LifePundit

Everywhere I Look, There's a Waist

A little more than a month to go in my gym's Biggest Loser competition, and I saw something today I haven't seen before:

My teammates all have waists! They didn't have them last week. And they're wearing skimpier (but not skimpy) clothing, as if they no longer need to hide under baggy stuff.

Very exciting. 

I have yet to watch the Biggest Loser on TV. It couldn't possibly be as good as seeing women I've come to know doing their best and getting results. I think we should all go bench press a Volkswagen to celebrate. Then have a cookie.

When You Diet, Your Brain is the First Place to Lose Weight

I'd have blogged more lately but I didn't have enough brain cells left to do it. When you diet, your brain is the first place where you'll lose weight. Mine's now down to the size of a cat's.

The rest of me looks the same, and I figure when the rest of my brain is gone, maybe I'll start to lose weight in visible places. 

The honeymoon with my gym's Biggest Loser competition is over, but I'm still showing up and doing my best. And I'm still feeling very much the winner. 

No matter what my outsides look like, I had a great moment three weeks into this that will keep me going until the end. And maybe even beyond.

Here's what happened: I'd picked up two 50-lb. bags of horse feed and had them in my car for Paul to take to the barn. He forgot to do it so they were still in my car the next morning. It had rained overnight, the horses were hungry and the wheelbarrow was too wet to use (horse feed grows toxins when it gets wet). Groan! How was I going to get the food to the barn?

Horse feed is heavy, there's no where to grab it and if you're not careful it gets out of balance and goes where it wants, usually as I'm struggling to pour it into the feed bin so it goes all over the floor. 

I thought about wrangling a bag into the house and using it from there, but there are many reasons that's not a great idea. So I picked up a bag, not really knowing what I was going to do with it. It wasn't as heavy as I remembered. So I started walking toward the barn. It wasn't really heavy at all, and I easily controlled it. Hot dog! I have super powers! I even dumped it in the feed bin with no trouble.

The horses were happy. And I was even happier. 

So what if I'm too tired to do anything and I hurt all the time? So what if I'm eating eggs whites for breakfast (is there anything less appetizing?). I can do more than I used to do. And that is an awesome new development. 

But don't tell Paul. No reason he shouldn't get a little exercise hauling feed bags around. 

Only Eleven Weeks Left

In spite of the fact that today is a holiday, our Biggest Loser coaches expected us to show up for our team workout. This meant that I missed the barbecue and dessert party at the pool. She busted our behinds and did it with a lovely smile and a great deal of passion. I doubt I could work my jaws to eat barbecue and dessert right now.

I couldn't be having more fun and had a very happy weigh-in. My team members are interesting, my coaches are great and this all feels shiny and new.

I'm writing this before I collapse in a heap. First off, there's a great free web site for exercise and diet information that I've started using. Lance Armstrong's Livestrong. Makes it easier to keep my exercise and nutrition diary, which I have to show to my leader every time I see her. She's very kind about it and makes suggestions that sometimes make me very happy, such as that I'm not eating often enough. I'm to eat every 2.5 hours and never go beyond 3 hours before eating. No pie or cake was mentioned, however.

I'm learning about perspective, too. Before she released us and I got to crawl out of the door to finally leave, she gave us a pep talk. She said, "Ladies, we've only got 11 weeks left so you really have to start working hard."

A short time to her. A lifetime for those of us dead on the floor.

The Biggest Loser Turns Out to be Fun

It's either go tackle Paul's leftover birthday cake (which I have resisted), eat those cookies I bought for Lily and her friends' after school snack, go crazy or blog.

I know I've been missing, and if there's anyone who missed me, I'm grateful for you. Lily has started high school and I have so very much I could say but since she reads my blog I'll just say...nothing.

No, I'll say this: thank God she went to the single-gender middle school and got her confidence, sense of self and a strengthened sense of independence from peer pressure built up. I'm not sure that sentence says what I want it to say but I need a cookie. Maybe the whole bag. Maybe I'll go trick-or-treating in my neighborhood this very night and see what I can beg from my friends. 

I am hungry. Starved. I hurt all over. And I'm on the first week of The Biggest Loser at my local gym. 

No, we're not on TV. I wouldn't do that. Blogging about it is as far as I'll go. I'm not the size I like me to be, I'm not fit and my blood work at my last appointment could have been better. So, after much belly-button gazing -- combined with the realization that my belly button could use some buttoning up -- I cautiously signed up for the Biggest Loser. I didn't want to tell anyone. I'm not Big Big. I may not even be Medium Big. I might be Small Big. But I'm bigger than I ought to be and too big to be happy about my bigness. 

