Apr 7: Slow and starving wins the weigh-in

Well hello there, waist-wasters!

How’s everything going? I mean seriously. Would it kill you to call? The only person I hear from anymore is my friggin cat, and she just comes on here to post links to bizarre non sequitur youtubes. (Which are awesome.)

Alright, I’m done begging. So, I had an excellent week on the scales: lost 2.2 pounds this week. That’s like, a month’s worth of work at my current rate of progress. Guess I can just rest on my laurels for the rest of April now.

The thing is, I weighed myself on my wretched home scale yesterday morning and was utterly deflated to see that my weight had gone up this week. UP! I mean, okay, I said I was going to run (yog) 3-4 times this week and I only ended up going twice. But those times I went, I really gave’r, and I watched my fucking points (sorry mom) and there’s just no reason why I should have gained weight. And okay, if this were a blip, a one-time thing, I could perhaps be a little more relaxed and a little less italicized, but MY BODY WILL NOT LET GO OF THE FAT.

So, I was pissed. I decided desperate measures were called for: I dressed in my least weighty outfit (a t-shirt and my featherweight skirt), which is a pain in the arse when I walk to work because it’s so light that it rides up my thighs and I’m constantly pulling it down self-consciously. I could have taken the subway but I was looking to make up extra activity wherever I could. At work, I decided to forego any food or drink until post-weigh-in. I know, I know. It’s stupid, to put so much stock in a number that you have to use artificial means to manipulate. What can I say. I was desperate for good news, or at least not bad news.

So all morning I was sluggish and depressed. Anticipating another shitty result, plus no caffeine, plus I’m getting tired of the project I’ve been managing at work for six months. So noon comes round and I trudge off to the DubDub meeting with L-Mac², confessing my silly antics to her, which she laughed about in a very supportive and understanding fashion. Get on the scale and… WHAT THE! Down 2.2 pounds?! Wow. Who knew breakfast and a DDP weighs 2 pounds? (The other .2 was obviously taken care of with my nearly-naked wardrobe stylings, plus a half hour walk to work, I’m sure.)

Okay, as the warlocks say, "duh", this is obviously not a result based on skipping breakfast. I’m saying, my scale, she done me wrong. Maybe I shaved an extra half pound off with my morning neuroses, possibly a pound. Whatever, I’ll take it. Of course this introduces next week’s big dilemma: do I repeat this ridiculousness to ensure an accurate measurement from one week to the next? Or do I grow up and stop pulling stupid desperate acts of starvation and crankiness towards my co-workers and the world in general?

Wow, what a cliffhanger. For sure you’ll be tuning in next week to find out.

Jan 27: Metabolism like oobleck

First off: shout out to the birthday girl, most Snaggest of All, Ms. Punica Granatum!

Okay, on to the business at hand. Now that I'm a card carrying DubDub meeting attendee, weigh-day is Wednesdays. I go to a lunch time meeting with my girl L-Mac² (another well-deserved shout out). I can see you readers checking your mental calendar and wondering "what the fizzucky, Kentucky, that's two weigh-ins you haven't told us about!" Calm down. We here at D-Weighted are all about becoming healthy people and we totally don't care about the numbers on the scale.

Respectfully,

Anyway. After my first big week (down 6.8 pounds - whaddup), I lost a measly .6 the next week, which I attributed to that snarky bitch Mother Nature from the Tampax commercials (sorry for TMI, but those ads are hilarious/punch-inducing), and then yesterday I learned I'd lost just one pound. Okay, okay, "we are not about numbers here" (press play, above).

When I was doing Jenny Craig, I fell into a bad habit of getting weighed on Saturday and then going absolutely apeshit berzerker and eating whatever I wanted, plus things I probably did not want, for the rest of the day. The first 3 or 4 days of the week would be spent making up for Saturday's bad behaviour, and so I was doing well if I lost a half pound to a pound in a week. This time around, thus far anyway, I have been soooo good! I don't even eat my damn flex points. I don't take weigh-day off. I continue primly on with my point counting and dogged adherence to the program.

I just can't believe how easily I put on 25 pounds in the fall, and how hard it is to lose it. I was hoping, at least in the first month or two, that rejecting the so-called "cheat day" mentality would result in a couple pounds a week loss, at least at first, especially because I have so much more to lose now. But perhaps I have permanently crapped up my metabolism. Or, I'm just old. I don't know.

The thing is, there is nothing to be done about it, except suck it up and continue on. I realize that I just CANNOT continue to slack off like I did in the fall and be okay with gaining a bit of weight, knowing I can re-double my efforts when I am more mentally prepared to do so. That shit just won't fly no more. It is irritating to say the least. But there's just no point in whining about it, because that's only going to foster resentment, which inevitably leads to bad behaviour (see diagram). It is what it is.

No worries, fwiends. I'm irritated, but undeterred. Still determined, still feeling good about improving my health, still realizing that the psychological issues that are behind the constant up and down on the scale is what I really need to address. I'm okay, and actually still feeling PDG in spite of it all.

May 3: Weekend of wins

Hi-yooooo!

