Category Archives: The Diet

I Jumped on a Bandwagon

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I jumped on a bandwagon

Hearing people say, “you got this” or “no excuses” usually triggers an immediate eye roll from me. It’s involuntary; built in over years of hearing people be cheerleaders, coaches, and just plain high-energy…while I was happy to walk my path as they ran past me. Or maybe it was so many years of jumping on their bandwagon, only to fall off. I’m a little jaded, for sure.

This week, I got up for my 12th workout in my planned workout schedule (thank you), and someone said, “that sweat looks good on you!” This made me laugh. I’ve never felt that way. There are women who look amazing with the dewy, post-gym halo. The ones that exit the locker room and guys drop their weights to think, “yeah, I’d like to sweat with her.” No, no, no. I’m the one that walks out of the locker room and my gay gym pals say, “Oh honey, put some makeup on.” So when I heard her say this, it triggered the regular eye roll…but then the laughter and by some miracle, acceptance.

I have accepted that this sweat – every last little bead – is a badge of honor. It’s my body crying to git rid of all of the things I’ve put in it over the years that didn’t belong. Bring on the sweat bandwagon. No excuses. [Insert eye roll.]

I Stepped on a Scale

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i-stepped-on-a-scale

Well, well, well. It’s been 18 months since I last wrote in here, but you’ve caught me on a big week. This week, I turned 40. 40 Four-freaking-tee. How the hell did I get here and I still haven’t figured out how to live as a responsibly thin adult? I could write a book on how that happened, but instead, let’s just close that chapter and agree to move on.

I sucked up my pride and walked back into Weight Watchers this week. This is the fifth time I’ve done it since I turned 18. It’s clear that, left to my own devices, I will not choose the right things in life. I will chase shiny objects like cake, and martinis, fried butter at the fair, and Diet Coke for all of my days. This is my homage to them as I learn how to put these vices in a little box that I open only occasionally while I party down with the veggies, protein, and water. [Insert gag reflex. Hoping this changes soon.]

And working out. Let’s chat about that for a minute. I used to think I was big, but strong and could keep up. I watched The Biggest Loser and felt sorry for them. This week it was clear that those contestants put me to shame. No more. I have accepted my fate. I am 40 and sick of waiting for my life to start. Buckle up, buttercup. Here we go.

 

I quit my diet

The Diet, ,

I-quit-my-diet

Ok, I didn’t quit. I have something akin to Brokeback Mountain syndrome when it comes to diets.  “I wish I could quit you [insert utopian diet of choice this week].”  But I refuse to quit.  I’m no quitter.  Quitting a diet means I’m giving up my fantasy of descending from a helicopter to my [insert important year] class reunion looking like Sofia Vergara, wearing a white dress and watching women push their dates’ bottom lips up from the floor.  Oh no, to give that up would be to admit complete and utter defeat.  Not an option.  So I threaten to quit, but never do.  (Note: I may or may not have that dress in the back of my closet.  It looks awesome on my right thigh, because that’s all I can fit in it right now, but I’m keeping the dream alive.)

I’ve read a few books about how ironic it is that smart people have trouble losing weight.  It’s counter-intuitive.  You know all the right things to do, you know all of the socially acceptable ways to be, but for some reason, you just can’t stop making love to that vanilla frozen custard in the dark.  It’s like a LITERAL “booty call” while I’m watching Scandal.  The frozen dessert texts me and says, “Hey girl, I know you’re missing’ a lil’ something’ in your life, and I’m pretty sure it’s that empty pocket in your right derriere.  Let me fill it for you.”  And I often find myself texting back, “Yeah, sure.  Liv doesn’t have to chose between the President and the mega hunk who are fighting over her, so why in the hell should I have to be a responsible adult?”

For those of you who are not overweight, congratulations!  Either you have killer genes, or you’re doing an admirable job of modifying your rockstar lifestyle.  Well done, you!  For me, I have moments of glory, where I finish a bike ride or 5K and think, “So this is what those svelte female athletes mean when they proudly declare they crave water the way I crave Diet Coke!  I will now immediately become the next after picture in every magazine I avoid at the supermarket and Ellen will invite me on her show and ask to dance with me to celebrate my phenomenal new body!”  And the joy is intoxicating…for about 48 hours.  Then all of my super lame habits creep into my world again and I’m back to being book smart and body stupid.  (Please hold. I just got a new text from the custard. I wish I could quit him too.)

You know, one of those books I mentioned is called Change or Die.  The cover is even modeled after a stop sign: completely blood red with the title in dumb block white text.  But seriously – this is well documented research where doctors told obese and/or heart diseased patients they had to change their behavior or else they would soon DIE, and they still didn’t change!  Yep – too much work.  I think I’ll just go ahead and sit on the couch and DIE.  My point is that inertia is a powerful thing, folks.  It’s the yin to our “intoxicating water & dancing with Ellen” yang.

Now I get out there and do a moderate amount of activity and I grab fruit and veggies instead of carbs much of the time because (much to my chagrin) I actually am a responsible adult, but I can certainly do better and do it more often.  While I ponder how to change this mysterious balance for the long term, I think I’ll go get some water.  And by water, I mean Diet Coke.