Did I say that I'm really hungry and that I hurt all over? I haven't been hungry before today, but I spent my calories foolishly earlier in the day so I'm paying for it now. I could eat, but where's the fun in that?

(I know all about the fun in that. I'm trying to persuade myself.) I'm a team player and I'm not going to eat because my team wants to win.

And I hurt, how I hurt. I've been told I will hurt for the next three weeks. Then I'll hurt less. This kind of hurting almost feels good. At least until I try to stand up or do anything that involves more than blinking my eyelids.

I get plenty of food in theory. It's balanced and not some crazy diet, and I'm supposed to eat six meals a day, which is a lot harder than you might think to squeeze in. I'm a little shocked that I'm not supposed to have watermelon. During the summer I cut up watermelon and keep chunks in a container for what I thought was healthy snacking. But I'm following the rules. No watermelon means no watermelon. I'm dying for watermelon. They're in season. The diet is supposed to keep your blood sugar even so you don't have peaks and valleys and watermelon has too much sugar.  Okay. I'll play. I can do anything for 12 weeks. But watermelon? I'll miss you. 

We're the purple team. Our reasons for being there are all different. Some people don't really need to be there, some are trying to get off that last 60 pounds, and some have serious health issues that run in their families and they're trying to outrun them. Good for all of us. 

Each team leader has what must be a serious incentive to have his or her team win. It must be a ticket to heaven, because these people are motivated motivators. For my leader, that means we're supposed to come 30 minutes earlier and work our butts off past quitting time. She even is throwing in extra workouts every week, beyond what I thought I was getting. It sounded expensive when I signed up -- about $37 per week for 12 weeks (on top of monthly membership fees), but I'm getting at least three personal training sessions (though in a small group setting), nutritional help and guidance and lots of pep talks, friendly e-mail reminders and a phone number I can call anytime for moral support. 

Paul says I'm the most excited he's ever seen me. It feels good to be a part of a winning team -- no matter where we end up.

And it's funny, too. I know I'm competitive (as in, "I want to win") when it comes to horse back riding, but I didn't think I was that competitive otherwise. Wrong. Two team members came to the workout late yesterday. I realized I was pissed at them. I can't believe this is me. 

I'd tell you more but I'd have to have a cookie to go on any longer, so I think I'll just go to bed. Hungry. And be grateful that this is a hunger I chose.

I'd Like an Order of Vicarious Goal Fulfillment with That

A few months ago a friend alerted me to some kind of study (I want to say it was in the book, Emotional Intelligence, but who knows) that showed most of us can only press forward in one area of self-improvement or self-moderation at a time. This is good to know if you're setting yourself up for failure by trying to lose weight, save money and write two novels while continuing with everything you are already doing, all at the same time. (Tried it and it does not work.)

The one thing I remember, since I don't necessarily remember the source, is that they found that people who went window shopping before meeting friends at a restaurant ordered more and worse choices for dinner. Because they had already exerted self-control by window-shopping and not shopping-shopping, their self-control tank was half-empty.

Now here's another study that shows the ways our brains work -- or don't. If there are healthy food choices on a menu -- for example, a salad (though I can quickly make that unhealthy and yummy) -- people are more likely to do things such as order fries and other unhealthy food. They're calling this "vicarious goal fulfillment."

Here's a free and better description on Weighty Matters. You can probably google other stories, too.

Airline Makes Big Guy Buy Two Seats

This is a true story and not one that you've heard about. A friend of a friend has a rather large son (though not 555 lbs.) who is all muscle and plays football at some college. He's a monstrous guy with biceps like my thighs, only muscular and without cellulite, and weighs in at over 300 and something. So, when booking a flight, the airline made him buy two seats. This really made him and his mother mad because he's just your average college football player sort. Only in jumbo size.

Now, I have mixed feelings about this airline big-people, two-seat rule. I have flown before in the middle seat between passengers on each side who spilled over quite abundantly into my seat. The two large folks almost met in the middle, which, unfortunately, I was attempting to occupy. The thought did occur to me at the time that I was not getting full use of the seat I was paying for, and in fact, thought about charging rent. Though since they were bigger than me, and I couldn't be seen or cry for help behind the double-wall of flesh, I just endured.

So I can understand why if a person occupies more than one seat, perhaps the person in the seat who is experiencing the uninvited double occupancy of his neighbor's seat overflow really should either get a discount or a break. Yet, there is something unfair about this selling of two seats to one person. Heavy people and Southerners are the only people it's okay to make fun of.

