2.0

So here's something new. I need something to follow. I need accountability. On my own, it's far too easy to just avoid the scale. Pretend I don't see it. Especially when I have a sneaky suspicion that it will say something that will make me want to end it's miserable life. I know that I am more than a number, I am more than what I look like. I know all of this. Doesn't stop me from freaking out though. I'm woman enough to admit, sometimes I am that shallow.
Tulsa has not been kind to my workouts. My gym is ok, but some of the equipment is in less than stellar shape. Hard to run on a treadmill that drags. Also, something weird is going on with my knee when I run. No idea what the hell that's about. But never mind my whining, time to work the problem.
 I thought about weight watchers, but it's meetings, while fun, are sometimes hard to get to. So, in lieu of that, I've signed up for Fitocracy Team Fitness, the No Nonsense Fat Loss plan. It's all online, log all the foods and all the workouts. There's a coach who evaluates what you do and gives you a program to work to help you meet your goal. It's three months and I'm going to need every minute. I cannot go home for Christmas looking like I got stuck in a fun house mirror.
It's fifteen pounds. I know people who have lost three times that amount and lived to tell. Let's see exactly how BAMF I am.
It's my one last hope. It's tiny. Maybe it's bigger on the inside...

Living Dangerously

Sorry I've been away, there was stuff and things. I've gotten a job, albeit a temporary position, but I like it quite a lot. It's very different from cooking. Especially the part where I sit all day. Also, off the phentermine now. Needless to say, I am more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. This is usually my sticking point, where things sometimes fall apart. Now that I don't have my chemical crutch, how well will I maintain and continue my weight-loss journey? Well, to start with, I've just returned from a short vacation to California wine country with my husband, where we attended a wedding, ate all the foods and drank all the wines. Tallies up to a four pound weight gain, roughly. Obviously, I panicked. Hard. So I am considering re-joining my weight watchers group. I think it would be a good way to rein myself in and possibly make some friends. Because loneliness will always equal bad food decisions. I will be eating my heart out, quite literally. We shall see how it goes, yes?
I'm still working on my gym schedule. When my hubby is gone, during the week, I can usually get a good routine. Every so often though, something will come up and throw a monkey wrench in. But that's life, right? What happens while you're busy making plans. Like everyone else in the world, we all do our best. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I'm on the wire now, working without a net. Let's just hope I can keep my balance.

Carry on, friends.

Cereal Killer

I am mostly living life ok without an abundance of carbs. I don't really miss bread that much. Potatoes, rice, and pasta are missed only occasionally. Sweets, well, sugar is a whole different animal. But the thing I miss most is cereal. I loved cereal. My favorite thing in the morning was a bowl of Cheerios with a sliced banana or some berries. It was so good. I would have it for dinner sometimes, if I was too lazy to cook. It wasn't really the bad cereals that I liked. I loved Cheerios, Kashi, Life, and Chex, usually the cinnamon. I liked Lucky Charms and Fruity Pebbles but I was perfectly happy not eating them.
My husband still likes to eat cereal, sometimes. And since we now officially occupy the same house, I try to make sure he has things he likes in the pantry. And here's how I discovered a secret I didn't know. I have exactly zero self-control when it comes to cereal. I have tried measuring, using smaller bowls, adding more fruit. Doesn't matter, I will never eat less than two bowls. So many carbs in the space of a half-hour. Ugh.
I'm going to have to find a solution to this. Since I am still, unfortunately, unemployed, I'm home a lot. And my husband will be deeply disturbed when he comes home and finds that his cereal is gone. Consumed by a predator who can smell it a mile off, who has no mercy for it's crunchy and sweet disposition, the dreaded cereal killer...

Reboot

Well, apparently moving across the country and all of it's awesome stress and dining out and not getting to the gym will tally up to a two pound weight gain. Ugh. But not to fret, my lovely peeps, I've got the wheel now and I'm getting this car back on the road.

The one good thing about moving is a chance to start over with a completely empty refrigerator and freezer. You know how it is when you go to the store hungry; you buy all sorts of things you never meant to and you don't want to throw away perfectly good food, so you stick it in the freezer. My freezer is home currently to a bag of strawberries, some broccoli, corn, shrimp, chicken and fish. That's it. That's all. It's amazingly clean.
Pantry is a bit tougher, because dry goods travel. I'm still working on getting things organized so I can see what I have, use it and not wind up buying 6 bottles of soy sauce or something else stupid.

Now that I'm in Oklahoma, I expect the husband to be around a bit more, so I'll have a new experiment. Can we find a way to eat that's healthy for me and filling for him? We've never really lived together for more than a week or two at most, I'm not even sure I know what he likes to eat. He already knows he can't bring certain things into this house. He has been warned. I have rules and I have knives, you break one and you might find yourself on the pointy end of the other.

One way or another, change is gonna come.

