Fill 'Er Up or Coast On Fumes?

Does anybody know - or at least feel like throwing out an educated guess - whether it's a good or bad thing to exercise before eating breakfast? I mean, is it like driving down the highway with a flat tire or driving down the highway in a sleek, aerodynamic car? I do eventually eat breakfast as I am of the tribe of No Skipping Meals (I do so love to eat) so I'm not talking about going off the reservation in terms of eating. Geez, I'd pretty much have to stop breathing before I ever stopped eating.

Anyway, I read somewhere (could've been a comic book) that exercising before food burns more calories faster because there's nothing in your stomach for your metabolism to metabolize - sort of like being in some nitrous state I guess. What do you all think: tank empty or tank full?

Healthy Lifestyle, My Ass!

Safety alert: there is nothing wrong with my ass. Except that it is too big. It isn't as big as it was a year ago but that seems to count for donuts (mmmm....donuts). Or at least that's the impression my doctor gave me over the phone as she was telling me that the result of the barium swallow x-ray was that I have a mild hiatal hernia and reflux. All can be made good again by taking another med and "losing weight". Bitch. Bitch in a white coat who's never had a weight problem in her life. You could've lessened the blow by saying "lose more weight" but noooo, why encourage Little Lotta?

Call me crazy but a long time ago when I smoked 2 packs of cigarettes a day, I was the picture of health. All the trouble got started when I quit. The old axiom really is true: winners never quit and quitters never win. So I quit smoking and got married and you all know how the other saying goes - once you've caught the bus, you can stop running - and promptly put on about 80 pounds. Since reaching my peak of 229 a couple of years ago I got myself off the meds that had the crazy side-effect of weight gain (which little miss white coat never mentioned at the outset-bitch squared!) and started cultivating a "healthier lifestyle" - and it's been nothing but trouble since then. Since losing about 26 pounds overall I thought I'd start seeing some benefits healthwise. But my varicose veins are worse, I'm still on statins, still have sleep apnea and now this hernia deal and all I ever hear is "lose weight". Okay, I'm doing that but apparently not fast enough. My concern now is that at this rate I'll get to my goal weight some day and be told that I have a month to live.

Okay, my rant's over and if you think for one second I'm going to let this unappreciative doc get the best of me and I'll start comforting myself with Little Debbie and Big Gulp, you'd be wrong. It's on!! I'll see you in the examing room in January, girl, and I'll be bringing it. Prepare to be awed.

We Interrupt This Blog...

Well friends, here is the stump of the summer I've been dreading where I'm acquiring a nasty sunburn on my scalp because I've pulled out every hair on my head. Yes, the teen is home all this week and the first week in August so I will probably be incommunicado for much of it. I did not have the foresight to invest in a laptop so my access to this lone computer is severely compromised - not to mention my mental health. And even if I did get a good chunk of time to write, my attention span is the consistency of swiss cheese and I could not form a complete thought or coherent topic if my life depended on it. (In just writing this single paragraph I have been interrupted three- nope, make that four- times for issues I have already addressed with him - chores, homework, pet care - or his constant state of hunger in which his arms seemed to have suffered some bizarre form of paralysis that makes it impossible for him to access the fridge or cabinets himself. Oh, he's good - the old Chinese water torture technique - the constant drip, drip, drip of whining and complaining which is almost guaranteed to make me surrender unconditionally.) Who's a happier homemaker than me? I feel like I'm channeling Sue Ann Nivens.

I'll do my best to keep up with reading your entries as I marvel at your abilities to form thoughts and put them into words. I hope to rejoin the living soon.

It's F-ing Good For You

After years of working with men I acquired a bit of a nasty habit: swearing like a sailor (with all due apologies to sailors - they are no match for Wall Street types when the market is eating its young and they haven't had a commission in over two months.). Sorry, but I yam what I yam. But lo and behold, it turns out that cursing may hold some benefits after all - aside from being considered "one of the guys" in a guy-dominated business. I reference this study and while I don't exactly encourage swearing as the main form of communication, it does seem to carry some impact when the occasion calls for it. And let's face it, this weight loss journey has more than its share of frustrating and painful moments.

