The Definition of Insanity

     Albert Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. (Hmmm...)

Big Girls Don't Cry.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

     Last time I talked about how I kind of messed up but was going to square my shoulders and move forward, blahbitty blahbitty blah. And I tried to, I really did. But is the scale cooperating? No. No, it is not. I am stuck at a sixteen lb. loss (better than a sharp stick in the eye, but still – stuck is stuck.) The loss is 16 lbs. one day, 15 another day, 15.5 yet another. But never, ever is it sixteen and one half. Or, if you you’d like to get fancy, it's never 7.5 kg or 1 stone 2, either. My scale could be messing with me just for fun, but it’s more likely that I’ve hit the dreaded PLATEAU! And boy, howdy! This isn’t just any plateau, this is the flatlands. This is freaking South Dakota! (Disclaimer: I’ve never actually been to South Dakota, but I have been led to believe that it is flat, flat, flat. Rather like my weight loss at this point.)

     So I think it’s back to square one, my friends. Weepy I shall not get, and forge ahead I must (Yoda, is that you?). As one of my idols, Newt Gingrich, *snicker* has said, “Perseverance is the hard work you do after you get tired of doing the hard work you already did.” Well said, there Newt, well said.

     Plateaus suck, but there's not a lot you can do other than ride them out, rather like power outages or presidential election cycles. Increasing exercise (Boo hiss!) and, as counterintuitive as it may sound, sometimes increasing caloric intake helps (It says so here). Boosts the old metabolism & all that. My plan is to start with the exercise angle and if that doesn’t work, boost the calories a bit. I’m holding off on increasing calories because it scares me. I’m doing around 1200 calories a day. More than that seems unnecessary, but who knows?

     While I ponder my next move, this could be a tasty and not too terrible way to increase calories and not go overboard (Besides, it's pie. What’s not to love?):

Yogurt Pie (8 servings)

2 containers lite, fat-free yogurt, any flavor (lemon or lime are particularly nice in summer)

1 8-oz container lite non-dairy whipped topping

1 pre-made low-fat graham cracker pie crust

Fold yogurt and whipped topping together until thoroughly combined. Pour into pie crust.

Freeze for about 4 hours.

If adding any fruit be sure it’s cut into fairly small pieces. 

Per serving: 183 calories, 28g carb, 7g fat, 2g protein

That'll Learn Ya

     Remember long, long ago (about a week) when I said we’d discuss the concept “burn more calories than you consume”? Yeah, about that… I’m thinking that will have to wait a wee bit longer. This week I think we’ll chat a little about falling down.

     I bet you’re thinking, “uh oh.” Uh oh is exactly right. The scale has gone in the wrong direction this week. Am I discouraged? Yes I am, a bit. Am I surprised? Sadly, no I am not. I have let a few things slide over the last ten days or so. For someone like me, a person who seems able to gain weight merely by being within shouting distance of a bakery (I think I attract cinnamon bun fat molecules like a magnet), letting things slide is a dangerous thing to do.

Here’s what I didn’t do this week:

1. I did not track my food intake. My nifty shnifty phone doo dad sits idle.
2.  I did not “eat smaller”. In fact, I baked cookies and ate um… a lot of them.
3.  I did not merely skimp on exercise; I did not go to the gym for a solid five days.
4. I did not weigh in daily. 

     Yikes, right? I didn’t just stumble there; I fell flat on my face! By not doing all the things I know I need to do, I’ve managed to lose ground. I’ve let myself down. But focusing on mistakes or giving up because of them is, in the grand scheme of things, kind of silly. No one has died. The world hasn’t ended in a fiery ball of flame. All that has happened is that I have messed up a smidge. And you know what? That is ok. Life goes on.

     So now I will open up my phone app, log in today’s weight, and today’s meals. Tonight I will go to bed at a reasonable hour, set the alarm for an unreasonable hour, get up early, walk the dog, and then get my ample backside down to the gym. And away we go!

How about you? How do you handle it if you fall off the wagon?

Kate's Wild World of Dieting

     People of a “certain age” may remember Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom with Marlon Perkins or The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau. I do not have a burly assistant named Jim who wrestles alligators, nor do I have a French accent, but welcome to The Wild World of Dieting with Kate Hayes anyway.

     Over the years it seems as though I have been on a mission to personally attempt the greatest number of weight loss schemes possible. I have done Weight Watchers (three time drop out), Jenny Craig, NutriSystem, and a couple of other expensive programs whose names I can’t even remember, but one of which replaced two meals a day with a virtually inedible pudding. I have used Slim Fast and a Chinese herbal tea that kept me chained to the bathroom for two days (TMI, sorry). I have tried the Atkins, South Beach, Cabbage Soup and Starvation diets. I have tried low fat, no fat, high protein/low carb. Nothing ever seems to stick. Full disclosure: I once worked for NutriSystem, which is sad. I was even part of a study at OSU involving fat gals over 40 that handed out some nice swag. I haven’t tried hypnotism or voodoo, but the jury’s still out on this, my latest and certainly most public attempt.