But back to the true story of this son of a friend of a friend. He begrudgingly paid for his two seats, and showed up on time for his flight...

...only to find that the two seats weren't anywhere near each other!

S. C. Authorities Search for Mother and 555-lb. 14-year-old Son

I wish this news was really a movie because then it would be funny. A South Carolina mother didn't show up for a custody hearing and so the authorities are looking for her and her 555-lb. 14-year-old son. The reason she is in trouble with the law is that his size critically threatens his health.

You can read the breaking news story here.

Somebody suggested they look for them in all-you-can-eat restaurants. But I didn't just type that, did I?

How can you hide a 555-lb kid? How can you fit him in the car?

And I know from personal experience that 14-year-olds can be a bit frustrating. Obstreperous. Difficult. And that's without messing with their food.

I'll resist all the things I want to say, like maybe he ate her.

The Fat Cat Diet

Our vet has an obese white office cat (long-haired and maybe a few pounds less than the cat pictured). I see him every time I go in to get Tiger's blood sugar checked or to pick up more insulin or needles.

When I was recently there, I saw a great big fat white cat -- shaved and sitting in a cage. The cat looked pissed.

"Is that your office cat?" I asked.

"Yes. We shaved him so he could see how fat he was," the receptionist said.

"So the cat could see how fat he was?" I asked.

"Yes. So he'd be ashamed and lose weight," she said.

This is crazy. Does a cat care if its fat? Maybe excess poundage is a turn-on for cats. Who knows how a cat thinks? Does this cat have a mirror? Is he vain?

He sure was shaved. He looked like a cat army recruit. I asked, "Did it work?"

"No."

I stared at him. They had a big sign on his cage that said, "Do not feed, no matter what he tells you." And then instructions to feed him one spoonful of a special food in the morning and one spoonful at night. And he looked mad.

"Why's he in the cage?" I asked.

"Because he's so mad he's on a diet that he's been swatting us."

I've been thinking about this a lot. Instead of going to a spa-resort to lose weight while getting massaged and fed slices of cucumber down by the pool, what about going to a local place where they lock you naked in a room with mirrors and stick a spoonful of food through the window twice a day?

The Old Goat Eats Goat

Okay, you're on an island that's supposed to have the best restaurants in the Caribbean. So what do you do? If you're my husband, you go to a seaside cafe in Phillipsburg and.... you order GOAT for lunch.

Some things you just aren't supposed to eat. No wonder they're all in a tree.

more cat pictures

Addicted to Self-improvement Books

There are so many ways I could improve myself. All I have to do is buy the right book.

Yes, yes, I know that as a Christian the only self-improvement book I need is the bible. Maybe I can pick up a self-improvement book about that. Maybe I already have. I'm not low on self-improvement books.

In the middle of the clutter I have several on getting rid of clutter. Some have even been opened, marked up, mused over, tossed back into the clutter. I have books on how to write, how to eat, how to exercise, how to make yourself happy, how to improve your love life (not the racy ones, sorry to disappoint), how to raise a daughter, how to deal with Alzheimer's, how to train a horse, how to take care of a farm, how to save enough money for retirement by not buying books....

My current self-improvement books seem a bit at odds with each other. I'm part of a bible study that's examining the other gods that we let slip into our life, the ones that turn into "putting another god before Me." I do a lesson in the morning. Sometimes the lessons mention how body image and the effort devoted to losing weight/getting fit can be a kind of interfering god that comes between you and the real God. After I've finished that lesson, I pick up the diet solution book (mentioned in previous post) and work on how I'm going to care more about myself and put my body image and health first. Well, that's not exactly what it says, but it feels like there's something in conflict with these two.

I can make a very good case for taking care of my body with diet and exercise because it is the temple of the Lord. I'd be lying about why I'm doing it, but I could make the case. The truth is, I'm doing it because I'm VAIN.

Maybe there's another self-improvement book I could use to balance out these two. Bridge the gap. Smooth over the conflicts.

A friend of mine is also addicted to self-help books. When she and her husband were getting married and were consolidating their book collections, he was amazed at all the self-help books on her shelf. He said, "If I'd known you needed this much help, I never would have married you. I hope you're all fixed now."

We're never all fixed. And that's okay, too. But what I need to do is start WRITING self-help books instead of buying them.

First I'll need a clever title. Something like: Help Yourself! Stop Buying Self-Help Books and Start Living.