage anyone in favor of strokes, but question the necessity of having to swear allegiance publicly to ending them. Then again, I guess it cannot be harmful. Count me in.

One over-the-counter medicine asks us to pledge to create "germ-free defense zones" while also pledging to use their hand sanitizer. Personally, I think that's two pledges. It's also a little confusing; as illustration, am I in violation if I eradicate germs but use another product? I am not skilled in pledge-construction but do believe well worded pledges are devoid of loopholes.

A dedicated cluster of Macintosh computer users requests others not boot their computers into the Windows operating platform. I use a Macintosh. I didn't even know I could boot into Windows. Maybe I took that pledge without knowing.

I even stumbled across a group dedicated to improving our planet's atmosphere by asking cows to pledge to stop passing gas. How would one know if a cow made such a commitment; beyond that, who would be responsible for monitoring the contract? That would seem a rather unpleasant assignment.

So, in the interest of better dieting, I have devised - your guess it - a pledge. Put down any tempting sweets, raise your right hand, and begin:

In the interest of better health, I (fill in your name) hereby pledge to...

• Forgo all sugars and artificial sweeteners, eating only unprocessed, fresh, non-packaged foods
• Engage the services of a personal trainer who will ensure that I wake up three hours earlier, meditate extensively about better health, stretch extensively, and then finish with a 90 minute aerobic work out every day
• Record all food consumption in a food diary - but only after weighing it on a top-of-the-line electronic scale that computes fiber, fat, protein, sodium, and sugars
• Hire a top-end, live-in chef to ensure all food is prepared in the most healthful manner present nutritional science allows
• Read every food label, cross-referencing it with a portable food index that to be carried at all times, double-checking to make sure that I consume no trans-fats, very few calories, and a great deal of fiber (not being cows, we need not worry about fiber's side effects)
• Disregard the previous ridiculous commitments and make one small lasting change in my routine to eat a little less, walk a little more, and enjoy steady progress of a realistic program

The hottest fashion

Tumult is parading on the fashion catwalk.

According to Reuters, the world's first ban on overly thin models at a top-level fashion show has been announced in Madrid and is causing no small amount of concern within that industry. Underweight models (those with a body mass index - BMI - of under 18) will not be allowed to walk the runway. The reason cited by organizers is they "want to project an image of beauty and health, rather than waif-like or heroin chic." They believe (and they are most likely accurate) that young girls and women were trying to copy their rail-thin looks and were therefore developing eating disorders. (For comparison, the average American woman is 5' 4" and weighs 140, a BMI of 24, which is considered in the normal range of 18-25. The average American model is 5' 11" and weighs 117 pounds, a BMI of 16.)

I am torn by the decision in Spain.

It is not because I follow the latest designer news nor the ups and downs of Tommy Hilfiger, Donna Karan, or Calvin Klein. Although I find self-image, public health, and the plague of excess weight to be of utmost importance, I also believe personal choice is essential.

Every waking moment of each day, we make choices, which have repercussions; the results become our lives. Without the ability to make such decisions, our learning curve is thwarted and future decisions are poorer, making it more difficult to achieve our potential. Wisdom comes of evaluating our choices.

Conversely, until we possess that good judgment, it is society's moral imperative to protect the innocent from predators who view them as fodder for personal gain.

It is a conundrum. Choice becomes wisdom, which fosters better choices. Yet until we possess such understanding, others must direct our choices, slowing the expansion of wisdom.

More important however is not the dimensions of the model as much as the message of the event. I understand the need to be desirous of a contemporary and fresh appearance (although it matters less as I age). However, imagine a routine where high profile models were judged not by the hang of their outfits as much as the completeness of their character and the fulfilling of their potential.

Picture a catwalk adorned with women - and men - of every age, shape, and size. Each struts proudly a sense of purpose, social consciousness, creativity, knowledge, and - of course - health. Others are drawn to these events by the desire to better themselves and those around them. The ultimate "super model" becomes self-actualization - a fashion that fits beautifully on any body.

