Resolve

I'm not sure why people make resolutions. So few of us keep them. But we keep trying, and I guess that's a small victory. That we don't just say "screw it." and walk away.
I found a new toy over the holiday from work. It's called "Fitocracy". It takes working out and makes it like a game. You log your workouts and you get points. There are quests and achievements and there's groups of peeps you can join and compete with. It is entertaining and I find myself trying to work in some exercise just so i can log it and get points. Hey, I use whatever works.
I like to keep my resolution list short and concise, mostly because there's so much I need to improve I think I might need about 3 different lists. One for my health, one for my finances, one for my general state of being. But since I don't think anyone here cares overmuch if I vow to knit more, I'll give you the short version.

1. Make Cracksandwiches a once-a-week thing, instead of an every other day thing.

2. Hit the gym 2 times a week. At least.

3. Work my program. Track the points, pay attention to what I'm doing.

There, those are my three big ones. What are some of yours? What do you resolve to do in the coming year? Do you make the same resolutions every year? Or do you have an ongoing outline and just review it at the end of every year. Checking off what you've accomplished, refining and reorganizing as you go?

But have a cup of kindness, my friends, and let's drink to auld lang syne.

Happy New Year!

Christmas Pudding

Have you ever noticed that holiday foods always outlast the holidays? The trifle, the pie, the ham and the roast beast that hover around your kitchen for at least 3 or so days until someone eventually gets tired of looking at it and boots it out with the trash? I'm not usually one who overeats on the actual day of the festivities, due to the fact that I've spent most of the day helping to prepare it. Once you've spent the better part of a day working on a meal, the desire to actually consume it yourself fades away. But I am a grazer. After all the relatives are gone, the trash is out and we're just vegging out, I'll be poking thru the fridge, finding something to snack on. Since I didn't eat much during the meal, I'm likely a bit peckish. And the next day, since we're all done cooking for a bit, we all have ham and turkey sandwiches for lunch and dinner. So I contend that Christmas pounds are not gained by one day's feasting, but by a string of days that, individually, are not so bad, but taken together, add up to some serious pudding, especially around our midsections.
But what the hell, it's only once a year.

Noel

Happy Holidays to all, be you far or near
Season's best to you and great good cheer
Be loved, be happy
Be Blessed.

Eating My Heart Out

Sorry I left you for a bit of a while my friends. The dirigible of work stress just went all Hindenburg on me and I've just been trying to hack my way through the last bit of time before holiday break. Which brings me to a topic of some interest...why do you eat? We all know that what we eat is important, but sometimes just as important is why we eat it. When you are stressed out, sad, happy, angry or what have you, is the kitchen your first stop? Here lately, I've been depressed about my job, my hubby's solution to this problem is taking me out to dinner. Hard day at work? Stop by the local Olive Garden for a bowl of pasta and a Crown & Coke. Stressed? Soda will dull the nasty edge of headaches.
Food becomes more than just a way to fuel our bodies. Now, I grant you, even without it's emotional suitcases that it totes about, food is high art. It's edible science. A way to express anything from love to gratitude to get well soon. But when we let food become our security blanket, then it becomes a problem. That's always been something that is hard for me to get away from, that emotional eating. It is, after all, bred in us from the cradle practically.
So what can we turn to in our times of high tension? The gym is rarely as soothing as a cookie. But how about a cup of tea? There is not much that is better for you than a nice hot cuppa. So I think this is something I will attempt, before reaching for the fridge, let's reach for our teapots and kettles. Trying, of course, to ignore the tea biscuits that tend to go with it.
But hey, they call it comfort food for a reason.

Mayday

The Mayday call goes back to 1923, when it was adopted as a international distress signal for aviators and mariners. The call is always given three times in succession, along with name of craft or call sign, position or heading and help that is requested.
We talk about help a lot in my meetings. How to ask for it, how to get along without it. Because even when folks want you to be successful, they don't always want to have to change what they do. After all, they aren't the ones who are overweight. They aren't the ones with a problem. It's a quandary. Because to be successful at weight loss, you have to be able to control your environment to some degree. Now I don't think that because I'm watching what I eat, that no one out to dinner with me can eat dessert. That's silly. But if you know that soda is my weakness/addiction, why would you bring them into my house? And why, for one minute, would you think that I would not drink them? There is a reason I don't bring ice cream, cookies or regular sodas into my house. Because if I had any willpower, I wouldn't be 30 pounds overweight, now would I?

