As I continue on my weight loss journey, I've noticed I keep hitting certain sticking points. I had one at 195 pounds, another around 188 pounds, then 175, and now 165. If I have to keep bouncing around one weight, I'd much rather it be 165 pounds and not the 208 where I started.
What I really want is to start bouncing around 145 pounds. When I hit that goal (and hit it I will) I'll be back in my size 10s and looking swanky. It's probably just as well that I've been overweight these past 20 years, because I'm dangerous when I feel swanky, and I had kids to raise.
The kids are both grown now, so there's nothing holding me back except that last 20 pounds. Once I hit that mark, I'm going out and buying a new wardrobe, and ALL the fat clothes will go to Good Will.
Then, look out world!
Fat Cat
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
20 Pounds To Go
A long time ago and in a galaxy far, far away, when I was sitting on top of 68 excess pounds and feeling lousy about myself, I didn't think I could change. I didn't believe there was anyway I would ever be able to lose weight. I'd tried every diet, plus faithful and religious cardiovascular exercise and strength training and got...nothing. While the muscles underneath my fat became quite shapely, the blobs of avoirdupois heaped atop those muscles wouldn't budge. Worse yet, the fat hid any attempt I made at rearranging my shape.
I don't know what happened except to say that I gave up. I stopped walking on my treadmill, stopped lifting weights, thinking, "If I'm going to be fat for the rest of my life, at least I won't have to be sore and worn out." And paradoxically, that's when I started losing weight. I also bought the BodyBugg used on The Biggest Loser and had great success with it for two months; then I developed a hideous burn underneath the sensor they told me was an allergic reaction to the metal, and said I couldn't ever wear it again.
I'd lost only eight pounds with Bodybugg when this happened, one pound a week for eight weeks. But during that eight weeks, something happened inside my head. I began to know instinctively what an 1800 calorie day should be, and what a 2300 calories burned day felt like. I knew when I hadn't been active enough, or when I'd overeaten by the way I felt. I just went with those feelings and here I am, 43 pounds lighter with no BodyBugg to guide me, and just 20 pounds to go to reach my goal weight. At the moment I am 165 pounds, less than I have weighed in almost 20 years.
I feel great, people keep giving me compliments about how I look, and all those muscles I developed lifting weights now actually show. I am wearing terrific, classic, timeless clothes from the back of my closet that I haven't been able to button or zip in more than 2 decades. And yes, I'll buy myself some new clothes...when I reach my goal weight.
So, even if you haven't been successful at losing weight, don't give up. I kept floundering around until I found something that worked for me. Even though I was only able to use the BodyBugg for eight weeks before developing a metal allergy, that was time enough to me to get the message, to take into my head and my heart what I needed to do to reach my goals. It wasn't about self-deprivation or giving up my favorite foods. It was about portion control, eating every 3 hours or so and starting to exercise again.
I was a size 18 when I started; I'm a size 12 now. Next stop: size 10!
Planet Fat Cat
Now moving in a smaller orbit
I don't know what happened except to say that I gave up. I stopped walking on my treadmill, stopped lifting weights, thinking, "If I'm going to be fat for the rest of my life, at least I won't have to be sore and worn out." And paradoxically, that's when I started losing weight. I also bought the BodyBugg used on The Biggest Loser and had great success with it for two months; then I developed a hideous burn underneath the sensor they told me was an allergic reaction to the metal, and said I couldn't ever wear it again.
I'd lost only eight pounds with Bodybugg when this happened, one pound a week for eight weeks. But during that eight weeks, something happened inside my head. I began to know instinctively what an 1800 calorie day should be, and what a 2300 calories burned day felt like. I knew when I hadn't been active enough, or when I'd overeaten by the way I felt. I just went with those feelings and here I am, 43 pounds lighter with no BodyBugg to guide me, and just 20 pounds to go to reach my goal weight. At the moment I am 165 pounds, less than I have weighed in almost 20 years.
I feel great, people keep giving me compliments about how I look, and all those muscles I developed lifting weights now actually show. I am wearing terrific, classic, timeless clothes from the back of my closet that I haven't been able to button or zip in more than 2 decades. And yes, I'll buy myself some new clothes...when I reach my goal weight.
So, even if you haven't been successful at losing weight, don't give up. I kept floundering around until I found something that worked for me. Even though I was only able to use the BodyBugg for eight weeks before developing a metal allergy, that was time enough to me to get the message, to take into my head and my heart what I needed to do to reach my goals. It wasn't about self-deprivation or giving up my favorite foods. It was about portion control, eating every 3 hours or so and starting to exercise again.
