Shoot dem turkeys.
March 3, 2010
Second weigh-in at Weight Watchers last night.
Man, I feel like such an old lady going to these meetings.
This marked the end of my second week and I’m ten pounds down!
Woooohoooo!
I’m very excited, because this is the first real non-fluctuation weight loss I’ve had in a while.
I mean, sure, I’m a woman.
Technically I fluctuate between 3-6 pounds in a given day. Yes, men. That much.
But by weighing in at the same time, I get a very good idea of how I’m doing versus the neurotic weighing in every time I pass any scale.
This is much more healthy for me.
So I’m excited.
It’s odd to go to group meetings about food.
Because – and this is weird, so brace yourself – I HATE watching other people eat.
Sure, if we’re out at a restaurant and doing the basic dinner duty I am fine – most of the time when I’m looking at the other person we’re chatting and otherwise checking out our own plates.
But if I’m just sitting there and catching a glance at someone else wolfing down something? Gag.
Delicate eaters that take normal bites, I can stand.
But big mouthed eaters? That squish tons of food into their mouths at once?
Ick.
I know.
I don’t like fart jokes either, so back off.
So this is an entirely new experience to me.
I’m confused as to how this will work long term…
I love to cook which means that to me, chicken and dressing does NOT equal Stouffers and that I somehow have to calculate how to figure points on my beloved homemade sausage and chicken gumbo.
Gumbo. Geez, that sounds good.
I’m not hungry, I’m getting enough food, drinking enough water and this week starts the ‘add mega exercise week’ to see how that slows down the weight loss. I hope not by much, but then again, I’m so ready to get rid of my turkey arms.
Maybe by Amanda’s wedding?
No turkey arms? Or… only baby turkeys?
That could be a good goal.
Fasting is for quitters.
February 17, 2010
I always relish the beginning of Lent.
I suppose I don’t focus on it the way that I should – I always want to use it as a method to give up something and lose weight. Or to try to fast more than I should.
And then I inevitably fail and make light of it the next year.
For instance, last year, I gave up Nicholas.
Which. Considering we didn’t plan to see each other during Lent wasn’t really a hardship. Or wasn’t really a hardship that I’m not already used to.
This year, however, I broke out the big guns.
Soda.
Now, for those of you that don’t know, I have a love affair with carbonated beverages.
Champagne, sparkling water, soda, etc.
If it’s carbonated, Lisha likey.
They don’t, however, like me.
Or maybe they do, considering how long they’ve been sticking around on my thighs.
Besides a few personal revelations that have left me reeling and questioning the direction I want my personal motivations to go in life, this year has brought a knowledge that being addicted to anything really is one of the biggest wastes in life. Taking luxuries for granted to the point where I am addicted to them? Ridiculous.
(disclosure: I am NOT saying addicts are ridiculous. I am NOT saying that there isn’t a real problem and real hardships out there with addictions… I’m simply saying that there are people out there without clean drinking water and instead of feeling overly blessed about that, I’m off jonesing for a root beer. THAT is pathetic.)
I’ve really been reevaluating my priorities and one thing I’m learning is, this money-grubbing societal mess of whiny ass people complaining about not being able to afford $200 haircuts anymore is NOT for me.
I don’t belong here.
These are not my people.
I’ve listened to sad stories for two years now and looking down from my high horse while I technically make the average salary for an entire HOUSEHOLD in my state is ridiculous.
My free time needs to mean more.
It needs to appreciate family more.
It needs to take care of myself better.
And in doing so, I’ll be able to be a better me and move on to a more final (yet not quite concrete idealistically) goal of helping OTHERS.
And so. Along with the beginning of Lent and my soda-less desk today brings a new activity.
Weight Watchers.
Yes. I am officially a part of those stereotypical middle aged women that sit around bitching about salads.
And yes, there is a reason that stereotype exists.
And when I jumped on the scale last night at my first meeting I realized something.
I have REALLY let myself go.
Fatty McFatterson exists and thy name is Lish.
In an attempt to gain insight to my usual eating habits – the one meal I eat a day and the snack I eat at night – I ate something I might indulge myself in every six months and THEN calculated points.
