Yesterday I was supposed to do my weigh-in for week 3. But, I was too full of vodka and steak to get my ass to the gym to get the official total.
Let’s recap: I am setting out to lose 65 pounds in 65 weeks. The first week I didn’t gain nor lose anything. The second week I gained 1.4 pounds. This should make it clear as to why I didn’t drop my red meat and run to the scale and why I had an extra piece of steak.
So, I may be a day late but the total is in. If I look at my weight from last week I have LOST a total of 4 pounds. But, from my original goal (not counting the 1.4 I gained in week two) I have officially lost 2.6 pounds. I was so excited I came home and had a Spam sandwich (it was a big celebration so I actually had three Spamwiches…on tiny buns).
I haven’t tried anything new as far as my weight loss regime goes. However, one of my many motivations to lose the weight besides having better sex and feeling like I have more energy and control over my mouth is to inspire my mother to lose weight as well. Basically, she keeps yammering on about how she wants grandkids but the rate she is gaining weight and not taking care of herself vs. the rate my brother and I are reproducing it may be a few years before she either has a grandchild or drops dead. It’s a race…or so I thought.
About a week ago she declared she wasn’t going to use table salt on anything because it’s bad for her. Outwardly, this meant every time she had a meal she went on and on saying alternatively, “I don’t even MISS table salt!” and “If you use the Mrs. Dash you have to use A LOT, it doesn’t have much flavor otherwise.” About a week and half into her table salt-free lifestyle she came home from a doctor’s appointment to declare, “I’ve lost 12 pounds.” 12 POUNDS!
While I am happy for her I fear that I will drop dead in shock before the grandchild factory can open. She is kicking my ass. Maybe she’ll have to adopt a new child herself to keep up with her and let me and my brother off the hook.
I was going to attempt her table salt-free lifestyle but I hardly ever even use table salt. I am going to take the next few days to devise a new weight loss strategy and in the meantime try to be happy for her while I am choking on Mrs. Dash dust clouds.
Pounds Lost: 2.6
Pounds to Go: 62.4
Instead of going to the gym tonight I decided to stay in and do one of my 6 Leslie Sansone walking DVDs that I used to do a few years ago. I dusted them off and picked one without hand weights and flipped it in the DVD player. After the first set of knee lifts I wondered how the hell I did this shit when I was fatter than I am now? Christ, my thighs can’t lift! I turned on the clock and stared at it between side-steps. Every few minutes the DVD skipped. I’m not sure if my thunderous steps are causing it or the second-hand DVD player being old. But, it worked perfectly the last time I watched Dawson’s Creek on DVD. I wish I could say that was years ago, it wasn’t.
At around 17 minutes the damn thing skipped so bad it couldn’t catch itself back. I tried pausing, stopping, turning if off and nothing worked. I waited for the smoke to come pouring out and for me to take a hammer to it Wayne’s World-style. Instead, I unplugged it. When I plugged it back in it continued to skip. Now the plug is laying on the floor and I am sitting in 17 minutes worth of sweat and with no intention of driving to the gym.
I miss the VHS workout tapes my high school self and pals used to get drunk watching. I yearn for those simple times when Richard Simmons and his crew of heart attack time bombs pumped their arms to the lyrics, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” Or, the time we watched the creepy old yoga man wriggle himself and his spandex-ed package into pretzels and sun salutes. And the fateful day that ended our drunken workout vid-athons when one of my friends tried to do a headstand (it was the only time any of us worked out at all) and landed on the concrete floor of the basement.
Maybe it’s time to sweat to the oldies with the now-dead fat crew and Richie for real. Or, at least make a sober attempt at a lotus position. Or maybe the DVD getting eaten is a sign I need a snack. I think I’ll forgo it all and try to find a copy of Thighs of Steel. I bet shit is pretty funny a few cheap beers in let’s just hope I drink enough that if I attempt a move I won’t get too hurt.
So the last time I weighed myself was the first week of my challenge to lose 65 pounds in 65 weeks. It was also the week of Christmas. During that weigh-in I didn’t gain, nor did I lose even an ounce of weight. This week I was excited to weigh myself. After a long day waiting tables and running around I was hoping that I’d make up for last week and lose not one but two pounds. Instead, after I marched into the gym, ripping off my boots and jacket and bag and walking directly to the scale I found out that I have gained 1.4 pounds this week.
Now, I know it’s not necessarily realistic to go by the numbers on the scale. And I know weight fluctuates a few pounds here and there. And a friend of mine reminded me of this when she said, “You could be building muscle…or, your body could be going into shock mode from all the changes and it’s holding onto the weight until it catches onto what you’re doing.” These are excellent guesstimates and predictions…for someone who has actually been trying to lose weight by dieting and exercising instead of just starting a blog about it.
Instead of hopping on the nearest piece of exercise equipment and doing something about it while I was at the gym. I went directly to the grocery store to stock up on oatmeal with flax and frozen fruit and veggies. On the drive to the store I replayed all of the crap I had eaten today, from the two slices of white toast with cream cheese and olives and the parmesan garlic chips.