I was a size 18 when I started; I'm a size 12 now. Next stop: size 10!
Planet Fat Cat
Now moving in a smaller orbit
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Ignoring Your Audience
They say there's someone for everyone, but I've rarely beheld an entertainment match as near perfect as Bravo TV and Project Runway. That was of course, until those peckish Weinstein brothers broke it up.
Following a truly nasty legal battle, the courts decided the Weinsteins didn't have to honor their contract with Bravo, and allowed them to take Project Runway to Lifetime.
What? How will the 5-hankie network and Project Runway ever work together? And how will I ever conquer the mortal fear and loathing that overcomes me every time my channel clicker accidentally lands on Lifetime? The answer is: I probably won't. Because the kind of people who watch Bravo are not the same kind of people who watch Lifetime.
I'm not making any kind of judgment call here. I'm not saying that people who watch Bravo are intrinsically cooler, smarter, hipper, etc. than the people who watch Lifetime. I'm just saying I don't think most of them will make the switch. I think a lot of people are going to forget about Project Runway, because it won't be in its accustomed spot. I'm saying a lot of people will not bother to turn on Lifetime just so they can follow Project Runway. I know I won't.
I am not judging a book by its cover. I've watched Lifetime programming on occasion. When I first got cable, I tried several of their programs. But I couldn't stay with any of them. The weeping, helpless damsels in distress, who always rely on a strapping hunk of man for rescue just got to be too much. The hokey dialogue, the circumstances contrived to throw the damsel in harm's way and have the hunk standing by; the damsel's tearful refusal to give in to his charms until his boiling sexuality just mows her down...oh, please.
Even the commercials I saw on Lifetime were offensive. One that was burned into my memory was an ad for Playtex bras designed for women with "healthy" figures. The models all squeezed their enormous breasts together as they said this, leading me to believe that whoever produced the commercial must have thought that anything smaller than a 44DD was somehow..."unhealthy."
Deeply offensive. And I'm not carping because I'm flat-chested, either. I'm in the middle when it comes to breast size, and I am perfectly content with what nature gave me, even if some obnoxious bra company thinks it "unhealthy." Okay, so they didn't come right out and say that normal-sized breasts were unhealthy, but they certainly implied it.
And now, this bastion of healthy bosoms and snot rags is going to be home to Project Runway?
I don't think so. I predict this match will last but a year. Once the Weinsteins see how execrable their ratings are, compared to what they were on Bravo, maybe they'll rethink their money-grubbing strategy and head back to Bravo. That's where Project Runway belongs.
Following a truly nasty legal battle, the courts decided the Weinsteins didn't have to honor their contract with Bravo, and allowed them to take Project Runway to Lifetime.
What? How will the 5-hankie network and Project Runway ever work together? And how will I ever conquer the mortal fear and loathing that overcomes me every time my channel clicker accidentally lands on Lifetime? The answer is: I probably won't. Because the kind of people who watch Bravo are not the same kind of people who watch Lifetime.
I'm not making any kind of judgment call here. I'm not saying that people who watch Bravo are intrinsically cooler, smarter, hipper, etc. than the people who watch Lifetime. I'm just saying I don't think most of them will make the switch. I think a lot of people are going to forget about Project Runway, because it won't be in its accustomed spot. I'm saying a lot of people will not bother to turn on Lifetime just so they can follow Project Runway. I know I won't.
I am not judging a book by its cover. I've watched Lifetime programming on occasion. When I first got cable, I tried several of their programs. But I couldn't stay with any of them. The weeping, helpless damsels in distress, who always rely on a strapping hunk of man for rescue just got to be too much. The hokey dialogue, the circumstances contrived to throw the damsel in harm's way and have the hunk standing by; the damsel's tearful refusal to give in to his charms until his boiling sexuality just mows her down...oh, please.
Even the commercials I saw on Lifetime were offensive. One that was burned into my memory was an ad for Playtex bras designed for women with "healthy" figures. The models all squeezed their enormous breasts together as they said this, leading me to believe that whoever produced the commercial must have thought that anything smaller than a 44DD was somehow..."unhealthy."
Deeply offensive. And I'm not carping because I'm flat-chested, either. I'm in the middle when it comes to breast size, and I am perfectly content with what nature gave me, even if some obnoxious bra company thinks it "unhealthy." Okay, so they didn't come right out and say that normal-sized breasts were unhealthy, but they certainly implied it.
And now, this bastion of healthy bosoms and snot rags is going to be home to Project Runway?
