Adjusting

Now that I've lost 120 pounds, I find I have a little body/mind disconnect on occasion. My brain, well-trained through experience and habit, doesn't seem to know that the vehicle it's steering has changed. I've traded in a lumbering, gas-guzzling Hummer for a slightly more agile Lincoln Navigator. But my brain still operates in Hummer mode.

Here's an example: I was playing fetch in the living room with one of the dogs a couple of days ago. It's going well until I toss too hard and the chew toy goes all the way under a chest of drawers. Immediately I think, "Well, that's it. The fun is over." You see, when I was heavier and less fit, I didn't get up off the couch unless I needed to leave the room, pee, or get more provisions because moving around meant sweating and panting and an elevated heartbeat and light-headedness. Besides which, getting down on my hands and knees to retrieve the damned chew toy would have been pretty much impossible - excruciating on the knees, hard on the heart and a risky endeavor to get back up without twisting, straining or dislocating something. Even the task of fishing out the chew toy with a coat hanger would have been fraught with difficulty: bending at the waist for more than a few seconds meant gasping for breath and getting light-headed, as well as getting a mouthful of stomach acid.

It took about three seconds for me to remember that I traded in the Hummer.

At which point I got up, walked over to the chest, bent over, reached under, snagged the chew toy, and started playing fetch with the dog again, all without a problem. No sweat.

Literally.

But for three seconds my brain forgot that I was different.

Another difference: the Hummer needed quite a bit of caffeine to keep running. The Navigator apparently doesn't.

You have to understand, I have a "thing" about caffeine. It all started 15 years ago when Starbucks opened a shop in the lobby of my office building. In the lobby, folks. Yes, it was in Seattle. My usual order: 3 shots over ice, with a big sluice of cream. From the start the caffeine intake wreaked havoc with my sleep, even when I had none after mid-morning. But I needed the kick to get going, so I started to take a couple of Tylenol PMs to get to sleep. This went on for years.

Later, in San Diego, I lived two blocks from a Peet's (mmmm, damn good espresso) and my business partner and I would start the day with a stroll in the sunshine to the coffee shop. At the time I was staying up late and partying a LOT, so the standard order was 6 shots over ice, to which I'd add an inch of cream. The looks I got at Peet's from the other customers - well, they were a mixture of awe and grudging respect. Of course, I had to up the Tylenol PM dose to 4 every night to counteract the caffeine. When I moved back to Seattle, I found a little mom and pop drive-through espresso place on my way to work and kept up the 6 shot/4 Tylenol PM routine until I moved here to Albuquerque.

Things changed a little - my housemate Ande has these great french espresso makers you put on the stove, and since I'm the homebody, I make the espresso. We both prefer it cold, so I would make 12 shots every other day and we both have 3 shots over soy milk every morning.
I cut back the Tylenol PM to two and all was peachy keen.

Then I started eating well and exercising and losing weight, and the caffeine I relied upon to get me going was instead making me a jittery psycho. I also had to go back to 4 Tylenol PMs to get to sleep.

Two months ago I thought, time to get off the caffeine/Tylenol PM train. At first it was hard to give up the espresso. I know, I could make decaffeinated, but I'm an all or nothing kinda guy. In a couple of weeks my body accommodated to the change and now I spring up out of bed in the morning without requiring the jolt. It was also hard to drop the reliance on the Tylenol PM after 15 years of use. At first I couldn't sleep. But it got better after a couple of nights and now I get a good night's rest pretty consistently.

Yesterday I had a ton of chores and cooking to get ready for a party last night, so I thought I'd drink some espresso. Three shots. In ten minutes I was buzzing around the house, vacuuming with one hand and dusting with the other, throwing laundry into the washer, mopping the kitchen floor, rearranging furniture - it was something! By the time people arrived last night, I was a cooking hosting fool, whipping things in and out of the oven, making drinks, giving tours of the house, all the while chattering away like a magpie. I was a whirling dervish. At some point late in the evening I caught myself in a rambling monologue about a book I recently read. I was talking a mile a minute and expounding away, oblivious to the glazed look in the eyes of my reluctant audience. After the guests left and I had washed all the dishes, I read for four hours before I was sufficiently free of caffeine to fall asleep.

No espresso this morning.

We all know what's it's like to have to adjust to new limitations. If you've ever broken an ankle and suddenly found yourself flailing around awkwardly on crutches, you know what I mean. But this is different: I'm adjusting to new freedoms.

Turns out, freedoms take practice.