Fat Chance Page 16

  What I didn’t think much about was what Jaxon would teach me. On a rainy afternoon shortly after his first birthday I wrote a blog post for my publisher titled, “All I Needed to Know about Life I Learned from My One-Year-Old.” Here’s essentially what I said:

  “I’m realizing as my son Jaxon turns one that all I really need to know I am learning from him. Things like:

  It’s okay to cry when you don’t feel good.

  You need to eat—and eat often—in order to be healthy.

  Getting a good night’s sleep can make the difference between a good day and a bad day.

  There’s something wonderful about being held by somebody you love when you are feeling cranky.

  Before you can ever learn to walk, you have to fall down a few times. (Okay, many times.)

  When you take the time to notice them, even tiny, seemingly insignificant things can be amazing.

  A belly laugh really is contagious.

  Even the worst day can be turned around with a sweet smile.

  Everything that looks good doesn’t necessarily taste good. Like red crayons.

  The squeaky wheel usually does get the oil.

  And, perhaps the most significant one of all: Nothing compares to unconditional love.”17

  The post generated rave reviews for one and only one reason, I’m sure: Being reminded of the simple things in life often elicits the most generous helpings of gratitude.

  OUR GRACIOUS GOD

  Mike and I had always said that if we had another son we’d name him Elijah. We loved that name, and we loved the character in Scripture. But when things on the adoption-front heated up, my darling husband received another prompting from God, who probably has come to realize that if he delivers the messages to me, I’ll forget to write them down.

  Mike said, “This child is not ‘Elijah.’ He is someone entirely different, a baby we never dreamed we’d have.”

  And with that, we were back to square one.

  All soon-to-be parents probably go through the same dilemma when choosing a name for their child. Countless dozens of perfectly fine names get ruled out, all because the kid who picked his nose in your third-grade class was named Jeremiah. Or Ethan. Or Doug.

  We had chosen Noah’s name because its origin points to the word peace, and so we knew that whatever name we selected for this new little one would have to have significant meaning. At one point, Mike came across the name Jackson, but its meaning was no more profound than, “Jack’s son.” Um, no.

  Then he found the alternate spelling, and the entire baby-naming universe shifted before our eyes. “Jaxon with an x …” Mike read from the book of names one morning. “When spelled that way, it means ‘God has been gracious.’”

  Bingo. Jaxon it would be.

  In the Bible when God changed the spelling of a person’s name, it was to establish for that person a new identity. More than anything else Jaxon would bring to our lives, we wanted him to know that he brought the Haddens a bold reminder that God has been gracious, that he is gracious, and that he will be gracious for all the rest of our days.

  It’s hard to imagine what God thinks and feels when he looks at the four of us today, but I like to think that as he gazes down from heaven he is proud. I think he’s proud that Mike and I waited for each other and stepped into marriage pure and blameless and more than a little excited to become one. I think he’s proud that from that day forward we devoted ourselves to him and chose to do whatever he called us to do, even when we didn’t exactly understand why. I think he’s proud that we strive to prove through our lives that God’s ways are always better than our own.

  As a young girl, I dreamed about growing up, getting married and having two-point-five kids who were very close in age—a boy, a girl and whatever God wanted for the half. I never would have signed up for two boys, and certainly not two who are seven years apart and as different as night and day. But as I think about God’s thoughts toward me now, I like to picture him saying, “Yes. This is how I intended it to be all along. This is the story I wanted to tell.”

  MY BEST ADVICE

  Make Smart, Simple Choices

  A book series came out a couple of years ago called Eat This, Not That, which presents thousands of food comparisons and tells you which one you should pick. So, for example, if you’re on a road trip with your family and the tiny town where you stop to get gas has only a McDonald’s and a Burger King to choose from, and they’re fresh out of healthier options like salads and grilled chicken, and you’re fairly certain Jillian Michaels won’t suddenly pop out from behind the restaurant and give you the third degree about why on earth you didn’t pack some healthy snacks, then you can pull out this handy guide to discover that selecting a Big Mac, which contains 540 calories and twenty-nine grams of fat, is a far better choice than opting for a Whopper with cheese, which weighs in at 760 calories and forty-seven grams of fat.

  Or let’s say your friends want to meet at Chili’s to chat, and you’ve been craving dessert all day. If you had read Eat This, Not That, you’d know that whatever you order, it had better not be the Chocolate Chip Paradise Pie with vanilla ice cream. Why? Because at 1,600 calories and seventy-eight grams of fat, you’d essentially be eating three Big Macs for dessert. And while they’re a little bit better than Whoppers with cheese, still, that’s just gross.

  Actually, if you’ve been craving dessert all day, my advice is to skip Chili’s altogether and make Devin Alexander’s Chocolate Chocolate Brownie Cups from The Most Decadent Diet Ever! (Broadway, 2008) instead. She is the author of many of The Biggest Loser cookbooks and host of Healthy Decadence on FitTV. I first tasted these brownies at the Season 6 finale in LA. She said, “You have to try my brownies.” And despite my protests, she wound up convincing me that at fifty-four calories and less than half a gram of fat a pop, I could afford to indulge her request. A yummier brownie has never touched my lips.

