Shortest post in history. Just 17 more pounds to my goal weight and a size 10. (I started at size 18! Ugh!)
I am so proud of what I have accomplished. Still not quite sure how I did it, but it felt really good slipping into those size 12 jeans last week and having them feel loose and zipping the zipper right up with no trouble whatsoever. They looked hot!
The weight is coming off more slowly now, but it is still coming off, and that's the important thing.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Notes From the "Ouch! Ouch! Damn, That Hurts!" Department
I opined a while back that even once I reached my goal weight, men would continue to ignore me. I was wrong.
A living, breathing, good-looking guy with all his limbs and most of his teeth took notice of me last week. I liked what I saw, and it seemed he liked what he saw. We went to dinner, and I liked what I heard. He had a great sense of humor, and apparently, we were raised in parallel universes, with similar family histories. We enjoyed the same movies, we both like gardening, and we each had an interest in organic food. As we talked, I was stunned to feel that little frisson of energy toward him that I haven't felt in more than 20 years. I was actually attracted to this guy, and I was hoping he felt the same way about me.
At that moment, if I'd had a Magic 8 Ball in my purse, I believe it would have said, "All signs point to Go."
We went out to dinner and closed down the restaurant; they had to flick the lights on and off to get us out of there. The conversation was lively and never one-sided, and he leaned slightly forward across the table as he spoke...good body language, I thought. We made another date for three days hence.
Then he drove me home. We sat in his car for a couple of minutes and he asked me about my children. I proudly gave him a brief bio of each. Then he asked me how old they were. I told him, 24 and 27. His eyebrows shot up.
"Then how old are you?" he asked in alarm.
"60," I said truthfully, because I see no reason to be dishonest about my age.
He face turned into a mask of horror, I mean, genuine horror. Obviously without thinking, he plastered himself up against the driver side door, as if he'd suddenly discovered there was a rattlesnake in his car. He wanted to get as far away from me as he could without being patently rude. I felt like any second he was going to whip out the garlic and a sterling crucifix to protect himself from what he seemed to regard as a creepy and terrifying specimen of the UnDead.
"Why don't you look your age?" he seemed to be asking me telepathically and accusingly, as if I had led him into something by winsome subterfuge. I got the feeling he thought I slept in a coffin to protect my delicate white skin, and also because I might melt if exposed to sunlight.
The silence was deafening. He appeared to be going into catatonic shock, so I figured I'd better say something fast.
"How old did you think I was?"
"My age," he said. "45."
Only 45. Wow. Flattering in a way; it let me know I'm looking pretty good for my age, but the look on his face squashed any pleasure I might have felt over the compliment.
No wonder the poor guy was terrified. He had accidentally gone out with someone old enough to be his mother, and worse yet, he'd been attracted to me. Eeew! I'm pretty sure that's what he was thinking. And as for what he was feeling, he looked slightly green about the gills, as if he might throw up at any moment. I felt awful. I felt bad for him, and even worse for myself.
"Oh, my God! I'm a cougar!" I thought. It was my turn to be horrified.
I'd been sitting in his car in perfect ease, feeling like I belonged there, and he'd just let me know in no uncertain terms that I didn't. I am a 60-year-old woman who, through no artifice at all but just good Polish field hand genes, looks far younger than my age. The 43 lost pounds don't hurt my looks one bit, either. But, newly attractive and self-confident or not, the two traits I think attracted him to me in the first place, now that he knew my age, he was plain terrified of me.
Just like that, with the simple utterance of a number, he was repulsed, frightened, and in a damned big hurry to get me out of the car. I don't know what scared him the most; the fact that I was 60, or that he'd been attracted to a 60-year-old-woman. Probably a little of both.
To his credit, he kept the second date, and was charming throughout the evening, telling me he really liked me and thought we would be great friends.
Yeah, friends. Only I haven't heard a peep from my new "friend" in a week, and my money is on I'll never hear from him or see him again as long as I live.
