How do ya like the new look? We don’t have everything in place yet, but I was determined to get the new banner, title and colors up and running. As I chip away at this in the next couple of weeks you’ll see new tabs appear on the menu bar at the top of the page. At some point I had decided to split off my hospitality posts into a separate website, “Intentional Hospitality,” and now I’m re-merging them into this material and re-naming the whole thing. Got that?
Anyway, let’s get the to actual subject of this post, another idea from that infamous New York Times article. I’m zeroing in on one phrase, but let me give the entire sentence for context:
Whatever the combination of factors at work, something about the environment is making many people as fat as their genetic makeup permits.
Here’s the phrase: “as fat as their genetic makeup permits.”And here’s the principle behind that phrase: Body weight for individuals does have a genetic component. Many studies (including some referenced in the article) have shown that adopted children end up weighing about the same as their biological parents, not their adoptive parents, and twins reared apart, even in very different environments, show that same pattern. So it’s all just completely predetermined, right?
Wrong.
You inherit a range of weight where your body feels comfortable; efforts to force your weight below the bottom of the range will be unsuccessful in the long run, and there will usually be an upper limit beyond which you will not go. And the big takeaway is:
Where you are on the range is entirely up to you.
May I use myself as an example here? I have no dramatic weight-loss story to tell, and this isn’t a weight-loss blog as such anyway. It’s a blog about eating well, mindfully, and healthfully. Issues of weight inevitably creep in, though. America is in the midst of an obesity crisis that is only going to get worse if trends continue, so the subject is mighty relevant.
I spent my high school years feeling self-conscious about my weight, not because I was heavy but because I was skinny. I was embarrassed by my lack of (ahem) curves, and by my tiny little wrists with their sticky-outy bones (that’s the technical term). My nickname in junior high was “Bird Legs.” You get the picture.
In reality I had inherited my body type, including my weight, from my mother. I have often said that if you took my mother and me at the same age and subtracted her posture problems caused by her bout with polio as an adult (anti-vaxxers please note), then switched our heads from one body to the other, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. My frame is very small, with wrists measuring less than 5 1/4″ for my 5’3″ height. Since my bones are small, they don’t weigh much. (Their size also puts me at risk for osteoporosis.) They don’t require a lot of flesh to cover them, if I may put it that way. So I am genetically predisposed to be thin.
That predisposition doesn’t mean, though, that I am automatically fit and healthy. I need to, have to, work on attaining those goals. If I don’t exercise and watch what I eat, here’s what happens:
1. My cholesterol levels go up beyond the recommended level. (I do seem to have a naturally-high HDL level, the “good” cholesterol, but my total number goes up well into the 200’s if I don’t exercise.)
2. My blood pressure goes up and I need a higher dose of medication. (I’ve been able to cut my dosage in half on that score but not to go off the meds completely. Both of my parents had high blood pressure.)
3. My blood sugar levels go up almost to the point of full-blown diabetes. (I’ve hit an A1C of 6.4, only a tenth of a point away from the dreaded threshold of 6.5. Both of my parents were diabetic.)
So my genetic heritage isn’t all beer and skittles (whatever that latter may be). In some ways, my thinness tendency has tended to work against me, since for many years it was all too easy for me to think that I didn’t have to worry about my eating and exercise habits. You can be thin and unhealthy, remember. My sugar intake, for example, was way too high. I drank close to the equivalent of a can of soda every morning with my mug of coffee containing 6 ½ teaspoons of sugar. (A can of soda—or pop, as we call it in Colorado—has between 7 and 10 teaspoons.) We have never kept soda in the house as a regular drink, but I still ate way too many sweets and put too much sugar/syrup/honey/jam on various items. (I will spare you the description of how much brown sugar I’d put on a sliced-up banana instead of just eating the thing, for heaven’s sake! The words “brown sugar sludge” are relevant, however.) It wasn’t until a savvy, sharp doctor (the same one I have today) actually took two seconds to look at the family health history I’d filled out on my new-patient forms that I realized I might have a problem. He said, “With your family history of diabetes we need to check your blood sugar.” Well, it wasn’t good, and it only got worse as I progressed into my sixties, until I finally got really serious about controlling my sugar intake.
I’m going to stop here for now, as I try to keep these posts to around 1,000 words. I’d encourage you to think about the range of weight you think you might have inherited and where you seem to be on that range. That’s your assignment for today! Have a great weekend, and I’ll try to get another post written on Monday in which I will reveal the utterly fascinating story of my weight gains and losses. How can you possibly survive until then?