Bits&Pieces

20 lbs of whine

Oh motivation for healthy living, where for art thou?

It's almost June and the needle on my scale and the button on my pants are both telling me the same thing: for the love of chub and all things holy, HELP US!

About two weeks ago, I had one of those "I am hitting bottom moments"; you know the ones I'm talking about. Nothing fits. You can't look in the mirror without thinking, Dear God, is my butt really that big now?  You realize that you're hanging on to your current pant size by the skin of your teeth and one more peanut butter cup will be the ultimate tipping point. So, I re-committed to exercise and healthy living.

That lasted all of a week.

I wish I were okay on the puffier side. I really, really do. I wish I looked in the mirror at any size and thought: Well hello there... how much for de lady?  But maybe those searing brands of 7th grade insecurity never really go away. That feeling that somehow, you know you could and should look better. Don't get me wrong. I really like who I am. I just take issue with the packaging.

Two years and two months after leaving my 20-little-sticks-of-love-(and death) a day habit behind, I still think sometimes: I really miss being a skinny smoker. No, I have no plans of doing anything rash. I'm just sayin'. Nicotine and photos of myself from 2006 still haunt me.

I'm sure some would say, "For the love of Neil, get OVER it. Go for a flippin' walk and shut up!" And sometimes, that's exactly what you need to hear. And other times, well… your hormones might just have to go all medieval on their asses.

Still. I'm looking for love in all the wrong places.

Signed,
Stalemated, i mean "scale" mated in St. Paul

for all those times I was totally lying when I said I was taking the trash out for the 7th time in a single day and for so many other times that even I have lost count, I present, gentle blog readers, perhaps my most prized of taggers

Go me.

PW not helping much with my weight goals

Having recently discovered the literary and culinary pleasures of the Pioneer Woman, I quickly realized that most of what she’s cooking isn’t falling into the 20-point daily maximum. This became especially clear after making both the pot roast and the mashed potatoes (oh Sweet Jesus, thank you for cream cheese!), and wondering if any of my blood would still be able to make it through my veins following the digestion process.

The meal was quite a departure from four pieces of Wasa Crisp Bread with matching slices of Carl Buddig Honey Turkey (with a pickle on the side), and this past weekend, I was plagued by dreams of immersing myself in a hot tub FULL of those potatoes and eating my way out.

Which leads me to my topic for today and what my blog post SHOULD have been titled: Net 7.

Net 7 refers to where I find myself on the old weight loss tally, since beginning by quest for a bestlife.com last July. In mid November, I was at Net 16. Then along came Almond Roca and Sprite, and the onset of the Holiday Food Fest. It’s a bit of a blur to me now, but I think somewhere along the way, I knew that eating serving after serving of Lays Salt and Vinegar chips, then chasing them with home-made chocolate chip cookies wasn’t exactly part of the Plan.

This brings us up to date. And I suppose January is as good a month as any to re-commit to the healthy living thing. Part of me wants to wait until February though, only because it’s just so “in” to get with it in January. But if I waited that long, I’d be at Net 0 before you could say, “You must like cheese a lot, because if I didn’t know better, I’d SWEAR that’s what your ass is made of.”

So there it is. A return to health. Yippee flippin’ do da day.

I really want to write more about weight, addiction, self-loathing and the like, but no one really likes listening to someone blather on and on with a painfully obvious case of the Monday Grumpies, now do they?

going green

I know…it looks so good you can almost taste it.

So I caught a few minutes of Oprah last week—one of Dr. Oz's appearances on the show—(and yes, the man has some good science, but good LORD, his book, You on a Diet, is so saturated with horrifically bad similes, it's virtually UNreadable)—and he was forcing Oprah to try his green drink, which she said was like "fresh in a glass" and well…you know, when Oprah likes something, I'll be damned if I don't like it to.

So… i bought all the ingredients, going a bit light on the parsley, and blended myself up a batch. The verdict? Texturally…a bit of a bummer, but MAN was it tasty. Seriously. I'm not making it up. That Roasted Autumn Veggie soup I posted? Not tasty. Green drink? Tasty.

Although I made Dan taste it and all he said was: "Veggie boy."

IN OTHER NEWS:
• Cathy's Dog Sitting Service is up and running, yet again. Meet Kyla:

Seriously…this is THE quintessential Cathy dog. Everything I need in a dog (but sadly, will never have because I have the emotional capacity of cheese when it comes to actually OWNING a dog of my own)… she has big ears, a big nose, and is the SWEETEST thing you have ever met. She slept on Aidan's bed last night, and this morning, followed me downstairs, curled up on our futon couch in the basement, and gazed lovingly at me while I did the treadmill thing at 5:45 a.m. Nice. She will only be here 7 days. Unfortunately.

• My computer is dead. Vive le G5. Steve Jobs is sending me a brand spankin' new one in a week and a half, and it's going to be WAY better than the old one, or at least have faster, dual, 3.0 GHZ quad core processors.