(being Ash Wednesday cuts out the usual 2 eggs and turkey bacon that I have)
So… I had chocolate milk and a package of chocolate doughnuts.
I know it totally defeats the WW purpose but IN MY DEFENSE… I was facing 40 days without soda and I just didn’t give a rat’s petunia.
The tally?
21 points.
Out of my daily ration of 30.
So.
Won’t be pulling that egocentric stunt again.
Still, with this being a day of fasting, all was not lost.
A granola bar at lunch added 2 points and leaves me with 7 for a VERY light dinner… considering the whole fasting thing, well, it’s perfect.
Score. I am keeping my first day right on track.
For those of you keeping score that means today was a day without soda, without meat, without regular meals and starting Weight Watchers.
Whether or not the food was what they intended, it actually falls in the rules of what I’m supposed to do, so I don’t feel like a failure, merely a hedger.
Stay tuned for the next few days where lack of carbonated awesomeness makes me hang small children and adults from trees by their middle toes.
Clenching the armrests.
February 16, 2010
Ah, I love Valentine’s Day.
Well.
No, I don’t.
But with my husband in Minneapolis, I’m not subjecting to much of the pink and red stuff.
In fact, the only thing good about Valentine’s Day is the guaranteed flowers. I LOVE getting flowers. LOVE. And cards. But Nick hasn’t quite picked up on the fact that getting a card – A real card – means way more than a gift does to me (hint.) and so we’re still working on that one.
This V-day didn’t bring flowers though – no, it wasn’t giftless. Nick’s very aware of the date – he likes the holiday! Go figure! But the gift was unusual even for him and that makes it neat in its own way.
As for Nick, I bought him a coffee gift card.
That sounds lame, I know.
But anything electronic or hobby-ish he’d prefer to pick out himself and doesn’t tend to hold back on buying. He’s pretty stocked on clothes – way more than me at the moment – and his only real activity, other than racquetball and gaming, is drinking coffee.
It’s his new addiction – and Caribou is feeding it nicely. Now, I’m helping Caribou along and my thrifty husband will be enjoying coffee for at least a week or two on someone else’s dime.
For him, that’s a win-win.
I won’t say the day wasn’t depressing in a way.
Now that we’re married I’m quickly heading towards devastated that we aren’t together yet. But.
I’m still counting my blessings – and there are many.
Not enjoying much of Fat Tuesday – never do.
Though this year I think I’m going to try the mother of all sacrifices for Lent.
SODA.
I know.
I wasn’t sure about putting it in print. This would take more willpower than I’ve ever shown towards anything in my life. So. I don’t want to put it in print and have people nag me about it.
But. I’m thinking this may be the real deal – the big attempt.
I don’t want to. Who wants to give up their addictions?
But I will. I can. If I just say it often enough.
Now, if my husband would give up internet gaming we’d be at full sacrifice mode. But he isn’t likely to do so – I don’t think the symbolism means much to him.
But. I’m growing in some ways that I never expected and it’s become important to me for me to make a Real Gesture. Not just for myself or my faith, but for other people as well. And for the me that I’m becoming.
The notion that I get to choose what I go without doesn’t sit well with me, especially when I think of those in Haiti and what change this path month has brought to their lives. People all over the world are sacrificing things that I take for granted and the notion that I am so incredibly lucky that I’ve been able to have a chance to become addicted to something as soda – when so many can’t even get clean drinking water – well… that’s pathetic.
I need this, I think, to teach me about taking material things for granted and to help me get in touch with my lost willpower.
Such a small thing to symbolize so much, I suppose.
It may even sound stupid.
But it’s a start.
And it’s definitely much harder than it sounds.
I currently drink a little over a gallon of water a day, two gallons of milk a week and soda every day. I’m like a camel with a liquid fetish.
So, this is Big for me. And some people may not survive my attempt. (She says as she takes a swig of her Coke.)
Ah yes. This next month or so should be interesting.
Pray for my family.
Biceps and a Blanket. Statement, that is.
July 15, 2009
I’m slowly but surely getting stonger.
In many ways.
Today, the way that I am able to focus the most on is muscular – mainly because I had a training session last night where my trainer decided I was entering a Strongman competition and therefore needed to press 3358123957823 pounds.
