Yes, I am rubbing your nose in it, but only to get you fired up. I've already lost five of the 10 pounds I gained. Nanner, nanner, whatever in the !#!$?#!! that means.
I wish I could say I have been saintly and stopped drinking Coca-Cola, but then I would be lying. I never lie on purpose; only accidentally, to make things more wonderful or more terrible than they really are, but you already know this about me. Anyway, come on, Pigassus! Get back on the bandwagon, but do it carefully. I wouldn't want it tilting precipitously over to your side, you know.
Snigger.
Planet Fat Cat
Now back in orbit
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Monday, August 16, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
I'm Back, Too...Kinda Sorta
My favorite commenter read the post of Pigassus...(hmm, The Post of Pigassus...that sounds like a book title) and wrote to inquire about my current weight. Until two months ago, I had been maintaining right at 162 pounds and a size 12, then I injured my shoulder. I didn't realize how much the injury had impacted my activity level until I stepped on a scale this week and saw that it read 172 pounds.
No panic. I am still a size 12 and 10 pounds is not an insurmountable obstacle. I started watching what I was eating a bit more closely, stepped up my activity level a bit, and I am already down to 171, so I will do the work and get it done. Who knows? This time around I may even get below 160. That was one goal I never did reach. I was pretty happy once I was able to zip up a size 12 pair of jeans with no struggles, and I found myself content with where I was.
Not any more. I can't let this 10 pound gain turn into a 20 or 30 pound gain, because then all my hard work to lose the weight to begin with would be for naught, so FatCat is back, too!
No panic. I am still a size 12 and 10 pounds is not an insurmountable obstacle. I started watching what I was eating a bit more closely, stepped up my activity level a bit, and I am already down to 171, so I will do the work and get it done. Who knows? This time around I may even get below 160. That was one goal I never did reach. I was pretty happy once I was able to zip up a size 12 pair of jeans with no struggles, and I found myself content with where I was.
Not any more. I can't let this 10 pound gain turn into a 20 or 30 pound gain, because then all my hard work to lose the weight to begin with would be for naught, so FatCat is back, too!
Friday, July 31, 2009
I am Now a Size 12
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.
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.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
But by the Twelfth Day...
I had lost another pound! Gee, this one only took 12 days, just like i was waiting for Christmas...only not.
So I am down to 195 pounds, still enough to make grown men cry, which contrary to popular opinion, they do a lot anyway, if the exit interviews on this and several other seasons of Top Chef are any indication. But come to think of it, on Top Chef it's probably just the onions.
I am hoping that by the time I am down to 185 or 190, they'll stop doing that. It's very unattractive, not to mention disheartening, when a man sees you, bursts into tears, then turns and runs away, all while screaming for his mommy. Even more disheartening is when they look at you in abject terror, as if you were considering them for the appetizer course, or perhaps even the entreé.
Geesh!
Still, 195 pounds! That's 12 pounds down from a year ago, 12 miles up on my sense of self-confidence and 12 rocket-boosts of determination to keep going. 12 pounds really seems like something. The five pounds, not so much, but when this five pounds becomes 11 pounds and I finally fall below 190 pounds for the first time in many, many years, that will also mark a day of celebration. But just a day. I'll still have 44 pounds to go to reach my goal weight at which point grown men will stop, consider me thoughtfully and think to themselves, "Hmm, that woman has a pretty nice shape for an old broad," and then burst into tears and still run to their mommies because even though I will no longer be fat, I will still be OLD.
And that's a topic for another column.
A 195 pound...
Fat Cat
P. S. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
So I am down to 195 pounds, still enough to make grown men cry, which contrary to popular opinion, they do a lot anyway, if the exit interviews on this and several other seasons of Top Chef are any indication. But come to think of it, on Top Chef it's probably just the onions.
I am hoping that by the time I am down to 185 or 190, they'll stop doing that. It's very unattractive, not to mention disheartening, when a man sees you, bursts into tears, then turns and runs away, all while screaming for his mommy. Even more disheartening is when they look at you in abject terror, as if you were considering them for the appetizer course, or perhaps even the entreé.
Geesh!
Still, 195 pounds! That's 12 pounds down from a year ago, 12 miles up on my sense of self-confidence and 12 rocket-boosts of determination to keep going. 12 pounds really seems like something. The five pounds, not so much, but when this five pounds becomes 11 pounds and I finally fall below 190 pounds for the first time in many, many years, that will also mark a day of celebration. But just a day. I'll still have 44 pounds to go to reach my goal weight at which point grown men will stop, consider me thoughtfully and think to themselves, "Hmm, that woman has a pretty nice shape for an old broad," and then burst into tears and still run to their mommies because even though I will no longer be fat, I will still be OLD.
And that's a topic for another column.
A 195 pound...
Fat Cat
P. S. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Ups and Downs
I can resist tempting foods, but I admit I am helpless in the face of certain magazines when I am standing in line at the grocery store. You know the ones: Woman's World and First for Women. Their covers always include a photograph of a fetchingly shaped woman, a woman whose body looks like I want MY body to look, and it is accompanied by a headline that reads thusly; "LOSE 50 POUNDS IN 3 DAYS WITH MAGIC EYE-BLINKING TRICK!"
Even though I know what I'm in for, even though I know there will be more "trick" than "magic," and certainly more "trick" than "weight loss," my hand reaches automatically for the guilty issues, and they are plopped into my basket at the last minute, whilst I chastise myself furiously for wasting money this way. And yet, and yet, they remain in the buggy, then find their way onto the conveyor belt, and before I can squeek out, "Er-um..." I've bought them.
Then I bring them home and morosely thumb through the short romance and the mystery in Woman's World, and the recipes in First for Women, all while trying to tell myself I DIDN'T buy them merely to read about their latest outrageous weight loss claims, when in fact, I did.
The articles always feature women who have been miserably fat their entire adult lives, but BF or "before fat," they were miraculously pretty, happy and successful. Every American woman knows how being less than svelte, less than perfect body-wise, can ruin your whole life, right? And if you don't, may I refer you to Woman's World and First for Women so you can get up to speed? Because they will let you know how truly awful you really are at your current weight, straight from the mouths of formerly overweight women who swallowed the magic beans thus prescribed and somehow, the beans worked for them, even though they never seem to work for me. But there they are on the cover of a magazine, and here I am, huddled behind my computer, writing this piteous bleat.
The weight loss and exercise articles usually consist of an excerpt from the New York Times best-selling "fad diet du jour" book. I confess I have on several occasions read the articles carefully, and then set out to do just what they suggest, which usually involves an investment of several hundred dollars in special food, vitamins, herbs, and equipment, not to mention the suggested book, plus I also buy additional life insurance in case I accidentally kill myself while trying to follow the diets and/or exercise routine.
I did one that consisted entirely of three days of watery protein shakes and fresh juice. The whole idea was that you were juicing or shaking every three hours or so, so you wouldn't be hungry. The payoff? A 10 pound loss in those three days.
Wrong.
By the end of three hours, much less three days, I was so hungry I might have cheerfully plopped my neighbor on the barbee if I had happened to see her in the yard. I was so hungry I was gnawing the legs of my dining room table for fiber and sustenance. I lasted one day and lost two pounds which came right back on the next day, plus one extra for good measure.
Now you may think that the "accidentally killing" myself part was somewhat of an overwrought reference, but sadly, it did almost happen. I, a strong woman who stands proudly on my sturdy, if somewhat overlarge "Pillars of Hercules," was reduced to a mewling kitten by one day of following some exercise routine posted in Woman's World. My doctor looked at the magazine and said any untested, out of shape ewe like myself who even tried to follow it would end up with a 100% chance of injury. And I did. I, whose back had never hurt for a day in my life, spent three days curled up in a fetal ball in my bed, howling in agony whenever I rose up from the haze of painkillers.
Fortunately the damage was not permanent.
So, you would think that I had learned, but no. I just bought a First for Women last week with a cover that reads: "Lose 47 pounds by Christmas!" I turned inside and found an article laden with claims but few facts. A thorough re-reading convinced me I could lose the weight by simply drinking 4 cups of green, black, white or oolong tea per day, sweetened with one ounce of orange juice per cup to increase its weight-reduction benefits. So I bit. I like tea, I like orange juice, so why not? At least it would be a relatively painless change.
And in four days I lost four pounds. I did. And they have stayed lost, even though I am still eating as per usual, and still half-heartedly exercising a few times a week. In other words, I didn't change a single thing except add the green tea, which I think must have flushed out some excess fluid from my body, and nothing more.
So, you do the math. I lost four pounds in four days, then nothing for the past five days, even though I'm still swilling tea like an intemperate barfly. That means I still have 43 pounds to go before Christmas. Today's the 18th of November, which means I have to lose more than a pound a day for the next 37 days. Which means...it ain't happening.
But I did lose those four pounds, and I am now finally below 200, those four pounds below, and I have to admit it is nice to see my weight fluctuate between 196 and 199 pounds during the course of the day, rather than between 200 and 203. It's just a psych thing, but it matters to me.
Even though I know what I'm in for, even though I know there will be more "trick" than "magic," and certainly more "trick" than "weight loss," my hand reaches automatically for the guilty issues, and they are plopped into my basket at the last minute, whilst I chastise myself furiously for wasting money this way. And yet, and yet, they remain in the buggy, then find their way onto the conveyor belt, and before I can squeek out, "Er-um..." I've bought them.
Then I bring them home and morosely thumb through the short romance and the mystery in Woman's World, and the recipes in First for Women, all while trying to tell myself I DIDN'T buy them merely to read about their latest outrageous weight loss claims, when in fact, I did.
The articles always feature women who have been miserably fat their entire adult lives, but BF or "before fat," they were miraculously pretty, happy and successful. Every American woman knows how being less than svelte, less than perfect body-wise, can ruin your whole life, right? And if you don't, may I refer you to Woman's World and First for Women so you can get up to speed? Because they will let you know how truly awful you really are at your current weight, straight from the mouths of formerly overweight women who swallowed the magic beans thus prescribed and somehow, the beans worked for them, even though they never seem to work for me. But there they are on the cover of a magazine, and here I am, huddled behind my computer, writing this piteous bleat.
The weight loss and exercise articles usually consist of an excerpt from the New York Times best-selling "fad diet du jour" book. I confess I have on several occasions read the articles carefully, and then set out to do just what they suggest, which usually involves an investment of several hundred dollars in special food, vitamins, herbs, and equipment, not to mention the suggested book, plus I also buy additional life insurance in case I accidentally kill myself while trying to follow the diets and/or exercise routine.
I did one that consisted entirely of three days of watery protein shakes and fresh juice. The whole idea was that you were juicing or shaking every three hours or so, so you wouldn't be hungry. The payoff? A 10 pound loss in those three days.
Wrong.
By the end of three hours, much less three days, I was so hungry I might have cheerfully plopped my neighbor on the barbee if I had happened to see her in the yard. I was so hungry I was gnawing the legs of my dining room table for fiber and sustenance. I lasted one day and lost two pounds which came right back on the next day, plus one extra for good measure.
Now you may think that the "accidentally killing" myself part was somewhat of an overwrought reference, but sadly, it did almost happen. I, a strong woman who stands proudly on my sturdy, if somewhat overlarge "Pillars of Hercules," was reduced to a mewling kitten by one day of following some exercise routine posted in Woman's World. My doctor looked at the magazine and said any untested, out of shape ewe like myself who even tried to follow it would end up with a 100% chance of injury. And I did. I, whose back had never hurt for a day in my life, spent three days curled up in a fetal ball in my bed, howling in agony whenever I rose up from the haze of painkillers.
Fortunately the damage was not permanent.
So, you would think that I had learned, but no. I just bought a First for Women last week with a cover that reads: "Lose 47 pounds by Christmas!" I turned inside and found an article laden with claims but few facts. A thorough re-reading convinced me I could lose the weight by simply drinking 4 cups of green, black, white or oolong tea per day, sweetened with one ounce of orange juice per cup to increase its weight-reduction benefits. So I bit. I like tea, I like orange juice, so why not? At least it would be a relatively painless change.
And in four days I lost four pounds. I did. And they have stayed lost, even though I am still eating as per usual, and still half-heartedly exercising a few times a week. In other words, I didn't change a single thing except add the green tea, which I think must have flushed out some excess fluid from my body, and nothing more.
So, you do the math. I lost four pounds in four days, then nothing for the past five days, even though I'm still swilling tea like an intemperate barfly. That means I still have 43 pounds to go before Christmas. Today's the 18th of November, which means I have to lose more than a pound a day for the next 37 days. Which means...it ain't happening.
But I did lose those four pounds, and I am now finally below 200, those four pounds below, and I have to admit it is nice to see my weight fluctuate between 196 and 199 pounds during the course of the day, rather than between 200 and 203. It's just a psych thing, but it matters to me.
Friday, February 15, 2008
I'm Ba-a-a-ack!
Okay, so I spent all of January curled up in a fetal position on the floor, remote control at the ready, angled so that I could keep up with The Biggest Loser, Project Runway and other important world developments on the TV. The area around my body was littered with chocolate wrappers, empty Coca-Cola bottles, bitter remorse and huge, hulking piles of self pity.
What got me over it? Well, two things. A comment from one of my favorite readers, Gucci Muse, who told me to stop focusing on the negative (Thank you, Muse!) and ugh, yes, another health crisis. The health crisis shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did. For three months, I walked six days a week on my treadmill, didn't drink a drop of soda, and really watched my diet.
