Final pictures

BEFORE/AFTER











































AFTER

I bow to Fred and Sidney.



























Disembodied!







































Sad, the PCP is finished.
















That's o.k., I'll just go eat some cake. (KIDDING)

No cookies, and smiles times (day 90)

In June, I ended my Peace Corps West Africa service and returned to America with one goal in mind: to eat my way through Dr. Phil’s Weight Loss Challenge “what not to eat” section. I found the book in a discarded “Books for Africa” box. (Seriously, who donates a weight loss book to Africa!?!? Twit.) In my Peace Corps country, Republique Islamique Mauritanie (RIM), fat women are considered beautiful. Young girls there are sometimes sent to “fat camps,” not to lose but to gain weight. They lounge under tents in the desert and drink fatty camel’s milk and eat sugary dates.

As another Peace Corps volunteer noted, food in the RIM is “oily, starchy, bland or a combination of all three. And when I say oily, I mean you grab a handful of rice, and oil is literally dripping and oozing out of your hand. Most plates either consisted of rice or some form of couscous, with red meat.” My host families were very generous and wanted me to be “beautiful.” They’d yell, “Eat, eat! What’s wrong with you? Are you sick? Don’t you like the food?” I became adept at eating great quantities of food. I ate soggy goat parts for months on end, and then when I went to the big city I applied my newfound skill to eating a whole pizza in one sitting. I yearned for the day when I could put memories of sheep’s stomach (much like a wet gray washcloth) behind me and eat cheese with abandon.

I didn’t exercise for two years. Saharan temperatures of up to 130f/54c by 10am sometimes made it impossible for me to do anything but lay around and sweat. The combination of carbs, greasy foods, no exercise, and giardia (basically a typical American lifestyle taken to the extreme) left me feeling absolutely miserable when I returned to America. Still, I lovingly annotated my Dr. Phil page, adding notes like “with ranch,” or “add cheese” or “more pie.” I was ready to eat America, but for one thing.

Throughout my service, I listened to Zen is Stupid as I walked through the vegetable market in Atar, dodging donkeys and letting the curses waft over my head. “Curse my life and burn my father in Hell? And a good day to you too, sir!” I found Gwen and Patrick to be two sweet, down-to-earth people. (Someday I would like to treat you both to a not-beer and an un-sandwich. Green tea and broccoli maybe? I can use my ZiS refund money!) I was curious when I heard about the PCP and was extremely happy when Patrick agreed to work with me to set up the plan.

I protested a lot at first. For example, “not my cheese, dear god, not my cheese!” and “but Patrick, I can’t cook!” I was planning to live the PCP on frozen broccoli and diet pizza. Patrick wounded my pride a tiny bit (cooking is TOO rocket science) so I learned how to cook salmon, tuna, chicken, broccoli, squash, spaghetti, apples, yam fries, sauces, green beans, lean steak, various forms of eggs, kale, quinoa, collard greens, brussels sprouts, and zucchini. (I can steam like a champ!) And I’m still learning more recipes.

My weight dropped from 164 (74.55 kilos) to 151 pounds (68.64 kilos). I put on some respectable baby muscles. I worked out more consistently than I ever have in my whole life (and learned how to work out). I learned how to eat properly and stopped craving cake every hour. My geographic tongue went away. I learned some cool stuff about the body, and want to learn more. I set up a daily meditation practice. Most of all, I had fun!

I enjoyed reading everyone’s blogs, from all PCP groups past and present. Congratulations on completion! E, Anshu and Mike, it’s no small thing to keep up the PCP while holding down a full-time job and to keep coming up with new recipes, biking insane distances, and working out late at night. I’m really proud to have you in my group and to see the great changes you’ve gone through. And keep up the good work ladies below us! I am very thankful to Chen and Patrick. My life is significantly better because I did the PCP. I don't know any blessings in Arabic, so bless you in American! Anyone looking to do the PCP, if you can, do it.

I wanted to end the PCP more auspiciously than working at a sandwich job. I wanted to announce that I got the job that I applied to, but I won’t find out for another month if I did or not. (Am curious for the scoop, P) I was mad at myself for having a less than perfect superset week on the PCP. But then I stopped and realized that I’m o.k. with ending on a less than auspicious note, because life isn’t always going to be favorable to the PCP, and I want to take the PCP with me throughout my life. I’ve still got a lot of work to do to be in Peak Condition. I want to lose 30 more pounds (13.64 kilos), build some more muscle, and a yoga course would certainly be nice. And wouldn’t it be infinitely neat to be able to do something like this someday?



I saw a giant picture of Kara Goucher in the airport last week. I'd like to think she'd be proud.

My advice to new PCPers? Don’t eat broccoli before you jumprope. Trust me on this one.