The sad thing is, if I had been his age, 45, and he had been 60, there would have been no problem. I would have acted on my attraction to him, and suffered no scorn from society, nor would he. But for a 45-year-old man to date a 60-year-old woman? He would have been shredded by his family and friends, excoriated. And to be honest, when I found out he was 15 years my junior, I felt a little creepy, too, as if I had robbed a cradle or gone out with one of my son's friends. It just didn't feel right. I certainly don't blame him for his reaction; it was predictable and completely normal, but it still made me feel sad.
Here's the good news. I've been buried inside my excess weight for two decades. The weight and the lack of confidence are mostly gone, and that's good news. When I was heavy, I was afraid to let myself feel attracted to a man because I thought rejection was inevitable. I'm not afraid any more.
So maybe this man wasn't right, but upon reflection, the whole incident feels more positive than negative. For one thing, I got to meet a great guy and go out with him twice, and both dates were really enjoyable. For another thing, it reminded me what it feels like to be a woman, and how nice it is to be in the company of a man I like and feel that nice little play of energy zinging back and forth across a table.
So, the next time I meet a nice man, (and I now feel confident there will be a next time...) I pray he will be close to my age. I've talked myself through, psychologically speaking, the feelings of hurt and rejection I felt last week. But if something like that ever happened again, I'm not sure I could avoid internalizing those negative messages...You're too old. Your age repulses me, therefore, you repulse me.
Still, if I could shed years in the same way I've shed pounds, I'm not sure I would do it. I don't mind being 60; in fact, I like it. And if the rest of the world automatically labels and marginalizes me because of my age, you know what?
That's their loss.
A living, breathing, good-looking guy with all his limbs and most of his teeth took notice of me last week. I liked what I saw, and it seemed he liked what he saw. We went to dinner, and I liked what I heard. He had a great sense of humor, and apparently, we were raised in parallel universes, with similar family histories. We enjoyed the same movies, we both like gardening, and we each had an interest in organic food. As we talked, I was stunned to feel that little frisson of energy toward him that I haven't felt in more than 20 years. I was actually attracted to this guy, and I was hoping he felt the same way about me.
At that moment, if I'd had a Magic 8 Ball in my purse, I believe it would have said, "All signs point to Go."
We went out to dinner and closed down the restaurant; they had to flick the lights on and off to get us out of there. The conversation was lively and never one-sided, and he leaned slightly forward across the table as he spoke...good body language, I thought. We made another date for three days hence.
Then he drove me home. We sat in his car for a couple of minutes and he asked me about my children. I proudly gave him a brief bio of each. Then he asked me how old they were. I told him, 24 and 27. His eyebrows shot up.
"Then how old are you?" he asked in alarm.
"60," I said truthfully, because I see no reason to be dishonest about my age.
He face turned into a mask of horror, I mean, genuine horror. Obviously without thinking, he plastered himself up against the driver side door, as if he'd suddenly discovered there was a rattlesnake in his car. He wanted to get as far away from me as he could without being patently rude. I felt like any second he was going to whip out the garlic and a sterling crucifix to protect himself from what he seemed to regard as a creepy and terrifying specimen of the UnDead.
"Why don't you look your age?" he seemed to be asking me telepathically and accusingly, as if I had led him into something by winsome subterfuge. I got the feeling he thought I slept in a coffin to protect my delicate white skin, and also because I might melt if exposed to sunlight.
The silence was deafening. He appeared to be going into catatonic shock, so I figured I'd better say something fast.
"How old did you think I was?"
"My age," he said. "45."
Only 45. Wow. Flattering in a way; it let me know I'm looking pretty good for my age, but the look on his face squashed any pleasure I might have felt over the compliment.
No wonder the poor guy was terrified. He had accidentally gone out with someone old enough to be his mother, and worse yet, he'd been attracted to me. Eeew! I'm pretty sure that's what he was thinking. And as for what he was feeling, he looked slightly green about the gills, as if he might throw up at any moment. I felt awful. I felt bad for him, and even worse for myself.
"Oh, my God! I'm a cougar!" I thought. It was my turn to be horrified.