     Jeez, you must be wondering, what the hell is wrong with you? You must have figured something along the way. Well, I have. Almost every legit program has you keep a food journal. The idea is to log everything that you eat, what time of day, and sometimes emotions to see if there are pitfalls there that are hindering success. My problem here is follow-through. I’m good for about three or four days, then poof! I’m done. Typically what happens is on Day One I drag out my food scale (purchased during one of my Weight Watcher’s attempts) and measuring cups and spoons. I record everything faithfully, right down to the spray of Pam in the pan and the exact number of almonds in the afternoon snack. Additionally, all snacks are recorded and logged at the appropriate time. Day Two, I’m still weighing but not necessarily measuring, and I’m not as precise in my recording. The ½ & ½ going into the coffee is recorded, but the amount is eyeballed. The snacks are all lumped together at the end of the day. By Day Three I’m writing down the foods but not necessarily the amounts. By Day Four, I’ll usually only record as far as lunch. There never is a Day Five. But many people find that journals really are useful. Luckily in these days of smartphones, there’s an app for that! A quick peek at the app store on my phone shows a couple dozen free journals. One I particularly like is My Fitness Pal. It has graphs, charts, goal setting, and nifty doodads such as a bar scanner. So instead of tediously writing out each and every food, you can scan the bar code on the label and voilà! The app figures out all the calories, etc. That’s pretty handy for a lazy butt like me, I'm never without my phone, and I'm finding it much easier to keep track (made it past day five, at any rate). 

     Something else I’ve learned is that conflicting and confusing information about diet and health abound. Guidelines change as new research comes to light, so it’s kind of hard to know what’s what. The US Department of Agriculture, for instance, urges us all to eat healthfully, and they issue guidelines as to how we should do that. But those guidelines change periodically in accordance with what the newest science reveals about nutrition. Remember the Four Basic Food Groups? (or the Basic 7 if you go back that far) More recently we have had the Food Pyramid, then the new Food Pyramid, and now we have MyPlate (http://www.choosemyplate.gov/), an easier graphic to understand. Even within various paid plans there can be misunderstanding. Weight Watchers®, for instance, has a great thing going with their Points Plus™ program. It works for lots of people. But if Joe Schmoe chooses to spend all his points on Peanut M&M’s just because he can, then even Weight Watchers® becomes a diet bust for this guy, who is clearly an idiot who’s missing the point (no pun intended).

     One thing that has been a consistent road block for me is portion control. I don’t think that most people have a clue as to what correct portion sizes look like. When you read about portion control, you are told that a serving of protein is about the size of a deck of cards and a serving of fruit should be the size of a tennis ball, among other things. I know that’s supposed to give you an everyday reference, but I don’t find it to be particularly helpful. Adding to the confusion is how portions and sizes are named, which can be misleading. An order of small fries at a fast food joint today was considered a large back in the day. They didn’t have what we consider to be large or (yikes), super-sized. Even the average dinner plate is larger today than in the past. I read somewhere once that they are 30% larger than they were 30 or 40 years ago (Honest to goodness actual science-guy info here.) Many of us are loyal members of the Clean Plate Club and our eyes, rather than our stomachs, tell us when we’re full (more fun with science!); we are easily consuming much more than we should every day. Even if we’re eating healthfully, too much of a good thing is still too much. One of the learning tools the researchers in the study at OSU used were realistic-looking and appropriately portion-sized food shapes (finely crafted in a polymer resin). It was surprising even to me, a food weighing and measuring veteran, what actual portion sizes looked like. They seemed so teeny! Have you ever measured out a cup of spaghetti?  It’s easy to see why knowing how much to eat in one sitting is such a sticking point with people.

     So what I’ve taken away from my many, many attempts to lose weight lo, these many decades, boils down to a few simple-sounding concepts. Be aware of what and how much you're actually eating. Write it down. Use paper and pen, a phone app, whatever, but you might be surprised at how many pretzels you're absent-mindedly scarfing down at your desk during the day. Educate yourself about proper nutrition. How much does a person of your age, height, weight and gender need to eat? What kinds of foods should you be eating for optimal health and weight loss? Finally, size matters. Keep an eye on the size of the portions you eat. What you think of as one serving may actually be two (Think about your average bagel. It can easily be two or more servings.) 

     I am not following any particular plan these days. I eat pretty much when I’m hungry and I’m eating healthfully but I’m also eating less and I’m eating smaller. Portion control! If I want a treat at the end of the day, I have a treat. But it’s one cookie instead of three or a kid’s cone rather than a regular. I'm also tracking it to make sure I'm getting all the vitamins, etc. that I need. Will the same thing work for you? I don’t know. It’s really still a work in progress for me. Cooking for the family, for example, presents a big challenge – I tend to nibble while I cook. But about 16 lbs. are gone so far, so something is going right.