Then came January. I realized that my Christmas holiday was bad and sad and that made me mad, and then I realized that my beloved (and only) son hates my guts and isn't likely to change his opinion anytime soon, and then I realized that even though I had faithfully stuck to a reasonable, rational fitness and weight loss program, I hadn't lost any weight. All reasons to just go straight off the end of the pier and try to kill myself with bad food and slothfulness, right? Chocolate and Coca-Cola Nirvana, here I come.
Well, I almost managed to do it. My body reacted to the absence of regular exercise and addition of much bad food to my diet as if it had been hit with an atom bomb. It basically shut down and I came very close to having to go to the hospital for the exact same thing that sent me there last March.
If life really is a circle, then I'm back at the beginning, and yes, I know that circles don't actually have a beginning, but work with me here. I am back to weighing more than I did when I first started in October (those four pounds I lost over the 90 days of walking flew back on and then some once I started drinking soda again.) But the worst thing is that my blood pressure spiked, went sailing through the roof even with my daily medications, and that made me sick. But what makes me feel even sicker is that this is something I did to myself, knowingly, willingly, consciously. With my lower lip poked out further than the Grand Canyon, Ms. Pity Party (that would be me...) decided that I DESERVE copious amounts of chocolate and soda...advice to the contrary from that stuffy old doctor who's just trying to keep me alive and healthy be damned.
Today I have to report that I am still sick. My blood pressure is still elevated, my kidneys are still barely working and I am walking around puffed up with excess water like one of those animated balloons in those dumb incontinence ads on TV. But I am back on the treadmill. The same woman who just six short weeks ago could rip off an hour on the treadmill at three miles an hour on a 2 percent incline without breaking a sweat can barely make 5 minutes at two miles per hour. It is absolutely stunning how quickly the human body loses its conditioning. For 90 days, I slowly built myself up to a modicum of fitness. My blood pressure normalized and my resting heart rate fell to the highs 50s. A mere six weeks of slothfulness and my blood pressure is back through the roof and my resting heart rate is in the high 70s.
I wish I could say that I will never slip again, but I know myself and I know that eventually, something will come along that will knock me off my pins. What I can say and promise myself is that the in-between times, the times when I am rolling around in my sorrows like it was actually fun (which it's not), will grow shorter and shorter. I know now that it's unwise for me to focus on trying to lose weight (a negative focus); from now on, I am focusing on something positive...staying healthy. Exercise and healthy eating are a vital part of that focus...so today...Round Two starts.
Oh, and I did get that exercise thingie I ordered...the Urban Rebounder. I have only used it a couple of times but can report that it's a lot of fun and reminds me of when I was a kid bouncing on the trampoline in my neighbor's back yard. I just need to get an industrial strength sports bra before I use it again or I might have to report that I have become the first woman in history to break her nose with her own boob.
Finally back in orbit,
Planet Fat Cat
What got me over it? Well, two things. A comment from one of my favorite readers, Gucci Muse, who told me to stop focusing on the negative (Thank you, Muse!) and ugh, yes, another health crisis. The health crisis shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did. For three months, I walked six days a week on my treadmill, didn't drink a drop of soda, and really watched my diet.
Then came January. I realized that my Christmas holiday was bad and sad and that made me mad, and then I realized that my beloved (and only) son hates my guts and isn't likely to change his opinion anytime soon, and then I realized that even though I had faithfully stuck to a reasonable, rational fitness and weight loss program, I hadn't lost any weight. All reasons to just go straight off the end of the pier and try to kill myself with bad food and slothfulness, right? Chocolate and Coca-Cola Nirvana, here I come.
Well, I almost managed to do it. My body reacted to the absence of regular exercise and addition of much bad food to my diet as if it had been hit with an atom bomb. It basically shut down and I came very close to having to go to the hospital for the exact same thing that sent me there last March.
If life really is a circle, then I'm back at the beginning, and yes, I know that circles don't actually have a beginning, but work with me here. I am back to weighing more than I did when I first started in October (those four pounds I lost over the 90 days of walking flew back on and then some once I started drinking soda again.) But the worst thing is that my blood pressure spiked, went sailing through the roof even with my daily medications, and that made me sick. But what makes me feel even sicker is that this is something I did to myself, knowingly, willingly, consciously. With my lower lip poked out further than the Grand Canyon, Ms. Pity Party (that would be me...) decided that I DESERVE copious amounts of chocolate and soda...advice to the contrary from that stuffy old doctor who's just trying to keep me alive and healthy be damned.
Today I have to report that I am still sick. My blood pressure is still elevated, my kidneys are still barely working and I am walking around puffed up with excess water like one of those animated balloons in those dumb incontinence ads on TV. But I am back on the treadmill. The same woman who just six short weeks ago could rip off an hour on the treadmill at three miles an hour on a 2 percent incline without breaking a sweat can barely make 5 minutes at two miles per hour. It is absolutely stunning how quickly the human body loses its conditioning. For 90 days, I slowly built myself up to a modicum of fitness. My blood pressure normalized and my resting heart rate fell to the highs 50s. A mere six weeks of slothfulness and my blood pressure is back through the roof and my resting heart rate is in the high 70s.
I wish I could say that I will never slip again, but I know myself and I know that eventually, something will come along that will knock me off my pins. What I can say and promise myself is that the in-between times, the times when I am rolling around in my sorrows like it was actually fun (which it's not), will grow shorter and shorter. I know now that it's unwise for me to focus on trying to lose weight (a negative focus); from now on, I am focusing on something positive...staying healthy. Exercise and healthy eating are a vital part of that focus...so today...Round Two starts.
Oh, and I did get that exercise thingie I ordered...the Urban Rebounder. I have only used it a couple of times but can report that it's a lot of fun and reminds me of when I was a kid bouncing on the trampoline in my neighbor's back yard. I just need to get an industrial strength sports bra before I use it again or I might have to report that I have become the first woman in history to break her nose with her own boob.
Finally back in orbit,
Planet Fat Cat
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Biggest Loser - Trying to Gain a Foothold
I'm having a hard time getting into this season of The Biggest Loser with the couples. When I get wrapped up in a reality show, a big part of the draw for me is keeping up with the show online via blogs - both fan and official. The official blogs let me know what happened on the show, or at least, their version of what happened. The fan blogs let me get into it with other rabid people...at least, get into it in my own mind.
For whatever reason, maybe the television strike that is keeping them "writer-less," NBC has utterly failed to provide an up-to-day website and blog for this season of The Biggest Loser. When you click on it, you'll still see the contestants and the winner from last season. The lack of a current website where I can go read after show updates and preshow teases has really diminished my interest in the show. I like reading blogs to see if other viewers share my concerns and opinions. The lack of a website and viewer blogs reduces my level of participation and my level of interest, even thought the only blog I ever actually commented on was the Top Chef season 2. That's when the producers let an emotional assault on one contestant by several of the other contestants go on way too long, even with the fans screaming about it. The emotional assault eventually and predictably evolved into a physical assault that was videotaped by the contestants with a camera given to them by the producers. Oh yeah, like that was spontaneous.
Ugh, icky, and it the resulting fan outcry almost killed the show and led to parent company NBC threatening disciplinary action against Bravo TV and the show's producers. I'm happy to say the next season featured much nicer contestants.
A similar thing happened on Project Runway season 3. There was a really nasty, emotionally abusive guy on the show, but the producers LOVED him, so not only did he stay, but was eventually awarded the win over two much more talented designers. The show took a big hit in viewers and popularity after that and this season, the contestants are all pretty nice people. The one drama queen was pretty severely chastised by the judge's this week for pitching a hissy fit and being ugly to his teammate on the design challenge.
So what I guess I'm saying is that I don't like to see nasty, ill-tempered, abusive people on reality shows, but having said that, nor do I like to see boring people. For whatever reason, this season of The Biggest Loser is boring me. Even though I am using the concept of the show to help myself stay motivated and on my own exercise and nutritional plan, I haven't yet found any heroes in this particular cast. My favorite couple was voted off last week, and I am feeling sort of "ho-hum" about the whole season now.
Two of the eliminated couples needed to go - the father who didn't really want to be on the show with his daughter, and the lazy, whiny husband who lost weight even though he did next to nothing and then made fun of his hard-working wife when she didn't lose much weight. Nice guy.
I guess I am struggling to find someone I can relate to. There was a moment between the mother and daughter from the pink team when the mother apologized for bringing home so many "uncles" after her divorce and leaving her very young daughter on her own while she pursued a wild sex life, but it was an embarrassing moment. At least it got the two of them talking and made the daughter confess to something I could relate to...she said she thought she used her excess weight to protect herself...probably from the "uncles."
I think my excess weight serves the same protective purpose, but for a different reason. If I am a normal weight and no man looks at me with interest, then I have to deal with the awful question of exactly why that is happening. But since I am overweight, I don't have to answer the question because it is answered already. I am fat, therefore I am unattractive, therefore, I have no interested men in my life.
Funny thing is, it's been that way for so long it actually feels comfortable to me now. So I really have to fight to get out of my comfort zone and keep pushing forward, because I want to lose weight and get fit NOT to attract a man, NOT to please anyone else, NOT to look sexy or attractive, but to feel healthy and strong again. I think when I have achieved my goal and feel that way again, all the other things will just fall naturally into place and take care of themselves.
Planet Fat Cat
For whatever reason, maybe the television strike that is keeping them "writer-less," NBC has utterly failed to provide an up-to-day website and blog for this season of The Biggest Loser. When you click on it, you'll still see the contestants and the winner from last season. The lack of a current website where I can go read after show updates and preshow teases has really diminished my interest in the show. I like reading blogs to see if other viewers share my concerns and opinions. The lack of a website and viewer blogs reduces my level of participation and my level of interest, even thought the only blog I ever actually commented on was the Top Chef season 2. That's when the producers let an emotional assault on one contestant by several of the other contestants go on way too long, even with the fans screaming about it. The emotional assault eventually and predictably evolved into a physical assault that was videotaped by the contestants with a camera given to them by the producers. Oh yeah, like that was spontaneous.
Ugh, icky, and it the resulting fan outcry almost killed the show and led to parent company NBC threatening disciplinary action against Bravo TV and the show's producers. I'm happy to say the next season featured much nicer contestants.
A similar thing happened on Project Runway season 3. There was a really nasty, emotionally abusive guy on the show, but the producers LOVED him, so not only did he stay, but was eventually awarded the win over two much more talented designers. The show took a big hit in viewers and popularity after that and this season, the contestants are all pretty nice people. The one drama queen was pretty severely chastised by the judge's this week for pitching a hissy fit and being ugly to his teammate on the design challenge.
So what I guess I'm saying is that I don't like to see nasty, ill-tempered, abusive people on reality shows, but having said that, nor do I like to see boring people. For whatever reason, this season of The Biggest Loser is boring me. Even though I am using the concept of the show to help myself stay motivated and on my own exercise and nutritional plan, I haven't yet found any heroes in this particular cast. My favorite couple was voted off last week, and I am feeling sort of "ho-hum" about the whole season now.
Two of the eliminated couples needed to go - the father who didn't really want to be on the show with his daughter, and the lazy, whiny husband who lost weight even though he did next to nothing and then made fun of his hard-working wife when she didn't lose much weight. Nice guy.
I guess I am struggling to find someone I can relate to. There was a moment between the mother and daughter from the pink team when the mother apologized for bringing home so many "uncles" after her divorce and leaving her very young daughter on her own while she pursued a wild sex life, but it was an embarrassing moment. At least it got the two of them talking and made the daughter confess to something I could relate to...she said she thought she used her excess weight to protect herself...probably from the "uncles."
I think my excess weight serves the same protective purpose, but for a different reason. If I am a normal weight and no man looks at me with interest, then I have to deal with the awful question of exactly why that is happening. But since I am overweight, I don't have to answer the question because it is answered already. I am fat, therefore I am unattractive, therefore, I have no interested men in my life.
Funny thing is, it's been that way for so long it actually feels comfortable to me now. So I really have to fight to get out of my comfort zone and keep pushing forward, because I want to lose weight and get fit NOT to attract a man, NOT to please anyone else, NOT to look sexy or attractive, but to feel healthy and strong again. I think when I have achieved my goal and feel that way again, all the other things will just fall naturally into place and take care of themselves.
Planet Fat Cat
Thursday, December 13, 2007
The Biggest Loser - (Hint: it's not me...)
When my dear little Piggie and I started this blog, we were both full of the fervor of the naive and deluded. We truly thought if we reduced the number of calories we took in each day, and added vigorous and sustained exercise, our bodies would follow the laws of science and slowly become smaller.
Hah! We were wrong. So much for what we thought.
My body has become smaller, but only by a miniscule amount. 4 days from now, I wrap up my 90 Day Fitness Walking Program without much to show on my body change-wise. I will have those 90 deceptively cheery little check-marks in my journal. Sorry, but that's cold comfort.
My inspiration, as I have said right from the beginning, was the contestants on The Biggest Loser. While I sweated and starved and lost 5 pounds, they sweated and starved and lost anywhere from 50 pounds to more than a hundred pounds in the same time frame. Okay, so I didn't have Jillian Michaels or Bob Harper beating my hump, but I did a decent job of beating my own hump, staying faithful to the program I had chosen. I just didn't understand the program I had chosen wasn't going to do me much good.
Hard to believe, but in 90 days of greatly increased physical activity and greatly reduced caloric intake, I have managed to shed exactly 5 pounds. Now 5 pounds is something, and I'll take it, but I was reading some ads for exercise programs last night, and one woman who started out a bit heavier than me at 215 pounds, claims she lost 41 pounds by doing nothing but this exercise for 90 days. She didn't even go on a diet and lost 21 inches and 41 pounds.