When my son was about 6 years old and riding in the car with my husband, he used the phrase, "b*tch *ss". (I'll wait for you all to exhale. Yes, little boys have been known to say naughty things.) He had just started taking the school bus and well, let's just say there were some pretty shady 6th graders throwing around some BMOSB (big man on school bus) curse words. But my husband obviously thought it was my doing. "B*tch *ss?!" I said in defense of myself and slightyly amused at this particular phrase,"that's not something I use." I hastened to add, "Now, if you ever hear him saying 'rat f*ck son of a b*tch' - that's mine." And to everyone's obvious delight, he never did.

One of Those Days

It has been a frustrating morning. First off, I had to go to the local hospital for a barium swallow x-ray. Sounds like some nefarious character from a Batman movie, doesn't it? Barium Swallow and his sidekick, Phlegm Maxim. The hospital is only about 10 minutes away but every major road that leads there is under heavy duty construction - as if the drivers in Massachusetts need another reason for road rage. The x-ray assistant was sweet as could be and that's probably to offset the asshole doctor he was working with. The doc did not speak English well at all and so when he wanted me to move or cough and I couldn't understand him, he started manhandling me and shoving me around. He had the bedside manner of a jackhammer. Okay, so having my gums scraped seemed pleasant in comparison but it eventually came to an end.

Next, on to the mall to return some stuff and continue my quest for a pink tee-shirt and some decent workout clothes. While roaming through JC Penney, a woman who appeared to be a sales lady asked how I was doing. My guard went up immediately as I know the sales ladies don't have that kind of down-time to saunter through the lingerie department. And I was right. She was a roving credit card solicitor - did I have a JCP card? No. Would you like one? No. Are you sure? Excuse me but did I stutter - I said NO! I literally had to put my arm out to give her a phsyical cue to shut the f up and move along. Great - now they have face-to-face telemarketers with instructions not to take no for an answer the first 12 times they hear it. Yet another reason to shop online.

Next on to Sears where I always ask myself the same question when it comes to finding larger size clothing there: is there any other place on earth where so much crap is stuffed in to such a small space? Clearly, this is where crap goes to die.

I came home feeling like I had ants crawling on the inside of my skin. It was just one of those days. I ate a decent lunch but must confess I ate a little more than I should have. Comforting myself with food is a hard habit to break but I caught myself before any real harm was done. So now I'll just have to sit with these feelings until they pass; say around December. But at least I won't have the added frustration of having chosen food over feelings. I'm sure I'll feel good about that when my ears stop venting steam.

Cheap and Flattering

Cheap AND flattering? No, I'm not talking about what the office Christmas party Santa is whispering in your ear after a bucket of margaritas. I'm talking about the tee shirts I found at Walmart this morning made by Hanes under the name Just My Size or JMS.

You'd never know there was an effort to stamp out the obesity epidemic in this country given the scarcity of decent workout apparel for us plus sizers. My conspiracy theory is that the powerful snack food lobby is suppressing the clothing manufacturers from making workout clothes that actually fit and flatter. We are, for lack of a better phrase, their bread and butter (pizza & beer, soda and salted nuts, ice cream and hot fudge....you get the idea). It's in their interest if we're fat and stay that way.

Oh sure, we can always buy those oversized men's tee shirts that come in 3XXX that viewed from behind make us look like two dogs fighting underneath a blanket (credit the late Lewis Grizzard for that gem). Or you could choose from the Women's offerings embellished with Mickey Mouse, Pooh and morning glory motifs. These are supposed to make us want to buy them? But as most of us know, we usually wind up buying them for the fit and not the fashion.

This morning's find was only $6.00 each and you do have to cull through some pretty awful tee shirt "art" to find the ones that won't get you stopped for creating a disturbance. The sizes run a little small so don't get bummed out if you usually wear 1X and have to go to 2X to make it work. It also has a flattering v-neck, is somewhat fitted and falls to about mid-ass.

Apologies for the missing photos of you lovely followers. It must be yet another glitch that comes without warning and leaves when you're just about to pop a vein - sort of like family. Hope you're all having a great Tuesday!

Birthday Parties, Helpful Hints and Teeing Off

Whew - the party's over. I did pretty well at avoiding the known toxic people and fatty food and it was pretty smooth sailing. But as one would expect from being in the presence of a thin person, the "helpful hint" did come up. Doesn't it always? And is anyone besides me sick to death of people offerring their stinkin' advice when it wasn't asked for in the first place?