      Next time we'll discuss something even more basic: burn more calories than you consume. While we ponder that, I will leave you with this story arc from one of my all-time favorite comic strips, Bloom County, by Berke Breathed.

Tightrope Walking

     Well, I’m back. My brain apparently took a vacation, went to the circus, and has remained there all summer. For a while there I thought it had run away for good, and all I could think about was The Big Top. I had a whole circus-themed blog piece going, but it was just too over the top. So I had to start from scratch, which is not easy when your brain is still at the circus and it’s hot, and you’re not at the beach, and all the neighbors are on vacation, and the bathroom needs to be cleaned, and you hate cleaning bathrooms… (I did say there’d be whining. You were warned.) I’m still sort of in love with the original circus concept though, (In particular the Illustrious Illusionist, the Astonishing, Enigmatic, Illogical, Obfuscating, and Underhanded Obstructo Vitare.)

     Trying to become a more compact version of one’s self really is a sort of circus high-wire act, I think. In these terms I see a shiny, spangled performer on a tight rope, many, many, many feet in the air, no net in sight. They might be doing this while riding a unicycle and juggling several bowling pins. The pins may be labeled “family”, “work”, “social situations”, “emotions”, “hormones” or “whatever”. A wobble to either side would be the end of the performance, with the Tightrope Walker plummeting into a pit of self-pity, doubt, disappointment, pointy rocks, spiders and Lean Cuisine.

     It’s pretty clear that in order to get from one end of the wire to the other, a few things are necessary. Finding balance is one. We start out on platform A and our goal is to get to platform B without falling or dropping any of the bowling pins. In order to reach the other side successfully it is essential that we keep our balance which is, of course, much easier to say than it is to do. We want to lose weight but we also want to eat blueberry pie and we don’t have time to exercise and we have families and jobs and dogs and bad knees and gardens and tons of excuses obligations that get in the way.

     Finding and maintaining balance is easier when we have encouragement, another important aspect of our tightrope act. A couple of Lovely Assistants on the platforms at either end can help the whole process appear seamless. One gently pushes you at the start to give you a little momentum, the other steadies the unicycle while you dismount, and they both cheer for you from start to finish. If you freeze up in the middle, start wobbling or look as though you may fall, the Lovely Assistants will shout encouragement from either end to keep you going. Family and friends are almost always our most loyal and vocal Lovelies. Our families help us stay on track, sometimes by abstaining from Chunky Monkey ice cream for a while just so we won’t be tempted. Our friends tell us that our hard work is paying off. A spouse may toss out the random “you look really good” which just might make us rethink the fried macaroni and cheese appetizer.

     While encouragement is important, it isn’t quite enough to help us achieve the original goal, which was to get from Platform A to Platform B with the bowling pins still spinning and a person still on the unicycle. We need support to do that. If we install guide wires or use a harness we’re likely to feel more secure, which gives us the confidence necessary to successfully cross from A to B. We worry less about falling (or failing), and concentrate more on the process. Sometimes we just need someone else to catch the pins so we can keep our balance. Support can come from different areas. It can be a professional organization like Weight Watchers, a television show website with an online community, or a neighborhood moms’ group. But support doesn’t have to be anything formal or pre-arranged. It can be as simple as a daughter taking over the occasional morning dog-walk freeing up gym time for dad or a husband who gets up early for a power walk with his wife. Maybe a son cooks dinner a couple nights a week while mom goes for a run or the neighbor serves only low-fat munchies at their next cocktail party. It all helps.

     So, you may wonder, just what does this all mean? Do you want to join a circus and wear sequins, Kate? (um… no. Sequins are not flattering.) As we are all aware, it can take a lot of oomph for anyone to attempt a diet and exercise program in the first place. In order for any program to be successful, a person needs to create balance between their quest for fitness and everything else in their universe. And to do that, encouragement and support are needed from family and friends. Rocket science it ain’t. Next time, boys and girls, perhaps we will visit the carnival fun house and have a look at those magic mirrors!

     Incidentally, my current weight loss is somewhere between thirteen and fifteen lbs. Weight loss can vary by day, barometric pressure, or pastrami Reuben consumption.

Speed bumps, stumbling blocks and a Greek Chorus

"Boy Blubber! What the heck is that rolling around back there?"

"What do you mean, Fatman? I don’t hear anything."