I am awake right now after watching 3 episodes of Kelly Cutrone’s show that got cancelled. And now I’m kicking myself for not meditating instead to better myself. But, I think I have learned a few things from fashion PR maven Ms. Cutrone. 1. I am awake and upset at myself for not meditating because I instead chose to watch that show instead of doing those things. Just like I chose to put shit foods into my mouth. I know that staying up all night watching a stressful reality show is going to make me sleep like hell and I know that eating shitty foods is not going to give me the energy I need to better myself today and is only giving me more padding for my thighs and keeping me out of tall boots because I have fucking cancels. 2. I need to be a bigger hard-ass like Kelly. I am going to start going for it, being a bad ass for the sake of bettering myself and making something of myself. And, I am now more ready than ever to confront the choices I need to make and work harder at climbing onto exercise equipment.
I guess it’s taken me two weeks to warm up to this weight loss thing–I mean what did I expect it stems from issues I’ve had with food and exercise that I have cultivated for 29 years. This bitch is just getting started…
I am going to admit it freely I have been a bit of a chocolate hoarding slacker lately. So, I went back to the gym today from a week-long hiatus. It just so happened that I went around 5 o’clock. Usually I avoid this time of day because that’s when all the do-gooders get off work and go to the gym like it’s their religion. That and there is a middle-aged woman who always walks like a maniac on a treadmill at that time and the way her hair bounces with each step irritates the shit out of me. But today I was met with a whole new breed of do-gooder, the resolution pack…
The resolution pack is a bunch of unfamiliar faces who have come to the gym to kick off their resolution to get thin this year. At first I got a bit prickly over all of the people and the fact that they all talk loudly and I can barely hear my Say Yes to the Dress re-run in my headphones. But when I looked over at them I realized that these people are more out of shape than I am. The guy next to me was thin but he was going super slow and with no resistance on his elliptical. And, the woman on the treadmill was panting and sweating while going a zombie pace. When I turned on a fan on the floor to blow up at me (blow my shirt up like Marilyn Monroe but with white spare tires) the slowpoke next to me gave me a thumbs up instead of bitching at me about having a fan on.
This resolution pack is quite nice to look at too with their fat rolls and sweat stains. They look me. And while I love the meathead teen boys who frequent this place and talk about protein powder and how many hours they put in these people seemed more chill and just happy to be there at all.
I was actually enjoying the new faces and the air of BO stink and fleeting motivation until I saw the freaks in my periphery…these resolutioners were all wearing the same t-shirt that read, “Taking it to the Next Level.” They were all in their 30s-40s and on the back of their matching t-shirts was the name of their group like they were a biker gang and the words, “Boot Camp.” A friend of mine joined one of these once and they met in parks and she lost like a million pounds and turned into a total bitch. But her group met in a park. And here these bitches were invading my gym. And before I knew it I was distracted. Instead of using the equipment provided by the gym they congregated and started to do jumping jacks in unison. Like in movies about biker gangs from the 1950s I wonder if these freaks will take over the gym and ruin my television viewing while riding my trusty elliptical. Maybe next time I go in I’ll start lifting weights and looking more tough. Maybe I could team up with the meatheads and we could run them out of town. Or maybe my fellow softies from the other half of the resolution pack will rise up. Nah. One thing is for sure if those bitches are going to be coming onto my turf when a Duck Dynasty or Dance Moms marathon is on there is going to be hell to pay.
I left the gym and then swung back to weigh myself on the fancy scale. After pulling off my boots, scarf, bag, coat and phone I stepped on, despite the looming high school kids talking about supplements to make your muscles feel better. “Half of the pain is mental though,” one said as I stepped on. I waited for the totals to balance. I felt like that moment on Biggest Loser where they cut to a bunch of faces gasping and a commercial. But there was no commercial…just the total and me gasping on my own.
The digital display read the exact same poundage TO THE OUNCE that I weighed last week. It teetered for a second to click down to the next 20th of a pound but held steady. It was exactly like the show, I stayed on the scale and gawked.
It was Christmas during this past week, which means I have basically been eating chocolates for breakfast and every night before drifting off. I guess my half-assed attempt at portion control hasn’t worked out…yet. I did have one moment of happiness though when I realized that I hadn’t actually gained weight. But, I wanted that pound. I NEEDED THAT POUND. Taking inspiration from my Biggest Loser compatriots I made the commitment before I left the parking lot to stick to the game plan. And, I even learned a lesson: the reason I have failed before was because I gave up. Not this time.
My plan for next week: Eat oatmeal instead of chocolate for breakfast and try (again) at portion control by keeping a food diary.
WEEK ONE POUNDS LOST TO DATE: 0 (and counting)
As noted in my previous post my lovely boyfriend bought me two boxes of chocolate AND two fancy candy bars for Christmas. Yesterday I told him, “I’m actually kind of excited about your chocolate gift. It’ll teach me self control.” I went on to detail all of my good intentions about having just one or maybe two pieces a day. Tonight I lay in bed with two nearly empty chocolates boxes. I am going to need a bigger bed from all these calories and regrets.