  Chocolate Chocolate Brownie Cups

  Ingredients

  Butter-flavored cooking spray

  ½ cup unsweetened applesauce

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  8 large egg-whites

  2 cups raw sugar, such as Sugar in the Raw

  ½ cup unbleached all-purpose flour

  1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

  2 teaspoons instant espresso powder

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  1 teaspoon salt

  ½ cup mini semisweet chocolate chips

  Directions

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Thoroughly mist two twelve-cup nonstick minimuffin tins with spray. In a large mixing bowl, using sturdy whisk or spatula, mix the applesauce, vanilla, egg-whites, and sugar until well combined. Add the flour, cocoa powder, espresso powder, baking powder and salt. Stir mixture until just combined and no lumps remain. Working in batches, fill each cup of the pans until each muffin cup is nearly full. Sprinkle half of the chocolate chips evenly over brownies. Bake ten to twelve minutes or until toothpick inserted into center comes out dry. (A few crumbs are okay.) Transfer the pan to a cooling rack and allow to sit for five minutes. Repeat process with the remaining batter, making forty-eight brownies total.

  By the way, once cooked, these decadent delights freeze extremely well. After-school snacks and midnight cravings are solved!

  What strikes me about Eat This, Not That is not the actual content as much as the premise: It’s much easier to make smart choices when you know what those smart choices are. The other thing that strikes me is how many extraordinarily dumb choices I made prior to being on The Biggest Loser. If a book had been written that instead was called “Live Like This, Not Like That,” my life before the show would have provided the perfect profile for the “not like that” part of the equation. Let me give you a quick rundown of what I mean.

  Before my The Biggest Loser experience …

  I ate what was convenient, which by definition is never the same thing as what is healthy.

  I ate what was cheap (again, chea
p rarely also means healthy).

  I hung around with like-minded enablers (read: fat people who love to eat!).

  I looked at the big picture that was me and figured I’d never change—so why try?

  I watched far too much TV (hint: if there is a deep trench in the upholstery that runs through “your spot” on the couch, you’re watching too much TV too).

  I went to bed late and never got enough sleep.

  I slept late every single chance I got.

  I quit at nearly everything I tried.

  I tried every shortcut in existence to avoid being uncomfortable or having to work too hard.

  I blamed others for everything that was wrong with me.

  I decided that I abhorred exercise, despite the fact that I’d never really tried it.

  I allowed others to dictate my self-worth. (Ironic, given it’s called “self” worth!)

  I associated all-things social with food. (Who knew it was possible to go to a movie and not order popcorn?)

  I never ate breakfast. Ever.

  I bought my coffee in fancy stores that had baristas who always put fun (read: fattening) things in it, instead of making my coffee plain and at home.

  I wore shoes that made it nearly impossible for me to walk farther than a few feet.

  I was never prepared for the day or for the fact that I’d probably get hungry every few hours.

  I went to parties, dinner engagements and every other social setting totally and completely famished.

  Hardly the picture of wisdom and simplicity, I think you’d agree.

  Some of the greatest lessons I learned on the show came in the form of smart, simple “live like this” steps that even I could take. Here are a few of my favorites:

  Pack along a snack-size baggie of almonds when you walk out of the house in the morning. When you feel that three-o’clock crash coming on, chew on three almonds, take a deep breath and remind yourself that you’re worth the new lifestyle you’re living!

  Eat a light snack—an apple, a few nuts, a piece of lean deli turkey—before heading out for a party or dinner engagement so that when

  you arrive, you can concentrate on making a beeline to your best friend rather than to the dessert table.

  Eat at home as often as possible.

  Make only one meal for your family, kids included. Everyone should be eating healthfully!

  When you do eat out, avoid appetizers. Save your appetite for the real meal.

  Also, whenever you eat in a restaurant, immediately cut your portion in half and ask your server for a takeout container. Put half of your meal in the container, set it aside, and know that not only will you not be tempted to overeat, but also you’ll have a delicious meal for tomorrow. So smart!

  Save dessert for special occasions instead of considering it an everyday necessity.

  Drink water and nothing else. Well, okay, you can stick a little bag in it and call it hot tea if you’d like; just be sure that in a given day you’re not drinking your calories. Calories should come from food. End of discussion.

  Drink water before eating. Your mind will register that “full” feeling sooner than if you eat on an empty tummy.

  Never eat while watching TV.

  Never eat while standing up, such as when you’re hovering over the kitchen counter preparing your kids’ breakfast.

  Don’t go to the grocery store hungry.

  Once you get to the grocery store, park as far away from the entrance as possible, and thank God every step of the way for your ability to walk.

  Shop only on the perimeter of the grocery store, which is where they keep the good stuff—produce, fresh seafood and so forth.