It's hard to ask for help. It's hard to send out that Mayday call. Not because it's so hard to ask those we love for help, but because sometimes, the answer is no.

Thankful

Today is every dieter's nightmare: Thanksgiving. The kickoff to the gorge-fest of the holiday time. Cookies, cakes, pies, turkeys and hams and gift baskets galore, all tempting us to "go ahead, celebrate, enjoy the season!" You almost feel like Scrooge if you turn down your co-worker's gingerbread cookies. After all, they were a gift. And it's tough to do it. I don't like to be rude to folks, especially when they're just trying to give a kind gift. Here's my solution, if you can do it: Take the gift. Take it with you. But before you get to your home, throw it away. You don't have to tell anyone. Or better yet, if you want to pay it forward, take all those goodies over to your local soup kitchen, women's shelter, or nursing home.
Everyone loves cookies, and its hard to give them up. But here's something for a little comfort: You were given them. Someone cared for you enough to bake them for you. That's the real point of the gift, after all.

So even though I may not be any closer to my goal, I have people who care about me. That makes me pretty damn lucky after all.

Dirty Little Secrets

Most folks think because I am a chef, I must only want the finest foods. Foie gras, filets, truffles, all that stuff the celebrities on the food channels are raving like lunatics about. The fact is, I cannot stand foie gras. It's nasty. I have, and I mean this in the most sincere, but non-racist way, white-trash taste buds.
Honestly, yes, I've eaten in some of the finest restaurants that I can locate on a map, New York, Chicago, Charlotte, all the pretty restaurants with their world-renowned chefs. And what do I really want to eat? Burger King croissant sandwiches. Olive Garden breadsticks. Funnel cakes, hot dogs from street vendors, and plenty of other foods that are, if I read the nutrition labels, would probably cause me to bleed from the eyeballs. But it is what my palate wants. And now, if I want to be successful, I have to re-train my palate to love vegetables, salads, whole-grain breads, whole wheat pasta and brown rice. None of which make my taste buds dance.

So what is your dirty little food secret? Do you hide in your car and eat all the cookies for a meeting and tell people you forgot them? Do you eat a hotdog, wait till all your friends leave, and then go get a second one, so no one will think you're a pig? Come out of the closet with your culinary secrets! Order a salad on your date and then once you're home, eat the entire pint of ice cream?

I've done at least some, if not all, of those things. But here is the deepest secret...it is not eating these things that is the worst thing for us. It's hiding it. It's being ashamed of ourselves. It's eating our hearts out. I'm not saying that these are good food choices. They aren't. But I'm a grown-ass, independent woman and I say that I, and you, and you, should own our choices. All our choices. Even the lousy ones. Because when we stand on the scale, we know in our hearts, that we alone are responsible for that number.

So, when you're in the drive through, or at a state fair, ask yourself if it is worth it. If it is, then enjoy without shame. Eat what you want to eat. But own it. Or it will own you.

And I'm pretty sure no matter what I do, I'm still going to hate salads.

Failure to Strive

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions....
Which may explain why my gym bag has been riding shotgun in my car but neither it, not my ass, has made it to the actual gym before today. Today, I went. Got a short cardio/circuit workout in. Wasn't much, but was better than what I had, which was...wait for it...Nothing.
Seriously folks, I had a plan. I was going to carefully track my points, go to the gym, stay out of drive-thrus and all those good deeds. And yet, 5AM finds me eating Cracksandwiches, 230 PM finds me in meetings, or doing paperwork or having to go here or there or whatever. Anywhere but the gym. I want to do good, but I feel like my life gets in my way. So, how do I get out of my way? How do I keep from tripping over my own to-do list? The answer is...I don't know.
I don't, I really don't understand  how people do it. And I know they do. I know all these people in my Weight Watcher group, all these folks at the gym, they have lives, jobs, kids, etc. But they do what they are supposed to do anyway. Of course, they aren't in bed by 8PM. Which, if you rise at 430AM, is kind of mandatory.

