Monday, August 29, 2005

The one where I go to the gym- and I don't die!


Yes, I finally, finally went. The sad thing is, that I love all the sweet little women who go to my gym, and I still avoid it. The staff knows me there, though, so everytime I miss a few days (months...years)I get, "Hey! Where have you been?!

Yes, it makes me feel guilty enough so I don't want to go back. Yes, I am a dork. These women have seen me about 25 lbs. heavier than I am now. But they also saw me about 40 lbs. lighter. So I am *slightly* self-conscious about my bad gym attendance record.

Anyway, I went. I think I said that already. All the elliptical machines were taken, and instead of my usual, "It's a sign from God- I'm leaving-" excuse, I just bullied myself into hopping on a treadmill and going to town. 15 minutes in, I realize that my body is quite literally running on empty- I hadn't eaten breakfast. But I stuck it out- 30 minutes, 2 miles, 225 calories. Actually, it's probably more than that, but I didn't input my weight. I did sprint a few times during the fast songs on my iPod.

I have this weird fantasy, involving being one of those "women who runs." It involves me, about 60 lbs. thinner, wearing a color-coordinated outfit with my iPod in a band right above my bicep. I am loping through the streets of my neighborhood like a gazelle. There is also a long swishy ponytail, and the mylar swooshes on my Nikes are flashing in the early morning sun.

I can picture this very vividly in my head, and at first, I laughed at it. But why? I did a decent 7 minute mile in high school. Granted, I had to wear two bras on top of each other to keep from knocking myself out, but I did it. It does however, seem a lot further away when I am taking 30 minutes to go two miles on the treadmill in my climate-controlled gym.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

And another one gone-

Well, I am counting it as one, anyway. It's actually .8, according to my irritatingly accurate digital scale. So- 12.6 lbs. lost so far, down to 238.4.

I have been slacking this week. I haven't been filling the huge jug of water, nor have I been cooking at home- I desperately need to do the grocery shopping. And I haven't been exercising. Gah!

With some luck, the hubby and I are going to pick up the treadmill on Monday, which also happens to be his day off. But there's so much to do around the house, stuff that I need to catch up on. I definitely want to avert the gradual slide back into my funk.

But in brighter news, I got my first official comment today- woohoo! *waves*

It's always good to know that you're not alone in the universe.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Fat Flashback # 2

I was in Ross, doing my favorite thing (trying on shoes) when a couple wandered along the aisle my friend and I were standing in. Of course, the first thing I noticed is that they were both on the preppy side- he was the typical regular guy with an open face and wearing an LL Bean barn jacket, and she had that slim, perfect figure and a blonde bob, complete with an Eddie Bauer stroller with a blonde baby in it. They had every outward appearance of being the quintessential Happy American Family. My shopping buddy looked at them (two people, a shopping cart, and a stroller is a really narrow shopping aisle) and took off to look at towels.

My husband was due to return from military duty in the Middle East any day. We'd been married for four months, and then he went away for six. Looking back at this now, I admit that was very jealous of their little family unit. I would have done anything to be shopping with my husband.

Not to mention, I was trying on shoes, and had been trying on clothes. My hair (never well-behaved at the best of times) was all tangled and snarly and wild, and I was wearing an asymmetrical slip dress, the one with the straps that always straggle off my shoulders. I felt fat and sweaty. I definitely envied her sleek, wholesome appearance. Anyway, I heard her tell her husband something to the effect that she was going to go look at housewares, and rolled blithely off with her stroller, leaving him standing in the (Women's) shoe aisle with me. OK.

He just stood there, occasionally pulling a pair of shoes off the shelf, with me trying not to look at him and thinking that he's way too preppy to be a cross-dresser, but whomever they're for, those red patent leather pumps are a fashion mistake.

Yes, I started to feel uncomfortable, especially when I realized that he was not leaving. Finally, he abandoned all pretense of looking at the shoes and was just watching me. More uncomfortable. I finally burst out with, "Can I help you? Are you looking for something for your wife?"

He just gaped at me, and finally said, "I'm sorry. I apologize for staring."

