It’s the tail end of the year. The final grains of sand from December’s hourglass are cascading out of sight. This is when I tend to reflect. On how profoundly different my life is now than it was in December 2008.

Three years ago I was extinguishing my life force and any traces of vitality with lumberjack-sized portions of food. My body was in a state of functioning exhaustion for two reasons: it was continually digesting food, and the foods I sent down the hatch were off the charts in their caloric upper-cut of a punch. At the top of the list were copious amounts of potato chips. And not just any old, off-the-shelf variety. These little lethal weapons were cooked in lard and available only in a certain county of southern Pennsylvania. That meant I had to mail order them from the factory if I wanted my fix. The UPS delivery men and women became very familiar with me thanks to the frequency with which they hauled the cumbersome cardboard packages up the stairs to my second floor apartment. The deliveries were the shape and size of a mini cardboard coffin (interesting, huh?) and plastered with shiny red and white stickers that read ‘FRAGILE.’ Curious how those stickers accurately described the contents of the box as well as my then-state-of-mind. It didn’t take much to send me careening into the kitchen to blot out whatever it was I wanted to blot out. Sometimes, there was nothing really to run from. Eating in such a blind and destructive way had simply become a habit, and as I deliberately looked the other way, my weight crept to an all time high of 345 pounds.

Life at such a size had become profoundly difficult at worst, uncomfortable at best. There were obvious physical tasks that were demanding like climbing a single flight of stairs, getting up from the couch, and trying to negotiate a crowded restaurant without knocking over a few tables or chairs with my hips. Even sleeping, the thing that should have been a breeze, was frought with awkwardness. And then there was the wardrobe: black lycra or black lycra. It was my only choice and I wore it daily, even in crippling heatwaves (here’s something that may shock you: a 300 pound woman swathed in black is generally not good company when the mercury spikes above 65 degrees).

As unhappy as I was, I made peace with my life situation. Food was too insidious an addiction to come to grips with, and finally, after years of believing society’s bigotry, the revelation came down from above that my worth as a human being had zippo to do with what the scale said. So there I was at the end of 2008, in total acceptance of the fact that I’d live the rest of my life with an unshakable addiction and an irrevocable relationship with Lane Bryant.

Mystics and sages have said that it’s the moment we finally surrender that Life or Serendipity or The Great Mystery can finally step in and start to amend a seemingly hopeless situation. 2009 had barely begun when I realized the mystics and sages were correct. Two guiding lights, Diamond Dallas Page (http://www.ddpyoga.com/ ) and Terri Lange, materialized in my life to show me a way out of the woods. I was ready to listen to their advice, follow it, and mix it with my body’s innate wisdom to create a way of living that both strengthened and lightened me, on more than just a physical level.

Yes, the addiction was shakable afterall, but only after I came to terms with two things: 1) I wouldn’t delude myself that being at a lower weight would be a golden ticket to happiness, and 2) I would agree once and for all to face the demons that continually sent me careening into the kitchen.

It took years and I was determined not to rush the process. I wanted a house of bricks. And three years later, I have one. Becoming who I am today was and is an ongoing process that required getting to know and like foods that enhanced my energy level and health, paying attention to or more accurately, FEELING the emotions that are part of the human package, and being physically active on a regular basis. This may not sound like your idea of a good time but I swear, for the most part it’s all been pretty enjoyable…even the challenging days. As Terri Lange told me, marching IN the parade vs. being on the sidelines means taking the good with the bad. Sometimes it feels gloriously exhilarating to be in the middle of it. Other times I get rained on or limp along because of blisters. And just when I think I’ve signed up for a little more of life than I bargained for, I remind myself not only that blisters heal, but I’M IN THE FREAKIN’ PARADE.

Last week I opened my front door to find a cardboard box delivered by UPS waiting for me, adorned with ‘FRAGILE’ stickers. I felt a momentary and disturbing flashback to the days of hovering half-awake in a potato chip coma, then remembered that it was an order for Lucini organic extra virgin olive oils and balsamic vinegars.  It would be accurate to say that three years later, I exercise a little more discretion when it comes to sending food down the hatch now. http://shop.lucini.com/Extra-Virgin-Olive-Oil/c/Lucini@OliveOil I tore the box open with delight, admired the gorgeous deep green of the oil, then made a goat cheese omelet with Lucini’s lemon-infused olive oil.