Closer to BAMF

It's the last five pounds. I can't make it go away. Ok, rephrase, I can, but it is going to take more than my usual amount of effort. Which is not something that should in any way surprise me. Sometimes though that last five pounds is standing in front of me like Gandalf, yelling "You shall NOT PASS!!!"
I'm totally going to pass. Gandalf can bite me.
When it gets me down though, I like to kind of look at things through a different filter. Instead of just looking at pounds and ounces, I look at weight lifted, miles run, that kind of thing. And no matter what that scale says, I have made progress over the last two years. Yes, it has taken me that long. No I don't care about that.
I've brought my mile time down from 20 minutes to 13-14 minutes. I run longer and faster.
I can do proper push-ups. More than one or two.
I can bench press 50 lbs. Much improved over 15 or so.
I've shaved 8 inches off my waist and at least 5 inches off my hips.
Short version, I'm stronger, faster and more flexible, not to mention 35 pounds lighter. So Gandalf can shut it about that last five, I'll get it when I get it.
Progress is progress, no matter how small.

Between Your Ears

I am a firm and ardent believer that you should always be learning. Either learning something new or learning more about what you already know. I find great satisfaction in challenging my own opinions, especially on matters of fitness and nutrition.  Just because you are taught something in school or whatever,  doesn't mean it's unassailable.  For instance,  there is always the debate over what will help you lose weight: diet or exercise? Perhaps the answer is as specific to the individual as our DNA which we cannot change. Or the answer is not about chemistry, but psychology.
Go to dicktalens.com(he is one of the geniuses behind Fitocracy) and read his post about mindset and weight loss. It may change how you think about eating and exercise.
An open and flexible mind is the strongest muscle you will ever have in your body. But like quads, traps and abs, left unused, or stubbornly unchanged, it will deteriorate.
Flex on, my friends.

The B Word

Can we talk about something real? I mean something so scandalous that even though there are dozens of blogs about it, it never seems to make it to the mainstream. I'm talking about Breasts. Boobs.
I don't care what you call them (though I have always thought calling them "girls" or "twins" sounded a bit creepy,  like they weren't part of me) but they are a fact of life as a woman.  I have been busty all my life,  thanks to my father's gene pool, and it has been mostly just inconvenient, sometimes painfully so. One of the things I most looked forward to with weight loss was losing some of the excess baggage on my chest. I'm short, and though I am curvy, my frame is medium to smallish. Carrying those around is heavy lifting.
Then I hit my 30s. Gravity kills. Now they aren't just heavy,  they're defying all attempts to keep them in place. I have lost about 35 lbs and not even one smidgen of that was from my boobs. It's frustrating.  Who do I have to kill to drop a cup size?
I waz seriously considering surgery until I lost my job. In the meantime these things still need containment and a lot of support.
Ever been bra shopping at a flea market? That's what bra shopping is like for me ALL the time.  There are maybe 3 brands that offer my size (well sort of) and the ones I can afford fit halfway and the rest I'd have to sell a kidney to buy. For a country that loves boobs, bigger the better,  nobody seems to remember that they need proper care and support just as much as our smaller sisters.
And before any of my friends with less than ample cleavage tries to kill me, wait. Go get a couple of five pound weight plates. Strap them to your chest so that they rely on your back, neck and shoulders to bear the weight.  Carry that around 24/7, you will beg to get that shit off your body.
In the UK apparently it's not shameful to wear a larger cup size than DD. They make E, F, and G and they aren't all beige or ugly.  So from now until I get a job where the insurance will pay for surgery,  I'm buying my bras from across the pond. Bali, Olga and all their brethren can kiss my ass.

Here's to the ta-tas.

Confession

Bless me, friends, for I have sinned...it has been...ok, mostly I don't do confession. Largely because I'm not Catholic. And for reasons. But I still have to hang my head and admit the truth.

I don't cook.

I know, right?

I've been working as a professional chef for about 6 years, give or take. I don't cook for myself. My theory is that I spend my whole day cooking for strangers. When I come home, the kitchen is the last place I want to be. The only exception is when my hubby comes home for a bit and then I will trouble myself to feed him something, though I rarely eat myself.

"Shoemaker's wives go barefoot, doctor's wives die young and chef's husbands go hungry..."

That was the case until recently. I lost my job. I was laid off. I am, as of now, no longer a working chef. I'm trying not to freak out. Much. Since I am trying to point my career in a different direction, and no longer seeking food service employment, I am hoping that I will begin to enjoy cooking again.

Here's the second confession.

I have no idea how to feed myself.

I mean, I know how to cook. I know how to shop. But planning meals, and organizing a shopping trip so that I not only have something to cook when I'm hungry but don't go broke doing it?

Yeah...I may have been absent that year.

But there's no time like the present to learn. And if busy moms with 2 kids and jobs manage to do it, surely one unemployed college graduate can manage to put together some kind of plan. It seems like the best way of making sure that the weight I have lost doesn't come back to haunt me. So I'm going to hit the internets and crack on with it. Because proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance.

I am absolved.