I sort of laughed nervously. Male attention makes me uncomfortable- and there are good reasons for it, which I won't go into here. Suffice it to say, I tend to feel like I am being mocked or ridiculed in a negative way, because of my weight. And sometimes, they just blurt out whatever's on their mind, with is usually a bad idea. So I was waiting for him to say that I have spaghetti sauce on my face or make some sort of horrible comment about my big ass that would take me right back to the hell of high school.

He turned back to the shoe rack for a minute, then he turned back around and said, "I just have to tell you- that you are beautiful. You are a goddess."

I think I said something brilliant like "Uh....!" and he just melted off into the underbrush.

Monday, August 22, 2005

*bowmp chicka chicka bowmp*

Sorry- I am a little goofy.

Weighed in this morning- down another 1.8. Which is probably actually 1.9, as the scale kept wavering, but I'll take it. So I am officially down to 239.2...I have 58.2 lbs. to go until I get to my "goal weight". Yeehaa! I weighed 180 lbs. when I went off to college, which is why I think it's a realistic goal for me. I guess I will know when I get there if I want to lose more- but I am thinking I wouldn't want to be under 160. I would look skeletal.

Yep- weight loss slows on P2. But I know I can do this. My back is no longer grumbling too much, so I am planning to ease into exercise this week. It's amazing what incentive this Paris trip is giving me. It's also amazing that I am officially (ok, barely) into the 230's. I stalled at 231 last time around, and the scale wouldn't move for love nor money. Ideally, this is where the exercise comes in.

Gawd, how boring. I swear, I don't like talking about weight loss this much. So, I am going to go eat my lunch.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

The license has landed


I got my new driver's license today. Presumably, I can now buy cooking sherry unhindered by the moronic multitudes. Watch, they won't card me this time. I'll bet you money!

Anyway- the new ID is entertaining for several reasons:

1. My weight. I added 20 lbs. to the original lie that was on there, so the figure now matches my eventual goal weight. In other words: it's still off by 60 lbs. But, it WAS off by 91 before. So uh...yeah. God, that's just pathetic. At least now, I am being realistic. Sort of.

2. My facial expression is beyond hilarious. I look stunned, and not even in a polite way- like I am paralyzed with terror. Like, in a "Luke, I am your father" kind of disbelieving horror, crossed with the possibility that my erstwhile photographer has just smacked me across the face with a decaying mackerel. I look very wide-eyed and glazed over, like I've been laminated. I mean it. I didn't even know that I had that face in my arsenal.

Although, it is worth noting that a neck and some cheekbones do appear to be emerging out of nowhere. And I have somehow managed to avoid being hot pink or shiny, OR squinty, AND it's not an extreme close-up, which were all exciting features of the last license in my posession (may it rest in peace.)

3. Hooray!!! I am going to France with a buddy in December. Now that I have my ID, in addition to being able to purchase cooking sherry, I can finally submit the paperwork for my passport. I am so excited- I have never been off the North American continent before!

This gives me new resolve to stay strong: I want to lose at least a few lbs. by December. OK, more than a few: at least 20. Which means I better step up the exercise, pronto.

In other news, I went to Stitch N' Bitch on Wednesday, and three people mentioned that they could tell I had lost weight. Yes! I am encouraged so much by this- I just feel great. It is also worth noting that I am another .6 lbs. lighter than the last weigh-in- down to 240.4.

So- happy days!

Monday, August 15, 2005

Evidently, I had a brain tumor for breakfast.

Ok. So I go to Trader Joe's to stock up today. I regularly go in there to shop. Like at least once a week.

In case you were wondering, this is my attempt at foreshadowing.

Anyway, it's been a fairly lousy 10 day run, weight loss excepted. A random parade of projectile vomiting, someone stole my wallet and then used my credit card, I had to go to the DMV....I am expecting the plague of locusts any day now.

So, I go shopping. I am going to make a roast, which I have defrosted, and is all ready to go.

If you guys haven't seen the problem yet, here it is- one of the ingredients in the roast recipe is "dry sherry." Which is the only kind of alcohol we don't have in the house. And I have conveniently forgotten that while I have a temp driver's license, there's no picture on it.