I'd been sitting in his car in perfect ease, feeling like I belonged there, and he'd just let me know in no uncertain terms that I didn't. I am a 60-year-old woman who, through no artifice at all but just good Polish field hand genes, looks far younger than my age. The 43 lost pounds don't hurt my looks one bit, either. But, newly attractive and self-confident or not, the two traits I think attracted him to me in the first place, now that he knew my age, he was plain terrified of me.
Just like that, with the simple utterance of a number, he was repulsed, frightened, and in a damned big hurry to get me out of the car. I don't know what scared him the most; the fact that I was 60, or that he'd been attracted to a 60-year-old-woman. Probably a little of both.
To his credit, he kept the second date, and was charming throughout the evening, telling me he really liked me and thought we would be great friends.
Yeah, friends. Only I haven't heard a peep from my new "friend" in a week, and my money is on I'll never hear from him or see him again as long as I live.
The sad thing is, if I had been his age, 45, and he had been 60, there would have been no problem. I would have acted on my attraction to him, and suffered no scorn from society, nor would he. But for a 45-year-old man to date a 60-year-old woman? He would have been shredded by his family and friends, excoriated. And to be honest, when I found out he was 15 years my junior, I felt a little creepy, too, as if I had robbed a cradle or gone out with one of my son's friends. It just didn't feel right. I certainly don't blame him for his reaction; it was predictable and completely normal, but it still made me feel sad.
Here's the good news. I've been buried inside my excess weight for two decades. The weight and the lack of confidence are mostly gone, and that's good news. When I was heavy, I was afraid to let myself feel attracted to a man because I thought rejection was inevitable. I'm not afraid any more.
So maybe this man wasn't right, but upon reflection, the whole incident feels more positive than negative. For one thing, I got to meet a great guy and go out with him twice, and both dates were really enjoyable. For another thing, it reminded me what it feels like to be a woman, and how nice it is to be in the company of a man I like and feel that nice little play of energy zinging back and forth across a table.
So, the next time I meet a nice man, (and I now feel confident there will be a next time...) I pray he will be close to my age. I've talked myself through, psychologically speaking, the feelings of hurt and rejection I felt last week. But if something like that ever happened again, I'm not sure I could avoid internalizing those negative messages...You're too old. Your age repulses me, therefore, you repulse me.
Still, if I could shed years in the same way I've shed pounds, I'm not sure I would do it. I don't mind being 60; in fact, I like it. And if the rest of the world automatically labels and marginalizes me because of my age, you know what?
That's their loss.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Bouncing Around 165
As I continue on my weight loss journey, I've noticed I keep hitting certain sticking points. I had one at 195 pounds, another around 188 pounds, then 175, and now 165. If I have to keep bouncing around one weight, I'd much rather it be 165 pounds and not the 208 where I started.
What I really want is to start bouncing around 145 pounds. When I hit that goal (and hit it I will) I'll be back in my size 10s and looking swanky. It's probably just as well that I've been overweight these past 20 years, because I'm dangerous when I feel swanky, and I had kids to raise.
The kids are both grown now, so there's nothing holding me back except that last 20 pounds. Once I hit that mark, I'm going out and buying a new wardrobe, and ALL the fat clothes will go to Good Will.
Then, look out world!
Fat Cat
What I really want is to start bouncing around 145 pounds. When I hit that goal (and hit it I will) I'll be back in my size 10s and looking swanky. It's probably just as well that I've been overweight these past 20 years, because I'm dangerous when I feel swanky, and I had kids to raise.
The kids are both grown now, so there's nothing holding me back except that last 20 pounds. Once I hit that mark, I'm going out and buying a new wardrobe, and ALL the fat clothes will go to Good Will.
Then, look out world!
Fat Cat
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
20 Pounds To Go
A long time ago and in a galaxy far, far away, when I was sitting on top of 68 excess pounds and feeling lousy about myself, I didn't think I could change. I didn't believe there was anyway I would ever be able to lose weight. I'd tried every diet, plus faithful and religious cardiovascular exercise and strength training and got...nothing. While the muscles underneath my fat became quite shapely, the blobs of avoirdupois heaped atop those muscles wouldn't budge. Worse yet, the fat hid any attempt I made at rearranging my shape.