"There’s a thing, rolling back and forth and making a bunch of noise. There it is again! You don’t hear it? It’s annoying as hell! Wait; did Thunder Thigh Woman leave her stupid magic maracas in the Fatmobile when we went to see “The Avengers” the other night? That’s what I keep hearing: maracas or something rolling around under the seat. Why she feels compelled to bring them everywhere is a mystery. Magic maracas. She shakes them and bullets bounce off? That’s what she says. Pffffttt. I’ve never even seen her use them. Next time, either she leaves them home or she goes solo in that ridiculous thing she drives and meets us there. What is it, again? An invisible Prius? How the hell does anyone fight crime in a Prius? Sure, they’re quiet, so they’re stealthy, but they don’t go faster than what, 65 miles an hour? That’s just not practical. Besides, it takes her like a half hour to heave herself out of the thing. She really ought to look into something a little bigger. Or get a magic shoe horn. Now that would be practical."

"Uh, Fatman? Are you talking to yourself again?"

THUMPTHUMP!

"Jeez, Boy Blubber! Are you aiming for pot holes?!"

"Sorry, Fatman. I was focusing on non-existent maracas."

"Well, at least they’ve stopped making that noise. Maybe they got stuck under the seat or something."

THUMPTHUMP!

"Jayzusmaryanjoseph, Boy Blubber! I’m going to have to take the Fatmobile in to the mechanic for a check-up at this rate! And dammit – the maracas are making crazy noise again!"

"Oops. My bad. Speed bumps. I'm telling you, there is NOTHING rattling, Fatman! Did you take your meds today?"

"Shut up, Boy Blubber."

I have heard that within each of us there resides a small, still voice. This little voice, I am told, helps us distinguish right from wrong, supplies us with the self-assurance to face any situation with confidence, and prods us with “gut feelings” to determine whether we should welcome that knock at the door as a wonderful opportunity or slam the door in the face of a total loser.

Yes. I have heard tell of such a thing. However when those little voices were handed out, I must have been in line at the Good Humor truck. In MY head, instead of a Helpful Heloise of Happy, there is a noisy bunch of whackos that ought to be evicted. There is an annoying Greek chorus of naysayers always at the ready to criticize, critique, belittle, and question. They are the polar opposite of supportive. If there is a small, still voice in there, it’s been bound, gagged and locked in a closet. My voices, while not of the Son of Sam variety, still manage to out-shout most positive thoughts that might come my way. I’m not bat-shit crazy, but I am weird enough to talk aloud to myself pretty frequently. It’s probably not normal, but it does make it easier for me to organize my thoughts. (Never fear, the conversations are usually all one-sided.)

“The more faithfully you listen to the voices within you, the better you will hear what’s sounding outside.” Dag Hammarskjold, Swedish diplomat, economist, author, and clearly someone who had never met me.

Really, Dag? That’s not very comforting, I must say.

The voices in my head have been particularly vocal lately. I embarked on this very public – albeit not widely read – project with the idea that holding myself accountable to others would provide a little extra incentive to achieve a goal I’ve been unable to reach on my own for quite some time. The voices did not think this was a very good idea from the start. “It won’t work”, they said. “You’ll embarrass yourself”, they warned. “You’re an idiot”, they admonished.

As of last week I’d been so frustrated with my lack of progress that at times I just wanted to tear out my hair. Or cry. Or give up entirely, something I would have done in the past. I’d been doing all the things I should. I’d even been exercising. No Zumba, but in addition to dog walking and evening track strolls, I added a few miles of very brisk walking just about every day and even added a few micrometers of running into the mix. Anyone who knows me has heard me say that I’d never run. Ever. Unless being chased by aliens. Aliens shooting at me with ray guns. Even with all this effort, I’d only lost about four pounds. In my ideal world, at this point in the process I’d have lost fourteen pounds. I was secretly hoping I’d lose ten. In reality I expected that I would have lost at least seven pounds. Four was disappointing to say the least.

Enter Dr. Ward, my chubby, German PCP. I love her, even though she always says to me, “Meesez Hess. You heff gained too much weight und I do not like your blood pressure.” That makes two of us, Dr. Ward. I have a thyroid thing, which has been controlled by meds for the last sixteen years. Because of this, I am supposed have blood drawn every six months, but I tend to put it off, being beyond blood and needle-phobic. This time I managed to avoid the lab for about ten months, which turned out to be a bad move as it seems my thyroid has morphed into a slug. This explains my lack of progress. New meds, and Dr. Ward wants to see me in six weeks. “Und you will heff lost some weight by then, yah?” One cannot ignore an edict from the elf.

So, I’ve encountered a stumbling block. Yes, it’s certainly a set-back and progress will be slower, but that doesn’t mean I should quit. While the Greek chorus in my head rarely takes a day off (“So and so does it better.” “This house is a mess!” “We don't think you have the skill set for that.”), at least as far as this project is concerned they can go roll around in the back of the car and I’ll  just ignore them. Annoying bunch of freaks.

Siren Song

"Welly, well, well, if it isn’t Fatman & his tubby little sidekick, Boy Blubber. Yet again, you are under my control. You know, your inability to avoid temptation really doesn’t provide me with much of a challenge, Fatman. Forgive me for saying so, but you’re not a very effective superhero."