Needless to say, I ordered the DVD right away and will be reporting if it works or not. That's not such a self indulgence as it may seem. One thing I have proven to myself over the last three months is that I do have the will to stick to a program. I truly do want to change my life and remake my body; I just haven't found what works for me yet and that is frustrating. So I guess I made the wrong choice; I walked and dieted for 90 days and lost five pounds; this lady did an exercise tape for 90 days and didn't diet and lost 41 pounds. So she will go to her Christmas celebrations a new woman at 163 pounds and I will go to mine looking like the same old marshmallow in a dress.
Doesn't seem fair to me.
Anyway, on to the topic at hand...The Biggest Loser. Isabeau finally won a challenge, dragging the 73 pounds she had lost so far across the desert faster than anyone else on the team. When she dumped those pounds into a trench and raised her flag, she won $10,000. I was really happy for her. She has grown up a lot since the show began. At first, she was kind of a whiny baby, but with Jillian beating her regularly and forcing her to confront the issues that made her overeat, she finally accepted responsibility for her own health.
Tuesday's show can be summed up in two words: poetic justice. When Neil weighed in and it was revealed he had lost 10 pounds, my heart sank. I thought there was no way he was going to fall below the yellow line with that double digit weight loss. So it looked like he had made it to the finals, and from there, I think he would have been a shoo-in to win.
Then Holly weighed in and lost 5 pounds, a pretty good result for her, but still dicey. Then Bill weighed in with a loss of 9 pounds, and as a percentage of his body weight, that made him beat both Neil and Holly. Then Julie weighed in, and was told she had to lose at least 7 pounds to stay above the yellow line. I was sweating bullets because Julie usually only loses 2 to 4 pounds a week. I thought sure she would fall below the line, but she came through with a loss of 8 pounds, catapulting her to the top of the chart. Finally it was Isabeau's turn and she lost 8 pounds, too, pushing Neil and Holly below the yellow line.
The Black Team did it! Rejected and left alone in the desert, they came back with the guidance and leadership of their kick-ass trainer, Jillian Michaels, and totally eliminated both the Red and the Blue Teams, a first in Biggest Loser history. They stuck together and voted Neil out, which is where the poetic justice comes in. Neil finally paid for his cheating ways and no one could be happier about that than me. If he had ended up being this season's "Biggest Loser," I'm not sure I could ever bear to watch the show again. For once, justice triumphed!
Anyway, I have a dumb business meeting next Tuesday night so I am going to have to tape the program, but I am still anxiously awaiting two things...the arrival of my new exercise tape, and the outcome of The Biggest Loser. I will actually be happy no matter which one of the four Black Team members win, but my sentimental favorite is probably Isabeau.
Planet Fat Cat
Sunday, November 18, 2007
A Poundstone
A few days ag0, I reached what I like to call a poundstone. Other people might call it a milestone, but since it involved me reaching a particular weight loss goal, I call it a poundstone.
I finally broke through the 200 pound barrier to 199.8 pounds. Yes!
Of course, when I woke up the next day, I weighed almost 202 pounds again, but the general trend is down...ve-e-e-ery slo-o-o-owly...but down. And I have proven to myself that I can break through that mythological 200-pound barrier.
That means that one not too distant day I will break through that barrier permanently. I know that for sure. And that means my motivation to keep going is stronger than ever...important since my results weight loss results so far certainly have been less than stellar.
Now all I have to do is make myself inflate that awful pink balance ball and get going with that program. Then I might really start seeing some more significant results and see them more quickly.
I just have to keep this vision of myself as a Goddess in mind...no longer the porcine Goddess of Blubber, but a Goddess of Healthy Fitness (and of course, slamming hotness...)
Gentlemen, start your engines.
Planet Fat Cat
I finally broke through the 200 pound barrier to 199.8 pounds. Yes!
Of course, when I woke up the next day, I weighed almost 202 pounds again, but the general trend is down...ve-e-e-ery slo-o-o-owly...but down. And I have proven to myself that I can break through that mythological 200-pound barrier.
That means that one not too distant day I will break through that barrier permanently. I know that for sure. And that means my motivation to keep going is stronger than ever...important since my results weight loss results so far certainly have been less than stellar.
Now all I have to do is make myself inflate that awful pink balance ball and get going with that program. Then I might really start seeing some more significant results and see them more quickly.
I just have to keep this vision of myself as a Goddess in mind...no longer the porcine Goddess of Blubber, but a Goddess of Healthy Fitness (and of course, slamming hotness...)
Gentlemen, start your engines.
Planet Fat Cat
Monday, November 12, 2007
Dangerous Territory
Four days ago, I blogged with a great deal of excitement about reaching 200.8 pounds, and pledged that I would reach 199 pounds by today. To that end, I doubled my walking time from 30 minutes to one hour, and was especially careful about what I ate.
Now mind you, I am logging everything I do, good or bad, keeping track of my food intake and exercise in a journal so that I can study what I do and when I do it and see if there are any patterns emerging that might help me tackle my weight problem a little more effectively. When I slip off my diet, I say so, both in my journal and on this blog.
Saturday night, I made a conscious decision to eat something I normally don't eat, french fries. I truly don't enjoy them all that much; I prefer my potatoes mashed and slathered with butter. But Saturday was a very busy day and I had no time to prepare a healthy, delicious meal to take to work as I usually do. I had skipped lunch altogether because of time constraints, again, an unusual thing for me to do. By seven p.m., I was starving. I had my most immediate deadlines out of the way, so I asked my supervisor if I could run pick up a sandwich or a salad; there's a healthy market about two miles away from where I work, but he was expecting something new to come over the wire any second, so he asked me to make it quick. There's a burger joint a block away, so a burger it was.
I got the small meal, really not happy about doing it, but so hungry I probably would have cheerfully gnawed on cardboard at that point. I calculated the calories, then wolfed down all the fries, ate half the burger and drank half the soda, the first I'd had since starting the program.
The soda tasted sticky sweet, the burger was grey mystery meat on a gluey, pasty white bun that looked like someone had sat on it. The lettuce was limp, the tomato flavorless and I had just downed 956 calories, even with halving the portions. Bad choice and I knew it.
Eating that disgusting meal was like swallowing a hand grenade. No sooner had I finished than the yucky stuff started expanding like a hot air balloon, churning precipitously around in my stomach. I felt nauseated, not from guilt or shame; I had made a conscious choice based on expediency, not desire. But I was actually nauseated from the food I had eaten.
My body is used to me treating it better. I just have to ask, why doesn't it return the favor?
Yes, I ate a bad meal, but my calorie count for the day was still under 2,000. With all the regular physical activity I now do, a nutritionist I consulted told me it would take 2,300 calories a day to maintain my weight. If I eat 1,800 calories a day, a perfectly reasonable plan, I should lose a pound a week.
Should lose. Should lose.
I eat about 1,800 calories every single day, some days closer to 1,700, and that one day just a little over 2,000. Remember I have doubled my exercise time from what I told the nutritionist I was doing. And yet, on the morning after that one fast food meal, I weighed FIVE POUNDS MORE than I had the previous morning. I was swollen like a bad melon and just a few ounces away from my original starting weight.
That was yesterday, Sunday, and I walked and walked and walked on my treadmill until I was dripping sweat from every pore. I ate a small breakfast, large lunch and no dinner, so by this morning I had it back down to 203.2 pounds, meaning that I gained weight this past week, didn't lose it, and my blood pressure has sky rocketed, too. It also means I can kiss 199 pounds goodbye, at least for several more weeks.
I still simply cannot make myself believe I gained five pounds overnight from just one heavy meal. Did the rest of the week not count at all? Did I really negate all my hard work by going through one drive-up?
Yes, apparently I did.
I ate 20 reasonable meals over the course of last week and 14 healthy snacks. Even on the day I ate the yucky meal, I still stayed within 200 calories of my daily goal. And yet my weight shot up to almost 206 pounds overnight after that one meal. How is that possible? How can two months work of work and sacrifice be wiped out by a single meal?
Yes, I learned a valuable lesson. But my frustration level is almost unmanageable. I am drifting into dangerous territory, the "dammit, if I'm going to weigh 205 pounds or so for the rest of my life, I might as well enjoy it."
Then I have to remind myself...I weighed 206 pounds and was gaining weight, 6 pounds in as many months. So maybe my reality is that I have to keep exercising and watching every bite just to keep from turning into The 700-Pound Blob.
I am a geek girl, a science-based writer who knows quite a bit about health and wellness. So what I know intellectually, is that what I am doing should work. I should be losing weight and getting more fit and healthy. But here's what my utter lack of success is doing to me.
I suspect most of my friends don't believe I am exercising 6 days a week even though I am, and I suspect they think I am a midnight snacker or closet binger, because any time someone has stuck to a well-designed, thoughtful program for two months and produced no measurable results, well, they think the only answer is, I must be cheating or lying, or deluding myself. I can assure you I am not cheating or lying, but I most certainly am deluding myself...because I thought if I stuck to a good diet and exercise program faithfully I would be rewarded with some positive physical changes.
I have seen none. Yes, my resting heart rate is now down to 60, and my blood pressure is usually under better control. But guess what? You don't walk into a cocktail party and get rewarded with admiring glances for lowering your resting heart rate. That hot guy in the corner isn't going to look at me and say, "Hey, that chick has a slammin' resting heart rate."
No, he's going to look at me and say, "Oh, my God! Look at the size of her ass! I better get out of here before she knocks the whole planet out of orbit."
So, I am discouraged today. More than discouraged. I haven't lost an inch in weeks, my weight keeps going up, not down, and I have been at it for two months. I know it's going to take time to see real results, but this much time?
I really just want to quit, but I won't let myself. I have to believe that if I keep going, some halcyon day I will wake up, look at myself in the mirror, and like what I see...not just who I see.
Planet Fat Cat
Now mind you, I am logging everything I do, good or bad, keeping track of my food intake and exercise in a journal so that I can study what I do and when I do it and see if there are any patterns emerging that might help me tackle my weight problem a little more effectively. When I slip off my diet, I say so, both in my journal and on this blog.
Saturday night, I made a conscious decision to eat something I normally don't eat, french fries. I truly don't enjoy them all that much; I prefer my potatoes mashed and slathered with butter. But Saturday was a very busy day and I had no time to prepare a healthy, delicious meal to take to work as I usually do. I had skipped lunch altogether because of time constraints, again, an unusual thing for me to do. By seven p.m., I was starving. I had my most immediate deadlines out of the way, so I asked my supervisor if I could run pick up a sandwich or a salad; there's a healthy market about two miles away from where I work, but he was expecting something new to come over the wire any second, so he asked me to make it quick. There's a burger joint a block away, so a burger it was.
I got the small meal, really not happy about doing it, but so hungry I probably would have cheerfully gnawed on cardboard at that point. I calculated the calories, then wolfed down all the fries, ate half the burger and drank half the soda, the first I'd had since starting the program.
The soda tasted sticky sweet, the burger was grey mystery meat on a gluey, pasty white bun that looked like someone had sat on it. The lettuce was limp, the tomato flavorless and I had just downed 956 calories, even with halving the portions. Bad choice and I knew it.
Eating that disgusting meal was like swallowing a hand grenade. No sooner had I finished than the yucky stuff started expanding like a hot air balloon, churning precipitously around in my stomach. I felt nauseated, not from guilt or shame; I had made a conscious choice based on expediency, not desire. But I was actually nauseated from the food I had eaten.
My body is used to me treating it better. I just have to ask, why doesn't it return the favor?
Yes, I ate a bad meal, but my calorie count for the day was still under 2,000. With all the regular physical activity I now do, a nutritionist I consulted told me it would take 2,300 calories a day to maintain my weight. If I eat 1,800 calories a day, a perfectly reasonable plan, I should lose a pound a week.
Should lose. Should lose.
I eat about 1,800 calories every single day, some days closer to 1,700, and that one day just a little over 2,000. Remember I have doubled my exercise time from what I told the nutritionist I was doing. And yet, on the morning after that one fast food meal, I weighed FIVE POUNDS MORE than I had the previous morning. I was swollen like a bad melon and just a few ounces away from my original starting weight.
That was yesterday, Sunday, and I walked and walked and walked on my treadmill until I was dripping sweat from every pore. I ate a small breakfast, large lunch and no dinner, so by this morning I had it back down to 203.2 pounds, meaning that I gained weight this past week, didn't lose it, and my blood pressure has sky rocketed, too. It also means I can kiss 199 pounds goodbye, at least for several more weeks.
I still simply cannot make myself believe I gained five pounds overnight from just one heavy meal. Did the rest of the week not count at all? Did I really negate all my hard work by going through one drive-up?
Yes, apparently I did.
I ate 20 reasonable meals over the course of last week and 14 healthy snacks. Even on the day I ate the yucky meal, I still stayed within 200 calories of my daily goal. And yet my weight shot up to almost 206 pounds overnight after that one meal. How is that possible? How can two months work of work and sacrifice be wiped out by a single meal?
Yes, I learned a valuable lesson. But my frustration level is almost unmanageable. I am drifting into dangerous territory, the "dammit, if I'm going to weigh 205 pounds or so for the rest of my life, I might as well enjoy it."
Then I have to remind myself...I weighed 206 pounds and was gaining weight, 6 pounds in as many months. So maybe my reality is that I have to keep exercising and watching every bite just to keep from turning into The 700-Pound Blob.