I did pause when I grabbed the sherry, but then laughed at myself. Come ON people- I'm thirty. And dammit, I look thirty. I know that because, hey, I look at me all the time, and I am definitely a thirty-year-old woman. And I have probably looked thirty or thereabouts since I was about 15 or so.

HA! Fie upon my self-confidence! The 12 year old checker girl picked up the bottle of sherry from amidst about $100 of other groceries, and asked me for ID. I pulled out the paper temporary license, explained the situation, and expected- oh, I don't know....sanity, perhaps. Because, dammit, I'm thirty. I'm buying swiss chard and wild rice! Give me a break!

"Sorry, ma'am," she said."We're supposed to card if you look under 50. That's how they train us. I'll just ask my manager."

Fifty? Since when is it fifty?!!! Wasn't it supposed to be thirty?! Pretty soon, you'll have to roll in on your Lark and hook a bottle of schnapps down with your cane not to get carded. Fifty?

I sort of laughed- and made some comment that if I was under 21, Trader Joe's has some premium liquor and a huge wine selection, and I would definitely come up with something better to try to sneak through than a bottle of cooking sherry.

The manager came out. Short. Beetle browed. Napoleon complex. Ugly shoes. Crap in a basket! (That's an exclamation, by the way- he did not have actual crap in a basket.) He looked me up and down like I was an appliance on sale at Sears and he was checking for dings. Bastard.

"No, can't take this. Once she asks you, we can't run through the sale." Like a big cage is going to come down from the ceiling and sirens are going to go off or something.

What kind of stupid managerial B.S. is that?

Needless to say, I left without my sherry.

The punch line- the silver-haired guy in back of me (who laughed when I made the crack about the liquor) had a cart FULL of two buck Chuck. As I was leaving, he winked and slapped his I.D. on the counter and said, "OK, sweetie, I'm over 50- but I look much younger, so I thought I'd show you anyway."


Sunday, August 14, 2005

Be careful what you wish for

I woke up yesterday, and just didn't feel like eating breakfast. My sister is visiting, so we agreed to go together to her fave little Armenian place in town.

I love Armenian food (I'm half) and I managed to pass on the pilaf and even gave my sister my cheese borag. Those are my favorite! But I didn't seem to have much of an appetite anyway. I was just picking at stuff.

We were talking and laughing and catching up, and all of a sudden, I just felt that interior lurch in my stomach that means, "I have to get out of here RIGHT NOW!"

Luckily, we were close to my house. And once I'd tossed my cookies (figuratively speaking, of course- No cookies on South Beach!) I was fine. But man, that's the worst- I had had two bites of lunch, and I seriously can't believe the sheer volume of- er- everything. To quote the Wedding Singer, I think a boot came out of me!

At least I know it wasn't food poisoning- I'd had the exact same meal as my sister, and the same meal as my best friend the night before! And they were both fine. Nausea is a side effect of one of the meds I'm taking- so that is the official explanation.

So, yesterday I had about a gallon of water, a can of Hansen's Diet ginger ale, and a few sugar-free creamsicles.

On the plus side, I am down another 3.6 from my weigh-in a few days ago. Holy Cow!!
We'll see if it stabilizes. I know I am not dehydrated (see above about the gallon of water!)

So the official number is 241. The first goal is 180, which will be the first time I have seen that weight since- high school. HIGH SCHOOL! Dear God. The lowest I think I want to go would be 170-175. But, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Another one bites the dust

Ok- one more pound gone! Down to 244.4 when I weighed this morning.

I finally caved and bought sugarfree fudgesicles last night. They seem to be taking the edges off my sweet cravings- at least for now. I have noticed that I am also slacking on the water, and that's not good.

Still- 3 1/2 more days until fruit!

I need to replenish my fridge and make some meals to tide me over. I think that's what I'll do this evening.

Off topic- I had to go to the DMV today. I made an appointment- and the woman I dealt with was actually nice. She actually teased me, because evidently, the shock showed on my face! I am so used to the disgruntled/hardly speaks English/angry DMV person. What fresh hell is this? *grin*

So I took a new picture for the license to replace the stolen one. Here's hoping I will not be hot pink this time around! I also adjusted my weight to my goal weight (which is still 20 lbs. heavier than what was on my last license, it pains me to admit.)