I don't know what happened except to say that I gave up. I stopped walking on my treadmill, stopped lifting weights, thinking, "If I'm going to be fat for the rest of my life, at least I won't have to be sore and worn out." And paradoxically, that's when I started losing weight. I also bought the BodyBugg used on The Biggest Loser and had great success with it for two months; then I developed a hideous burn underneath the sensor they told me was an allergic reaction to the metal, and said I couldn't ever wear it again.
I'd lost only eight pounds with Bodybugg when this happened, one pound a week for eight weeks. But during that eight weeks, something happened inside my head. I began to know instinctively what an 1800 calorie day should be, and what a 2300 calories burned day felt like. I knew when I hadn't been active enough, or when I'd overeaten by the way I felt. I just went with those feelings and here I am, 43 pounds lighter with no BodyBugg to guide me, and just 20 pounds to go to reach my goal weight. At the moment I am 165 pounds, less than I have weighed in almost 20 years.
I feel great, people keep giving me compliments about how I look, and all those muscles I developed lifting weights now actually show. I am wearing terrific, classic, timeless clothes from the back of my closet that I haven't been able to button or zip in more than 2 decades. And yes, I'll buy myself some new clothes...when I reach my goal weight.
So, even if you haven't been successful at losing weight, don't give up. I kept floundering around until I found something that worked for me. Even though I was only able to use the BodyBugg for eight weeks before developing a metal allergy, that was time enough to me to get the message, to take into my head and my heart what I needed to do to reach my goals. It wasn't about self-deprivation or giving up my favorite foods. It was about portion control, eating every 3 hours or so and starting to exercise again.
I was a size 18 when I started; I'm a size 12 now. Next stop: size 10!
Planet Fat Cat
Now moving in a smaller orbit
I don't know what happened except to say that I gave up. I stopped walking on my treadmill, stopped lifting weights, thinking, "If I'm going to be fat for the rest of my life, at least I won't have to be sore and worn out." And paradoxically, that's when I started losing weight. I also bought the BodyBugg used on The Biggest Loser and had great success with it for two months; then I developed a hideous burn underneath the sensor they told me was an allergic reaction to the metal, and said I couldn't ever wear it again.
I'd lost only eight pounds with Bodybugg when this happened, one pound a week for eight weeks. But during that eight weeks, something happened inside my head. I began to know instinctively what an 1800 calorie day should be, and what a 2300 calories burned day felt like. I knew when I hadn't been active enough, or when I'd overeaten by the way I felt. I just went with those feelings and here I am, 43 pounds lighter with no BodyBugg to guide me, and just 20 pounds to go to reach my goal weight. At the moment I am 165 pounds, less than I have weighed in almost 20 years.
I feel great, people keep giving me compliments about how I look, and all those muscles I developed lifting weights now actually show. I am wearing terrific, classic, timeless clothes from the back of my closet that I haven't been able to button or zip in more than 2 decades. And yes, I'll buy myself some new clothes...when I reach my goal weight.
So, even if you haven't been successful at losing weight, don't give up. I kept floundering around until I found something that worked for me. Even though I was only able to use the BodyBugg for eight weeks before developing a metal allergy, that was time enough to me to get the message, to take into my head and my heart what I needed to do to reach my goals. It wasn't about self-deprivation or giving up my favorite foods. It was about portion control, eating every 3 hours or so and starting to exercise again.
I was a size 18 when I started; I'm a size 12 now. Next stop: size 10!
Planet Fat Cat
Now moving in a smaller orbit
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Ignoring Your Audience
They say there's someone for everyone, but I've rarely beheld an entertainment match as near perfect as Bravo TV and Project Runway. That was of course, until those peckish Weinstein brothers broke it up.