I am a geek girl, a science-based writer who knows quite a bit about health and wellness. So what I know intellectually, is that what I am doing should work. I should be losing weight and getting more fit and healthy. But here's what my utter lack of success is doing to me.
I suspect most of my friends don't believe I am exercising 6 days a week even though I am, and I suspect they think I am a midnight snacker or closet binger, because any time someone has stuck to a well-designed, thoughtful program for two months and produced no measurable results, well, they think the only answer is, I must be cheating or lying, or deluding myself. I can assure you I am not cheating or lying, but I most certainly am deluding myself...because I thought if I stuck to a good diet and exercise program faithfully I would be rewarded with some positive physical changes.
I have seen none. Yes, my resting heart rate is now down to 60, and my blood pressure is usually under better control. But guess what? You don't walk into a cocktail party and get rewarded with admiring glances for lowering your resting heart rate. That hot guy in the corner isn't going to look at me and say, "Hey, that chick has a slammin' resting heart rate."
No, he's going to look at me and say, "Oh, my God! Look at the size of her ass! I better get out of here before she knocks the whole planet out of orbit."
So, I am discouraged today. More than discouraged. I haven't lost an inch in weeks, my weight keeps going up, not down, and I have been at it for two months. I know it's going to take time to see real results, but this much time?
I really just want to quit, but I won't let myself. I have to believe that if I keep going, some halcyon day I will wake up, look at myself in the mirror, and like what I see...not just who I see.
Planet Fat Cat
Thursday, November 8, 2007
A Moment for Posterity...and for Posteriors
Okay, I know it's not my regular weigh-in day but I just had to record this moment for posterity. This is Day 54 of my 90 Day Fitness Walking Program. I was discouraged yesterday because I had to climb a long flight of stairs and seven or eight steps in, I was blowing air through my nose like a whale. Is this what fitness feels like? I asked myself, because it didn't feel fit to me to get winded just by climbing stairs. And seeing as how I am more than halfway through the program and have not only been faithful but done more than asked each day, including doing my walks on a 2% incline, I think I should be more able to handle stairs by now.
Then I remembered. I may have been walking for almost two months now, but I've only lost 3 pounds and my body fat percentage and muscle mass have not budged on my fancy-dancy scale. Hauling more than 200 pounds up a long staircase would be hard work for anyone, but especially for an overweight someone born in the Jurassic Age. Still, I was ticked when I got to the top of the stairs and was huffing and puffing and sweating like a pig, even though my dainty little, erm, not-so-dainty big self usually does not sweat no matter what the provocation.
So imagine my surprise and delight to get on the scale this morning and see that not only am I down to 200.8 pounds, a loss of almost 6 pounds since I started this program, but my body fat has actually dropped by point-two percent and my muscle mass increased by point-one percent. Yay! Those are the first positive changes in my body composition I have seen and that is very encouraging to me.
So, you may be asking yourself, why is she being coy about her total percentage of body fat when she's not coy about anything else? It's because, if my readers knew how much fat I was toting around on my carcass, some sensitive or paranoid soul among you might report me to the Department of Defense as a weapon of mass destruction.
Oh, heck. I just remembered. I published my percentage of body fat on this blog already. Okay, so I'm down to 40.2% from 40.4% and up to 28.9% muscle mass (it was 28.8%). I consider these HUGE changes because it is the first time since I started this journey that my schizophrenic scale has noted any changes whatsoever in my body composition. I can weigh six times in a minute and get weights varying by as much as two pounds, but the body composition and muscle mass NEVER CHANGED. And now they have.
In physiological terms, it means simply that I am a bit stronger, even if not long staircase worthy, and that my body is now slightly more efficient at burning calories than it was before.
And as far as I'm concerned, this is the biggest triumph yet! Next stop, 199 pounds. At the rate I'm going, that should only take another three or four months.
Wait. No more negative thoughts. I will weigh 199 by next weigh-in. My foolhardy little self is predicting I will achieve that milestone in just four more days. Never mind that it took me two whole months to lose six measly pounds. I will prevail.
Now I really have to exercise.
Planet Fat Cat
Then I remembered. I may have been walking for almost two months now, but I've only lost 3 pounds and my body fat percentage and muscle mass have not budged on my fancy-dancy scale. Hauling more than 200 pounds up a long staircase would be hard work for anyone, but especially for an overweight someone born in the Jurassic Age. Still, I was ticked when I got to the top of the stairs and was huffing and puffing and sweating like a pig, even though my dainty little, erm, not-so-dainty big self usually does not sweat no matter what the provocation.
So imagine my surprise and delight to get on the scale this morning and see that not only am I down to 200.8 pounds, a loss of almost 6 pounds since I started this program, but my body fat has actually dropped by point-two percent and my muscle mass increased by point-one percent. Yay! Those are the first positive changes in my body composition I have seen and that is very encouraging to me.
So, you may be asking yourself, why is she being coy about her total percentage of body fat when she's not coy about anything else? It's because, if my readers knew how much fat I was toting around on my carcass, some sensitive or paranoid soul among you might report me to the Department of Defense as a weapon of mass destruction.
Oh, heck. I just remembered. I published my percentage of body fat on this blog already. Okay, so I'm down to 40.2% from 40.4% and up to 28.9% muscle mass (it was 28.8%). I consider these HUGE changes because it is the first time since I started this journey that my schizophrenic scale has noted any changes whatsoever in my body composition. I can weigh six times in a minute and get weights varying by as much as two pounds, but the body composition and muscle mass NEVER CHANGED. And now they have.
In physiological terms, it means simply that I am a bit stronger, even if not long staircase worthy, and that my body is now slightly more efficient at burning calories than it was before.
And as far as I'm concerned, this is the biggest triumph yet! Next stop, 199 pounds. At the rate I'm going, that should only take another three or four months.
Wait. No more negative thoughts. I will weigh 199 by next weigh-in. My foolhardy little self is predicting I will achieve that milestone in just four more days. Never mind that it took me two whole months to lose six measly pounds. I will prevail.
Now I really have to exercise.
Planet Fat Cat
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Attitude of Fatitude
The weigh-in this week wasn't as tragic as I expected it to be. I think the time change fooled my body, which I have by now figured out is my mortal enemy. Because we "fell back" one hour, my body forget to gain the usual 12 pounds in time for the weigh-in, so I actually lost a full pound this week, down to 202.8 pounds. I'm still a long way from my goal; I still terrify grown men on the street, but I lost a pound. I will gain it back again 20 or maybe even 40 times over the next month but for now, I can truthfully record in my journal that the pound is down.
My body is a wonder of weird science. It will not comply with the laws of nature, nor succumb to threats of extreme surgery, physical violence or bribery. It just keeps blubbering along, all proud of its fatness, while I hang my head in shame and shop in the "Big Woman" section. I hate it.
I haven't missed a day on the treadmill for 50 days now, but still no results. Maybe I'm living in a state of delusion, a fat-altered reality. Maybe when my fevered brain thinks my body is up on the treadmill pounding out the miles, in reality I have my head stuffed in the refrigerator licking butter. How else do you explain my body's stubborn refusal to shed fat?
So I have decided to develop an "attitude of fatitude" (sorry, Oprah) to match my body's behavior. Maybe that way I can trick it into doing what it's supposed to do...shrink...dammit...when confronted with far fewer calories and many more hours of intense physical exercise.
Today I went shopping for the tools required to pull off this hoax. Since walking isn't working, I'm adding a new exercise routine. I know, I said I was going to do this last week, but it takes about a week for an idea to get from my head out into the realm of reality, and then another week or two of chewing my cud before I actually get up off my double-wide and do something. Anyway, I decided I wanted to get one of those big balance balls you see on The Biggest Loser. I thought that my help me flatten my stomach so I would no longer look like "The World's Oldest Pregnant Woman."
And for those of you who are worried, no, I won't stop walking. I'm determined to finish the 90 Day Fitness Walking Program and get all 90 little checks in my journal. I just want to do the balance ball thing, too.
I went to the store and was immediately confronted with about 15 different configurations of balance balls in various colors and sizes and even more confusing, with different accoutrements. This was going to take hours, because I had to read every line of text on every box, I had to pick them up, look at them, touch them, feel them, smell them, chew on the edge of the boxes, ruminate, cogitate, correlate and relegate. That's a lot of work, and it all had to be one without raising the angst level of the store clerks who were scurrying up and down the aisles looking for places to stick up more Christmas merchandise. After all, it is November 6th already.
Some kits had resistance bands in the box, others had weights, others had resistance rings. Some had accompanying workouts on DVD, which I considered essential since I basically don't know what I'm doing when it comes to balance balls. In fact, if I followed my usual routine, I would blow up the ball, sit down on it, lose my balance, fall over, break my neck, and that would be the end of my exercise routine, if not the end of me.
So the DVD was a must-have, but equally important to me was there had to be some kind of device included to blow up the ball. Oh, shut up! I can hear you all now; "Surely she has enough hot air to blow up anything," but in fact, I don't. I am so old and decrepit I can barely breathe, must less blow up a giant ball with air from my own lungs. So naturally, the kit I liked best, that had the DVD and a pretty blue ball with color-coordinated resistance bands...did NOT have a blow up thingie included. Okay, says me. I'll just buy one, only the store clerk tells me they don't carry them since all the balance ball kits come with them.
I beg to differ and show her the soothingly designed kit with the ocean blue ball and accessories. She insists there is a blow up thingie in there and proceeds to rip open the box and scatter its contents all over the exercise aisle. Hmm, guess what? The little picture on the side of the box that shows everything included in the kit, only it didn't have a blow up thingie, well it was right.
The clerk refused to believe it and stared meanly at me as she struggled to get all the parts back in the box, which brings to mind another of Sir Isaac Newton's Laws of Physics: "Any item once removed from its box will never again go back into the same box without first performing extreme acts of legerdemain and uttering copious curse words. Even then, the box will be distorted according to the precepts inherent in the following equation: cm–1/(kA/cm–2)."
Actually, that's a lie. I just made it all up because I am fascinated by things I cannot understand. I stole that equation from a paper entitled:
Self-consistent solutions to the intersubband rate equations in quantum cascade lasers: Analysis of a GaAs/Al x Ga 1–x As device
just because I wanted to. But equation or not, things still won't ever go back into their boxes without a struggle and lots of broken nails. Trust me on this one.
Anyway, I suddenly spied a kit that had the balance ball, the resistance bands, the resistance rings, hand weights, a DVD and a blow up thingie, all for less than $30.00!
Only, it was one of the thousands of items designed specifically for October Breast Cancer Awareness month, and it was all titty pink.
I walked away. I could not bear the thought of bringing this hideous pink thing into my carefully crafted Zen bedroom. The color was so alarming that sleep would have been impossible with the damn thing in the room. But as I did a little math inside my head (always a dangerous thing to do...) I realized that to get all the stuff in that box individually, I would have to spend at least $100.00.
So now I'm home with the damned titty pink ball and still staring at it. I haven't yet had the nerve to take it out of its box and blow it up. I think I'll wait until it's dark, but this thing is so bright it might possibly glow in the dark.
It doesn't match a thing I have except for a bra I bought when I was feeling all girly one day. I can feel my entire house sending feelings of disapproval and puzzlement in my direction.
The Mrs. doesn't usually bring home such ugly things. Do you think she is sick?
No, that wasn't my husband saying that; it was my house. I don't have a husband, remember, because I am the size of a small out-building. I am an entire planet. When I stop losing weight it isn't because I have hit a plateau; it's because I AM the plateau. Men don't like women who are bigger than them. It scares the foo out of them, okay?
Anyway, my house, which is used to a calm, Zen vibe, which has soothing, tasteful colors, reacted viscerally to the introduction of the titty pink balance ball. I could swear I heard little groans and shrieks of disapproval emanating from the walls as I brought it through the door. But that's just too bad. I want to learn how to do a balance ball routine. I want to do resistance bands and I want to lift weights. I have no confidence that any of this strenuous physical activity will have any impact on my body composition whatsoever, but so what? I know I am destined to go to my grave composed primarily of fat cells, most of which have apparently migrated to my brain, but I don't care. I still want to do this.
Now, how's that for an attitude of fatitude?
Planet Fat Cat
My body is a wonder of weird science. It will not comply with the laws of nature, nor succumb to threats of extreme surgery, physical violence or bribery. It just keeps blubbering along, all proud of its fatness, while I hang my head in shame and shop in the "Big Woman" section. I hate it.
I haven't missed a day on the treadmill for 50 days now, but still no results. Maybe I'm living in a state of delusion, a fat-altered reality. Maybe when my fevered brain thinks my body is up on the treadmill pounding out the miles, in reality I have my head stuffed in the refrigerator licking butter. How else do you explain my body's stubborn refusal to shed fat?
So I have decided to develop an "attitude of fatitude" (sorry, Oprah) to match my body's behavior. Maybe that way I can trick it into doing what it's supposed to do...shrink...dammit...when confronted with far fewer calories and many more hours of intense physical exercise.
Today I went shopping for the tools required to pull off this hoax. Since walking isn't working, I'm adding a new exercise routine. I know, I said I was going to do this last week, but it takes about a week for an idea to get from my head out into the realm of reality, and then another week or two of chewing my cud before I actually get up off my double-wide and do something. Anyway, I decided I wanted to get one of those big balance balls you see on The Biggest Loser. I thought that my help me flatten my stomach so I would no longer look like "The World's Oldest Pregnant Woman."
And for those of you who are worried, no, I won't stop walking. I'm determined to finish the 90 Day Fitness Walking Program and get all 90 little checks in my journal. I just want to do the balance ball thing, too.