"Holy guacamole, Fatman! It’s Betsy Crocker, Betty’s evil twin! And I prefer “pleasantly plump” to "tubby", thank you.

"So Betsy, you have discovered my weakness: savory snacks, good cheese, and baked desserts – nothing too sweet, and preferably with a flaky pastry. That wasn’t a very nice thing to say about my career choice, by the way. Ooh! Are those Kalamata olives?"

"You are so naïve, Fatman! When will you learn that you if cannot save yourself from the siren song of cocktail parties and cookouts with their endless procession of hors d’oevres, snacks and desserts, that you will never save anyone else? You are what you eat, you know. And not for nothing, but have you ever tried working out?"

"One day, Betsy. One day I will prevail and this town will be bothered by your excess fat and calories no more!"

"Oh, Fatman. It’s so amusing when your double chin jiggles like that!"

"Uh, Fatman?"

"Yes, Boy Blubber?"

"We’re out of crackers for the crab dip."

"Shut up, Boy Blubber."

Memorial Day picnic, Baby Shower, Fundraiser, Graduation, End of Year school picnic, Going Away party, Father’s Day gathering

     That is a partial list of events we have attended since May. This doesn’t include dinner with friends or relatives, or dinner out as a family. All of these events are festive occasions. Festive occasions call for festive food. Festive food is food not served at your everyday meal. Festive food is finger food, fattening food, wonderful food offered by people wearing bow ties and wielding little trays. Festive food is desserts. Desserts are tartlets, cookies, pies, and cakes with whipped cream icing; desserts are brownies, cream puffs, and beautiful cupcakes on adorable little tiered cupcake servers. Festive food is tempting, taunting, tortuous, and oh, so delicious.

     Little wonder I’ve made scant progress on my quest. I’m pleased I haven’t been heading in the wrong direction, but still… Five weeks in and not a whole lot to show for it. Coming in direct contact with so much temptation on what is sometimes a daily basis is, for me, just brutal. I’ve tried visualization. You know, where you’re supposed to picture the situation in your mind and imagine what you’ll do when the time comes so you’ll be prepared. Somehow that never seems to work. There are people who advise, “Just say no!” Well that’s the problem, isn’t it; the inability to stay away from food I enjoy. To be fair, I have turned away bow-tied, tray-wielding food pushers several times, and have even managed to avoid the dessert table once or twice. Clearly, though, I haven’t been able to stand my ground often enough.

     I have friends who seem to have wills of iron. They too, are “effecting lifestyle changes” and seem able to avoid party pitfalls with relative ease, whereas I am drawn to the buffet line like the clichéd moth to the flame. I admire and detest them (My friends, not the moths. Although I'm not wild about moths, either.)

     Interestingly, this is what my horoscope said today (fact):

Life may force you to confront your ambitions. There are some areas of your life that need complete transformation, but all you see is the shovel and the dirt.Keep your mind focused on the end results.

Apropos, yes? It may be time to seek outside assistance. Which, I suppose, could come in the form of counseling, Weight Watchers, jaw wiring or divine intervention. I’m not sure. I believe a little research is in order. I have beefed up the exercise for those of you who are thinking, “just get up off your arse already, you lazy cow.” I am trying something (Not Zumba. I’m too chicken to go there yet) and I’ll see how it goes. Because yes, the bottom line is eat less, exercise more. It seems like it should be easy. And it is. Until I encounter a strawberry rhubarb pie. Oh, or some nice coconut shrimp. Or a really good crab dip...

On Aging and Aliens

     
     I waste a lot of time on Facebook playing Castleville. In fact, just this week I spent an entire lifetime playing this one game; time better spent reading, writing, cleaning my house (which is disgusting) or *ahem* exercising. Anyone familiar with Facebook is well-acquainted with the advertising that runs along the right side of the screen. One ad that invariably lurks beside my game is from Realage.com. This is what they have to say: “Prepare to be shocked. Your body may be older than you think.” Easily obsessed, this gave me something on which to fixate for a while.

    What if the opposite were true? What about people who look much younger than their chronological age? What about Dick Clark, (May he rest in peace) or Iman? It just so happens that I am related to a few of these folks. There are members of my immediate and slightly extended family who never seem to age. My father, for instance, and his sister – my aunt – have always looked at least ten years younger than they are. Thinking about it, my grandmother, some of her sisters and her brother looked dewy-fresh for a long time as well. So what gives? Is there some kind of closely guarded family secret that is passed down only to a select few? Do they bathe in vats of Oil of Olay? Is the sacrificing of goats or chickens involved?