I know what I'm supposed to do. I pack my gym bag, tell myself that I'm going to the gym, tell myself I'm going to eat something good for dinner. There just seems to be some disconnect between my brain and what I say to it. Or between my brain and my belly. Or something. Or perhaps it isn't a system malfunction, only a failure to do that which I know is good for me. I try, sort of . I kind of watch my portions. Basically, I half-ass it when things don't go the way I need them to. And that is no way to run an airline.

So this week, let's take the "try" out, let's go with "will."

"Do or do not. There is no "try"."  ---Yoda

Lost

People always talk about losing weight. How much weight you've lost, how did you lose it, do you plan to lose more of it, are things I frequently hear in conversations.
I don't like the word "lost". Lost, to me, implies that I plan to find it again. That I'm looking for it. That I didn't intend to be parted from it. I don't want to lose weight the way I lose the charger to my phone, or my car keys in the black hole of my purse. If I manage to shed 5 pounds, believe me when I say, I do NOT want them back. I want them to go away forever and take all their little friends with them.
So I would say I'm not losing weight. I'm getting rid of it. I'm culling it. I'm divorcing it. Although, on second thought, divorce is never really all that final no matter what they tell you. We'll go with getting rid of it.

Now I have to go find my keys again.

Measure of a Woman

Our lives so often drill down to the numbers, don't they? Bank accounts, employee ID, social security, driver's license, clothing size, weight, and measurements. Are we our numbers? When I look in the mirror I don't see a big 175 staring back at me. I see myself, as I have become. Some I'm content with, other stuff, not so much. But this weekend was the tale of the tape, as I took my measurements for the first time in...well, forever.

So, the way your measurements are done is this: at the fullest part of your bust, without your bra, at your natural waist, which should be just above the belly button (unless you are an alien) and then at the fullest part of your hips. So I braced myself, stripped down and got to the brass tacks of it all.
Bust: 41
Waist: 36
Hips: 44

Many, many years ago, I could claim much more enviable numbers, but I would not trade places with that girl. She wasn't me. We are often identified by our numbers, classified by them, sorted by them, but I say that we are more than our numbers. As women, we are more than the number on a scale, the size of our jeans, we are the sum total of our life experiences, our lessons that we've learned and the wisdom we have both given and received. So judge me not by the measurement of my body, for that is gonna change, but by the content of my character, the flexibility of my mind and the strength of my soul.

Here endeth the lesson.

Off We Go

So begins my very first week of "truth-in-weight-management" blogging. One of my friends read it and said he thought maybe my blog was a little bit of a downer. I thought about this for a few minutes but came to this conclusion. Yes, you should think positive. But, as humans, no one can be Sally Sunshine all the damn time. Not without chemical help. We have our bleak days and our down times and those should be given equal voice. But though I give my frustration and struggles equal weight in my life, because that's honest, I also am able to do this because I know the one really important thing: It does not last. The frustration, the anger, the hopelessness. All of that passes as soon as you make up your mind to take it and do something with it. Doesn't matter what you do, just do it. And this too, shall pass. If it doesn't, we call that "depression" and then you should seek help.

This past week has not been a week of wise-eating. Friday was pizza-day for the kids I cook for, and that is a very stressful day. 3 20 oz cokes will get me through it. Barely. Also, I woke up late and found myself in the drive-thru for breakfast...again. (stupid crack croissandwiches, but that's another blog post) So, when I went to my meeting and discovered a half pound weight loss, I was surprised. It inspired me to really try doing better this week.

So this is my One Thing for the the coming week: Track my Points. If I bite it, I write it.

And no, I don't know how many points for elephant...

