Why do I have 3 South Beach Diet Books? Or, Spring Cleaning Discoveries 2009

May 3rd was the kind of rainy spring Sunday that demanded getting stuck in and tackling that annual chore of spring cleaning. I made lots of discoveries... like my missing pink sock, a gallon ziplock bag filled with crayons and my lost red patent loafers. Perhaps the most interesting, if not the most telling discovery was that I have in my house 20 diet books. Yes, 20... that I can find.

The 20 does not include the 5 books hidden behind the 2003 Frommer's Guide to Florida and the 2006 Rick Steve's Guide to Paris that outline exercise programs guaranteed to help you tone-up and trim down in 2 weeks. I feel like I bought at least 2 of those in June 2003... 2 weeks before my senior prom.

Actually, to lose weight for my prom and my prom dress (the same dress I wore 4 years later for my CC senior dinner -- the dress was that good) I went on Atkins. This accounts for the 2 Atkins books on the shelves. Yes, I have Dr. Atkins' New Diet Revolution and The Complete Dr. Atkins (all three books in one volume for the B&N value price of $9.98 -- how could I pass that up!) I stayed on the diet through my first month in college and then I discovered chocolate covered espresso beans... and chocolate covered raisins...oops.

I have two copies of the South Beach Diet -- a hard edition for the Westchester house and a soft-cover version for the college dorm/graduate apartment. There are post-its sticking out of them and food stains on the pages, which I take as a good sign. And to go with the weathered pair, I have the ever important The South Beach Diet Parties and Holidays Cookbook. Clearly, I was launching headlong into the South Beach way of life just before the holiday food rush and I needed some sort of alternative to the mashed potato (the greatest sacrifice on any low carb diet).

Remember Barry Sears, PhD and his Zone Diet? Probably a fad diet a little before most of our times. But regardless, there are 3 zone books on my bookshelf. There's "Mastering the Zone," which is in pristine condition (the Zone was not mastered clearly... probably never even entered). There's the more recent and slightly longer "The Anti-Inflammation Zone," which gets rid of poultry and other foods that apparently cause inflammation in the joints and arteries. It is likewise in pristine condition. However, A Week in the Zone, the small pocket sized version, is nicely worn in. phew. Diets aren't meant to last more than a week anyway. Ask any runway model... she'll tell you.

There's also the Sonoma Diet, the Cardio-Free Diet, The McDougall Program, Doctor McDougall's Health-Enhancing Recipe Book and Strong Women Eat Well. I liked the Cardio-Free Diet... it told me I didn't have to go to the gym as much. I gained 3 pounds on the Cardio-Free Diet. The Sonoma Diet was probably the best... I lost 5 lbs in the first week. It told me to drink wine.


There was a handful of books advocating one form of fuel intake over the other: The Carbohydrate Addicts Lifespan Program, Protein Power, and The Alpha Lipoic acid Breakthrough. Then there were the ones with gurus on the front promising 30 days or 2 months to a healthier, happier you.

It was kind of amazing. I knew I had been on a diet since I was 13 and had since those first days on weight watchers been through every major fad diet promoted by Joan Hamburg, but I never realized just how many diet books I had acquired. As I stared at the massive pile of books, I thought to myself: Kathleen, you have an unhealthy obsession with your weight. In high school, I wrote a piece in the style of John Steinbeck for my AP English Language class on "a good, effective diet." Am I seeing a trend here?

I blame Dr. Solomon -- about a month ago, after losing 5 lbs, I went in for a vit B shot and the visit proceeded as it has for the last 10 years: "Do you have a boyfriend?" "No yet." "When was your last period?" "A week ago." "You're such a pretty girl, but you really need to stop eating Carbohydrates." "But Dr. Solomon, I'm a vegetarian. What am I supposed to eat." To my mother: "Don't let her in the kitchen."

Luckily, the number of diet books I own is dwarfed by the number of recipe books on my shelves, in my drawers and on my counter top. Keep me out of the kitchen, Dr. Solomon? Yea, not likely.