My confession

Since my age was counted in single digits, I've been dieting. If I assembled in one place all the pounds I've lost (and found again), it would sink a whale. I scan food packaging for terms like "low fat," "sugar free," or "no calories." I record how many glasses of water I drink and how many miles I walk. I weigh myself week in and week out in special pre-weighed "weigh in clothes." (I even know my belt weights 3.4 ounces, how's that for detail?) I speak to audiences around the country on the topic and, of course, I write this column, which is printed in several cities.

Everyone who knows me - and I mean EVERYONE - understands I am a professional dieter. There must therefore be at least a glimmer of recognition inherent in that knowledge that I just might have a few "issues" about eating.

So why do I try to keep it secret when I slip up on my program? It's as if by not admitting my error, no one will notice my weight problem. Granted, since I'm currently at my (mostly) correct weight, some might be shocked at what I can pack away in a binge. But - can I be honest? When I sported a 44-inch waist and topped 250 pounds - someone, somewhere, might have had an itsy-bitsy inkling that I could be squirreling away a few tortilla chips now and then.

Yet, I ate in secret. I hid food in my bedroom (and car... and closet... and dresser... and - well, you get the image). If the last slice of cake was missing - and no one else was around - I'd still shake my chocolate smudged face boldface denying 'twas I who finished it.

"Gremlins must have eaten it," my mother would say.

I'd nod my head as if chubby, unworldly beings really did sneak into the kitchen and make off with the baked goods. She said nothing else. I remained silent.

Here's the thing. Even now, admitting I overeat makes me ashamed of my weakness. My critical parent screams at my compliant kid (therapists will love that sentence), "You're a failure! What's wrong with you?"

So I deny the deed. The result? Guilt for being dishonest replaces the shame.

Either option inspires more eating to medicate the pain. If guilt and shame were motivational, I'd be bone skinny.

My way out is to own my problem, boldly and upfront. Therefore, at the risk of bursting your bubble, I stand before you to announce I slip up. I make mistakes. I err. I'll probably do it again. Hard to believe I'm not perfect, huh?

Please understand that. I'll do the same for you.

The curse of perfectionism

The alarm clock rattles, buzzes, and wretches. As I force myself to face my day, I am immediately overwhelmed with all I must complete, everything I must do - and immediately yank the blankets back over my head artfully, slamming the snooze button in one fluid motion.

There's always tomorrow; all things become possible in the new day. Today, I'll coast.

As a recovering perfectionist, I understand perfection is an impossible pursuit, yet for some unknowable reason I crave that title anyway. The hitch isn't my desire, it's my actions - or more accurately, lack thereof - caused by trying to be perfect instead of actually working to be better.

In past days, I thought I had to be "the perfect dieter:" avoiding EVERY snack, steering clear of ANY treats, and swearing off ALL nibbling. As life would have it, without thinking, I mindlessly munch a handful of nuts from my co-workers desk, a habit I've repeated countless times. Once I realize what I've just done, I am embarrassed and disappointed by my actions, as well as ashamed of my lack of willpower.

A decision is at hand. I mull my options, navigating the fierce storm raging within. I could consider this faux pas as human error, eat a little less tonight, congratulate myself for adjusting, and move closer to my goal.

Or, as a full member of Perfectionists United (known as "P.U."), chant our mantra (join me if you know the words), "As long as I blew it, I'll really blow it, and start again tomorrow." Soon therefore, an entire bowl of peanuts vanishes, as do extra brownies from the office party, and two bags of chips from the employee cabinet. I weigh more now than when the alarm blared.

What would have been a minor detour has become a full-stop road closure - because of my perfectionist objectives. When I try to break these bonds, they even slip cancer-like around my thoughts to undermine the cure: small consistent steps.

Fifty pounds is too much; five is not enough. Wait until you're ready to do it all. Running five miles is unrealistic; walking a block is useless. Sit down, relax; turn up the TV.

Black. White. Perfect. Awful. Success. Failure.

The world is nuanced with progress happening via minor movements; success gradually coalescing around the actions. One tentative step now, another thereafter - each a deliberate decision, each its own accomplishment.