I went to the store and was immediately confronted with about 15 different configurations of balance balls in various colors and sizes and even more confusing, with different accoutrements. This was going to take hours, because I had to read every line of text on every box, I had to pick them up, look at them, touch them, feel them, smell them, chew on the edge of the boxes, ruminate, cogitate, correlate and relegate. That's a lot of work, and it all had to be one without raising the angst level of the store clerks who were scurrying up and down the aisles looking for places to stick up more Christmas merchandise. After all, it is November 6th already.
Some kits had resistance bands in the box, others had weights, others had resistance rings. Some had accompanying workouts on DVD, which I considered essential since I basically don't know what I'm doing when it comes to balance balls. In fact, if I followed my usual routine, I would blow up the ball, sit down on it, lose my balance, fall over, break my neck, and that would be the end of my exercise routine, if not the end of me.
So the DVD was a must-have, but equally important to me was there had to be some kind of device included to blow up the ball. Oh, shut up! I can hear you all now; "Surely she has enough hot air to blow up anything," but in fact, I don't. I am so old and decrepit I can barely breathe, must less blow up a giant ball with air from my own lungs. So naturally, the kit I liked best, that had the DVD and a pretty blue ball with color-coordinated resistance bands...did NOT have a blow up thingie included. Okay, says me. I'll just buy one, only the store clerk tells me they don't carry them since all the balance ball kits come with them.
I beg to differ and show her the soothingly designed kit with the ocean blue ball and accessories. She insists there is a blow up thingie in there and proceeds to rip open the box and scatter its contents all over the exercise aisle. Hmm, guess what? The little picture on the side of the box that shows everything included in the kit, only it didn't have a blow up thingie, well it was right.
The clerk refused to believe it and stared meanly at me as she struggled to get all the parts back in the box, which brings to mind another of Sir Isaac Newton's Laws of Physics: "Any item once removed from its box will never again go back into the same box without first performing extreme acts of legerdemain and uttering copious curse words. Even then, the box will be distorted according to the precepts inherent in the following equation: cm–1/(kA/cm–2)."
Actually, that's a lie. I just made it all up because I am fascinated by things I cannot understand. I stole that equation from a paper entitled:
Self-consistent solutions to the intersubband rate equations in quantum cascade lasers: Analysis of a GaAs/Al x Ga 1–x As device
just because I wanted to. But equation or not, things still won't ever go back into their boxes without a struggle and lots of broken nails. Trust me on this one.
Anyway, I suddenly spied a kit that had the balance ball, the resistance bands, the resistance rings, hand weights, a DVD and a blow up thingie, all for less than $30.00!
Only, it was one of the thousands of items designed specifically for October Breast Cancer Awareness month, and it was all titty pink.
I walked away. I could not bear the thought of bringing this hideous pink thing into my carefully crafted Zen bedroom. The color was so alarming that sleep would have been impossible with the damn thing in the room. But as I did a little math inside my head (always a dangerous thing to do...) I realized that to get all the stuff in that box individually, I would have to spend at least $100.00.
So now I'm home with the damned titty pink ball and still staring at it. I haven't yet had the nerve to take it out of its box and blow it up. I think I'll wait until it's dark, but this thing is so bright it might possibly glow in the dark.
It doesn't match a thing I have except for a bra I bought when I was feeling all girly one day. I can feel my entire house sending feelings of disapproval and puzzlement in my direction.
The Mrs. doesn't usually bring home such ugly things. Do you think she is sick?
No, that wasn't my husband saying that; it was my house. I don't have a husband, remember, because I am the size of a small out-building. I am an entire planet. When I stop losing weight it isn't because I have hit a plateau; it's because I AM the plateau. Men don't like women who are bigger than them. It scares the foo out of them, okay?
Anyway, my house, which is used to a calm, Zen vibe, which has soothing, tasteful colors, reacted viscerally to the introduction of the titty pink balance ball. I could swear I heard little groans and shrieks of disapproval emanating from the walls as I brought it through the door. But that's just too bad. I want to learn how to do a balance ball routine. I want to do resistance bands and I want to lift weights. I have no confidence that any of this strenuous physical activity will have any impact on my body composition whatsoever, but so what? I know I am destined to go to my grave composed primarily of fat cells, most of which have apparently migrated to my brain, but I don't care. I still want to do this.
Now, how's that for an attitude of fatitude?
Planet Fat Cat
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
The Last Temptation of Fat
Would you eat food from a vat?
Would you gain that extra fat?
I will not snorfle pizza, dear.
I will not guzzle all that beer!
But would you, could you, at a bar...
Consume all snacks though near and far?
I will not eat large portions now!
I will not look like that big cow!
Then won't you try a last buffet?
Perhaps to gorge there all damn day?
Oh no! I won't give in to lard,
Because I've worked just way too hard!
But won't you like some lobster bisque?
Will just one trough present a risk?
No, no, you fool! I won't get fat!
I won't give in to temptations that...
Will make my butt look like a cheese,
And make my gut shake when I sneeze.
If I should grow another size,
Chaffing will destroy my thighs!
My neck will sag and who wants that?
Tell me, why should I get fat?
Why shouldn't I be cute and light?
And exercise with all my might!
I will win this diet, see!
I will be the new, thin me!
I don't know why an overweight ghost of Dr. Seuss just possessed me, but I certainly hope he burns some calories while he channels his spirit through me. If he can clear up any troublesome blocked arteries or revive some hair follicles while he's at it, I might actually contribute to a charitable organization that his heirs have established in his name. Heck, if he also increases my memory, regrows my liver, and makes me look a few years younger, we'll hit the road and we can make a living as a good looking Exorcist on Ice freak show!
Never mind, I am sure I just felt him leave... in a hurry. Oh well.
But the point is still the same: People who have started to diet and lowered their portion sizes go supercalifragilistic-crazy-alidocious. At this point, if I saw pink elephants, I would simply hunt them down and roast them with a garlic chutney and honey glaze. Heck, after another few days of dieting I might eat raw unicorns with a little Hobbit for dessert.
So maybe I will just order a pizza. I have often succumbed to the "last temptation" syndrome when I pick a day in my head to really START my diet. Since it is Halloween and tomorrow begins a fresh month (as opposed to the stale, dying month of October), I think I will just indulge his ONE LAST TIME and begin anew in the morning.
Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Anyone else ever have that one last food fling before trying to diet? Nutritionists and psychologists alike claim nothing good comes from "last temptation" urges, but when my tummy is grumbling I can't think of a reason not to have one last tasty hurrah.
I'll let you know tomorrow what, if any, damage has come from this ill-conceived but delicious plan... and also a review of the new pizza I ordered from Domino's.
Piga-Seuss
Would you gain that extra fat?
I will not snorfle pizza, dear.
I will not guzzle all that beer!
But would you, could you, at a bar...
Consume all snacks though near and far?
I will not eat large portions now!
I will not look like that big cow!
Then won't you try a last buffet?
Perhaps to gorge there all damn day?
Oh no! I won't give in to lard,
Because I've worked just way too hard!
But won't you like some lobster bisque?
Will just one trough present a risk?
No, no, you fool! I won't get fat!
I won't give in to temptations that...
Will make my butt look like a cheese,
And make my gut shake when I sneeze.
If I should grow another size,
Chaffing will destroy my thighs!
My neck will sag and who wants that?
Tell me, why should I get fat?
Why shouldn't I be cute and light?
And exercise with all my might!
I will win this diet, see!
I will be the new, thin me!
I don't know why an overweight ghost of Dr. Seuss just possessed me, but I certainly hope he burns some calories while he channels his spirit through me. If he can clear up any troublesome blocked arteries or revive some hair follicles while he's at it, I might actually contribute to a charitable organization that his heirs have established in his name. Heck, if he also increases my memory, regrows my liver, and makes me look a few years younger, we'll hit the road and we can make a living as a good looking Exorcist on Ice freak show!
Never mind, I am sure I just felt him leave... in a hurry. Oh well.
But the point is still the same: People who have started to diet and lowered their portion sizes go supercalifragilistic-crazy-alidocious. At this point, if I saw pink elephants, I would simply hunt them down and roast them with a garlic chutney and honey glaze. Heck, after another few days of dieting I might eat raw unicorns with a little Hobbit for dessert.
So maybe I will just order a pizza. I have often succumbed to the "last temptation" syndrome when I pick a day in my head to really START my diet. Since it is Halloween and tomorrow begins a fresh month (as opposed to the stale, dying month of October), I think I will just indulge his ONE LAST TIME and begin anew in the morning.
Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Anyone else ever have that one last food fling before trying to diet? Nutritionists and psychologists alike claim nothing good comes from "last temptation" urges, but when my tummy is grumbling I can't think of a reason not to have one last tasty hurrah.
I'll let you know tomorrow what, if any, damage has come from this ill-conceived but delicious plan... and also a review of the new pizza I ordered from Domino's.
Piga-Seuss
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Shovel it in, boys
I can already see what this week's struggle is going to be; I am going to have to slap myself silly every time I get ready to eat a meal or a snack to keep them normal, regular sized meals. That's because I am so mad and discouraged right now that I want to eat a side of beef slathered with herb butter, topped off with a couple of loaves of buttered mozzarella garlic bread, and a few heads of steamed broccoli dripping with butter and lemon. Notice a butter theme developing here?
I want to fry a dozen eggs in butter and then fry a pound of bacon in butter. Heck, I even want to stir melted butter into my orange juice. I want to whip up 10 batches of my divine double Dutch fudge Ghiardelli chocolate brownies and put three inches of chocolate butter cream frosting on top.
Yeah, I know. Some women lie awake at night thinking about men. I lie awake chewing the edge of my blanket and I think about butter.
...and men.
Butter and men...hmm, sounds like a very tasty combination, but too calorific. Still, if I had to chose one or the other, I confess it would be butter, but only because it's pasteurized.
Anyway, instead of binging I have decided to add Body Flex to my exercise routine. I seriously considered weight training and know I will do that soon; but for the moment I don't yet feel strong enough physically to take that on. Body Flex is strength training, breathing and stretching all rolled into one, but it's a gentle program suitable for an ancient fossil like me. I can do it without risking life or limb.
For all my big butter talk, I know I couldn't handle binging. I can barely handle Christmas dinner or a wedding reception because I am a grazer, not a porker. I nibble all day long. My friends always make fun of me for never being able to finish a meal, and for always taking home doggy bags from restaurants. It's just that I have never been able to eat in one sitting the amount of food served as a typical meal at a typical restaurant.
Oh sure, you're saying. Then how did I get fat? I got fat because I am sedentary, took in about 25,000 liquid sugar calories a month in the form of Coca-Cola, and I never stopped eating. Even though I only took in little bits here and there over the course of a day, those little bits added up to a lot of calories.
No matter what, I am not going to quit now. I have come too far psychologically speaking, even if I've barely made it off the starting block in terms of my results. But here's the deal; when I was stepping off the scale this morning one of my hands brushed across my stomach.
I could swear I felt a muscle in there.
Planet Fat Cat
I want to fry a dozen eggs in butter and then fry a pound of bacon in butter. Heck, I even want to stir melted butter into my orange juice. I want to whip up 10 batches of my divine double Dutch fudge Ghiardelli chocolate brownies and put three inches of chocolate butter cream frosting on top.
Yeah, I know. Some women lie awake at night thinking about men. I lie awake chewing the edge of my blanket and I think about butter.
...and men.
Butter and men...hmm, sounds like a very tasty combination, but too calorific. Still, if I had to chose one or the other, I confess it would be butter, but only because it's pasteurized.
Anyway, instead of binging I have decided to add Body Flex to my exercise routine. I seriously considered weight training and know I will do that soon; but for the moment I don't yet feel strong enough physically to take that on. Body Flex is strength training, breathing and stretching all rolled into one, but it's a gentle program suitable for an ancient fossil like me. I can do it without risking life or limb.
For all my big butter talk, I know I couldn't handle binging. I can barely handle Christmas dinner or a wedding reception because I am a grazer, not a porker. I nibble all day long. My friends always make fun of me for never being able to finish a meal, and for always taking home doggy bags from restaurants. It's just that I have never been able to eat in one sitting the amount of food served as a typical meal at a typical restaurant.
Oh sure, you're saying. Then how did I get fat? I got fat because I am sedentary, took in about 25,000 liquid sugar calories a month in the form of Coca-Cola, and I never stopped eating. Even though I only took in little bits here and there over the course of a day, those little bits added up to a lot of calories.
No matter what, I am not going to quit now. I have come too far psychologically speaking, even if I've barely made it off the starting block in terms of my results. But here's the deal; when I was stepping off the scale this morning one of my hands brushed across my stomach.
I could swear I felt a muscle in there.
Planet Fat Cat
Monday, October 29, 2007
Weighty Matters
The Weekly Weigh-In was neither good nor bad. I weigh exactly the same today, 203.8 pounds, as I did a week ago, and the only place I lost any inches was in my chest...naturally. By the time this is over, I will look like a Hersey kiss, big and broad on the bottom and a mere slip of a girl up top.
But...and this is far more concerning, for some reason my blood pressure and resting heart rate were up this week...not good.
So I have come to a few conclusions about my walking program. You know the definition of insanity, don't you? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Well, now that I have been doing the same thing over and over again for the past six weeks...walking, restricting my diet, not drinking any soda, and I'm still getting the same result, which is to say, almost no measurable result at all, then I have to conclude I am insane if I still keep doing only the same things.
