I’ve Got New Digs…

Since I’ve got so much planned for this blog in the upcoming year(s), I broke down and got myself a domain all my own…where I can eat all the donuts I want without fear. Come visit me there!

http://donutsalwayswin.com

Yeah, not that different, but different enough. Coffee’s waiting…and so are the cake donuts no one else would eat…

Resolution, Part 1. Sorta.

I’m thinking that since I’ve just made two bold proclamations of my resolutions this year, I should actually come up with the aforementioned resolutions–for both you and me.

Plain and simple like a cake donut without glaze, I need to lose weight. In the past, that means I say I’ll lose XX number of pounds by XX date and go from there–which gets me nowhere, in reality. It’s too easy for me to say that and skedaddle. There’s never a time crunch or a real reason to follow through because, for one, I never tell anyone else. For two, if I don’t lose it, I still like myself enough to overlook the fatness.

But these last few months–even upwards of the last year–I’ve noticed some health issues associated to what I presume is my weight gain and basically lethargic and more sedentary lifestyle choices. (If I move around on FarmVille, my second favorite Facebook game, I really should burn real-life calories. I’m just sayin’…). My right knee, which I damaged when I fell on ice almost 15 years ago, shoots with pain when I climb stairs. My muffin top went from a mini-muffin to a Perkins oversized banana nut muffin. My back aches occasionally when I’m on my feet, due to the lack of yoga and core workouts I used to do religiously. And that’s to say nothing of the size of my ass, which may someday in the near future serve as a land bridge between the US and the UK.

And, more simply, the fact that when Christmas shopping this year, I thought I’d buy myself a new pair of jeans since the price was ridiculously low (and I really don’t buy myself new clothes more than once every two years or so)–but instead of picking up a 14 in the misses, I ended up across the great tile divide at Kohl’s…the women’s section…only comfortable in a 16W. That was the defining moment for me. Yes, big can be beautiful. But not if it’s embarrassed to buy something off the rack that has a second use as a table cloth. My commentary on bigger sizes is against me, not the bigger girls–because bigger for my body is unhealthy. (that may not be the case with other 16W).

Enough with the PC of my 16W. Needless to say, those pants are comfortable but they make me feel crappy that I’ve let myself get out of shape to this extent. For all the insurance charts that get shoved in our faces from weight loss companies, I know my “right” weight for my 5’8 frame is nothing in the 140s. I’m much more realistic about that than most people. I could be happy with something in the 160s or even low 70s. The lowest I recall since high school (where I was a svelte 140 in my senior year and still looked like a chunk of dough compared to my waif-like friends in the 110s) has been in the 190s. In the 190s I felt good. Strong. Solid. Skinny–although to be honest I hate the word skinny.

So, ultimately, I’m still wavering on whether my goal will be pounds lost, sizes shed or something else–possibly workout minutes per week or some such variable–but the final goal is my 40th birthday–April of 2011–in a size and shape never witnessed before in the adult years of Beth’s life.

And I will refuse to consider the fact that a land bridge between the US and UK might financially secure me for the rest of my natural-born life…even if it would be easier.

January 1st Is Overrated

Like the hype of a crying quarterback from a swamp who led his team to a whomping of a team (sold out by their coach) that should have stuck with playing the small schools they were created to play, starting resolutions on January 1st is overrated–and here’s why.

Part of the reason annual resolution-making sucks is because we start on the wrong day. Hey, in case you missed it, January 1st is a holiday. Now, no big deal to some of you, but to us college football fans, it’s a pigskin-related excuse to eat all kinds of junk we wouldn’t normally eat on a regular day. Plus, there’s the prerequisite good luck food for the new year, based on whatever culture you associate yourself with: cabbage for the Germans, beans for the Mexicans, spicy chicken wings for the Buffaloeans. Being of Heinz 57 ethnicity, as mom likes to say, we go more for the Germanic cultural heritage than the Irish and Scottish on January 1st and require our family to eat some type of pork and cabbage-based product. Mom’s is roast and sauerkraut; mine is sausage and cabbage egg rolls. Who, in their right mind, wants to start of the new year by shunning the food that will bring them loads of luck in the upcoming year–only in the name of weight loss.