     

     As I was pondering this mystery, I recalled a conversation I had with this same aunt over dinner just the other day. She told me that she has been reading this blog (Hi Auntie!), and whatever my aversion to exercise, I should remember that it’s important for both physical and mental well-being. She made that point several times. I did not go home without that thought lodged firmly in my brain. My aunt enjoys exercise. My dad is a big proponent of exercise; he has run or rollerbladed, or gone to the gym or whatever for years. My sister is a yoga queen who does some hula hooping on the side. If I tried to hula hoop I’d get stuck and end up looking as though I was wearing a colorfully bright and sparkly belt I stole from a clown’s closet. My grandmother was always busy doing something active. She bowled in a retired teachers’ league – held her bowling ball straight up over her head. I was always afraid she was going to drop it and render herself unconscious. I also remember going to a line dancing class with her long after she’d retired. I could probably still manage to do The Alley Cat if pressed.

     Then there’s longevity. Think about Jack Lalanne. He was the original television exercise guru, and was swimming around some harbor or other dragging tugboats with his teeth well into his eighties. My husband’s grandmother and grandfather lived to be 96 and 102 respectively. Grampy had a sister who lived to be 103, although they did have a brother who passed away several decades earlier. Grammie and Grampy were active folk who lived in their own home for over seventy years. Every Saturday night for seventy some odd years, they had hamburgers and baked beans for supper. After the meal, every Saturday night for seventy some odd years, Grampy would take a slice of white bread, soak up the hamburger grease in the pan, salt it, eat it, and enjoy it. This did not harm him in the least. He seemed impervious to heart disease or other ailments. 

     

     Maybe there is such a thing as a youth-preserving gene. Perhaps it runs in families like red hair or twins. Possibly it’s some kind of chromosome that lies dormant, and like an allergy needs an outside stimulant to trigger its activation. Let’s suppose that, as some believe, life on Earth was started by extraterrestrials. Wouldn’t it then make sense that some vestige of that DNA would linger somewhere? 

    

     My theory is that exercise activates this age-defying gene in people who possess an Alien chromosome. Yes. Alien DNA is at work here. Scientologists believe that the human is an immortal alien trapped on Earth in a physical body (Thetan). Maybe Scientologists are not as crazy as they seem. Ignore all their nonsense about ethics over morals (The ‘me over the we’ – which may explain why Scientology’s so popular in Hollywood) and a lot of other gobbledy gook and focus on what they refer to as “purification rundown” or detoxification, which is an emphasis on saunas, exercise, vitamins and light jogging (Yes. Specifically “light jogging”. I don’t know why – more research, which I do not plan to do, is required.) 

     Kate, you may ask, if that trait runs in your family, why not strap on your running shoes, sally forth and release the fountain of youth? I’ll tell you why not: Because I think that only those family members with an affinity for exercise in the first place have inherited the gene. Only those who bemoan the absence of activity receive the anti-aging benefit at the onset of renewed motion. I imagine it’s a recessive gene, and I seem to have inherited a boatload of dominant features: brown hair, brown eyes, nearsightedness, heavy eyebrows, broad shoulders… The alien anti-aging exercise affinity gene likely isn’t dominant, or more people would be born with it, see? 

     It is true that exercise can help the average person achieve a certain level of fitness, perhaps elevate his or her mood, maybe even put a bloom in their cheek. But exercise cannot help just anyone become almost ageless like my dad, my aunt, or William Shatner (he’s 80!). They have a little something you can’t get at the gym. Just ask a Scientologist.

Fear and Loathing in Connecticut

"Holy double chin, Fatman! I can't move! We're trapped!"
"It does look that way, Boy Blubber. We appear to be ensnared in a gelatinous web of self-loathing, doubt, anxiety, and fear of failure."
"What sort of madman would set such a nefarious trap, Fatman?"
"It seems to be of our own making Boy Blubber. It is logical then, that we must also have the means to free ourselves somehow. It might be... oof  here in my ungh Utility Belt. Which I can no longer erf see. If I can just bend... ow."
"Hurry Fatman! That Japanese whaling vessel is getting closer! erm...Want me to call Greenpeace?"

     A friend of mine who recently lost a quite a bit of weight (of whom I'm proud and more than a little a bit jealous) made a very kind gesture. She offered to lend some of her in-grown (as opposed to out-grown) clothes to see me through for a while until I was a smaller version of myself. The only problem was that the clothes she was offering were all the size I am already wearing or larger. I did not respond well. My first thoughts were

• Holy crap! Just how bad DO I look?!
• What, she thinks I'm going to get BIGGER?!
• o.m.g. I am her low-point barometer.
• Someone please shoot me.

     Of course I realized I was being an ass, acknowledged that she was honestly just trying to do me a favor and said thank you. But I was still depressed. Really, really, really depressed. So I did what any sensible person would do. I stopped eating and moped around for the better part of a week. Yes, you heard that right. I stopped eating (much). No need to worry though, citizenry; I didn't go all Mary-Kate (or was it Ashley...?) on you.

