Interesting article on the Dr. Weil site:

Sleep Debt Leads to Weight Gain?
From the article:

Other studies have shown a similar link in adults between lack of sleep and obesity. The reason proposed is that sleep deprivation boosts ghrelin, a hormone that stimulates the appetite, and reduces leptin, which suppresses appetite.

This reminds me of something that one of the painfully tight-bodied executives of my Sweden-based employer mentioned one time: that she made up for lack of sleep by eating more. A fine idea for the metabolically gifted among us, but not so good for those us prone to spread.

I continue to have appropriately mixed feelings about the mixed messages the media sends to folks (especially women) about body size and living healthy. Back in the 80s, "overweight" was the catchphrase, with an emphasis on looking good and not sweating. Now, women are allowed to sweat, are even encouraged to sweat. And "overweight" has become pathologized to "obesity," an epidemic of questionable proportions in the United States. Before you respond, let me assure you that I understand that our sedentary lifestyle and access to nearly unlimited quantities of refined sugar and transfats and other eveel foods is essentially unhealthy. But if you actually look at the Body-Mass Index charts that have replaced the height-weight charts of earlier decades, you'll notice a similar phenomenon: an institutional lack of allowances for individual body types. Perhaps I chafe against these Procrustean standards more than most because I'm a prime example of someone who does not fit into the metaphorical bed. According to even the modified height/weight charts and BMI charts, my target weight is around 130 pounds. But I haven't weighed 130 pounds since I was about 12. I carry my weight well. People are often surprised to discover how much I actually weigh. I don't know if this has something to do with extra bone density or muscle mass or because my butt is actually a portal into an extra-heavy dimension, but it's always been the case. I remember telling my first-grade classmates that I weighed 50 pounds and their awed responses. And I wasn't even chubby in the first grade.

During my mid-to-late 20s, I lived with a woman whom one might describe as fat-phobic. I also worked (and exercised) with a bunch of flawless Swedish women. I worked out regularly and ate in a fairly healthy manner. At that time, I believe I weighed between 170 and 185 pounds. In photographs from that time, I looked damn good. But at the time all I saw were my body's flaws, how it differed from the Swedish ideal I saw again and again in the locker room of my gym. I think it's fair to say that my target weight today should be in the 185 range. I do weigh substantially more than that, which is why I've taken some steps to change both my eating and my exercise habits. But I find it extremely difficult to focus on these internal reasons for changing my body when there are all sorts of other messages telling me how I should look and how much I should weigh.

Body image is a feminist issue. Weight is a feminist issue. Eating, taking up space, and accepting, even loving one's body is a feminist issue. I'm not the first person to discuss these issues, to criticize the mixed messages constantly bombarding women in our society. These messages, some of which are subliminal and nonverbal, and some of which are explicit, tell women (and men) that obesity is a disease with all sorts of health consequences. They tell women that our primary worth is in our physical attractiveness and sexual availability (and prowess!). They tell us that something is wrong with us, which only a particular product or service will fix. And they also tell us that we need to be careful not to become anorexic or bulimic in our efforts to achieve the perfect body.

So maybe it's not really that bizarre that I would have mixed feelings about losing weight, about changing my eating habits and letting go of one of the most primal forms of comfort and self-soothing. It's a constant challenge to let go of this rage, this righteous (and justified) anger at the constant violence being done to women every day and remember that my health is more important than my anger. And that eating more food than my body needs or wants is really not very productive.