Not me. Plus, each time I ate an egg roll, the Buckeyes scored against the Ducks. What kind of person would I be to make my team suffer by not eating those yummy, home made egg rolls in the name of being skinny? I didn’t eat them for myself, I ate them in the knowledge that we’d finally improve our bowl record under Tressel and shed the misconception that the Big Ten-Leven can’t play with the big boys. A bowl win based on egg rolls…you’d better believe it. True, our quarterback can’t walk on water and heal the blind like *some* quarterbacks, but he’s a star in my book any day.

So, back to the original thought–January 1st is a holiday. It’s convoluted to start a resolution drive on the first. I did the sane thing and waited til today to officially throw down the gloves for the duel. Now that the gloves are down, what are my plans? Guess you’ll just have to tune in for the next blog post to find out…(I promise, it won’t be long.)

2010 Resolution…For Real This Time!

Weight Loss for Real!I’m not the resolution type. I mean–of course I’ve set resolutions in the past. I’ve resolved to be nicer (but I still hate certain people from my past who locked me in a closet at a Girl Scout meeting), resolved to be a better mom (and I have–I bought the kid a Wii after listening to his complaints for over a year, only to have him save his money and buy himself a PlayStation 3), resolved to clean the house more often (sometimes holidays just aren’t enough).

I’ve had differing amounts of success with resolutions. Some come and go, some stick around for a few years until I shed the need for them like a snake sheds skin. But one of them–ONE of them–that got started back in the mid 80s still hangs around my head in the New Year stretch of the holiday season like a buzzing gnat that refuses to die off in the cold, Ohio winters. Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about here–you do. You just won’t admit it yourself at the risk of realizing you’ve been doing the same damn thing.

Weight loss.

If you’ve lived our American consumeristic, infomercial-based capitalistic society for any length of time and haven’t set a goal to A) lose weight , B)eat less, C)exercise more, or D) replace two meals a day with a powdered mix that tastes like a combination of cocoa, saccharin and sawdust, then my post does not apply to you. Consider yourself excused. Go flit around someone else’s blog–what we discuss here will bore you senseless. (But, if you’re lying to me and yourself by saying you’ve never set a diet resolution because you’re going to feel the guilty sting of a goal not accomplished and you don’t like feeling like a failure, read on at your own risk).

I really don’t set resolutions anymore, much. I have learned, through trial and error and failure, to set my writing goals by the quarterly change of the calendar. This keeps them fresh for me. It really does work, too. But in adopting this plan for my writing, I’ve left my weight loss goals in the dust. I don’t set them anymore because I know I’ll fail them. I’ve been working harder to accept myself–my overweight self–the way I am, and that’s not cutting it, either. So, as I pondered the new year, the fact that I am now into 16W pants again, a place I SWORE I would never be again in my life after eight months of carrot sticks and skim milk, I have to shift my thinking. Not into setting a resolution to lose weight so I can finally be the girl who fits into Jordache jeans (hey, I told you this started in the 80s. Don’t make me bring out the rest of those fashion memories…), but the adoption of a mindset that will lead me into facing my 40s (16 short months away) in a healthy body. I’m not after size or scale number (liar, but seriously), but instead a mentality that will have me searching for ways to cut out the crap and leave my life only with the good stuff.

And since I’m so easily embarrassed by social media public humiliation tactics, I figured–where better to start this journey and blab it all over town than my blog? I debated changing the name, but hey, I may eventually be in a size 12 but I’ll still love me some donuts. Plus–I am soooooo done with fad diets and all that stuff–I want to learn to be healthy and still sneak in a donut or two. Look at Homer–he scarfs them regularly and still leads a (semi) active life. I’m not talking cramming in a half-dozen at a sitting like I’ve done in the past, but everything in moderation.

Except my blogging. Once I realized the potential for publicly humiliating myself into action via blogging, I jumped at the chance. I suppose, like all writing endeavors, I will start strong and dwindle later, but with the addition of my new iPod touch (and a strong wifi connection), I may be able to blog more often. Shame they won’t be as rambling as this post, I know, but at least you’ll know I didn’t fall down a healthy, whole-grain rabbit hole on my way to skinnydom.

With all that said..erm…typed…let’s get this show on the road.

The List of Why I’m Pissed

Just a word of warning…this might be a long post, but if that bugs you–tough. It’s my blog. I’m feeling the urge to write, and I’ve got a solid hour before I even think about bedtime. Take those two reasons combined with the fact that I’ve really started feeling crappy about my personal health (yes, read that as “fatness”) lately, you’re in for a treat. (Not a chocolate-covered one, either).