     During my period of mopage I started looking online for local Zumba classes. You remember - the ones I said I was going to start attending but haven't yet. There are some places like the local Y that have maybe three classes a week during the summer. Then there are places with names like "We Love Zumba" that claim to be all Zumba all the time. Only, they're not. The classes they offer seem to cater to people who either have really flexible work schedules or do not work outside the home and have someone to watch the kids for a good chunk of the day. Since I'm probably going to be out of a job soon, I'm guessing my schedule's going to allow for a class or two. A day.

     There was one studio that posted videos of some of their classes. As expected, the instructor was a crazy Shakira-like being, swinging hips and hair and having a fine old time. The women in the class seemed to be following along ok - except for... (insert dramatic music here) the two women in the back row who had absolutely NO idea what was going on. They looked like someone's drunken uncles trying to do the electric slide at your cousin's wedding. Pitiful. And that's why I'm afraid to try something like this. I have all the coordination of an ox on crutches. I find it very hard to imagine that I will be the Shakira in the front row and have no problem believing that I will be drunken uncle number three in the back.

     Worrying about looking ridiculous during an exercise class is perhaps indicative of a larger issue. I'm always afraid of being thought of or seen as foolish or stupid. I worry that if I try something and it doesn't work out, then people will think less of me. I worry a lot about what other people think.  I'm not exactly sure why. By staying safely within the boundaries of what I know and what I know I can do, I feel confident, knowledgeable, and secure. I know my stuff. But staying safe has had a price. I don't try a lot of new things. I am not going to put myself out where I think I might look silly. Heck. I don't even jump out on the dance floor at weddings, even though everyone is doing something silly, like the chicken dance or something. I don't meet a lot of new people. New people are scary. I'd rather not go somewhere at all, even if it's just the dining hall, if I have to go by myself. 

     When did I become such a chicken? I've always been this way. I just hide it better sometimes. It's always there, though. Might have just a little to do with my weight problem, you think? Got a little self-confidence/self-loathing thing going on? Perhaps. I think this needs to be examined more closely. In the meantime, there are Zumba classes to be conquered attempted considered.

Oh, and does anyone happen to have a phone number for Greenpeace?

You Can't Get There from Here

     Imagine, if you will, that you're driving along the Road to Fabulous, minding your own business when someone suddenly points at you and yells, "HEY,DOOFUS! YOU'RE DRIVING IN REVERSE!" Whoa, dude - Ithought something was wrong with the scenery! Fact: you cannot get to Fabulous going backward.The whole wrong-way direction my health was headed was what spurred me on to this little blog experiment in the first place. My overall health and well-being seemed to be going from ok,to bad to worse in a hurry. Gaining weight is bad. Gaining 15 lbs. in a year and a half is tragic. Gaining 5 lbs. in 2 weeks is a cry for help. Gaining weight after you've publicly announced you were getting healthier is downright embarrassing.

     Things had gotten so out of hand that I could have been in my own Subway sandwich commercial. You know, the one where peoples' buttons go popping off or they break their chair the moment they take a bite of food? Yeah, that's me. Sad, but true. Case in point: a couple of weeks ago I was looking for a book along the bottom shelf of a bookcase, so I had to bend down. When I did, ziiiiiiip, the zipper on my skirt broke. (And then I was late for work. Bonus!) I'm down to probably two pairs of pants and three skirts that I can wear comfortably.

     I'm what they call an emotional eater. So I pretty much eat my feelings. But the worst part is that I sometimes know when I'm doing it and do it anyway. Let me introduce you to my crazy self, Self-Sabotage. Self-Sabotage is such an idiot that when she's angry or depressed she says, "I'm angry or depressed, so I'm going to eat all of these chocolate chips and this box of Cheez-Its." That's when rational Kate says, "Um excuse me, crazy self, but that's emotional eating, and it really isn't helping the situation." To which Self-Sabotage replies, "I don't give a crap! I'm angry or depressed so I DESERVE this delicious treat! And I will eat it. Now! BWAH HA HA HA!!! chew, chew, chew." Insane, I know. The inside of my head is kind of like a traffic circle in Shanghai. You never know where anyone is coming from or where they might be going.

     Speaking of chocolate chips, (see what I did there?) another little bump in the road is that I like to bake. Do I like to bike? No. Too sweaty. I like to bake. And I bake cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. I usually bake around ten dozen or so a week. Christopher brings Mrs. Hayes' Not Really Famous but Sort of Locally Well Known Chocolate Chip Cookies to study hall on the night he proctors, occasionally he'll bring them to class or to his advisees. The kids have come to expect it, and I enjoy doing it for them. I'm pretty good about not eating the cookie dough (raw eggs, ewww!), but quality control is important, so I have to test a few once they're baked. Sometimes we have a dozen or two hanging around the house. When that happens, I end up eating one or two for breakfast, or maybe lunch, or when I'm just passing through the kitchen... So there's a little issue with self-control in the kitchen. I do not want to end up like Paula Deen. Hey y'all, Type II Diabetes is fun! Let's fry us up some butter in a little butter with some butter on the side. Soooo good y'all!