In bad taste

So, I bet you were thinking: "what did Jessica do with those 400 calories from indulgence #2?" About a month ago, I was reading Oprah Magazine and Oprah said I should buy Intentional Chocolates. What is an Intentional Chocolate, you ask? Some genius chocolatier got a bunch of (Tibetan) Buddhist monks to meditate their good intentions over a batch of chocolate. Then he developed a machine to "capture" those good intentions. Then he published one study saying that people who ate the chocolate felt happier or something. I told my mom about it, and she said, "oh, I should get you some to celebrate the finish of the PCP since you're into Buddha stuff." I said, "ha ha, sure." and then later changed my answer to, "you should just buy me a new resistance band." Then she walked out of the post office with a fancy box the next day. Oops. As a present to myself I bought a new purple resistance band (the strongest one they had), a set of push-up bars, and a new jumprope. Ohhhh sexy new resistance band.


Chocolate log:
Chocolate #1: Shared with mom in the afternoon, who said she felt no effects.
Chocolate #2: Eaten in my room at night. Felt guilty and warm.
Chocolate #3: Eaten before breakfast. Felt slightly warmer.
Chocolate #4-5: Shared with an old professor midday.
Chocolate #6: Broken into nibbles. One nibble before the first interview, one nibble before the second interview. I lost track of nibbles.

I don't know if it had any effects other than those chocolate normally gives you. My thought is that it would be nice if intention would be given to all of our food, not just expensive chocolate in the Oprah Magazine.


And then I sell it for 20 bucks.

PCP for life

Friday:
Jumpropes. An epic and delicious PCP breakfast. A loooonnnng drive. A restaurant dinner of sickly lettuce and a few bits of deli turkey.

Saturday (indulgence day):
Made do with a hotel breakfast (i.e. "no fat" but not no sugar yogurt, scrambled eggs, apple, Raisin Bran). Read something about "supersets" and went, "huuuuh?" Missed and pined for my vegetables. A full day of informational sessions. Interview #1. Lunch at a Thai place, ordered sauteed chicken and veggies. Don't know what they sauteed it in. Went out with mom and sister for dinner. Had "indulgence" of lobster pasta, Riesling, and apple pie...and cookie/Japanese candies. Thought "I'm over this" as I was eating the pasta. Felt an all-encompassing sense of ickiness that I realize characterized every single pre-PCP day; called it normal then. Came back and jumproped in the hotel entryway. Jumprope got caught on my face, and ear, and the wall. Did all exercises but the legs; no space.

Sunday:
Hotel breakfast. Interview #2. Did my exercises in the tiny "workout" room in the hotel; no chairs for chest exercises. Was the only one there. Used the bathroom door for my shoulder flys. Was distracted by the t.v. Went to a misnamed "grocery store" but the only non-cookable thing was spinach; bought a bagfull and ate handfuls. Sashimi dinner; had a little miso soup.

Monday: A looonnnnggg drive. Uncle took me out to burgers. Had the chicken breast sandwich and more stupid iceberg lettuce- IT'S NOT REAL VEGETABLES. Told him about the PCP. He bought a jumprope and the toughest resistance band he could find. Told him it was 80% diet. He skipped breakfast and had two cheeseburgers for lunch. Told him that was not exactly the way we do it. Finally got ALL of my exercises in. The supersets...agh, you're killin' me Smalls! Called rude shuttle man and scheduled ride.

Tuesday:
Hotel-type breakfast. Was stood up by my shuttle ride back home. Called him up and yelled; uncharacteristic. May have cursed him in Arabic. Hoped that God heard my curses and his parts withered. Another grilled chicken sandwich lunch. Waitress said she thought I might be "allergic" to the cheese sauce (why else would I ask for none?) but put it in a little cup on the side anyway. Waited 6 hours and took a puddle jumper home. Taxi cab. 9:00 PM: Time for exercises! (I had BETTER get that job...geeeeez. I don't find out for 4 weeks though.)

Ruh-roh (day 86)

It's been bit of a Pcpisaster these last couple of days. Wait, wait, I still have a ticket for this wagon, come baaaaaaaaccckkkkk...

Luck (day 84)

Wish me luck!

Gnomes (day 82)

I woke up at four am to a massive thunderstorm and the phrase "the tiny gnome kingdom of Kyrgyzstan is living in your nostrils!" echoing in my head.

Today I want to talk a little bit about my hobby in the PCP banner. In my picture, I'm standing overlooking a ancient city in the Sahara desert, but I feel like a bit of a travel poseur. I enjoy it, but I can count the number of countries I've been to on two hands. In the other hobby picture I sent Patrick I'm squinched up on a tree branch, reading a blue book. (It's actually a repurposed book on anesthesia in which I pasted maps to Paris cheese and butterfly stores!) I love to read.

My first suggestion was that you read David Mitchell, for his sheer imagination and inventiveness. One of the authors that Mitchell looks up to, and rightly so, is Vladimir Nabokov. I would exhort, beg, and plead that you read Nabokov! Please start out with: Pale Fire, Lolita, Invitation to a Beheading, The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, Pnin, and Speak, Memory. Although Nabokov's son was an opera star, Nabokov didn't enjoy music. I don't think you need music when you have rainbows suspended in your brain. Nabokov was a synesthete, which means that your brain mixes up two sensations, such as taste and sound. A trumpet squeal might taste like pickles, or the tinkle of a music box might taste of sugar. In Nabokov's case, each letter of the alphabet had a particular hue, as Jean Holabird illustrates here. Read him for his dreamy, dripping, luscious prose.