So with only a few grains of sand remaining, I’ll close out December 2011 with a major expression of Gratitude to Dallas Page, Terri Lange, and so many amazing members of Team DDPYOGA (Jamie, Richard, Rez, Jay, Sparky, Doug, HD, Robert) who give of themselves and uplift others on their journey back to a fuller life.

                                          Black Lycra:  My Uniform Du Jour for 20 Years

                                 I still wear black…but now it’s a choice, not a mandate

A book-signing for Suvir Saran’s “Masala Farm: Stories and Recipes from an Uncommon Life in the Country” will take place from 4 to 8 p.m. Friday, Dec. 16, at Gardenworks, 1055 Route 30, in Salem, N.Y. For more information, call (518) 854-3250. For more information on Suvir Saran, visit www.suvir.com .

I always tell people there’s no one answer to how I got rid of 185 pounds (and the emotional baggage that’s a package deal). Pardon the pun, but it’s simply too big an issue to point neatly in a singular direction of a pat answer. The ‘How Did You Do It’ queries come both in-person and via e-mail. Usually I can tell when someone really wants to hear what I have to say or if they’re hoping to be sent packing with a quickie prescription of diminished calories and a drill sergeant’s rotation of sit-ups and squats.

I can only give them the truth: The solution is a glittering mosaic. From a distance it may look like a single object, but step towards the canvas for a closer look and you’ll see a composition of little pieces made of different colors, shapes, and textures. All are intrinsic in their importance because when a piece of the mosaic is missing, it’s not the same picture.

Yes, I exercise on a regular basis. Yes, I eat considerably less than I did three years ago. But there’s so much more to the living-in-balance equation. Somewhere along the journey, I knew it would be crucial to make peace with food. With my intense love of it, my well-documented misuse of it, and my sometimes unmitigated fear of it. I’d been heading in the direction of a more harmonious relationship with food for years. And then one day, out of the blue, came an invitation of sorts, to hop on board the peace train. It was May of 2008 when I visited Suvir Saran and Charlie Burd at their gorgeous farm, tucked into the far reaches of Washington County, N.Y., not far from the Vermont border.

I was there to interview Suvir for a newspaper feature on his career as a celebrity chef, cookbook author, lecturer, and owner of the Michelin-awarded Devi restaurant in Manhattan. Despite the sundrenched spring weather, I was attired in my uniform du jour: black spandex leggings and a billowy black top. Even the shoes and sunglasses were of the noir persuasion. Truly, I was shrouded in every sense of the word. But at a size 26, I had very few wardrobe options.

Suvir and Charlie, May 2008…and me in the background taking notes in my usual Johnny Cash ensemble…

Suvir ushered me into the kitchen to a stool at the granite counter overlooking his industrial-sized Viking stove. The stove is his favorite place in the 232-year old farm house because it’s where he loves holding court, whether entertaining out of town guests for the weekend, friends from farmhouses down the road, or in this case, a journalist. I knew I was in for an interview unlike any other when Suvir opened his refrigerator and pulled out a glass bowl filled with goose eggs.

“Do you like eggs?” he asked, smiling as I stared in wonder at what looked like a pile of mini-white footballs.

“They’re my favorite food in the world,” I murmured, sensing with anticipation that he had some serious plans for the eggs.

“Good,” he said quietly, lighting the flame under a cast iron skillet and drizzling it with olive oil.

There were four people to cook for (a photographer had accompanied me) but the enormousness of each egg meant frying only one at a time, which frazzled him not a bit. I can still see Suvir at the Viking, standing protectively over the emerging masterpiece, adorning it with a bit of sea salt and fresh pepper. The culmination came with a chunk of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese pushed back and forth across a grater until the sunny-side-up egg looked like a snow-capped volcano.

                                                                Suvir and “The Girls”

As Suvir went on to prepare the next goose egg, Charlie brewed foamy cups of espresso and stirred a pot of Sambhaar (a spicy vegetable and lentil stew) simmering on an adjacent burner while both talked about their most recent visit to Southeast Asia.