     Now that I've gotten the transmission in my Fabulous Roadster repaired (meaning I’ve got my head screwed on straight), I've started to see some progress. I'm being more careful about what I'm eating and Christopher and I have been walking around the track in the evenings. I walk the dog twice a day, but this does not count as exercise; it's meandering. A Facebook friend said about his dog, “he examines every blade of grass as though he's searching for a lost contact lens." Yeah. It's a lot like that.

    The next step in the journey, I think, is to find another form of exercise that I enjoy. Right now the only one I like and do consistently is walking. And that's fine, but I think I need a little variety yes? So perhaps the object this summer is to investigate various options. I'll check out some yoga, maybe some Zumba; I'm sure to look absolutely ridiculous.

     But if I'm going to look like a doofus, it should be because the wind's in my face as I speed down the road to Fabulous, not because I'm traveling in reverse.    

The Road to Fabulous

“I feel a whole lot more attractive at Wal-Mart than I do at the gym”

A while ago, a friend posted this little blurb about Wal-Mart on Facebook and said that it had garnered the greatest number of responses, likes and shares than anything she’d posted before.This isn’t all that surprising, really. While I’m sure there’s a tiny minority who look in the mirror, wink at themselves, and think, “HeY! You look fabulous, as usual.” it is more likely that most people are a little less egomaniacal. To them mirrors tend to be utilitarian, used to help them shave, floss, check for signs of life, etc. The mirror may not be their best friend, but it’s not the enemy, either. Then there are those of us who prefer not to look in the mirror at all. The best you are going to get from someone in this group on a good day is, “ok, I look bad, but at least I don’t look as hideous as Mrs. X”. This comparison is what I call a “low-point barometer”. The low-point barometer, for the insecure among us, acts a self-esteem monitor/booster. We say to ourselves, “I can’t possibly be the least attractive person on Planet Earth as long as Mrs. X is around”, and it makes us (me) feel a teeny bit better.

Unhappily, twice in the last couple of months, I have been mistaken for someone else. If you’re following along, I’ll bet you can guess whom that might be. Yes, sadly I was mistaken for… my own personal low-point barometer. Karmic justice, I suppose, for keeping a low-point barometer in the first place. For some, there may come a time when the reflection staring back from the mirror is completely unrecognizable and distressing. Perhaps even more horrifying, the reflection looks a lot like your dad’s scary Aunt Edna. So what if you have become someone else’s low-point barometer? What do you do when you realize the image you hold in your mind’s eye is very different from what others see when they look at you?

Some options:

1. Throw yourself off a cliff. Not a great alternative for me, really. There are no suitable cliffs within walking distance, just lots of big hills. Big hills are not terribly useful for this purpose as there is no dramatic drop that would enable one to complete a successful launch into thin air. Graceful as I am, I would be more likely to trip and fall, causing me to roll down the hill and sprain an ankle; this would render the whole undertaking rather pointless. My dog would probably miss me, anyway. 
2. Make a change to one’s personal appearance. Get a dozen tattoos! Liposuction! Spray tan! Ok, well – I got my hair cut. I may not be fabulous, but my haircut is! 
3. Get fit. We all know this will make us look and feel better. I have tried every diet plan known to mankind. There are a gazillion to choose from with more on the horizon every day. Hell, even the TV show GCB has a character that is “Losing it with Jesus” I will bet you dollars to donuts (mmmm…. Donuts) that someone is already trying to cash in on that idea. I am well aware that one needs to eat less and exercise more to effect a “lifestyle change”. It is a tricky thing though, to change your lifestyle. I’ve tried. My lifestyle changes generally last about three days. 
4. Keep a journal. Journaling is supposed to help with self-esteem, weight loss and fitness provided you write down everything you do – every emotion felt, every move made, and every morsel tasted. While I enjoy writing, I generally don’t last more than three days with this method, either. The problem is, that as author and sole reader, the writer is accountable to no one but him or herself.

“I enjoy writing” is the first positive thought I have had in days weeks. It might be productive to write/blog about my journey towards fitness, dismantling my low-point barometer, finding inner peace or… something. I  do not enjoy reading yawn-inducing crap like ‘Day 87: Intake: Two lettuce leaves, a radish and half a peach. Mood: hungry and crabby. Exercise: 10,000 steps. Pounds lost: 0’ and I think that sort of approach may not be of interest to other people, either. Something along the lines of a periodic progress report with random observations could work. I mean, other than weight, what do I have to lose? While the belly-button gazing, potential for public humiliation format is generally better suited to Reality TV, it could also be what keeps me focused and honest- to myself in particular. Hell, looking like I do, I experience a little public humiliation every time I step out my front door anyway; a little more exposure will not kill me.

Besides, if I fail, I can always hang out at Wal-Mart.