She was wrong.
And when my arms gave out and the bar very nearly cleaved in me in twain, she figured it out too.
And right when you’d think it would stop – it didn’t.
Instead, this devil of a woman spotted me, helped me pick it up and made me move even faster.
And her orders of “Hold for 3 seconds!” did nothing but make her have to hold the bar, because try as I might, after lifting the thing 90 times, I could NOT hold it in the air.
We were lucky I could still lift my arms period.
I hated her yesterday.
At least until I was finished.
Then we were friends again – all was well.
She had retracted her horns, I was able to smile again.
Though I still couldn’t lift my arms.
It makes it fun during the recovery days.
My back itches – mosquitos are rampant these days.
So, I get to have a fun little… um… remedy to the problem.
I pull out a file drawer and scratch my back as though I’m a horse.
It’s sexy.
But it doesn’t help distract me from other things going on.
Like Nick coming into town tomorrow… !!!!!!…!!!!!
Wedding counseling starting for Real, yo.
Engagement party.
Oh, and the flame war that erupted on my blog the other day.
You didn’t think I was going to mention it, did you?
I hadn’t planned on it.
But it’s been eating at me.
And today’s entry is about strength, after all.
For most of my days I spend time in sheer panic mode.
For reasons I can mention and for reasons I cannot.
I laugh and tell jokes to those around me to fill my brain with anything else.
And wedding planning has – strangely enough – become my solace.
Yes, I’m lucky to be able to plan an actual wedding with the man that I love. Or… let’s be honest. I’m lucky to be able to plan our wedding all by myself for him to show up to.
I’m lucky that we don’t have a mortgage at this time. I’m lucky that he makes enough money to make sure the big expenditures can be paid when it’s time to pay them.
I’m lucky.
That doesn’t mean that there aren’t bad times.
Making what I make and supporting the things that I need to support means that things stay tight.
Worrying about legal matters and paying for those means that dreams of owning my own home or being able to spend money as I wish are in the future, not the present.
Worrying about the health of those around me – the people I love who tend to use a distraction method much like my own (Mrs. D, you know who you are!)
Cancer, deaths, legal battles on several fronts, a future that has absolutely no planned path, a family that is falling apart at the seams, – all of those add up to a person that has many more layers than a registry and a wedding.
I don’t see anything wrong with indulging dreams and fantasies, even when other things aren’t going great.
I don’t see anything wrong with embracing the fact that I am so very lucky on many fronts, and avoiding the topic of the ones that I’m less fortunate in.
I’m not going to be able to have a big gorgeous house like Leslie, to travel to Australia like Jackie, to buy cocktail dresses and actually have a place to wear them like Krista, to work out and be toned and gorgeous like Christy, to live in NYC and live the fantasy life like Bern (okay, minus the work schedule) or to go to grad school and be mega-educated like Laurie.
And that’s okay.
Those are THEIR fortunate things.
Not mine.
And like all fortunate things, they all have a grey side.
Leslie would hand me her mortgage payment in a minute, and the job market is killer for those like Laurie at the moment.
Very rarely are things ALL good or ALL bad.
They simply are things.
I’ve reached the age of 29 – a wise ole young age – realizing that I know exactly enough to get me through day to day – and not enough to help many others do the same.
My mistakes have led me exactly where I am.
And I carry no weight that I haven’t earned.
And especially no weight that other people attempt to place on my shoulders.
The people I love are many.
I love openly and people of many different personalities.
Some of you are total asses. You know this, I know this… and because I share the same trait, we love this about one another.
Some of you are darlings – people that are seriously angels on Earth and I will never be able to stand next to your glowing character without feeling lucky just to have known you.
Some of you are simply stickers. Loyal, good friends who would fight for me or next to me – and I you.
And I love you all.
But your gripes with each other are not my own.
Disagreeing with a statement is different than a character flaw.
I’m not entirely sure why the comments went the direction they did.
I’ve never had anything happen like that before.
I’m more than willing to discuss it in a non-public forum.
But out of respect for everyone I love, I will not discuss any pointed comments made here… in my space.