Looking back on 2008... a few Things I've Learned

It pays to be a humanities student when the stock market crashes -- While many of my wall street friends have to worry about whether or not they'll still have a job in 2009, I'm applying for fellowships which means people will be paying me to be a student and write about art for the next 7 years (hopefully, this will be just enough time for the economy to get back on track and for millionaires to start investing in paintings again)

Believe -- Watching the US Olympians in Beijing was incredibly inspiring. In the end, the lesson I learned watching our fencers bring home a historic 6 medals (oh and Michael Phelps winning those lovely 8 golds) is that you have to believe in yourself. As someone who so often lacks self confidence and so often doubts herself, BELIEVE is my new mantra for 2009.

3. Keep Fighting -- Last fall, my mother had her hip replaced. In less than a year, she was walking better than ever and made her way onto the US Veterans Fencing World Championship Team. She proceeded to be the best finisher from the US in her age category. A year before she couldn't bend to touch her knees. It's pretty amazing what we can get through if we refuse to give up.

Cellulite Creams don't work -- They don't and in learning this, I also learned to embrace my thighs and accept the fact they are what they are because they work hard and because they belong to an athlete (or at least, to someone who spends a minimum of two hours a day at the gym, whether she looks it or not).

My Irish Gene is dominant -- One of my childhood fantasies was fulfilled this Christmas when my parents gave me a pasta maker. I had visions of rolling out piles and piles of fresh fettucinni with an expert hand in a matter of minutes. Yea, right. Try several hours of kneading, rolling, re hydrating, and kneading. Now, give me a potato and I'm an ace. But this whole pasta from scratch thing is a little more work than Giadi de Laurentis would have us believe.

I've read too much Jane Austen -- at some point this year I realized Mr. Darcy "lived" in the 19th century and I should bloody well get over it.

I'm really just a country girl at heart -- For a long time I had this idea I was a city girl a la Carrie Bradshaw (but with half a heart belonging to the Rockies). My trip to Limoges, FRA and my extended stays at home made it clear to me that I like my rolling hills and fields, my small farm-style houses and long walks.

Country Music is the only place where the Guitar still lives -- contemporary pop killed the guitar solo. But listen to groups like Big and Rich and you'll find there's still a lil Stevie Ray on today's charts.

Famous First Words

Behind every adult is a "funny" baby story. A story her parents like to whip out in fits of nostalgia.

You know what kind of stories I mean -- your parents have at least three about you that they've told you 1,000 times, your cousins 50 times, and your friends at least a dozen.

Well, for those of you who haven't had the fortune of meeting my parents, these are the stories they're likely to tell about me when you do finally meet them (potential boyfriends, take note). For those that do know Mama and Papa Reckling, you'd understand why these are probably their favorite toddler-Kathleen tales.


Famous First Words:
Apparently, I was a late talker. I was almost 2 and there had been no "Ma ma" and no "da da." Just some squeaks and hand gestures. They were starting to get worried I was "slow." But then I had a break-through that quieted their fears... and gave rise to a few new ones.

There I was, with my big blue doe eyes and my curly blond hair (yes, blond), perched on the stairs joyfully playing with my stuffed dog. But oh no! Fiasco! I dropped the dog down the stairs.

I looked at the beloved toy dog, and cried "Oh, Shit!"

Personally, I think it was a sign of genius-level intellect -- obviously, I understood that phrases like "oh, shit" were best used in moments of frustration. My father took this a sign my mother would be a bad influence. My mother was relieved to know that, along with her curls, I had inherited her brains...



Born to Shop
My father was holding a toddler me in his arms while the cashier was ringing up a few items he had purchased at the drug store. In my father's other hand was his wallet, open, poised to provide payment for the listerine. I reached over to the wallet, pulled out his Amex and handed it to the cashier. Clearly, from early on, I understood the ease of paying with plastic.


Hockey Players Don't Cry
When I was 4, I slipped on a bar of soap and split my head open. Of course, it hurt and there was blood and I was crying frantically all the way to the doctor's office. Then when they told me they were going to have to sew it up, well the sobs and screams soared to new decibels. My father looked at me, and said "Hockey players don't cry." Well, for whatever reason that turned off the waterworks and there wasn't another peep out of me, even while the doctor stitched me up.

I think this is my father's favorite toddler tale, especially since the day he overheard three of his 6-foot, 200-pound rugby players talking about what kind of tea they prefer -- which just so happened to be the day after he heard a 20-year-old me compare how much I could bench-press with a few of my girlfriends.