• That kind of talk makes me hot. Must go now.

dieting sucks

Some believe that choosing to use the word 'sucks' is a sign of diminished intelligence—that it demonstrates a lack of education, or the ability to make more sophisticated choices. But seriously? When something sucks, you can't really do it justice by saying it "bodes poorly on the psyche, thusly causing duress, angst and severe dejection." It just sucks, man. End of story.

I think dieting sucks.

Now…on certain days, I am simply livingmybestlife.com. I am powerful. And healthy. And make really smart choices that will enhance my body and soul. Yay!

On other days, I am STARVING.

And yesterday, on the heels of a stupid wine hangover, I ate many things that the last time I checked (which was, in fact, YESTERDAY) aren't really on the plan. Let's take a look, shall we?:

For those unfamiliar with how Weight Watchers online works, you get a certain number of points, and then you enter your food intake on this nifty little screen, and you see your victories (or failures) calculated magically right before your very eyes.

And every week, you get daily points, and overflow points, to be used at your discretion, say, when you want to have that extra slice of cake. Or, five more Weight Watchers—what? you can't quite read on that list? Oh, it says—GIANT FUDGE BARS.

As you can see, as of yesterday, not only have i met my weekly points allowance, but i've managed to surpass it by 11.5 points. Could have been the WW fudge bars, which go from 1 point to like 20 when you have more than one. Or the large chunks of Byerly's parmesan cheese I ate as my after-dinner snack. Or the pine nuts. The bottom line is that I HATE it when that happens, the dreaded point overage thing. And to make matters worse, why do they have to run that number in red? Why not green, or light blue? Red is just so…hurtful.

Also note, in my plan choices yesterday,  you will see 13 points for a Snickers bar. Now you may be thinking, "Jesus, Cathy… how big was that bar?" Well, I don't know. I was just taking a stab at a number because I actually went out last night, and picked up a bag of mini snickers and managed to eat them ALL in one sitting. Nice.

The fact of the matter is, some days, like yesterday, dieting sucks and I wish i were magically thin all the time, and everyone liked me, and I could play the guitar and sing like a freaking bird, and the letters O, C and D were just part of the alphabet and not my personal modus operandi, and I made a huge salary just by taking successive breaths, day in and day out.

But there I go dreamin' again.

like a slow leaking tire

That's me.

In three months of living my best life (and to clarify, I'm not actually following the whole Bob Greene plan; I just like telling people I'm living mybestlife.com), I've dropped 15 pounds.

From 160 to 145.

Here's visual proof that showcase no gratuitous pictures of my ass:

Look how not happy I am in Exhibit A. (And whether or not you think I look much different isn't as critical as the fact that today, I look less like someone inflated my head with a bicycle tire pump). But in that first picture, I think I realized I had a choice to go one way or another, and I wasn't happy about it, because it was going to mean making changes. And I really don't like change when it means I can't eat everything in sight. Or at least smoke it.

But here's what I am learning: it is all about choices. But...€”and here's the big caveat...€” choices are great, when you truly HAVE them to make, but it all depends on the following statement that I have come to believe as the Truth:

Some days, you do not have the tools to make the right choices.

So for me, it's not so much about freedom of choice; it's whether or not I wake up with the tools. And no...not those kinds of tools!

Here's an example: I have gone through the weight loss cycle before, and then all of a sudden, I can't not eat that entire bag of Lay's potato chips. Because the tool known as Restraint is no where to be found in my mental shed. Follow?

So for three months, for reasons unknown to me, I have had the tools, and therefore, able to make the choices that will result in my desired outcome: less thigh chafing, smaller tush size and a spike in my "hey, I look pretty good!" meter.

But here's the rub: I feel like I am balancing on a very thin and sharp edge, and in one hand is my tool bag, and in the other hand, are 25 mini white kaiser rolls. And truthfully, I never know from day to day which one will come out on top.

But still, every day, I wake up, throw on my tennis shoes, hop on that treadmill, record my daily points, and keep my fingers crossed that I'll make it to bedtime without misplacing my better judgment along the way.

And if you think my train of thought on all of this might suggest I have some larger issues at work, remember: you are correct. But anyone with a 6th grade reading level who's glanced at this blog once or twice could tell you that.

I just wanted to celebrate today, because I'm feeling good. And I'm feeling cute. And that doesn't happen every day, because I'm a woman who doesn't have it all figured out.

But apparently, for today, my tool belt is still strapped firmly to my slightly narrower hips.

Go me.

when you know that people REALLY care

And by 'people', I mean Marin, my talented, beloved fellow Simple art director, who upon seeing my space and having her worst fears confirmed, took it upon herself to add a little piece of light and motivation to my workout area:

What? Is it too small. Sorry:

It's got to be my most favorite Photoshop hack job since this little gem:

And believe me, coming from this hack, that's sayin' something.

my gym membership…it never expires!

Welcome to my gym. I share this, because I don't want my fellow art director, Marin, to feel badly that when I work out, I'm facing a corner in my basement. It's not so bad, Marin. Look!

As part of living my best life dot com, I decided to bring the old walking routine inside when I realized: you never sweat while strolling through Como Park. Never. Now, if you put me on a moving belt that forces me to go at the bone crushing pace of 3.8 miles per hour, well…that's a whole different story.