Disagree with mass abandon to anything anyone says here.
But respect my space – there is a hedge of protection around those who visit.
Please don’t make it personal.
I like my house of cards in tact.
Targeted.
July 11, 2009
No matter which part of the country you’re from, you must admit one thing.
Nothing is QUITE as sexy as a person who’s gotten sunburn on their back in almost a target pattern.
And I, my friends, have just such a pattern on my back.
No, no.
No bum rushing allowed.
I am a faithful woman and my love and commitment already belong to Nicholas.
You simply must control yourselves.
Never forget!!!
Frustration… and the desire for a cookie.
July 9, 2009
So, in the past few months I’ve started eating better and have hired a personal trainer.
This is quite the expense for someone who lives very paycheck to paycheck – kids don’t feed themselves, you know – and was something I contemplated for a while.
You see, I’m used to being skinny. Have always been somewhat of a small girl, even though I was curvy. Being 5’11″ helped hide the extra weight anyway and even at my heaviest, when I reached that stage where I could say that I weighed the same as I had when I had given birth, I still looked great.
Though I didn’t know it at the time.
NOW, however, I don’t look quite as great.
That’s not a Debbie Downer – it’s simply the truth. After losing weight for K’s wedding with some old fashioned, but effective, stress dieting, I had gotten to a size rarely seen in my life and looked great doing it.
But.
Because the dieting was so unhealthy I gained it back. And then some.
I gained more weight than I ever could have imagined.
In fact, I now weigh an embarrassing 70 POUNDS more than I did when K got married. And to say that I spent some of that time inert would be an understatement.
I love to exercise, always have.
But I love to do it on my own terms.
In the weight room/gym, in a place where I can get done and go grab a bite when I feel like I’m done.
I can’t run and end up 10 miles away and decide I’d like to be through, no. I want A/C and entertainment on my runs. A little electronic numerical goal to count down to.
And I’d sort of walked away from all of that.
But now I’m marrying a man that can sit in a chair and make me look like a lazy slob. He NEVER. STOPS. MOVING. Ever. He bounces and jitters and runs and racquetballs and bikes and softballs and all of these other things that make me tired just thinking about them.
And I knew that I needed to step it up and get in shape, if only to keep up with him in the grocery.
And so I hired a trainer.
An amazingly fit woman who laughs at my jokes, listens to my crap and then tells me to shut up and do the work.
It’s a perfect relationship and I can’t believe sometimes that I am paying for this torture.
Nor can I believe that with the 4 months of eating great and working out 5 days a week, that I haven’t lost a pound.
And I haven’t.
But I have lost 3 inches.
And for those of you that say that’s what matters, well. Kiss my. Um. Big toe?
because I don’t know where those 3 inches went, but they certainly aren’t the three that are helping me fit into smaller clothes.
NOTHING about my clothing size has changed.
So I’ve gotten frustrated.
And have been behaving badly.
Sneaking Mountain Dew and Lorna Doones and when I finally weighed myself yesterday after a week of this, I realized with surprise that I have lost 5 pounds this week.
Wha?
Now, I know the food isn’t good for me, and I will try to jump back on the healthy bandwagon, but it’s amazing how the first amount of self confidence boosting I have had in the past few months with regards to my body has come through two liters of Rootbeer and some junk food.
Now if I could only find a pizza or burger that would help me get rid of my double chin…
Cave dweller.
April 9, 2009
My imagination is, and will always be, the death of my practicality.
Two days into this diet that killed my ability to have starches and simple carbs and I literally want to tear people to shreds.
Now. The question is – is it because I’m not supposed to have them, or is there something that my body really craves in them that it’s not getting?
Two days shouldn’t be enough, but already I’ve started feeling just not great.
Rather like having my back hurt just because yours does.
I’m clueless as to how I’m supposed to eat more than 1200 calories without soda – much less 2000.
And I’m wondering also if this feeling has to do with the fact that I didn’t buy any beef of any sort – nor pork. I’m allowed to have them, but having long wanted to go towards more bird-related and/or vegetarian ‘meats’ because of the heaviness involved after consuming a beef meal, I took this opportunity to fill my cabinets with meat from both sides to see which I like the best.