So I'm talking to this woman - a family friend about 75 years old and in terrific shape. She, her husband, my hubby and I are talking about golfing - something hubby and I would like to take up again now that the teen wants nothing to do with us and would love to have 2-3 unsupervised hours alone (He hasn't found the nanny-cam yet. Who's the smart little mommy?). This woman and her husband golf frequently and she was telling me all the benefits of it and when she got to the word "exercise", she looked directly at me, raised her eyebrows and nodded her head - as if the word were quite foreign to me. These facial gymnastics of hers were the equivalent of bold, italic and underline if she were in writing mode. But alas, she was in preaching mode. Oh, if you could only please speak a little more slowly so I could really understand you, Yoda.

So here's what I said back to her: Oh yes, of course. (As in, "isn't that interesting? Tell me more about this "exercise" thingy because as you can see from my shape I have little to no experience with it")

And here's what I said in my head: Yes, Wanda, it might interest you and your ballpeen hammer subtlety to know that I've actually heard of exercise and am employing it quite frequently these days. But as long as we're sharing here, let me offer you a lesson in common courtesy that you'll never acutally know you've been taught and that's because I know how to keep my mouth shut when it comes to embarrassing or humiliating people in front of others under the guise of "helpfulness". That said, you really ought to do something about this habit you have of dressing 40 years your junior. Mini-skirts and AARP just don't mix. Glass houses and people throwing stones? Ditto. So please, just zip it.

The following day, hubby and I went to the driving range to brush up on those old golfing skills - teeing off on balls, not people. My helpful hubby wanted to know if he should use a wedge or a driver to help me get that chip off my shoulder. How could I not love this guy?

Hi-ho,Triggers - Away!

I'm going to CT tonight to celebrate my father's 80th birthday. How he ever got to be this old after a 4 pack a day cigarette habit and ketchup being the only "vegetable" I ever saw him eat is beyond me. But he's a cranky SOB (I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course) and as I've learned from experience, the mean ones live forever - or maybe it just seems that way.

I know I'm not the only one this happens to but whenever I return to my childhood home, it triggers some bad behavior as I'm treated like the person I used to be instead of the one I think of myself as now (all due apologies to any English majors out there for that appalling sentence structure). This behavior will include poor food choices, accepting undeserved criticism with a smile, hushing when the TV news comes back from commercial and assuming the role of family doormat (inherited from my Mom). And yes, cake will be in attendence.

I'm trying to neutralize emotional eating triggers when I recognize them and can plan ahead. It doesn't always work. My biggest trigger most days is waking up. Umm, I don't really want to avoid the waking up part but the eating part is still a challenge.

The more I try to assert my present day personality, the more it seems I'm beaten down for it by the ones who insist I be my old self (which clearly wasn't working for me) as it seems to serve them better than it does me. I can't cut them off completely as end-of-life issues are in the mix and I can't be that cold-hearted (altho I am sorely tested time and again). And they have always been this way - current issues are just fanning an already intensely burning fire. Hubby and son will be along for the ride and that will be some comfort. But I'm still not to the point where I'm completely comfortable enough with myself to say, "the hell with them" and really mean it. Do we ever get to that point?

Sorry to be such a bummer - especially on a Friday. Geez, get a grip. Somebody tell a joke. Stay tuned and keep your fingers crossed for me. Have a happy weekend, everyone!

The Rear In Review

Yesterday was my one year anniversary of blogging and I completely forgot about it. If it were my husband forgetting an anniversary there would have been a little hot tongue and cold shoulder at the dinner table last night but I digress.

So what did I do to celebrate? I went for my annual physical. Not too surprising that I am not an event planner by trade, is it? So after she did things to me that normally require drinks and dinner to get me in the mood first, she told me that my varicose veins would do better if I lost some weight. Thanks for noticing Doc, but I'm all of about 15 pounds lighter from last year. (And have you got anything to treat that enormous chip on my shoulder?) Fifteen pounds is not alot given that I need to lose about another 50 but it's a start but a little acknowledgment would've gone a L-O-N-G way in motivating me. Glass half empty: I too was disappointed in having only lost 15.

Okay, time for glass half full: I haven't quit, I'm working out more, I've made lots of terrific, smart, funny friends online, my spirits are higher (without chemical enhancement - mostly) and I weigh less than I did one year ago. There's a lot to celebrate after all.