Another thought that keeps recurring...as a society we like to make fun of fat people; the fatter they are, the more cruel the jokes. When fat people say they have been trying to lose weight, exercising and restricting calories, we all howl. Oh sure!!! we think. What'd you do? Eat only 499 French Fries instead of 500? Is that your idea of a restriction?
Since I have but 53 pounds to lose, which makes me relatively "skinny" in the world of fat people, I have been as guilty as any of you about turning my nose up at the morbidly obese. I didn't believe it when my super fat friends told me they had been exercising and dieting and couldn't lose weight. But I believe it now, because that is what is happening to me.
For the past six weeks, I have been faithfully following my walking program. I went from being totally sedentary to walking at a brisk pace for 20 to 30 minutes a day. By the time I finish the program six weeks from now, I will be walking 30 minutes a day, six days a week. And yet, adding that regular aerobic exercise to my daily regimen has accomplished very little. Yes, my blood pressure came down some, but it didn't stay down. My resting pulse came down, but also went back up. Those were the only two victories I could cling to to keep myself motivated to keep walking, and now even those are suspect.
I've lost about one inch from my hips and a half inch from my waist, but three inches from my chest. Why is that? It's not like my boobs are walking on the treadmill. My legs are, but they stubbornly remain the same hefty size, while my delicate chest is melting away like butter on a hot skillet. That's not exactly encouraging.
I have lost less than three pounds in six weeks of hard work, and if I so much as walk by a bakery I gain a pound. Not much to applaud there either.
I have totally given up my beloved Coca-Cola, ice cream, cookies, cake and a few dozen other little snacks I enjoyed on occasion. I am eating a healthy, balanced diet of organic fruits, vegetables and meats. I am eating measured portions; one of the biggest surprises to me when I started was the discovery that what I thought was a normal portion was actually twice the size of what I should have been eating. So now I measure or weigh everything that goes into my mouth. I have thought and thought about what I what more I can do, what I might be doing wrong...but the bottom line is, my bottom line has not changed. I am still fat. I am still out of shape. I cannot see much progress. And I am very discouraged.
In my bad moments, I say, "What the hell?" If any normal person had their choice of eating whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, guzzling Coca-Cola, never exercising and weighing 206 pounds, or denying themselves most of their favorite foods, measuring and weighing every bite they took, keeping careful records, and exercising 30 minutes 6 days a week to weigh in at 204 pounds after six weeks, which one would they chose?
It is very hard not to give in to these dark thoughts and go back to my old 206 pound ways. I mean really, what's the measurable difference? Apparently little to none.
Simple science says the changes I have made and the new exercise and diet regimen I am sticking to so faithfully should have made some significant difference by now, but they haven't. Friends try to comfort me by saying I am exchanging fat mass for muscle mass and muscle weighs more, blah, blah, blah. But my fancy scale says the only way my body mass has changed since I started exercising is for the worse. When I started the scale says I was 40.4 percent fat, a figure that boggles the mind. Now, after six weeks of hard work, the scale says I am 40.6 percent body fat. So much for the changing fat for muscle theory.
I can only conclude that walking is not enough. So I have decided to add something new to my exercise regimen. Instead of just walking for a half hour, I will walk and then do something else, maybe weight training, maybe stretching, maybe some yoga or pilates, but something to extend my exercise regimen to one hour a day.
If that doesn't work, I just don' t know what I'll do next.
Bleh.
A very discouraged
Planet Fat Cat
But...and this is far more concerning, for some reason my blood pressure and resting heart rate were up this week...not good.
So I have come to a few conclusions about my walking program. You know the definition of insanity, don't you? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Well, now that I have been doing the same thing over and over again for the past six weeks...walking, restricting my diet, not drinking any soda, and I'm still getting the same result, which is to say, almost no measurable result at all, then I have to conclude I am insane if I still keep doing only the same things.
Another thought that keeps recurring...as a society we like to make fun of fat people; the fatter they are, the more cruel the jokes. When fat people say they have been trying to lose weight, exercising and restricting calories, we all howl. Oh sure!!! we think. What'd you do? Eat only 499 French Fries instead of 500? Is that your idea of a restriction?
Since I have but 53 pounds to lose, which makes me relatively "skinny" in the world of fat people, I have been as guilty as any of you about turning my nose up at the morbidly obese. I didn't believe it when my super fat friends told me they had been exercising and dieting and couldn't lose weight. But I believe it now, because that is what is happening to me.
For the past six weeks, I have been faithfully following my walking program. I went from being totally sedentary to walking at a brisk pace for 20 to 30 minutes a day. By the time I finish the program six weeks from now, I will be walking 30 minutes a day, six days a week. And yet, adding that regular aerobic exercise to my daily regimen has accomplished very little. Yes, my blood pressure came down some, but it didn't stay down. My resting pulse came down, but also went back up. Those were the only two victories I could cling to to keep myself motivated to keep walking, and now even those are suspect.
I've lost about one inch from my hips and a half inch from my waist, but three inches from my chest. Why is that? It's not like my boobs are walking on the treadmill. My legs are, but they stubbornly remain the same hefty size, while my delicate chest is melting away like butter on a hot skillet. That's not exactly encouraging.
I have lost less than three pounds in six weeks of hard work, and if I so much as walk by a bakery I gain a pound. Not much to applaud there either.
I have totally given up my beloved Coca-Cola, ice cream, cookies, cake and a few dozen other little snacks I enjoyed on occasion. I am eating a healthy, balanced diet of organic fruits, vegetables and meats. I am eating measured portions; one of the biggest surprises to me when I started was the discovery that what I thought was a normal portion was actually twice the size of what I should have been eating. So now I measure or weigh everything that goes into my mouth. I have thought and thought about what I what more I can do, what I might be doing wrong...but the bottom line is, my bottom line has not changed. I am still fat. I am still out of shape. I cannot see much progress. And I am very discouraged.
In my bad moments, I say, "What the hell?" If any normal person had their choice of eating whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, guzzling Coca-Cola, never exercising and weighing 206 pounds, or denying themselves most of their favorite foods, measuring and weighing every bite they took, keeping careful records, and exercising 30 minutes 6 days a week to weigh in at 204 pounds after six weeks, which one would they chose?
It is very hard not to give in to these dark thoughts and go back to my old 206 pound ways. I mean really, what's the measurable difference? Apparently little to none.
Simple science says the changes I have made and the new exercise and diet regimen I am sticking to so faithfully should have made some significant difference by now, but they haven't. Friends try to comfort me by saying I am exchanging fat mass for muscle mass and muscle weighs more, blah, blah, blah. But my fancy scale says the only way my body mass has changed since I started exercising is for the worse. When I started the scale says I was 40.4 percent fat, a figure that boggles the mind. Now, after six weeks of hard work, the scale says I am 40.6 percent body fat. So much for the changing fat for muscle theory.
I can only conclude that walking is not enough. So I have decided to add something new to my exercise regimen. Instead of just walking for a half hour, I will walk and then do something else, maybe weight training, maybe stretching, maybe some yoga or pilates, but something to extend my exercise regimen to one hour a day.
If that doesn't work, I just don' t know what I'll do next.
Bleh.
A very discouraged
Planet Fat Cat
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Alli Oops!
You just can't make this stuff up. I was waiting in the check-out line at Wally-World, perusing the magazine rack to see which star was sleeping with another star's husband; which star had gotten gigantic breast implants, which star was anorexic and which star was eating her way out of a career. You know, the kind of stuff that interests almost everyone, but no one will admit it.
Then this caught my eye on the cover of the October 22nd edition of First magazine:
ALLI side effects alert!
Small type, only one exclamation point.
Hmm, I pondered.
ALLI? As in Alley Oop, the beloved prehistoric caveman of comic strip fame, only misspelled?
Alley oop, as in the basketball play in which a player lobs the ball wa-a-a-y across the court to a team mate standing near the goal, who then immediately dunks it for a score...only misspelled again?
Oh, ALLI, as in the latest, "Take this pill and lose 10 pounds in 10 minutes" diet pills war. According to the experts who keep track of such things, Americans spend an average of 50 BILLION DOLLARS A YEAR on diet gimmicks, including pills, fads, machines and diet books. That's a huge market.
Alli's particular claim to fame is that it's the first and only FDA-approved over the counter diet aid (meaning you don't need a prescription to buy it). Well, that certainly is reassuring, seeing as how the FDA has approved prescription diet pills in the past that killed people. Remember fen-phen? AKA Pondamin and Redux? Yeah, good stuff, that. You lost weight, and you lost your life. What a swell deal! Your heart and lungs may have been destroyed, but at least they could squeeze you into a smaller coffin.
Alli supposedly helps you lose weight by blocking the absorption of fat. NOTA BENE: when you block the absorption of fat, you also block the absorption of many essential oil-based vitamins, including Vitamins A, D and E.
Still, alli doesn't seem to cause any deadly problems, only deadly embarrassing. Go back to that magazine cover for a minute: "ALLI side effects alert!" Then notice the second line: Why Black Pants Are Not Enough
What the heck?
I turn to the article on page 22 of the magazine and quickly discovered that Alli makes you lose weight alright, by giving you such uncontrollable, explosive diarrhea that you are likely to suddenly soil yourself in public. Hence, the "black pants" thing. They might hide the spreading stain, but they sure can't hide the smell.
The magazine coyly calls these humiliating public accidents being reported by many women, "Alli oops." Isn't that cute? You're about to be so publicly mortified that you'll probably just want to go somewhere and kill yourself and they're making a joke.
ALLI OOPS #1 is oil leaks.
ALLI OOPS #2 is bad gas.
ALLI OOPS #3 is euphemistically called Trouble Taking a Vacation, but what they're really referring to is the aforementioned public "accidents."
This latest diet pill is being marketed almost exclusively to women, so I guess this means that the powers that be think it's alright for women to suffer publicly like this just so they can lose weight. I don't know about you, but I think there's something kind of sick about that.
I headed on over to the alli website, myalli.com. It's all pink and pretty looking. It's features glowing photographs of women talking happily, not I presume about their last ALLI oops. I read through the FAQs looking for any mention of the product's side effects, but there was nothing there. Finally, I found a tiny, hidden in plain sight link called Treatment Effects or Adverse Events. Adverse event? I'd saying soiling my pants in public was an adverse event, all right.
The first question was: What are the side effects of alli?
Pretty straightforward question, but the answer was anything but. Here it is, word for word.
Most side effects are related to the way you take the product and how much fat you consume when taking alli. Not everyone experiences GI side effects (or "treatment effects"), but they can be manageable when you follow a reduced-calorie, low-fat diet.
All drugs can have side effects and you should check with your doctor if anything unusual or sever occurs when using any weight loss product. In controlled trials, only about 5% of subjects on alli dropped out due to treatment effects. In fact, anecdotally, many users have told us that treatment effects served as a signal that helped them adopt healthier eating patterns.
Okay, maybe I'm dumb, but anywhere in those two paragraphs, did you actually see anything about what the side effects are? Did you see an answer to the question? Because I didn't. I didn't see oil leaks, bad gas, or "accidents" mentioned anywhere. But I do love that part about the treatment effects serving as a signal that helped them (the gullible women taking alli) to adopt healthier eating patterns. Why thank you, alli! I could never have made that decision to eat better all by my little old self unless your pill had prompted me to do it by causing me to sh_t myself in public. What great humanitarians you guys are!!! And speaking of guys, why are all the ads for this product in women's magazines only?
Oh, that's right! I forgot! If a man took your product and shat himself in public, he would go postal and open up a can of whup ass on you guys. He might invade your headquarters with weapons of mass destruction and take his rage out on your sorry asses. We women, we just sigh and reach for another anti-depressant and figure it's all our fault, anyway, right?
This is beyond horrifying. Someone at the FDA thought it was a good idea to okay an over the counter diet pill even though the poor women taking it, the poor women already overwrought because they can't lose weight, might experience explosive, public, uncontrollable diarrhea? Someone thought this was a minor, acceptable side effect?
Someone at the FDA is one sick puppy.
You'll notice the article doesn't actually tell you not to take alli; it just tells you how to manage the side effects. Call me silly, but pooping in my pants is not a side effect I want to learn how to manage. Normal, healthy, ambulatory adults should not soil themselves with any sort of regularity. That there are people in this world who think nothing of trying to guilt overweight women into accepting uncontrolled public bowel movements as a natural consequence of their desire to lose their excess weight...well, I'm just at a loss for words.
Planet Fat Cat
P. S. - I may be a fat cat, but I will NEVER be a soiled cat.
P. S. S. - If you want to lose weight, you don't need pills or surgery, just determination. That's what I admire about the contestants voted off The Biggest Loser. They have learned new, better habits and take those habits home where they continue their weight loss...no gimmicks, no gadgets...just hard work and dedication...like Planet Fat Cat.
Then this caught my eye on the cover of the October 22nd edition of First magazine:
ALLI side effects alert!
Small type, only one exclamation point.
Hmm, I pondered.
ALLI? As in Alley Oop, the beloved prehistoric caveman of comic strip fame, only misspelled?
Alley oop, as in the basketball play in which a player lobs the ball wa-a-a-y across the court to a team mate standing near the goal, who then immediately dunks it for a score...only misspelled again?
Oh, ALLI, as in the latest, "Take this pill and lose 10 pounds in 10 minutes" diet pills war. According to the experts who keep track of such things, Americans spend an average of 50 BILLION DOLLARS A YEAR on diet gimmicks, including pills, fads, machines and diet books. That's a huge market.