Following a truly nasty legal battle, the courts decided the Weinsteins didn't have to honor their contract with Bravo, and allowed them to take Project Runway to Lifetime.
What? How will the 5-hankie network and Project Runway ever work together? And how will I ever conquer the mortal fear and loathing that overcomes me every time my channel clicker accidentally lands on Lifetime? The answer is: I probably won't. Because the kind of people who watch Bravo are not the same kind of people who watch Lifetime.
I'm not making any kind of judgment call here. I'm not saying that people who watch Bravo are intrinsically cooler, smarter, hipper, etc. than the people who watch Lifetime. I'm just saying I don't think most of them will make the switch. I think a lot of people are going to forget about Project Runway, because it won't be in its accustomed spot. I'm saying a lot of people will not bother to turn on Lifetime just so they can follow Project Runway. I know I won't.
I am not judging a book by its cover. I've watched Lifetime programming on occasion. When I first got cable, I tried several of their programs. But I couldn't stay with any of them. The weeping, helpless damsels in distress, who always rely on a strapping hunk of man for rescue just got to be too much. The hokey dialogue, the circumstances contrived to throw the damsel in harm's way and have the hunk standing by; the damsel's tearful refusal to give in to his charms until his boiling sexuality just mows her down...oh, please.
Even the commercials I saw on Lifetime were offensive. One that was burned into my memory was an ad for Playtex bras designed for women with "healthy" figures. The models all squeezed their enormous breasts together as they said this, leading me to believe that whoever produced the commercial must have thought that anything smaller than a 44DD was somehow..."unhealthy."
Deeply offensive. And I'm not carping because I'm flat-chested, either. I'm in the middle when it comes to breast size, and I am perfectly content with what nature gave me, even if some obnoxious bra company thinks it "unhealthy." Okay, so they didn't come right out and say that normal-sized breasts were unhealthy, but they certainly implied it.
And now, this bastion of healthy bosoms and snot rags is going to be home to Project Runway?
I don't think so. I predict this match will last but a year. Once the Weinsteins see how execrable their ratings are, compared to what they were on Bravo, maybe they'll rethink their money-grubbing strategy and head back to Bravo. That's where Project Runway belongs.
Following a truly nasty legal battle, the courts decided the Weinsteins didn't have to honor their contract with Bravo, and allowed them to take Project Runway to Lifetime.
What? How will the 5-hankie network and Project Runway ever work together? And how will I ever conquer the mortal fear and loathing that overcomes me every time my channel clicker accidentally lands on Lifetime? The answer is: I probably won't. Because the kind of people who watch Bravo are not the same kind of people who watch Lifetime.
I'm not making any kind of judgment call here. I'm not saying that people who watch Bravo are intrinsically cooler, smarter, hipper, etc. than the people who watch Lifetime. I'm just saying I don't think most of them will make the switch. I think a lot of people are going to forget about Project Runway, because it won't be in its accustomed spot. I'm saying a lot of people will not bother to turn on Lifetime just so they can follow Project Runway. I know I won't.
I am not judging a book by its cover. I've watched Lifetime programming on occasion. When I first got cable, I tried several of their programs. But I couldn't stay with any of them. The weeping, helpless damsels in distress, who always rely on a strapping hunk of man for rescue just got to be too much. The hokey dialogue, the circumstances contrived to throw the damsel in harm's way and have the hunk standing by; the damsel's tearful refusal to give in to his charms until his boiling sexuality just mows her down...oh, please.
Even the commercials I saw on Lifetime were offensive. One that was burned into my memory was an ad for Playtex bras designed for women with "healthy" figures. The models all squeezed their enormous breasts together as they said this, leading me to believe that whoever produced the commercial must have thought that anything smaller than a 44DD was somehow..."unhealthy."
Deeply offensive. And I'm not carping because I'm flat-chested, either. I'm in the middle when it comes to breast size, and I am perfectly content with what nature gave me, even if some obnoxious bra company thinks it "unhealthy." Okay, so they didn't come right out and say that normal-sized breasts were unhealthy, but they certainly implied it.