Fresh off my triumphant finish at the Sporting Life 10k run in Toronto! Okay, I gotta admit, I didn't triumph as triumphantly as I was hoping to. I finished in 1:07:07, which is exactly 2 minutes faster than last year. This is not insignificant, but less than I was shooting for. I feel like I did not have the mental strength to soldier through, take fewer walking breaks, etc. With about 2-3 km (1.5-2 miles) left in the race, I knew that if I could focus enough to slow down my pace but keep it steady, without anymore breaks, that I could meet my goal. And I made the choice not to suffer for it. I did a good job and I'm proud of my improvement. I'm just not one of those athletes who knows how to suffer.

And really, the race felt like suffering to me. About halfway through I was thinking to myself about how much I just wanted to walk the rest of the way. I don't know if this is just something runners go through when they are out there on race day, or it's because it doesn't come naturally to me or what. Maybe I just have to keep working at it, to improve my fitness, so it isn't so difficult to finish. The first 20-30 minutes of the run went great. Although, okay. That's where there are a couple of really great downhill grades. (The advantages of which, by the way, are purchased on credit with payment in full to be delivered to my thobbing quads the next day.)

I am still determined to improve, and try again in July for the 10 miler. I think I need to train outdoors more. I figured out why the treadmill is so much easier: it creates momentum that you have to make on your own when you run outside. Anyway, I know I have been improving my times and my endurance, and I'm motivated to keep working at it, but I just want to say: don't love running. Love the challenge, though. And the benefits I've seen. It's good to set goals and work to achieve them.

Congrats to all the Ladies of the Cancer, by the way. They totally smoked. I think five (?) of them broke an hour, and the others were not far behind. Hat tip to the Torq and Kat ("wrath of" in the comments) for all their ever-lovin support and encouragement.


Okay, the other triumph this week: lost 2.4 pounds! WORD. My metabolism is like a tourist meandering along Yonge St., taking in the sites, in no great hurry, and I'm trying to get around them so I can pick up my pace. Er, I think that metaphor got away on me. Point being: slow. So if I lose more than a single pound in a week, it's great news. Thus, I was very happy with the number. I am through trying to believe that the numbers on the scale don't mean anything! I love the numbers!

Mar 18: Rump likes being rump

(or, Notes on the Miaouw)

My cat-fetishizing significant other, referred to on this blog as the Miaouw, and by other qat-related monikers elsewhere, is an appreciator of RUMP. This is a fortunate thing indeed, since mine is ample. He was already half way in love with me without ever having laid eyes on my rump (plus it was significantly less ample back in the day), so I don't worry about him taking off like a cat out of hell once I finally shed some of this asstacular caboose.

Sometimes when I'm in the kitchen preparing a meal (read: shaking out some bagged salad, pressing "START" on the microwave, etc.), he will sneak up from behind and grab one of my cheeky protuberances and growl, "rrrrrrrrUMP!" appreciatively. Man that is a nice feeling.

I can't say for sure what it is about rump that attracts the Miaouw. Perhaps he is fascinated by it because of his decided lack of rump. There's barely anything there! Instead, he has a nice layer around his middle that he refers to as his "rind". He laments rind's spillover muffin-top effect, and makes sporadic attempts to fight the "fat tax", as he calls it. (I showed him my loosening trousers the other day and he said, "hey, fat rebate!" encouragingly.)

The Miaouw could stand to lose a few pounds, it's true. But he is a fan of gnaing [ŋīng]. He likes to gnaing wings, fries, pizza, and Ruffles All Dressed chips. (The latter is a Canadian culinary delight - a potent mix of barbecue, onion, garlic and salt and vinegar flavours. Gnnnnnaing!) Used to be the Miaouw could gnaing all the time and gain no weight. Apparently he was a skinny little bitch in high school who actively tried to gain weight. This led to the acquisition of really terrible eating habits. It gives us something in common, a foundation to build on

Two summers ago, he went on his very first diet and complained bitterly to me about how difficult it was for him, going from eating whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, to having all these restrictions on his freedom to gnaing. Moved me to tears, it did. He eventually forsook the portion-controlled approach that I use, and now uses the "skip a meal" diet plan. He eats a bag of All Dressed, and then he just... skips a meal. Then he gets on the scale and the fucker has lost 5 pounds

Meanwhile, this week I have mysteriously gained 1 or 2 pounds, depending on the scale's mood. Okay, I had some chocolate and a couple handfuls of All Dressed on Saturday, but that's weigh-in day, and I let myself have a little treat on Saturdays to keep myself in line the rest of the week. Since then, I've worked out a couple times and stayed on the straight and narrow as far as Jenny is concerned. There is no explanation for the weight gain - and DON'T say water retention because this has happened to me before and the water does not go away. Seriously, sometimes I gain weight inexplicably and I look to the next week to lose it again and... I don't.

The Miaouw was spooning me in bed this morning - sometimes he demands rump, and who am I to turn him down? - and he said, "Maybe rump doesn't want to leave. Rump likes being rump!"

If you have a more plausible explanation, I'm all ears. Anyway, it's nice to know that rump can stick around for as long as it wants to, and at least one family member will be happy about it