You may have noticed my absence from the blogging arena over the last few months. (then again, maybe not). I’ll be honest–I’ve really not felt like blogging (not just here, don’t feel neglected) but at my main (writing) blog as well. I think part of the reason–possibly a big part of it–is in going back to school. I just don’t have the time, motivation or energy some days to sit and type. My schedule has adjusted from waking up at 6:30 to now waking at 4:30. (Yes, AM). Instead of enjoying the sunset and going to bed around 11, I wake up in the dark and go to bed in the dark–I usually hop into bed before 9:30. In the meantime, I’m making dinner, cleaning, napping…all things I must do to maintain sanity and some type of healthy lifestyle to keep going.

But it’s wreaked total and complete havoc on my body. In the past two years, I think I have gained almost 30 pounds. I attribute this to a few things–a job change where I don’t get to set my own schedule, where I wake up so early it feels like I’m still on the day before, a really rotten lunch time (my lunchtime is 10:10 am, leaving me desperately famished when it’s time to go home despite a snack or two during my lesson prep time), being mentally, emotionally, physically & psychologically drained after raising other people’s kids for an entire day and literally needing a nap to keep myself awake past 5pm. (no longer than a 20 minute power nap, but still).

The jogging phase last spring worked really well for me. Coming out of a cold, dreary Ohio winter, stopping at the park three days a week and getting my creaky body to move was refreshing. Energizing. And novel. I had no false hopes that I would magically transform into a jogger (even if I led you to believe that here). I don’t enjoy jogging enough to keep at it for the rest of my life (despite my previous blog comments). And this time, there wasn’t a lot of weight loss/muscle tightening as there has been during past jogging lapses…I mean session.

And why keep at something if you don’t like it and it doesn’t seem to be working? (I could insert a comment here about a teacher I work with, but I’ll keep that to myself).

I think I’m rambling, and it’s 30 minutes til bedtime. What I got on here to say tonight, mostly for myself, is that over the last few months, I’ve really been feeling shitty and I have no one but myself to blame. Period. Well, I could pass a bit of that on to the hub, since he takes me out to dinner now and then and has good intentions, like tonight, of getting me dessert after a fairly decent dinner at home by buying me Hostess SnoBalls which I feel obligated to eat just to make him feel good (I’d rather have HoHos). But no one is pointing a gun at my temple and forcing me to eat. (no one except the voices).

Here’s what’s pissing me off about this whole extra 30 pounds thing (I like lists, in no particular order)

1. I am eating a healthy breakfast every day. I have only had donuts approximately 3 times in the last three months. If that. And one donut was a gift from my son’s best friend who works at Jolly Pirate. (He always was my favorite).

2. I’m eating light lunches. A Lean Cuisine and some type of veggie or fresh fruit to go with, a water or diet Ginger Ale or plain iced tea. I’ve had a cafeteria lunch twice. Once was the new pizza, which was the first and last time that creature gets near my mouth, and once was when I was sick and had salad for lunch…and it made me queasy. Corn dogs at school never make me queasy. Occasionally I’ll add in a yogurt. Or maybe sunflower seeds. All properly portioned, of course.

3. I’m having this issue with severe sugar/chocolate/candy cravings after lunch and dinner. For example, today I as 110% satisfied with my roasted turkey lean cuisine and apple. But about ten minutes later, I practically ate my arm off to get a piece of halloween candy from my good-reward-for-the-kids stash, which turned into two pieces which turned into four and a hunk of Dove chocolate. And I wasn’t even remotely hungry. I kept telling myself as I shoveled in the mini Twix, but the connection to the brain was lost when those chocolately atoms hit my tongue. Like I’ve lost all common sense. I have two degrees from college yet I don’t know how to stop eating when I’m not hungry? Ridiculous.

4. Likewise, I was a fool and purchased a huge-ass (I can use that word because it’s what the candy creates) bag of tootsie roll-related candy. I didn’t do this under the premise of halloween, but under the premise (is it a premise if it’s true and factual?) of being very dedicated to my writing over the last few months, and in preparation for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in November, which I’ll be doing for the first time ever. Why tootsie rolls for writing? Because in grad school (I told you I have two degrees) I did a research project on how I learn using different multiple intelligences (modalities, if you’re into that type of stuff). My discovery was that when I have something chewy or something to suck on (Hey, candy. This is the food blog, not the porno blog), it literally helps me focus on the work I’m doing. If I start working on an essay, if I suck on a tootsie pop, it really does help keep me focused for much longer than if I didn’t. So I bought the candy in hopes I’d be a NYT best selling author by now. All I got was a New York sized waistline.