So- off to Social Security tomorrow for my new card, and City Hall or thereabouts for a duplicate birth certificate, just in case this ever happens again...*knock wood*

Monday, August 08, 2005

Ah, the siren song of strawberries...

Seriously. I would like, KILL for a nectarine. Well, maybe not kill. But a show of violence wouldn't be completely out of the question. 7 days until Phase 2 and FRUIT!

I was weighing myself every day, until I realized that it made me somewhat suicidal, watching my weight yo-yo all over the damn place. Mostly in the upward direction.

This morning, though, I finally caved. Result! I am down to 245.4 lbs. Down from 249 when I started SBD, so that's 3.6 down for this week. Looking back at the high at my doctor's appt in June, I have lost 5.6 total. Considering what I have been dealing with, I am satisfied with that amount.

So it's going slow, but steady. Traditionally (that is, the one other time I did Phase 1 on South Beach) The first week went slow, and most of the loss was the second week. Here's hopin'! I am just glad the scale is finally going in the right direction.

So- one more week, and Operation Kick Your Own Ass goes into effect. This means I am going to be hauling my butt to the gym, and also training on the treadmill (which should be arriving at my house in the next day or so- Thanks Mom!).

I went a little berserk last night- When hubby got home at midnight, I was roasting veggies in the oven, steaming cauliflower, and cooking edamame- all at the same time. And I had hauled out the mandoline, so I also cut up a bunch of veggies for stew and snacking this week. He came in, inhaling, and said, "Something smells really good". I assume he wasn't talking about the cauliflower!

I told him that sorry! it was all veggies- SBD stuff- and if he was hungry, he should probably get fast food. "No," he said, "If you can't have fast food, I don't want it either. It's not good for us anyway, and I like the stuff you make better. I see how hard you are trying, and I could stand to lose a few pounds. Plus- I know I was always bringing crap home the last time you tried to do this, and I sort of felt like that was part of the reason you gave up. So- I'll have whatever you're eating- I am sure it will be great."

Well, color ME dumbfounded! This is not an adventurous guy, foodwise.

I was seriously stunned. I finally managed: "You rock! Now, go take a shower." And I sent him packing with a kiss.

By the time he got out, I'd packed up the veggies and started some omelettes with cheese and spinach and canadian bacon in them. I just used the garlic Laughing cow (YUM!) for mine, mozzarella for him. He had regular O.J., I had Crystal Lite. And you know, he ate every bite, even though he's expressed trepidation about the spinach in the past.

So- I feel good!

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Cruising Attitude

By the way, that is in no way a reference to Tom Cruise. He bugs.

So! No meltdowns, so far. Today is Day 3, and this is where I usually hit the wall with a resounding THWACK and want something, ANYTHING, with sugar in it. I guess the big test will be at SN'B tonight.

So- Life is good. I made white bean and sausage soup with some leafy greens in it last night, and if I may say so, it was to die for. Hubby seems to be happily eating what I fix, although it appears he has made himself a vat of Kraft Mac n' Cheese to tide him over the rough spots. I guess you could say that he is developing survival skills?

Other than that- quiet day. I found my pedometer- the cover is broken, but it still works. I do find that clipping it to the waistband of my jeans doesn't count all my steps. However, the waistband of the undies works in a pinch- or, I have also attached it to the center of my bra on moments of desperation. A little sweaty, but effective.

I have a ton of domestic-type-stuff to do today, and I want to upload some photo sets to flickr re: my crazy yarn stash. So I better turn off this infernal machine and go dig out the Lemon Pledge.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Who's counting?

Throwing My Weight Around

I just dragged myself out of what I'd like to call, "The Swamp of Existential Despair." That's got to be on par on the exercise log for at least 30 minutes on the Precor. Maybe I just think that because it feels like I've been smacked around the head by a bushel of bricks.

Needless to say, over the last couple of weeks, weight has not been a concern. I am a comfort eater, and it definitely shows.

Anyway, I am brushing off the muck, and getting back into the fray, again. Yep, AGAIN. I may be depressed, but I am also stubborn.