But, earlier this evening I was reminiscing with my mother about my grandmother. And she told me, “Remember those bricks of Land O Lakes cheese? I bought one of those for your grandma once because I knew she thought it would be too expensive to get. You were there when she opened it and you came tearing into the room and nearly yanked the box out of her hand. You couldn’t even talk yet. You were yelling, ’Geema chee! CHEE! CHEEEEEEE!’ And you didn’t quit until she gave you a few slices.” Clearly, I have never had any self control when it comes to cheese because when she was telling me this story I was shaving off and devouring a brick of Romano.
When I first told a few people I know about me doing the 65 pounds at a pound per week weight loss plan I heard that I need to have “portion control.” Given my history and present behavior I wonder if it’s more that I need self control well that and “Geema” should’ve withheld the cheese. This next week I plan to have as much self control as possible. My plan is to look at everything as a choice instead of if there is chocolate or cheese it is a must that it land in my mouth. I am just afraid I will keep choosing to eat them…
In other news, when I asked my mother what she thought I should do to lose weight she said, “Give up sweets for a solid week so your body can detox.” Then I suggested she do it with me (in my mind I actually said, “Oh yeah? Let’s see if you can eat your words, you friggin cookie monster! And animal crackers don’t count as crackers or meat!” She replied, “I’ll do that.”
“We can start the second week of January,” she said. I looked all around her kitchen at the bag of Milanos, the homed cranberry white chocolate chips, the butterscotch haystacks, the tiny Snickers and Yorks and of course the half-eaten bag of animal crackers.
“Why then? So we can eat up this crap?”
“Yep,” she replied. “Stuff yourself!”
Like anyone on a diet over the holidays I feared the onslaught of holiday cheer. This means threats from my mother to finish my food and to pile on more and, “Don’t you want some of these? They are REALLY good.” I survived all of that…sort of. I ate until I felt guilty and stopped and then chalked up the extra calories to Christmas, not lack of self control.
But the real horror awaited me under the tree…
My boyfriend and I have been dating for about nine months now and have never spent Christmas together. I watched him come into my parents home loaded down with presents. I picked up each of the THREE bags that he had for me. The first two were light and the third was heavy. It was way too heavy to be the purse I had seen in a store window and said to him, “I WANT THAT PURSE. THE GRAY ONE!!!” A few days after I told him this the purse was gone. Being curious and making sure he didn’t spend more on my gift than I did on his (yeah, this is what Christmas is about right?) I went inside and asked how much the remaining bag of the same style cost. It was $95. Then I reveled for a week thinking he’d gone way over the $50 price cap because I was such a princess.
I lifted the holiday bag again and was convinced it was the purse and he’d filled it with perfume and nail polish.
When it came time to open the gifts I ran to the heavy bag and started throwing aside the wrapping paper he’d crumpled on top. I think he used wrapping paper in case I would peek inside and see through tissue paper…either that or he was out of tissue paper (probably the case). I caught a glimpse of something silver. Not gray. I pulled out a tin of chocolates. “Thanks babe,” I said, already tearing through to the next gift…two chocolate bars. Then a final gift surfaced amongst the paper–another box of chocolates. “Babe, what’s with the chocolates?” I asked (instead of saying, “Thank you.”)
“Remember that time you said no man has ever bought you chocolates before?” he asked.
I pretended to think hard for a second but really thought, Who the fuck said that to you? Some other unknown girlfriend you are getting me mixed up with?
“I don’t remember saying that…thanks though, chocolate is great.”
“Oh, you said it,” he said.
I gave him a blank stare and a hug. Then I wondered who was opening that fucking purse this Christmas.
A few hours later I remembered saying that no man has ever bought me chocolates. By then though, it was too late. I already seemed unappreciative and had told him I was on a diet. Next Christmas no price cap and no food items…or maybe just one box of chocolates would be alright…
I am a big girl who is just trying to go from obese to overweight. I have 65 pounds to lose and am planning on losing one pound a week for 65 weeks. How am I going to lose the weight? I have absolutely no idea.
Today I went to the gym. I got onto a machine next to a large woman going slow and busted it out. I don’t think she knew I was racing her…well, I was staring at her machine to see how fast she was going every few minutes until she left (lost the race and gave up).
Next, I went to the bakery to pick up some peanut brittle for my father’s Christmas gift. I usually buy a big sugar cookie with sprinkles and/or icing that I eat before making it back to the car. Today they had a super-sized stocking one with icing AND sprinkles. As I stared at the two remaining cookies I was goaded on by the counterperson, “I know you are looking for something else to buy…”
“No,” I said. “I started a diet today and I’m taking better care of myself and I don’t know why I’m here.” With that, I snatched up the peanut brittle that my father will eat and chip off his remaining teeth with. I started to walk away. Then I wondered if I could have just one last cookie before…I turned around. The bakery was closed. I am finally taking steps to take care of myself. And that’s as true as the indescribable sugary deliciousness of the perfect amount of icing on a holiday cookie.
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