Many thanks to all of you who provide the laughs, friendship and inspiration to make the next year really something to look forward to.

Why Do We Do It? Anyone?

In my last post I wrote about how I admire some athletes and their perserverance and likened their struggles to my own weight loss journey (it really is all about me, isn't it?). Anyway, I got some great comments (as usual) but the one from Sherre provoked the eternal question of most weight-loss candidates when she observed that we always stick by our favorite athletes and teams but why is it that we give up on ourselves so quickly. Great question, Sherre! So fellow bloggers, why do we give up on ourselves so easily? Anyone, anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

That Winning Attitude

Are there any tennis fans out there? Anybody watch the Wimbledon men's final between Andy Roddick and Roger Federer? Well, it was just great and had everything a tennis fan could want except that I was rooting for the guy who finished a very close second: Andy Roddick. I've been a huge fan of his for years and liken the experience to being a Red Sox fan before they won the World Series in '04 - always the bridesmaid, never the bride. And then I likened both experiences to my weight loss odyssey: every year I start out with excellent intentions and motivation and wind up finishing short of my expectations. But the Sox ultimately prevailed and I know one day soon Roddick will too because they've all perservered. Roddick has the bad fortune of being at the top of his game when perhaps the greatest tennis player of all time (Federer) is there as well...but I have no such misfortunes...only excuses.

Life will always be throwing something in the way like Bill Buckner fumbling the ball at first base or Bucky Dent hitting one out of the park or Roger Federer on a mission to capture the all-time record of most grand slam championships. If you were on the losing end of that situation then you know that was not a signal to lay down and pull the covers up over your head (I'm talking to you, Gigi!!) - it was a time to show yourself who's boss (that would be you also, Gigi!!) and start kicking ass and taking names until you got it right. (P.S. Please forgive the writing about myself in the 3rd person. My ego really doesn't embrace that kind of thing....does it, Gigi?)

I know this weight loss thing is not confined to a single season or tournament. It will be a life-long effort and that can be a hard thing to wrap your head around; kind of like contemplating space and Tic Tacs for dogs. But it can be done - it just has to be one day after another of doing the right thing. Losing weight is not the World Series or Wimbledon but the rewards of doing it right and being the best you can be can feel just as amazing.

(Photo: greginhollywood.com)

Bathing Suit Blues

The silver lining to all this crummy weather in New England is that it really has cut down on trips to the beach. This is important because I still haven't found a bathing suit yet. I've been to the store 3 times and all my little underwire-requiring friends have beat me to the punch. There are no supportive bathing suits on the racks anymore. Don't get me wrong - I've found some shelf-bra ones that fit - it's just that they make Ethel and Lucy look like they're on a roadtrip to Australia - waaaaaay down under.

I've ordered a few from some online catalogs where I've had luck before - until now. Their newest "look 10 punds thinner" special was made of some high tech/low sheen material that squeezed me so tightly I looked like a human speed bump; not to mention severely limiting the life-enabling function known as breathing. Ethel and Lucy were pushed to parts unknown and more importantly, became unidentifiable. Underwire bathing suits are harder to find than nuclear grade plutonium - and probably even more expensive. And yet I'm waiting on another delivery from an online order. Maybe this time......

What ever happened to the bathing suits of days gone by? The bathing suits my grandmother and her friends used to wear? Let me tell you, those ladies in their suits (and let's not forget bathing caps) were locked and loaded. Absent a little duct tape, their torsos were absolute hostages to these suits - and yet they looked like a million bucks and were able to move freely about without some body part breaking free of its restraint (and we all know what I'm talking about here). Those were the days when underwear was underwear and they called the store departments that housed them "Foundations" - not some frenchie-pierre, pouffy moniker like "Lingerie". Those were the days when "Foundations" meant just what it said: underwear and bathing suits with structural integrity incoporating elements such as buttresses, steel girders and load-bearing walls. Okay - so bending at the waist was not exactly an option but that's what grandchildren were for: to fetch and attend to anything below the waist.

The irony is that even once I find an acceptable bathing suit, I'll hate the way I look in it so much that I'll always be wearing a cover-up and never go into the water anyway. But such is summertime in a plus-size body. I've no one to blame but myself and no one to fix it but myself. Such exercises in humility and futility should act as motivation to do better by this time next year.

(Disclaimer: My grandmother was NOT Marilyn Monroe or even a near facsimile.)