How can words possibly describe how fantastic, how beautiful, and how majestic the marathon is? I don't think they can. However, I would like to share a few lessons that I learned while becoming a marathoner. They say that the marathon is a metaphor for life, and I couldn't agree more.
The Keep A Breast Foundation made plaster molds of women's busts and auctioned them off to raise funds for breast cancer awareness. I thought this was a fantastic idea. I emailed them immediately, and days before my reconstructive surgery, I had a plaster mold made of my torso.
Excuses, excuses, excuses. I've had them--and good ones, too. But perhaps it was the specter of turning 50 that made me want to start running for my ...
There is a fundamental irony to writing a health-themed "things I've learned" blog at the age of 30 when, medically speaking, I've been already been mature for more than half my life. Leaving my twenties is a cultural milestone rather than a biological one. And while it may seem glib to compare the two, there is an undeniable disconnect between our biological and social expectations for people, especially women.
There were all too many days while looking at myself in the mirror, I wished I could literally rip the fat from my body. But I believe these feelings -- and most others that might arise -- are totally normal and have to be cleansed like the weight itself.
Be a donor. It's an incredible act of generosity and courage. But there's also anxiety and worry. When it goes well, you are rewarded with the joy of seeing your recipient with newfound energy and a love of life. They got a second chance because of you.
I've gone and reinvented myself. Again. But this time around, the new version of me doesn't have a new pen name. What I have done is lose more than 55 pounds over the past seven months.
You will be different. You will never have the same sense of self. You should embrace this. Your old self was probably really great. Your transformed self will be even better. Give into what is happening and trust it.
My father taught me to swim, to bike and to blast a soccer ball from the right corner of a goal box past the midline. I think it's fair to say that on their own, these have not been his most important lessons, but they are revealing of one message that was essential to my development: I am capable.
Whether he meant to or not, Dad instilled in us a lifelong love of using our bodies and a deep appreciation for all that they can do.
We need to stand up in our homes, communities and schools and create healthy environments for kids. We need to take back our kids' taste buds, our kitchens and our homes, which have been hijacked by the food industry, and ban anything except real food.
My hair is my thing. It's blonde and long. Like, really long. Though I'm not the type of gal to have a beauty "thing," it just took a summer in Kosovo...
I am not the kid in the candy store, but the young woman in the froyo shop. This past weekend, my closest friend -- and frozen yogurt comrade -- and I presented each other with a challenge (spoon-in-mouth at Tasti D-lite, no less): A Week With No Yo.
It's not like forgetting a name, where you can apologize and ask again. In some cases, I can't recall people I've known for months or years. Basically, if someone is out of place or I don't see them on a usual basis, I am often stumped.
As OBGYNs we see and hear everything. There is nothing that you are going to reveal to us that will surprise or upset us. For your health's sake there are important things you should let your OBGYN know so we can make sure to check for specific problems or diseases.
My turn at poverty was sudden and relatively brief. But I do know something about how living that way increases body mass and how seemingly impossible it is to turn the weight around.
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