      Suvir Saran’s Sambhaar, a delightfully spicy vegetable-lentil stew from his “American Masala” cookbook

Then Suvir handed me a copy of his first cookbook, “Indian Home Cooking,” to look over and I found myself staring at a page near the beginning where he states the following philosophy: “When a guest comes into your house, God comes with him…we treat all our guests as if they were God because we believe God is in all of us.”

                            Heaven in a griddle: Suvir Saran’s chick pea-flour-based Dosas

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he said, looking momentarily up from the sizzling Dosa “I’ve never made Dosas for a journalist before.” Somewhere in his core, he must have intuited a fellow food lover under the journalistic veneer. And perhaps at an unconscious level, he sensed I was trapped in a prison of a body and was searching for answers.

As Suvir will tell anyone who asks (and as a lecturer and consultant who travels the world on speaking engagements, he’s asked quite frequently), the answer to excess weight or any other health imbalance isn’t to enlist your inner drill sergeant of restriction. Don’t we all know by now that it always backfires? Why do we keep falling for it? Why did I keep falling for it all those years? Maybe because I thought it was the only answer, the singular way out of the tunnel.

Suvir maintains, as I ultimately realized, that food is a pleasure meant to be enjoyed. The eating experience is inherently nurturing if we allow it to be. Cliché as it may sound, food is glorious. And it can be both glorious and health-enhancing.

The goose egg was divinely creamy. The symphony of spices in the apricot-colored Sambhaar richocheted from my tongue to the back of my throat as I savored each spoonful. The crisp Dosa was the perfect vehicle to enjoy the thick chutneys, and both versions were fragrant and hypnotic.

If only every meal could have such a ratio of peacefulness and pleasure.

The renowned food critic Gael Greene describes Suvir’s prowess in the kitchen as a cross between George Balanchine and Leonard Bernstein because of his instinct for finding the perfect tension between an efficient flow of food and conversation and a relaxed, enjoyable pace. She has been known to go on for pages about Suvir’s cooking: “I’ve found myself seduced by his Indian riffs on American classics; the richer-than-Bill Gates mac and cheese, his remarkable corn bread, the classic American cakes he perfected, like his dense lemon cake, and upside-down pineapple,” Greene writes in her blog, www.insatiable-critic.com .

That day, we talked at length about the importance of the farm-to-table movement, the evils of the nation’s corporate ways that fills supermarket shelves with dirt-cheap cans of processed food floating in excess food coloring and sodium. But I gathered the most information simply by observing Suvir and Charlie’s ways in the kitchen, the relaxed and modulated pace of meal preparation, and the rapt attention they gave to me as a guest in their home as we sat around our plates and talked. No trance-inducing news footage from a television or even background music from a stereo to interfere with genuinely connecting.

I listened as Suvir explained his views on home kitchens being sacred territory and the central nerve center of the home.

“In the Indian home, the kitchen is where we create magical tastes that have the power to heal the mind, body, and soul. All cultures that are a happy people meet in the kitchen,” he said, scooping out a dollop of mint chutney with a Dosa. “I want to encourage people to go back to the kitchen and start nurturing. I want us to go back to a civilized culture, not one where we are isolated from one another. You are what you eat. And so my philosophy, and that of my parents and grandparents, is to cook, share, and eat with care and thought.”

Suvir had no way of knowing this at the time (though my 300-pound-plus frame may have given him an inkling),but my kitchen was quite the opposite environment. Over the years its main function had eroded into a pit stop to refuel for more potato chip and clam dip binges. Like Suvir and Charlie, I actually loved giving dinner parties and occasionally threw them, but as my eating to dull emotional pain escalated, so did a healthy perspective on food choices, quantity, and an overall sense of boundaries as to a time and a place for eating. For me it was anytime, anyplace, any reason. The original reasons for starting in the first place had long blurred out of focus…such clever grease that keeps the wheels of addiction spinning in perfect rhythm.

I left American Masala Farm that day with Suvir’s first two cookbooks, a cache of goose eggs, and an amazing sense of serenity that I parlayed into a mother’s day lunch on my apartment balcony later that week. I served the courses in the most leisurly fashion ever known to friends and family. The time spent together was a lot more than just a meal, it was an event that lasted for several hours before the last bite of dessert was gone. It would be nearly 9 months (interesting gestation period, no?) before the A-Ha! Moment came while watching Oprah in a potato chip-stupor, which set in motion an avalanche of change and ensuing weight transformation. But something had shifted in me during that encounter with Suvir and Charlie on their farm. It was real and profound and like a seed, took some time to manifest its fruit.