I don't think so. I predict this match will last but a year. Once the Weinsteins see how execrable their ratings are, compared to what they were on Bravo, maybe they'll rethink their money-grubbing strategy and head back to Bravo. That's where Project Runway belongs.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Another Update
I'm still having trouble believing this is all happening, but I have continued to lose weight. I now have lost 40 pounds, and have just 25 more to reach my goal.
My primary reason for posting today is in support of my favorite television show, "Chuck." It's one of the few family friendly shows on TV, and it's got a little bit of everything...humor, romance, suspense, action. I just signed a petition asking NBC to renew it for a third season. It hasn't been cancelled, but it hasn't been renewed, either.
They have it stuck in a terrible time slot, Mondays at 7 p.m. when The Big Bang Theory comes on, and now Fox has moved House to that slot as well. I wish NBC would move the show to Wednesdays at 7 p.m. CST, where it would have a chance to grow, thrive and find a bigger audience.
Anyway, that's my two cent's worth for today! See the petition to the right of this blog, and if you feel so inclined, please sign it.
Fat Cat
(no longer a separate planet unto herself; more like a minor star)
My primary reason for posting today is in support of my favorite television show, "Chuck." It's one of the few family friendly shows on TV, and it's got a little bit of everything...humor, romance, suspense, action. I just signed a petition asking NBC to renew it for a third season. It hasn't been cancelled, but it hasn't been renewed, either.
They have it stuck in a terrible time slot, Mondays at 7 p.m. when The Big Bang Theory comes on, and now Fox has moved House to that slot as well. I wish NBC would move the show to Wednesdays at 7 p.m. CST, where it would have a chance to grow, thrive and find a bigger audience.
Anyway, that's my two cent's worth for today! See the petition to the right of this blog, and if you feel so inclined, please sign it.
Fat Cat
(no longer a separate planet unto herself; more like a minor star)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Time for an Update
It's been a while since I wrote anything here. Someone posted an interesting comment on one of my entries yesterday, and it got me to thinking...I should probably write something about my progress, because I'm more than halfway to my weight loss goal and fitting into clothes I haven't been able to wear in years.
I can't exactly explain how I did it because I've changed so many things. I got serious about exercising, switched to an almost totally organic diet, started juicing and de-toxing and bought the gadget the contestants on The Biggest Loser use, the BodyBugg. I'm more aware than ever of what I put in my mouth, not just calorie-wise, but quality-wise. I'm also more aware of my activity level during the course of the day. When I check my Bodybugg, if my calorie burn isn't where I want it to be for that day, I shut down my computer and get my humpty up on the treadmill. I've lost 33 pounds (31 more to go) and 15 inches, most of it in the right places.
I also took the energy I was spending whining on this blog and applied it to myself in a positive way. Positive energy=positive results.
I know that getting to my weight loss goal is within reach. I'm losing about a pound a week, so in just under eight months, I will be back to my normal weight, and I will be wearing a size 10 again.
Then I'm going shopping!
Planet Fat Cat
In a smaller orbit now
I can't exactly explain how I did it because I've changed so many things. I got serious about exercising, switched to an almost totally organic diet, started juicing and de-toxing and bought the gadget the contestants on The Biggest Loser use, the BodyBugg. I'm more aware than ever of what I put in my mouth, not just calorie-wise, but quality-wise. I'm also more aware of my activity level during the course of the day. When I check my Bodybugg, if my calorie burn isn't where I want it to be for that day, I shut down my computer and get my humpty up on the treadmill. I've lost 33 pounds (31 more to go) and 15 inches, most of it in the right places.
I also took the energy I was spending whining on this blog and applied it to myself in a positive way. Positive energy=positive results.
I know that getting to my weight loss goal is within reach. I'm losing about a pound a week, so in just under eight months, I will be back to my normal weight, and I will be wearing a size 10 again.
Then I'm going shopping!
Planet Fat Cat
In a smaller orbit now
Thursday, November 27, 2008
The Leper's Colony
Earlier today, I opined that even when I finally reach my weight loss goal, and I finally believe that might actually be possible, men will still ignore me simply because I am not 20 years old.
Hmmmph! Don't men ever stop to think what they might be missing by not getting to know older women? We're experienced, wise, kinder and less judgmental than we were in our first bloom, and more accepting of human failings in others because we're more aware of our own. But unlike other cultures where the wisdom of age is respected and relied upon, here in America, growing older is treated like a hideous disease. At least for women it is.
You know the old, true, but unfair saying, "Men grow distinguished while women grow haggard?"
Yeah, that one.