And now, this bastion of healthy bosoms and snot rags is going to be home to Project Runway?
I don't think so. I predict this match will last but a year. Once the Weinsteins see how execrable their ratings are, compared to what they were on Bravo, maybe they'll rethink their money-grubbing strategy and head back to Bravo. That's where Project Runway belongs.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Another Update
I'm still having trouble believing this is all happening, but I have continued to lose weight. I now have lost 40 pounds, and have just 25 more to reach my goal.
My primary reason for posting today is in support of my favorite television show, "Chuck." It's one of the few family friendly shows on TV, and it's got a little bit of everything...humor, romance, suspense, action. I just signed a petition asking NBC to renew it for a third season. It hasn't been cancelled, but it hasn't been renewed, either.
They have it stuck in a terrible time slot, Mondays at 7 p.m. when The Big Bang Theory comes on, and now Fox has moved House to that slot as well. I wish NBC would move the show to Wednesdays at 7 p.m. CST, where it would have a chance to grow, thrive and find a bigger audience.
Anyway, that's my two cent's worth for today! See the petition to the right of this blog, and if you feel so inclined, please sign it.
Fat Cat
(no longer a separate planet unto herself; more like a minor star)
My primary reason for posting today is in support of my favorite television show, "Chuck." It's one of the few family friendly shows on TV, and it's got a little bit of everything...humor, romance, suspense, action. I just signed a petition asking NBC to renew it for a third season. It hasn't been cancelled, but it hasn't been renewed, either.
They have it stuck in a terrible time slot, Mondays at 7 p.m. when The Big Bang Theory comes on, and now Fox has moved House to that slot as well. I wish NBC would move the show to Wednesdays at 7 p.m. CST, where it would have a chance to grow, thrive and find a bigger audience.
Anyway, that's my two cent's worth for today! See the petition to the right of this blog, and if you feel so inclined, please sign it.
Fat Cat
(no longer a separate planet unto herself; more like a minor star)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Time for an Update
It's been a while since I wrote anything here. Someone posted an interesting comment on one of my entries yesterday, and it got me to thinking...I should probably write something about my progress, because I'm more than halfway to my weight loss goal and fitting into clothes I haven't been able to wear in years.
I can't exactly explain how I did it because I've changed so many things. I got serious about exercising, switched to an almost totally organic diet, started juicing and de-toxing and bought the gadget the contestants on The Biggest Loser use, the BodyBugg. I'm more aware than ever of what I put in my mouth, not just calorie-wise, but quality-wise. I'm also more aware of my activity level during the course of the day. When I check my Bodybugg, if my calorie burn isn't where I want it to be for that day, I shut down my computer and get my humpty up on the treadmill. I've lost 33 pounds (31 more to go) and 15 inches, most of it in the right places.
I also took the energy I was spending whining on this blog and applied it to myself in a positive way. Positive energy=positive results.
I know that getting to my weight loss goal is within reach. I'm losing about a pound a week, so in just under eight months, I will be back to my normal weight, and I will be wearing a size 10 again.
Then I'm going shopping!
Planet Fat Cat
In a smaller orbit now
I can't exactly explain how I did it because I've changed so many things. I got serious about exercising, switched to an almost totally organic diet, started juicing and de-toxing and bought the gadget the contestants on The Biggest Loser use, the BodyBugg. I'm more aware than ever of what I put in my mouth, not just calorie-wise, but quality-wise. I'm also more aware of my activity level during the course of the day. When I check my Bodybugg, if my calorie burn isn't where I want it to be for that day, I shut down my computer and get my humpty up on the treadmill. I've lost 33 pounds (31 more to go) and 15 inches, most of it in the right places.
I also took the energy I was spending whining on this blog and applied it to myself in a positive way. Positive energy=positive results.
I know that getting to my weight loss goal is within reach. I'm losing about a pound a week, so in just under eight months, I will be back to my normal weight, and I will be wearing a size 10 again.
Then I'm going shopping!
Planet Fat Cat
In a smaller orbit now
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