One

It is very easy to get overwhelmed by everything we are supposed to do to keep ourselves healthy. Workout everyday, eat right, meditate, get regular checkups, avoid stress, yadda yadda. It seems like the maintenance list for the average human would take up more time than a full-time job, which, if we want to pay the bills, we all have. And if we have a full-time job, chances are we work 40 or more hours a week, we can't avoid stress unless we vaporize our coworkers, and by the end of the day, we want a pint of ice cream, not steamed veggies.

This was a thought that I had. What if we didn't take the whole picture at once? It's a bit like something I saw either on the Net or in a book. "How do you eat an elephant?" "One bite at a time". So what if I took one thing per week to work on? Not worry so much about the rest, just focus on the one thing and then add something else the next week and so on and so forth.

So beginning this coming week, and so you know, my weeks start on Sunday because that's when I go to weight watchers, I will tackle one thing, one healthy habit I need to work on. And then the next thing and pretty soon I'll be eating elephants with the best of them.

I bet they taste like chicken...

Guilty as Charged

I am guilty of not feeding myself properly. A lot. If I were a child and my mom fed me the way I feed myself, child welfare would've been called. But there is one thing in my defense and that is, I cook all day long. When i get home, the dead last thing I want to do is cook. Especially since I'm only cooking for me. So what usually happens is I microwave a frozen diet dinner or pick up some takeout on the way home. From time to time, I may bring home leftovers from work. Today was a combination of things.
I ate:
A piece of ham & cheese quiche for breakfast (leftover from work)
drank crystal light all day long
Picked up a rotisserie chicken at the grocery store and microwaved a baked potato and some frozen broccoli to go with it.
There may have been cokes involved at 2 points on that timeline.

And that's a good day for me, folks. Those are all whole foods and not handed to me thru a drive up window.  And none of them involve cereal, which is my other fallback meal.

I believe it is a combination of lack of time and somehow thinking that we aren't worth the effort. That we don't deserve to eat well, because, after all, isn't that what got us into this mess to begin with?

But the truth is, we need to eat well. We need to eat something that not only gives us fuel, but gives us pleasure. We just don't need to eat every morsel of food that crosses our path. There isn't, for most of us, any shortage of food. We will all eat tomorrow. So, that is what I am thinking about today; taking the time to feed and care for yourself. We care for family, friends, and even pets. Time to put yourself on the list. Give yourself some care, a little love. It is hard, when we'd rather beat ourselves up for everything we didn't do that day, but hey, there's most likely gonna be another day after this.

Try again tomorrow.

How We Play the Game

The original Fat Game was named by my two uncles, David and Mathew. When I was young, my Mom and Dad would sometimes have them babysit me. And if there was a piece of meat to be included in my dinner, then we had to play the game. All visible fat had to be trimmed, and then the meat that was next to the fat, in case fat was contagious.
Obviously I've grown up. I am 31 years old. I'm married. I'm a Chef. I am 5'2". My cholesterol is over 200. My doctor told me I'm basically a solid. He thinks he's got jokes.

Every week, I hereby commit to you, I will post weight gained/lost as measured by the scale at my weight watcher meeting. I will post my food journal, or if that's too tedious, my points plus total for each day. I commit to telling the truth. About weight loss, about being a plus-size woman, about how this has affected me, my life, and everything else.

This isn't just about saving my health, my marriage or my sanity, this is about saving my soul.

Because I will not play this game anymore.

The Last Resort

If you've known me long, which, if you're reading this blog, you very likely have, you know I've always been trying to lose weight. Key word "trying". I've tried almost everything. Atkins, weight watchers, hypnosis, bribery (yeah, it doesn't work. apparently you don't have anything your fat wants) and pretty much anything else. It always ends the same. I start out like a zealot, reading all the material, weighing and measuring, telling everyone what I'm up to. Gradually my enthusiasm wanes and so too, does any actual weight loss. I mention my diet less and less, mostly hoping everyone will forget I ever told them.
Here's where the rubber meets the road. This is the last resort. On this blog, I'm going hardcore. I'm telling you my weight, what I gain, what I lose, and what I eat, no matter what it is or how it makes me look. If you are offended by profanity or vaguely personal info, don't read this blog. Because this is the reality that the Biggest Loser won't show.

175 pounds enter, 30 pounds leave.

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