Haggard is terrifying to most of us. Here's an example. I am finally, at the tender age of 59, beginning to show a little age on my face. Just within the last week, as I've continued to lose weight, my face is collapsing ever so slightly as the underlying collagen infrastructure softens and settles. I was at the dermatologist having a mole checked and he looked at my face with concern. Then he softly touched the two gentle valleys that were forming on either side of my mouth.
"Don't you want me to fill those in?" he asked.
"No, I don't," I replied. "They're MY wrinkles, I've earned them and I'm proud of them."
He sent me away with a puzzled look, shaking his head as if considering whether he should have written me a referral to a psychiatrist. I mean, what woman wouldn't want to look younger?
This woman. I mean, think about it logically. If I look way younger than my age and I have lost all my weight, I might attract a much younger man. What could be wrong with that? Well, I've already raised my children. If there's going to be a man in my life at all, which at this late date I doubt, I want one who is my contemporary, who can laugh about the 60s and the 70s because he lived through them as a teen and young man, and not just because he read about them in a history book.
Alas, most of the available men my age, upon finding themselves single either through the death of their spouse or by divorce, immediately turn to the androgenous, anorexic "he-women," who weigh 95 pounds and 80 of those pounds are in their fake boobs. Most of the rest of the weight is taken up with hair extensions and gel nails. I mean really, you might as well sleep with a blow-up doll, but what from I read, many of you do anyway.
Geesh again.
This disrespect of and disaffection toward older women is not a problem I am going to solve all by myself. There are occasions, rare but undeniable, when I miss the comfort and warmth of an intimate relationship. But why risk it when I know all that awaits any forays in that direction is scorn and rejection? I can live without that.
Instead, like other older women, I am dismissed instantly and consigned to The Leper's Colony. It's where they send all women over the age of 30, all less than perfect or bothersome women, the place they'd prefer not to think about in case Fate ever sends them there.
On the whole, I am content with my life. I have two wonderful grown children, both a daughter and a son, a loving family of two sisters and a brother, supportive friends and work that I love. What more could I ask?
Oh, except for maybe...a day pass out of The Leper's Colony. That would be nice.
Hmmmph! Don't men ever stop to think what they might be missing by not getting to know older women? We're experienced, wise, kinder and less judgmental than we were in our first bloom, and more accepting of human failings in others because we're more aware of our own. But unlike other cultures where the wisdom of age is respected and relied upon, here in America, growing older is treated like a hideous disease. At least for women it is.
You know the old, true, but unfair saying, "Men grow distinguished while women grow haggard?"
Yeah, that one.
Haggard is terrifying to most of us. Here's an example. I am finally, at the tender age of 59, beginning to show a little age on my face. Just within the last week, as I've continued to lose weight, my face is collapsing ever so slightly as the underlying collagen infrastructure softens and settles. I was at the dermatologist having a mole checked and he looked at my face with concern. Then he softly touched the two gentle valleys that were forming on either side of my mouth.
"Don't you want me to fill those in?" he asked.
"No, I don't," I replied. "They're MY wrinkles, I've earned them and I'm proud of them."
He sent me away with a puzzled look, shaking his head as if considering whether he should have written me a referral to a psychiatrist. I mean, what woman wouldn't want to look younger?
This woman. I mean, think about it logically. If I look way younger than my age and I have lost all my weight, I might attract a much younger man. What could be wrong with that? Well, I've already raised my children. If there's going to be a man in my life at all, which at this late date I doubt, I want one who is my contemporary, who can laugh about the 60s and the 70s because he lived through them as a teen and young man, and not just because he read about them in a history book.
Alas, most of the available men my age, upon finding themselves single either through the death of their spouse or by divorce, immediately turn to the androgenous, anorexic "he-women," who weigh 95 pounds and 80 of those pounds are in their fake boobs. Most of the rest of the weight is taken up with hair extensions and gel nails. I mean really, you might as well sleep with a blow-up doll, but what from I read, many of you do anyway.
Geesh again.
This disrespect of and disaffection toward older women is not a problem I am going to solve all by myself. There are occasions, rare but undeniable, when I miss the comfort and warmth of an intimate relationship. But why risk it when I know all that awaits any forays in that direction is scorn and rejection? I can live without that.
Instead, like other older women, I am dismissed instantly and consigned to The Leper's Colony. It's where they send all women over the age of 30, all less than perfect or bothersome women, the place they'd prefer not to think about in case Fate ever sends them there.
On the whole, I am content with my life. I have two wonderful grown children, both a daughter and a son, a loving family of two sisters and a brother, supportive friends and work that I love. What more could I ask?
Oh, except for maybe...a day pass out of The Leper's Colony. That would be nice.
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!
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