I get up, every single morning by 6 a.m. (later on weekends), and spend a little time in my gym in the hopes that one day, the cellulite and chub that has overtaken various parts of my body will one day be just a sweet, tender memory.

I've had this treadmill since I was pregnant with Cole. I bought it at Sears for $399 bucks. No bells. No whistles. You turn it on and set a speed, and you go. Just like my Honda Civic. The bottom line: it still works.

What a cozy place to work out, though! I have Kleenex for my ever-running work out nose, and my JBL Sound System, ready to provide my "CH40 Walking Mix" which is really code for "Neil sings to me personally for 40 minutes."

And when I'm finished, I can curl up with a good book (which is always the first thing I think of doing, after sweating profusely for 30 minutes), in one of our two antique chairs that Dan really is planning to one day restore to their former glory, if in fact, there truly was ever a glory phase for either. I'm a bit suspect, truth be told.

 

I know my basement is never going to win any home design awards. It's not even technically finished. I don't even technically like being down there. But this, my friends, is where I'm hoping to leave a goodly portion of my ass.

Even Steven

Four months ago, on April 16, I rejoined Weight Watchers online, to try and get a handle on the “you can’t fool anyone by sucking it in anymore” muffin top. I stepped on the scale and there weren’t no runnin’ from the truth at 160. I’d put on a solid 20 pounds since quitting smoking on March 17, 2006. A solid 20. A toddler, essentially.

On July 14, 2007 (that would be this past Saturday) I decided to step on the scale again. (Which is not to say I hadn’t stepped on the scale for four months. Come on, now…people with obsessive-compulsive tendencies don’t get off that easy) but, I decided to get back to the program. You know…get back in line.

And there weren’t no runnin’ from the truth: 160.

That, my friends, is called even steven.

For those of you who are wondering how someone can’t lose ANY weight on a program for four months, I can clear it up very easily: I wasn’t following the program.

For the first three weeks, it was AWESOME! I ate within my points range, exercised every day, felt great and dropped 6 pounds. Then I got hungry.

The time I did Weight Watchers as a smoker was so easy. Hmmm....should I eat this 8-inch segment of baguette? or smoke? (Remember, smoking  has NO POINTS!)

But this time…not so simple.

I started back to walking about a week ago. I’d taken about a month off with several valid excuses: 1. My wrist was all messed up and Chip was still here and she pulled too hard and I couldn’t use my other hand to hold the leash because my shoulder was all messed up too because I’m old and falling apart, and 2. I hate exercise.

So on Saturday, after that wholly depressing weigh in, I hit the road for my hour long walk around Como Lake, and I was breaking a sweat just trying to keep pace with a couple in their mid-seventies, who became an increasingly smaller image of tan polyester shorts and wide-brimmed straw sun hats, as they pulled further and further away from me.

As I’m trying really hard not to look like an arm-pumping ass, while simultaneously picking up my sloth-like pace, Prince’s Black Sweat comes on my iPod, and I started laughing out loud as he’s singing in my ear, because I realized the truth that there weren’t be no runnin’ from: I am never going to be "workin’ up a black sweat" because I AM WALKING.

But my wrists are doing a lot better. And, they’re super thin. So I have that going for me…

"They're bringin' Cathy back…yeah"

Them other weight loss plans don't know how to act…yeah.

Apparently, Weight Watchers wanted me back, or so I was led to believe by the email, followed shortly by the post card. Because it made me feel so special, so singled out, I decided to re-join WW Online. I've been going strong for 9 whole days. Off heavily sugared items and junk…walking or biking a little every day, and surprisingly, NOT feeling like I'm dying of starvation.

Don't get me wrong: points watching = dieting. There ain't no other way around it. But it certainly can help you understand how a portion size does not equal the amount of food in Chip's dog dish.

I was once a WW Lifetime Member. Back in…2000? maybe 2001? '02? I can't actually recall the date, but…it was after Cole had been born, and I was tired of being uncomfortable in my own skin. So I found a local meeting and joined. And I was a superstar member, losing every single week. But it wasn't too hard, really. Did you know that cigarettes have no points?!!! Hmmmm…should i eat these low fat graham crackers for 2 points, or…smoke?

So I always felt like i dishonestly earned that lifetime membership. And I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to the hard-working women, circa 2000-2002, at the Roseville WW location, for pretending to be a model plan member. Sigh.

But here's the deal: it works. I know it, you know it, the American people know it. And after a brief WW online affair following my trip to Australia, that failed miserably—me following the plan, not me in Australia, or so they tell me—I decided, because they asked so nicely and all, to come back.

I realize I don't have massive amounts of weight to lose. Really. I do. But I also realize I have issues with abusing things that make me feel good. Like food. Or nicotine. It's truly amazing that I don't have issues with drugs and alcohol. But, never say never. A heroin habit is never far away, if you're not vigilant.

All I'm trying to do is live a little healthier, and take care of the one body I've got. I'd love to reach and stay at my goal weight, which is 140. And in the end, realize that I can have it all: family, friends, french fries in moderation, and far less junk in my trunk.