I’m a little disgruntled that I can’t have my staple Morning Star Chikn Nuggets (why are they spelled that way?) but at the same time, I have to assume that the rather built-for-endurance trainers I have at my disposal probably know a bit more than someone that is considered obese by BMI standards.
(excuse me while I daydream about cupcakes.)
Why am I such a baby?
The simple truth?
Imagination and power of suggestion.
I am woefully susceptible to both, and found myself drooling last night at my father’s Subway sandwich.
Only because I knew I couldn’t have it.
I am the wimp of wimps.
My dinner of Egg Beaters, spinach, and turkey sausage in a scrambled sort of colorful mix was actually fantastic – I would eat it every night if my system wouldn’t object eventually – not to mention the trainer.
I just don’t respond well to change.
Any change.
And right now – the change is starches.
Thank GOD I have something to whine about other than the wedding and the custody battle.
Starches seem a weak third topic, but a topic nevertheless.
Ah, sweet potato fries, how I miss thee.
Missing confidence… and carbohydrates.
April 7, 2009
I’m bouncing with the lack of satisfaction in my life at the moment.
Not unhappiness…
Satisfaction.
And caffeine.
I know I’m supposed to put the soda down, but you really wouldn’t like to see me this morning without some caffeine.
And it’s not that I can’t quit, but it’s more a Zoloft-induced “Why the hell should I?”
At least it’s not diet. No aspartame. No wonderful formaldehyde clogging my body.
The filing on my desk is glaring at me, daring me to do something with it. And I will – today, perhaps.
Abbey has a therapy appointment at 2:45 and although I don’t want to go anywhere that requires moving at the moment, I will – I have to give the therapist written permission to talk to the guardian ad litem, whom I have not heard from.
I have a gym session tonight – and a nutritional counseling. It should be fun, considering the fact that I eat junk, have always eaten junk, and even though I combine that with healthy food, I don’t believe the two cancel each other out. I have never eaten on a regular schedule – can’t envision what eating 3 meals a day would be like, much less 6 – who gets hungry that many times in a day?
And the worst part? I simply gag at the taste of fresh crunchy vegetables.
It’s not like crackers – one crunch and that’s about it.
It’s crunch after crunch after crunch.
The mouth version of a chalkboard screech.
Mostly that’s the problem.
Raw carrots I just plain ole detest.
I’m nervous.
Nervous about doing something.
Nervous that I’ll psych myself out of it before I even get started.
Nervous it won’t make a difference.
Nervous that I’ll end up at the point where I think surgery is a good idea again, just because I don’t want to look this way anymore.
I’m nervous that Nick will agree – that he won’t think I’ll have done enough.
And I think I’m nervous because I might be giving up my illusion of control. That I put these bad things in my body as a choice instead of a long-overdue-to-be-broken habit. An addiction. My own addiction… to having been used to being small, to being able to eat whatever I wanted and the superiority that comes along with that.
And being reduced to this failure – this getting older where your body betrays you.
And so I’m nervous because I wonder if I CAN do this.
And if I can’t, what that means about my own personal control.
So you see, over all I’m worried that I don’t have what it takes.
For so many people, this is so easy.
They get up, they go to the gym, and they keep their bodies in shape.
I love working out, so that’s not much of a stretch.
But the eating.
How people can eat right, eat only veggies, eat things without those wonderful embalming preservatives – that amazes me.
Haven’t they ever tasted those?
What happens to make them so self aware that they make the right decisions JUST to make the right decisions?
Nick and I would disagree – but the truth is that we both eat crappily. He simply adds more veggies as snacks into the overall awfulness, but he’s a man full of starches, empty calories, and preservatives as well.
How are we supposed to teach, in the future, what it’s been impossible for us to learn?
For me, for weight, for health.
For him, for health?
Overall I’m blowing this one period in my life out of proportion, but I’m seeing the effect the choices my family and I have made showing up on my child, who isn’t built to be as thin as I was, who has a slower metabolism than I started with.
Every day with this matters.
And I want to do right.
Hopefully having someone hold me accountable will make a difference.
Still I feel this morning as though I’m fighting a losing – and uphill – battle.