  Always take the stairs when you have the option.

  Never buy clothing that is one size too big. You will play right into that self-fulfilling prophecy and despise yourself later.

  Enjoy your food instead of shoveling it in. Savor every bite for the way it is nourishing your body.

  Walk or ride a bike if what you need is close by.

  Make exercise fun by including your kids. See page 206 for a great playground exercise.

  There you have it: twenty smart, simple choices that you can make today. Pick a few and give them a whirl. You’ll be incredibly glad that you did.

  CHAPTER 8

  This Is Me Now

  I AWAKENED AT the crack of dawn this morning to catch a flight to Louisiana for an engagement I agreed to months ago. My publisher ran a contest for their magazine subscribers called “New Year, New You,” and in addition to all sorts of support for a full twelve months, the winner would receive a weekend visit from a personal trainer, a motivational coach, a nutritionist and me—a once-obese woman who knew well the road she was about to walk. The trouble is, I was supposed to kick off the entire weekend by paying her a surprise visit and ringing her doorbell at three o’clock this afternoon. And based on what I’ve just been told by airline personnel here in Jacksonville, it appears I now will be arriving in Louisiana sometime around, oh, four-thirty.

  My alarm shattered the blissful silence surrounding me well before five o’clock this morning, which launched me into the crazy-person’s routine of packing my suitcase, throwing together Noah’s lunch for school, grabbing Jaxon’s favorite blanket so that he could finish sleeping on the ride to his grandmother’s house and so forth. I know, I know. I should have done it all last night. Welcome to my world.

  As it turned out, I arrived at the airport on time, if not a bit disheveled. I speedily hugged and kissed Mike good-bye and rushed inside toward the ticket-counter area, where I realized that I wasn’t the only person in this town who got up at an ungodly hour. There had to be ninety-five people already waiting in line, and this was the line for the self check-in—you know, the one that is supposed to make the entire process smooth and seamless and fun.

  Not so much, today.

  I finally reached the front of the line, spotted an open kiosk, swiped my credit card for proof that I am, in fact, Julie Hadden, scanned my e-ticket confirmation and then cringed as three disheartening words appeared on the screen: “Itinerary Not Recognized.”

  I stared at the ticketing agent standing a few kiosks over until she acknowledged my presence, and as she stepped over to my end of the counter, I said, “It’s not letting me check in for my flight.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Let’s see what’s going on.” She then proceeded to program the proverbial space shuttle, pausing and groaning every now and then for effect. I glanced at my watch and grimaced. Six fifty-four—thirty-one minutes until my plane was due to depart. I had blown more than half an hour standing in line, and still I might miss my flight? I silently reviewed my self-talk themes, which I carry with me for situations just like this. “You’re a nice person. You’re a good person. You’re a person who loves God and country. Not to mention, there’s probably at least one The Biggest Loser fan in the general vicinity. Keep your cool, Julie. Keep your …”

  Ms. Agent suddenly stopped typing. “I’m so sorry, but…”

  There was no way the rest of that sentence could contain good news.

  “… you can’t go,” she continued.

  “Wha-what did you say?” I asked. Clearly I was being punked. I swiveled around, sure I’d find a candid camera staring me down.

  “Yeah,” she said, reclaiming my attention. “You can’t go.”

  “I can’t go? To Louisiana, you mean? On the flight I paid for?” Keep your cool, Julie. Keep …

  “Mm-hmm. Your flight was overbooked. And we resold your ticket. But we don’t have time to get your luggage on the plane anyway, so…”

  “But my flight doesn’t leave for thirty minutes!” I said, with a little more passion than I intended.

  “Actually, twenty-nine. And there’s a thirty-minute cut-off on all checked luggage.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. So I got here on time and with proof of a paid-in-full ticket for this flight, and now you’re telling me that I can’t get on my plane?”


  “That is correct,” she said in an annoyingly helpful tone. “But because of your trouble, I won’t charge you to rebook your flight.”

  Keep your cool, Julie. Keep your cool. “Uh-huh. And so—”

  “So we can put you on the next flight, which leaves here at nine o’clock …”

  While she tapped out another six-thousand characters on her keyboard, I started doing the math on whether I could still make my Atlanta connection and get to Louisiana in time for the shoot. “That would work,” I offered, determined to keep my cool.

  “… Oh, but that one’s oversold as well. Hmm …”

  Doughnuts were created for moments like these. Doughnuts and Ben Stiller movies. In my mind’s eye I replayed the scene from Meet the Parents, where Stiller’s character Greg Focker walks up to the gate agent, hands over his ticket, and then hears her say in a perfectly perky tone, “I’m sorry, Sir, but we’re only boarding rows nine and above right now.”

  He looks at her stiff up-do, her rosy cheeks and her painted-on smile and says, “But I’m in row eight. It’s only one row off.”

  “Yes, we’ll be calling your row shortly, Sir. Now please, step aside.”