5. Another thing that pisses me off (in case you’ve forgotten why I started this list): my Wii Fit. The kid forced me to get one a month ago. I like it. Fun, cute, interactive, my Mii is utterly adorable and never has a bad hair day…but the body test every morning was pissing me off to no end. I know weight fluctuates. But in the days before the gianormous bag of candy in my kitchen, I was gaining three pounds a day after walking, eating healthy and drinking all my water. Oh, and 45 minutes of Wii Fit thrown in for good measure. WTF? I know I’m fat but I did not gain 5.4 pounds in a single day. Unless the dog was on my back on the balance board.

There are other reasons I’m pissed but it’s close to bedtime and I’m losing steam. I think what I’m most hacked off about is that I’ve let this weight creep up while bitching about it but doing nothing about it, really, except giving in to my stupid behaviors that are leading me right into trouble. I can’t diss the entire candy bag, but I need to stop eating three pieces here, three there, six later, two for midnight, etc. And I need to exercise more. Period. I recently read a research report where they found that folks who did an average of 300 minutes of exercise per week were the best losers of all. I used to do that, count minutes. Then my pedometer ran out of batteries.

I just found the pedometer today, accidentally, in the bathroom drawer. Do you think that’s a sign?

Thanks for letting me vent. You know I’ll be back. Except next time, I’ll make it entertaining.

Still here

I’m still here, battling the forces of sugar and evil. About to put on my mask and cape (so slimming!) to head to the state fair where I know I’ll lose a minimum of one deep-fried battle.

I’m still jogging, albeit at a slower clip since coming back from a week at summer camp.

I’ll catch you up soon. In the meantime, donuts of the world–unite!

I Don’t Think I’m Normal

Being a fatgirl for most of my life (since age 4, I surmise), I go on the assumption that the way I eat is the way most people eat: fingers out of the way, all hands on deck.

Before you think I just slap my face around a trough at mealtime (oink! more corn, please!), I need to explain where this thought came from.

My little bro had heart surgery yesterday (by little, I mean 30, but a little bro will always be a little bro) so today I hung out in his room while he rested with his wonderful pain med drip. In the room, there’s one small window that overlooks the vestibule of the heart hospital. It also looks into the waiting area of families awaiting news on other heart surgeries. While I watched, a woman (my age) and a man I figure was her dad sat down with a paper sack full of lunch between them. She had something–I couldn’t voyeur that far, (love people watching behind shaded glass~) but he had a sandwich and a Frosty. And a book.

Mind you, this was around 3pm. I’d had a bowl of Fruity Pebbles around8 this morning, so I was a wee bit hungry. Some people watch Playboy, I watch food court. As I watched him eat (after pouring the entire salt packet on his sandwich….in a heart hospital….ugh), I realized something. Five minutes later, he was still eating. And reading. And chewing.

I think he’d taken like three bites in that five minutes. In the same time span, I could have eating his sandwich, fries, frosty and have been in line for something else. He wasn’t paying a whit of attention to his food. Rather, he was engrossed in his book.

For some reason, this made me reflect on how I eat. For me,there’s some type of unbreakable laser-like spell with any type of food in the vicinity. And not in a good way. If you ever watch Cesar on the Dog Whisperer, it’s like when the dogs get so fixated on another dog, or a rabbit or a person and can’t see anything else in the universe except that thing–until Cesar breaks the spell. (Poke me in the ribs, Cesar, and see if I stop eating). It really is scary to be food in my presence. There is no cease fire.

But this guy…he ate about half the sandwich then proceeded to wrap up the rest and toss it out. I like to think it was the massive sodium content, but after watching him eat two bites of his Frosty, read for five minutes and eat two more bites, I realized the real deal–the man is not stark raving mad around food. He enjoyed his lunch, ate til he was (presumably) full and enjoyed his dessert. I imagined myself with a Frosty–no one gets near it til it’s gone.

This made me very aware of how I eat, and I tried carrying over those thoughts (shameful, if truth be told) through dinner. I ate slower, tried to enjoy my food without dying to scarf it down. It was nice. I don’t know if it will last but I keep reminding myself that his slowness and enjoying the food vs. my maniacal food attacks are probably why he was skinny as a beanpole and I’m as fat as a tomato.