In a culture that desperately reveres instant gratification (especially where wanting to look a certain way is concerned) it’s important that I’m clear with people up front that my path to salvation wasn’t a speedy one. I don’t know if it ever can be.

It took years to put the mosaic together and frame it. Fervent journaling, group therapy, white-knuckle dieting, a few 12-step meetings thrown in for good measure, reading untold volumes of self-help books, an ongoing love affair with spirituality, and a beautiful, savory lesson at American Masala Farm on the transformational power of food all played a part. Up until May 2008, I’d always operated under the premise that food and isolation go hand in hand. Thanks to Suvir and Charlie,I realized it’s quite the opposite.

And it gets even better: The experience I had at their farm has been distilled into Suvir’s latest book, “Masala Farm: Stories and Recipes from an Uncommon Life in the Country.” It’s a cookbook/memoir of simple, pleasure-filled living that Suvir and Charlie wrote together. It showcases dozens of their favorite recipes and recipes from their circle of friends, including Glens Falls caterer Sally Longo, who spent weeks at the farm helping with recipe prep and photo shoots. I’ve been perusing the recipes and photos and it all looks divine. As someone who eats gluten-free, I’ll be making a beeline for the Farmhouse Crispy-Creamy Potatoes, Chai Cider, Chunky Eggplant Dip, Asparagus and Green Pea Risotto, and the Almost-Flourless Caramel-Lacquered Chocolate Peanut Torte.

And I’ll absolutely be marking the occasion with a dinner party. Do I have any takers?

A consummate giver:  I’m over the moon because Suvir just gifted me with a pair of padukas from his family’s home in India.  I cherish them and use them everyday. 

For 20+ years I wore black, head to toe. On broiling summer days and on occasions like Easter and Valentine’s Day when the rest of the world is immersed in pastels.  Well, today my traditional wardrobe has turned on a dime. Often, I still wear black pants, both because black blends well with other colors and a simple force of habit.  Eight months ago I bought a pair of yellow pants because they called to me. For some reason the lemon-yellow beckoned my name, even though I couldn’t get them past my thighs.

I knew there’d come a day when I would indeed have them fully hoisted and the button fastened comfortably around my waist.  The key: not forcing my intended result into a timetable of my making.  The body, as I’ve been saying for so long, knows what it’s doing, has its own intelligence and has things covered that I can’t even begin to comprehend, like the automatic regulation of my heart rate, body temperature, blood pressure, and on and on.  I realized it was futile and not very smart to try and boss it around. So I stopped.  And now, when I have a goal, a particular finish line I want to cross, I set my sights on it and then step out of the way and leave the mico-managing to a higher and wiser force.

So it took eight months, big deal. They fly by when you’re not obsessing and clock-watching anyway. I simply kept up the way I now live:  being active through YRG, long-distance walking, and weight training; and being faithfully married to clean eating.  Keeping gluten and cow dairy out of my system continues to enhance both my body and mind.  I was also lucky enough to join a gym that had a trainer who was beyond helpful and enthusiastic.  His guidance and formula (supersets) helped transform me and give me the extra push I needed at the tail end of my weight release when progress can sometimes slow down. Thanks to the discerning prescription dispensed by Paul Grassia, my progress actually accelerated, which accelerated me into those yellow pants.  Yeah Baby!

I did the work, but no one does inner and outer transformation like this alone.  So here’s to my A-Team:  Paul, DDP, Terri Lange, Team YRG, my Ayurvedic nutritionist Judy Joy Wyle, my spiritual avatar Sri Pranaji, Karina Allrich (the Gluten-Free Goddess), Inner Beauty Goddess Masha Penson, massage therapist and belly-dance teacher extraordinaire Mary Imbimbo Kuntz, Angel-Photographer Joan K. Lentini, role-model-for-creativity Serena Kovalosky, fellow-shadow-seeker Carrie Lee McClelland, and everyone else who have thrown me bouquets of support.

Thanks to you all, I’m Living Life.  REALLY living it.