Alli's particular claim to fame is that it's the first and only FDA-approved over the counter diet aid (meaning you don't need a prescription to buy it). Well, that certainly is reassuring, seeing as how the FDA has approved prescription diet pills in the past that killed people. Remember fen-phen? AKA Pondamin and Redux? Yeah, good stuff, that. You lost weight, and you lost your life. What a swell deal! Your heart and lungs may have been destroyed, but at least they could squeeze you into a smaller coffin.
Alli supposedly helps you lose weight by blocking the absorption of fat. NOTA BENE: when you block the absorption of fat, you also block the absorption of many essential oil-based vitamins, including Vitamins A, D and E.
Still, alli doesn't seem to cause any deadly problems, only deadly embarrassing. Go back to that magazine cover for a minute: "ALLI side effects alert!" Then notice the second line: Why Black Pants Are Not Enough
What the heck?
I turn to the article on page 22 of the magazine and quickly discovered that Alli makes you lose weight alright, by giving you such uncontrollable, explosive diarrhea that you are likely to suddenly soil yourself in public. Hence, the "black pants" thing. They might hide the spreading stain, but they sure can't hide the smell.
The magazine coyly calls these humiliating public accidents being reported by many women, "Alli oops." Isn't that cute? You're about to be so publicly mortified that you'll probably just want to go somewhere and kill yourself and they're making a joke.
ALLI OOPS #1 is oil leaks.
ALLI OOPS #2 is bad gas.
ALLI OOPS #3 is euphemistically called Trouble Taking a Vacation, but what they're really referring to is the aforementioned public "accidents."
This latest diet pill is being marketed almost exclusively to women, so I guess this means that the powers that be think it's alright for women to suffer publicly like this just so they can lose weight. I don't know about you, but I think there's something kind of sick about that.
I headed on over to the alli website, myalli.com. It's all pink and pretty looking. It's features glowing photographs of women talking happily, not I presume about their last ALLI oops. I read through the FAQs looking for any mention of the product's side effects, but there was nothing there. Finally, I found a tiny, hidden in plain sight link called Treatment Effects or Adverse Events. Adverse event? I'd saying soiling my pants in public was an adverse event, all right.
The first question was: What are the side effects of alli?
Pretty straightforward question, but the answer was anything but. Here it is, word for word.
Most side effects are related to the way you take the product and how much fat you consume when taking alli. Not everyone experiences GI side effects (or "treatment effects"), but they can be manageable when you follow a reduced-calorie, low-fat diet.
All drugs can have side effects and you should check with your doctor if anything unusual or sever occurs when using any weight loss product. In controlled trials, only about 5% of subjects on alli dropped out due to treatment effects. In fact, anecdotally, many users have told us that treatment effects served as a signal that helped them adopt healthier eating patterns.
Okay, maybe I'm dumb, but anywhere in those two paragraphs, did you actually see anything about what the side effects are? Did you see an answer to the question? Because I didn't. I didn't see oil leaks, bad gas, or "accidents" mentioned anywhere. But I do love that part about the treatment effects serving as a signal that helped them (the gullible women taking alli) to adopt healthier eating patterns. Why thank you, alli! I could never have made that decision to eat better all by my little old self unless your pill had prompted me to do it by causing me to sh_t myself in public. What great humanitarians you guys are!!! And speaking of guys, why are all the ads for this product in women's magazines only?
Oh, that's right! I forgot! If a man took your product and shat himself in public, he would go postal and open up a can of whup ass on you guys. He might invade your headquarters with weapons of mass destruction and take his rage out on your sorry asses. We women, we just sigh and reach for another anti-depressant and figure it's all our fault, anyway, right?
This is beyond horrifying. Someone at the FDA thought it was a good idea to okay an over the counter diet pill even though the poor women taking it, the poor women already overwrought because they can't lose weight, might experience explosive, public, uncontrollable diarrhea? Someone thought this was a minor, acceptable side effect?
Someone at the FDA is one sick puppy.
You'll notice the article doesn't actually tell you not to take alli; it just tells you how to manage the side effects. Call me silly, but pooping in my pants is not a side effect I want to learn how to manage. Normal, healthy, ambulatory adults should not soil themselves with any sort of regularity. That there are people in this world who think nothing of trying to guilt overweight women into accepting uncontrolled public bowel movements as a natural consequence of their desire to lose their excess weight...well, I'm just at a loss for words.
Planet Fat Cat
P. S. - I may be a fat cat, but I will NEVER be a soiled cat.
P. S. S. - If you want to lose weight, you don't need pills or surgery, just determination. That's what I admire about the contestants voted off The Biggest Loser. They have learned new, better habits and take those habits home where they continue their weight loss...no gimmicks, no gadgets...just hard work and dedication...like Planet Fat Cat.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Hannibal Lechter Wants to Eat My Readers
A few blogs back I asked any readers to e-mail us here at Fat-Chat and pose any questions to our “experts” or leave any comments that they didn’t feel were appropriate for the regular comment section. Since I love inappropriate things, unless it involves cramped elevators and people with uncontrollable flatulence, I am happy to print and respond to our first Fat-Chat reader e-mail.
(note: This e-mail has been edited for length and content. Original e-mail appears in exciting, fun-loving bold type, my responses are in plain, average, work-a-day text.)
Dear Fat-Chat Friends,
I love you, dear reader, for getting our name right and proving you know what blog you’re on in such a polite, literate way. Good folks like you make me smile. :)
What in the world is wrong with you people?
You are dead to me.
Therefore I shall summarize the rest of the e-mail. In essence Queen of the Universe shares a program I will call the “Liver Bemoan, She’s Divine” diet (if for no other reason than I like the way it sounds).
The diet consists of meal and lifestyle advice such as, “for dinner… two tall vodka/sodas with lime juice, fresh or concentrate (avoid scurvy!)… have a bottle of wine for dessert… glass of Scotch as a bedtime snack… enjoy the warm, alcohol induced slumber you so richly deserve.”
It includes a list of expectations like, “You get so drunk you don’t miss food,” and “When you wake in the morning you are so dehydrated you weigh in at LEAST five pounds less than you really are.”
The e-mail closes with a program testimonial: Believe me my friends, it works. It’s worked for me for YEARS. The only thing fat about me is my liver, and clearly that’s between you and me and the coroner. XOXOXOX Queen of the Universe
Wow.
I can’t believe what she wrote. I am shocked. Shocked! The amazement I am experiencing has left me unable to write coherently. What do you say to something like that? How can I express my disbelief, my incredulity? How dare Queen of the Universe suggest a “diet” plan so outrageous as to be…
AWESOME.
Now, other than the time a girl called me the “love doctor”, I am no physician, so I can’t comment on whether or not the “Liver Bemoan, She’s Divine” health plan has any sound medical theory. But in my opinion it has a great deal of merit. Queen of the Universe manages to stay thin, well-rested, popular and wise, all without sweating. Other than a warning about the dependency disease some, more judgemental, folks might call “college student”, my only advice would be try some moderation and variety.
Margaritas have fruit juice in them and would make a fine substitute for the wine (which, lest we forget, comes from grapes). Bourbon does not have any vitamins, but it also lacks carbohydrates, gives a warm, tingly feeling when it goes down and covers the odor of the mini pearl onions you ate with your Gibson cocktail. Worried that this “diet” lacks essential fatty acids or protein? A martini with three olives or a “Bloody Bull” (a Bloody Mary made with beef broth) would provide those missing ingredients and likely make grocery shopping more enjoyable.
Actually if you really think about “Liver Bemoan, She’s Divine”, just being on it would make most activities more fun. Add to that my own anecdotal evidence that girls on similar alcohol diets tend to be more willing to enjoy special “couples” aerobic therapy, and this has WINNER written all over it.
Just don’t drive, because no one wants to carry a big casket.
Thanks Queen, I’ll give it the old college try, and keep the e-mails coming!
Pigassus
Post Script: We all have ways to stay healthy and seriously good looking, but really, moderation is the key. I, for example, have just one family-sized bag of Peanut M&Ms a week, even though I want to have a bag a day. I also only have Papa John’s Thin Crust Six-Cheese pizza once or twice a week and almost never get Chinese take-out in the afternoons. It’s that kind of dedication that allowed me to lose another pound last week. I can’t wait to see what happens next week when I give Queenie’s plan a go.
(note: This e-mail has been edited for length and content. Original e-mail appears in exciting, fun-loving bold type, my responses are in plain, average, work-a-day text.)
Dear Fat-Chat Friends,
I love you, dear reader, for getting our name right and proving you know what blog you’re on in such a polite, literate way. Good folks like you make me smile. :)
What in the world is wrong with you people?
You are dead to me.
Therefore I shall summarize the rest of the e-mail. In essence Queen of the Universe shares a program I will call the “Liver Bemoan, She’s Divine” diet (if for no other reason than I like the way it sounds).
The diet consists of meal and lifestyle advice such as, “for dinner… two tall vodka/sodas with lime juice, fresh or concentrate (avoid scurvy!)… have a bottle of wine for dessert… glass of Scotch as a bedtime snack… enjoy the warm, alcohol induced slumber you so richly deserve.”
It includes a list of expectations like, “You get so drunk you don’t miss food,” and “When you wake in the morning you are so dehydrated you weigh in at LEAST five pounds less than you really are.”
The e-mail closes with a program testimonial: Believe me my friends, it works. It’s worked for me for YEARS. The only thing fat about me is my liver, and clearly that’s between you and me and the coroner. XOXOXOX Queen of the Universe
Wow.
I can’t believe what she wrote. I am shocked. Shocked! The amazement I am experiencing has left me unable to write coherently. What do you say to something like that? How can I express my disbelief, my incredulity? How dare Queen of the Universe suggest a “diet” plan so outrageous as to be…
AWESOME.
Now, other than the time a girl called me the “love doctor”, I am no physician, so I can’t comment on whether or not the “Liver Bemoan, She’s Divine” health plan has any sound medical theory. But in my opinion it has a great deal of merit. Queen of the Universe manages to stay thin, well-rested, popular and wise, all without sweating. Other than a warning about the dependency disease some, more judgemental, folks might call “college student”, my only advice would be try some moderation and variety.
Margaritas have fruit juice in them and would make a fine substitute for the wine (which, lest we forget, comes from grapes). Bourbon does not have any vitamins, but it also lacks carbohydrates, gives a warm, tingly feeling when it goes down and covers the odor of the mini pearl onions you ate with your Gibson cocktail. Worried that this “diet” lacks essential fatty acids or protein? A martini with three olives or a “Bloody Bull” (a Bloody Mary made with beef broth) would provide those missing ingredients and likely make grocery shopping more enjoyable.
Actually if you really think about “Liver Bemoan, She’s Divine”, just being on it would make most activities more fun. Add to that my own anecdotal evidence that girls on similar alcohol diets tend to be more willing to enjoy special “couples” aerobic therapy, and this has WINNER written all over it.
Just don’t drive, because no one wants to carry a big casket.
Thanks Queen, I’ll give it the old college try, and keep the e-mails coming!
Pigassus
Post Script: We all have ways to stay healthy and seriously good looking, but really, moderation is the key. I, for example, have just one family-sized bag of Peanut M&Ms a week, even though I want to have a bag a day. I also only have Papa John’s Thin Crust Six-Cheese pizza once or twice a week and almost never get Chinese take-out in the afternoons. It’s that kind of dedication that allowed me to lose another pound last week. I can’t wait to see what happens next week when I give Queenie’s plan a go.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Way-Out Weigh-In
Today was weekly weigh-in, and it was a much happier day than last Monday. I finally lost a full pound in a week. Never mind that it was the exact same pound I lost three weeks ago. I managed to lose it again, and that's a good thing.
Also never mind that yesterday morning I weighed even less, a full pound less, so if I could have somehow put myself into suspended animation overnight, my weight loss for the week would have been two whole pounds. But oh, no! My body wasn't going to let me get away with that outrage. So somehow, overnight, it figured out how to pump out another pound of flab from the ether. I ate right; I exercised and my reward was...drum roll please...I gained a pound overnight.
Someone should study how my body is able to manufacture fat cells from thin air. Maybe they could use the technique to mass produce fuel, reduce our dependency on foreign oil and leave our corn crops alone. I just wish I could do that "Instant Perfect Body" thing Pigassus was talking about. But he says he wants to be Justin Timberlake. Why? Has his grey matter been replaced by phat cells?
As for me, I want to be this woman I've been seeing in my dreams for years and years, a woman I know is me. I am slim, willowy and wearing a flowing, diaphanous gown. I am gliding through a verdant meadow, with birds of the field perched upon my arms and flowers twined into my hair. Fragrant blossoms spring up in my path, and I am surrounded by loving, gentle animals. The lion is lying down with the lamb.
I am Mother Nature.
I am also seriously deluded, but that is a whole other post, so back to reality.
Here's my theory on why I gained that pound overnight. I think Pigassus drive two hundred miles during the night, drilled a hole in my skull and extracted my exact thoughts for his last column. So, my theory is that it was brain swelling that caused the weight gain.
It's all your fault, Pigassus!
And please hold the fathead jokes. I am now officially Planet Fat Cat. Despite five weeks of effort, I am still the size of a small outbuilding. How do I know this? Because my yard man accidentally tried to park his lawnmower under my skirt.
But, I am feeling better and stronger. I am mulling over the idea of adding something to my exercise routine other than walking. I have the walking down as a habit now and I feel secure enough to try something else without worrying about keeling over dead. I'm having problems with leg pain and I think it's because I've been doing the same thing over and over for five weeks now. So it's time to try something new.