I started SBD today. I tried it last year, and I really liked it- I just felt healthier and more together, and I know it will be easier for me now that I am at home and not working in the hellhole.

So I did the shopping today, and am going to plan meals and do some pre-cooking tomorrow. I even have a diet buddy- hooray!

Now I just need to claw my way out of this funk.

It's bad. It's really bad. I was walking through the Trader Joe's parking lot, to return the carts to the corral. When I got into the car, my buddy said, "That guy over there in the Ford pickup was checking you out."

I just kind of laughed and said, "Yeah, whatever," and she said, "No, really".

What comes out of my mouth? "He was probably staring at me and thinking, 'Like that fat b*tch needs to be buying more food?'"

Naturally, she was upset with me. Hell, I am upset with me too, on general principles. But that's what my subconscious is doing to me. I am living proof- extra estrogen makes you crazy. Cray-ZEE IN-sane!

Oh God. I need to get past this.

It's hard. I watched Jay Leno and Conan O'Brien the other night, and both of them had fat jokes within the first 5 minutes of their routines. By the way, for any interested parties, this is where the rant begins.

One of them (I forget which) referred to Jude Law's nanny (the one he supposedly slept with) as being a "butterball."

OK, that woman is maybe, MAYBE a size 8. In addition to being blonde and cute as a button- she has a slightly round face. That's it.

And then there's that whole thing with Richard Roeper, may he burn eternally in the deepest pits of hell, bitching about the Dove campaign and the agony of being forced to look at non-Maxim, non-airbrushed, non-anorexic women on a billboard. ("Oh my God! A thigh greater than 12 inches in circumference- My eyes!!!! My EYES!!!!")

OK dude. Whatever. You're not exactly James Bond, by the way, Or even Orlando Bloom, for that matter. I hope you never get laid again in this lifetime. If you should somehow manage it, I hope you get a whopping case of crabs. Or fall in a vat of toxic waste. Or something.

And then, THEN, one of my very best friends got an email from a guy she'd been e-mailing with on a dating website. He'd been looking at her picture, and he wanted to ask her a "personal question"- why she wasn't willing to lose weight and live up to her potential.

He gave her the whole "You're so intelligent, and well-travelled, and funny, and gorgeous, you'd be perfect IF" line and even had the steel-belted-balls-the-size-of-Jupiter to ask if her weight was a due to a medical condition, or if she was just lazy, and said something along the lines of "I'd totally support you if you'd be willing to lose the weight"- which basically came down to, "Dude, I would so date you if you lost 50 lbs."

Whatever man. If she said, "You're so intelligent and funny and talented, you seem like such a great guy- I'd date you if you had a BMW/Medical Degree/Bigger Schlong, and I would totally support you if you'd be willing to Ditch the Tercel/Abandon your True Calling/Get a Penis Implant".....well, you'd think she was an insensitive shallow beeyotch. And, you'd be right.

Do the math buddy. And don't even give me that crap about weight being a health concern. We all know that's total BS. Especially with that paunch you've got, presumably from drinking too much Heinekin. It's not a health concern, it's worrying about what your friends will think. You, sir, are a HYPOCRITE, not to mention a BUTT WEASEL.

Heh. OK, so I am all worked up, and this didn't even happen to me. However, it has made me totally unwilling to leave the house. I just hate men on general principles. As well as hating my own body, something that I thought I had gotten past. And yes, I know men are not all like that. But I am sure glad I am no longer single.

I am eternally grateful that I met my husband when I was even heavier than I am now. And that he fell in love with my personality and my sultry voice on the radio. And that the first conversation I had with him, I told him flat out "I am a big girl. I'm not going to sugar-coat it, or use words like voluptuous. If that is going to be a problem, then I'm not even going to bother to meet you. So speak up now."

God, that was the scariest thing I have ever done. And he didn't even miss a beat. "No, I want to meet you, you sound amazing. I don't care so much what you look like."

The rest is pretty much history. Granted, I am insecure enough about my weight for both of us.

So, OK, the short little blurb I was planning turned into a rant/cheesefest. What the hell, I can't sleep.