I will be a goddess again...I will. I just wish I could do that "Instant Perfect Body" thing.
I know, I know. A year from now, I will have an "Instant Perfect Body." I just have to work really hard for it.
Planet Fat Cat
Also never mind that yesterday morning I weighed even less, a full pound less, so if I could have somehow put myself into suspended animation overnight, my weight loss for the week would have been two whole pounds. But oh, no! My body wasn't going to let me get away with that outrage. So somehow, overnight, it figured out how to pump out another pound of flab from the ether. I ate right; I exercised and my reward was...drum roll please...I gained a pound overnight.
Someone should study how my body is able to manufacture fat cells from thin air. Maybe they could use the technique to mass produce fuel, reduce our dependency on foreign oil and leave our corn crops alone. I just wish I could do that "Instant Perfect Body" thing Pigassus was talking about. But he says he wants to be Justin Timberlake. Why? Has his grey matter been replaced by phat cells?
As for me, I want to be this woman I've been seeing in my dreams for years and years, a woman I know is me. I am slim, willowy and wearing a flowing, diaphanous gown. I am gliding through a verdant meadow, with birds of the field perched upon my arms and flowers twined into my hair. Fragrant blossoms spring up in my path, and I am surrounded by loving, gentle animals. The lion is lying down with the lamb.
I am Mother Nature.
I am also seriously deluded, but that is a whole other post, so back to reality.
Here's my theory on why I gained that pound overnight. I think Pigassus drive two hundred miles during the night, drilled a hole in my skull and extracted my exact thoughts for his last column. So, my theory is that it was brain swelling that caused the weight gain.
It's all your fault, Pigassus!
And please hold the fathead jokes. I am now officially Planet Fat Cat. Despite five weeks of effort, I am still the size of a small outbuilding. How do I know this? Because my yard man accidentally tried to park his lawnmower under my skirt.
But, I am feeling better and stronger. I am mulling over the idea of adding something to my exercise routine other than walking. I have the walking down as a habit now and I feel secure enough to try something else without worrying about keeling over dead. I'm having problems with leg pain and I think it's because I've been doing the same thing over and over for five weeks now. So it's time to try something new.
I will be a goddess again...I will. I just wish I could do that "Instant Perfect Body" thing.
I know, I know. A year from now, I will have an "Instant Perfect Body." I just have to work really hard for it.
Planet Fat Cat
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Yes, We Listen
For all of you Peeping Thomases out there who question the interactive nature of the Internet, we here at Fat-Chat shall prove scientifically that we are, for lack of a better vocabulary, interactive. To that end, I would like to respond to a comment left by our most prolific commenter, Gucci Muse.
Her original comment, reproduced scientifically, is as follows:
Gucci Muse said...
ok, this is what I think, or what I know.
I have seen MANY MANY MANY MANY gorgeous men with FAT or OBESE women. Once I saw at a bar on the beach, a chunky assed woman, in a BIKINI, with her belly HANGING OVER the bottoms, sitting at a bar, with a STUD, tanned gorgeous boy standing at the bar trying to hit on her and was obviously mesmerized.
I often wondered what she had.
My friend's mother said: CONFIDENCE, and its true. It also works for FUGLY women b/c they have it as well.
So don't worry so much about the number on the scale, just keep doing what you do.
My scientific reply to her comment:
Pigassus said...
I understand what professional pick-up men call the "confidence game". In this game dice are shaved, imperceptibly at the corners, so that they will have a better chance of landing on the desired numbers, usually 7 or 11, also called "craps". And since I am so knowledgeable in this game, I can say without a doubt that it has nothing to do with chubby women in bikinis and the staggering beefcake trying to "score" with them.
No. Only one thing can explain the actions of the man in the above example and that complex psycho-chemical behavioral theory can be summed up in two words: Beer Goggles.
Or the dreaded "Margarita Mask" if you live near Texas.
You see, the muscle bound stud was intoxicated, and not by Orca's confident charm I assure you. Men and women both understand the social lubricator that is a mass consumption of strong libations. Was she displaying a great deal of confidence? Sure, but probably because she noticed he had recently vomited into the cabana trash can. As he squinted heavily upon his approach to her place at the buffet, she gained a great deal of courage and certainty that must have looked a lot like old-fashioned confidence.
In case you are not convinced, allow me to regale you with another provably learned example:
I was at the grocery store last week buying healthy, organically grown, farm-raised Cheetos and beer when I spotted what can best be described as a "slammin' hottie". Tall, dark haired with strong, slender legs and a huge set of gorgeous teeth, she turned into the chip isle where I was about to grab a low-fat bag of baked Doritos (for good health). Upon seeing her, I quickly and imperceptibly drew myself up to my full height and reached for the snacks with my muscular arm confidently. I couldn't have looked more self-assured lurching for those tasty treats.
But I could have been part of the coupon display.
And why did she not notice me? Because she wasn't drunk and I am poor.
In her sober, calculating state, she might have literally failed to see me. Like actually as she walked down the isle she only saw chips and peanuts and my cart and thought to herself, "What jerk left a cart unattended? And this isn't the tanning lotion isle. Where am I? "
Had I been thinking clearly, which I wasn't because of the attempt to suck in my six-pack of "abs", I would have pulled out some cash. But since I just had a few ones and a nickle, likely she would have only seen the money and I would have remained invisible and prompted a frightened, "OMG, who left their money floating in mid-air?"
So you see, confidence means nothing to dumb girls and now we have proof.
All we need now are some drinks.
Pigassus
Post Script: All kidding aside, Gucci is right about confidence. Maybe it doesn't get you a night of indescribable fun with "slammin' hotties", but if you are less than physically perfect, it sure can take you a long way... to the free clinic.
So I hear.
Her original comment, reproduced scientifically, is as follows:
Gucci Muse said...
ok, this is what I think, or what I know.
I have seen MANY MANY MANY MANY gorgeous men with FAT or OBESE women. Once I saw at a bar on the beach, a chunky assed woman, in a BIKINI, with her belly HANGING OVER the bottoms, sitting at a bar, with a STUD, tanned gorgeous boy standing at the bar trying to hit on her and was obviously mesmerized.
I often wondered what she had.
My friend's mother said: CONFIDENCE, and its true. It also works for FUGLY women b/c they have it as well.
So don't worry so much about the number on the scale, just keep doing what you do.
My scientific reply to her comment:
Pigassus said...
I understand what professional pick-up men call the "confidence game". In this game dice are shaved, imperceptibly at the corners, so that they will have a better chance of landing on the desired numbers, usually 7 or 11, also called "craps". And since I am so knowledgeable in this game, I can say without a doubt that it has nothing to do with chubby women in bikinis and the staggering beefcake trying to "score" with them.
No. Only one thing can explain the actions of the man in the above example and that complex psycho-chemical behavioral theory can be summed up in two words: Beer Goggles.
Or the dreaded "Margarita Mask" if you live near Texas.
You see, the muscle bound stud was intoxicated, and not by Orca's confident charm I assure you. Men and women both understand the social lubricator that is a mass consumption of strong libations. Was she displaying a great deal of confidence? Sure, but probably because she noticed he had recently vomited into the cabana trash can. As he squinted heavily upon his approach to her place at the buffet, she gained a great deal of courage and certainty that must have looked a lot like old-fashioned confidence.
In case you are not convinced, allow me to regale you with another provably learned example:
I was at the grocery store last week buying healthy, organically grown, farm-raised Cheetos and beer when I spotted what can best be described as a "slammin' hottie". Tall, dark haired with strong, slender legs and a huge set of gorgeous teeth, she turned into the chip isle where I was about to grab a low-fat bag of baked Doritos (for good health). Upon seeing her, I quickly and imperceptibly drew myself up to my full height and reached for the snacks with my muscular arm confidently. I couldn't have looked more self-assured lurching for those tasty treats.
But I could have been part of the coupon display.
And why did she not notice me? Because she wasn't drunk and I am poor.
In her sober, calculating state, she might have literally failed to see me. Like actually as she walked down the isle she only saw chips and peanuts and my cart and thought to herself, "What jerk left a cart unattended? And this isn't the tanning lotion isle. Where am I? "
Had I been thinking clearly, which I wasn't because of the attempt to suck in my six-pack of "abs", I would have pulled out some cash. But since I just had a few ones and a nickle, likely she would have only seen the money and I would have remained invisible and prompted a frightened, "OMG, who left their money floating in mid-air?"
So you see, confidence means nothing to dumb girls and now we have proof.
All we need now are some drinks.
Pigassus
Post Script: All kidding aside, Gucci is right about confidence. Maybe it doesn't get you a night of indescribable fun with "slammin' hotties", but if you are less than physically perfect, it sure can take you a long way... to the free clinic.
So I hear.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The Law of Fat and Effect
In case you missed a recent British study on the causes of obesity and the resultant damage to society: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21340725/from/ET/wid/11915773?gt1=10514 I will give you a very quick summation: Being fat is not your fault.
Hooray! Three cheers and a bucket of hot wings! Finally, the scientific community has conclusive evidence that the porcine amongst us aren't the conductors of their own fat orchestra.
Really... Well then who is to blame for XXXL shirts and "appetizers" large enough to feed six adult Somalians? What chthonic agent then is to blame for clogged arteries in teens and asses that require an airline seat for each cheek?
You guessed it: GLOBAL WARMING.
Turns out all that trapped heat has expanded our energy absorbent bodies and, like a kettle left too long on a burner, we're all about to explode! Run for the hills!
Okay, calm down. I just went back to the article and re-read it to check and make sure that the word "global" didn't have two "l"s, and it seems I got something wrong. Actually, I got everything wrong and the real culprit is much more logical and true. You see, SOCIETY is to blame for society becoming overweight.
I wish I had made the second reason up.
Apparently a group of well-paid, bespectacled geek-types have come to the conclusion that overwhelming forces in our nebulous culture make it impossible to avoid gaining weight. The very act of "storing" food in your home, where cave men did not posses such stockpiles of calories, make obesity not just likely, but inevitable. Throw in advertising of food, fast food availability, corn syrup in our drinks, and it's a damn miracle we aren't ALL 400lbs.
It's not your fault, see; it's everyone else's.
"They" did it to you.
Now all we need to do is pass a few hundred laws prohibiting the sale, manufacture, consumption, and desire for sweet and fatty foods and presto! Thin Earth, here we come.
Except that of course that will not happen. The truth is that WE are society and WE are actually individuals that make a million choices each year that affect our own health. Just because we can order an extra large six-cheese deep-dish pizza and have it delivered fresh and hot to our door doesn't mean we should. And it certainly doesn't mean we should eat that whole delicious melty goodness alone. We have the choice now to eat bean sprouts and soy curd if we think that will keep us alive longer.
The point is that we have those choices. As soon as any government declares that we cannot think for ourselves and our "problems" are beyond our individual control then, all kidding aside, it is time to run for the hills.
So walk, Fat Cat, walk! If you don't lose some weight, the government will make us all eat Subway sandwiches without mayo, yuck, and it will have been your fault. The planet is counting on you!
But, no pressure.
Pigassus
Post Script: If I have to eat bean sprouts, which taste like dirty old dirt, instead of the aforementioned eight slices of pizza Heaven, then I don't want to live longer.
Hooray! Three cheers and a bucket of hot wings! Finally, the scientific community has conclusive evidence that the porcine amongst us aren't the conductors of their own fat orchestra.
Really... Well then who is to blame for XXXL shirts and "appetizers" large enough to feed six adult Somalians? What chthonic agent then is to blame for clogged arteries in teens and asses that require an airline seat for each cheek?
You guessed it: GLOBAL WARMING.
Turns out all that trapped heat has expanded our energy absorbent bodies and, like a kettle left too long on a burner, we're all about to explode! Run for the hills!
Okay, calm down. I just went back to the article and re-read it to check and make sure that the word "global" didn't have two "l"s, and it seems I got something wrong. Actually, I got everything wrong and the real culprit is much more logical and true. You see, SOCIETY is to blame for society becoming overweight.
I wish I had made the second reason up.
Apparently a group of well-paid, bespectacled geek-types have come to the conclusion that overwhelming forces in our nebulous culture make it impossible to avoid gaining weight. The very act of "storing" food in your home, where cave men did not posses such stockpiles of calories, make obesity not just likely, but inevitable. Throw in advertising of food, fast food availability, corn syrup in our drinks, and it's a damn miracle we aren't ALL 400lbs.
It's not your fault, see; it's everyone else's.
"They" did it to you.
Now all we need to do is pass a few hundred laws prohibiting the sale, manufacture, consumption, and desire for sweet and fatty foods and presto! Thin Earth, here we come.
Except that of course that will not happen. The truth is that WE are society and WE are actually individuals that make a million choices each year that affect our own health. Just because we can order an extra large six-cheese deep-dish pizza and have it delivered fresh and hot to our door doesn't mean we should. And it certainly doesn't mean we should eat that whole delicious melty goodness alone. We have the choice now to eat bean sprouts and soy curd if we think that will keep us alive longer.
The point is that we have those choices. As soon as any government declares that we cannot think for ourselves and our "problems" are beyond our individual control then, all kidding aside, it is time to run for the hills.
So walk, Fat Cat, walk! If you don't lose some weight, the government will make us all eat Subway sandwiches without mayo, yuck, and it will have been your fault. The planet is counting on you!
But, no pressure.
Pigassus
Post Script: If I have to eat bean sprouts, which taste like dirty old dirt, instead of the aforementioned eight slices of pizza Heaven, then I don't want to live longer.
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