Standards

It started, as such things often do, with an idle conversation.

"You know, the military is offering incentives for employers to encourage their employees to join up. So I want all you girls to join," my boss said. It was one of those random, hilarious, late afternoon pronouncements from the back office.

"Ah, I'm too old," I said.

"No, actually, you aren't. They upped the age." I thought he was kidding. Because why would they do that...oh. Right. "Well," I said, "the other problem is, I'd have to lose about 200 pounds, I'm lazy and I like food."

But the wheels started turning. What are the standards? I asked myself. At first I thought I'd have to endure a conversation with a recruiter wherein I asked the question while he stood there in his trim green uniform and shiny shoes wondering why on God's green earth I'd want to know. But no, its all here where graduating seniors and curious middle aged fat ladies alike can check it out.

The first couple of sites I looked at gave me waaay too much information; I ended up reading an unclassified document on all the medical conditions that would prevent you from joining. I'm fairly sure I still have my gall bladder and I'm not polydactyl, a term I only know because in addition to my many charms I'm also a crazy cat lady. But this guy is out of luck, and not only because he's more than very nearly dead.

I poked around, and found out what I'd have to be able to throw down to join. Assuming it takes me more than a year to do it (because after age 41 they give you a WHOLE EXTRA POUND OF LEEWAY), I'd have to be:

151 pounds

No more than 34% body fat

I'd also have to be able to do at least 6 pushups in 2 minutes, 29 situps in the same amount of time, and be able to run 2 miles in 24 minutes and 6 seconds or less.

Huh. And so the wheels started spinning. And I thought to myself, COULD I do that? I'm not trying to do it by the time I'm 40, or because I'm actually considering JOINING the Army (I'm too fond of sleeping in chafe-free conditions and, you know, not getting shot at) but I am still compelled by this notion that I could pursue and achieve this small punch list that would, from a physical standpoint, put my house in order.

I'm still reading and gathering information, which will eventually lead to some stats so you can see exactly where I am now in terms of these goals. Off the top of my head I'd say I am:

300-something

A percentage of body fat that puts a little 'X' on the outside edge of a chart with an arrow that says 'YOU' just to the right of 'Saints preserve us, are you carrying an unabsorbed twin'?

I can do all kinds of pushups, but I look like a cat with a piece of scotch tape on his back. Situps? I can do those too. A few. Two miles might take me about an hour and a half with a good tailwind and a downhill slope and the promise of a frosty one at the end.

So.

I'm going to noodle with the numbers, and get back to you.

And I'm going to do this.

Refusing to give up has got to count for something....

...if only it burned calories, I'd be all set.



I have fallen down so many times, and gotten up so many times, its not funny. Really....its not. But what it is, is okay. I don't have excuses or bold statements, I'm just regrouping and making another bid for the summit.



I went to the movies last Saturday night and barely fit in the seat. It was a tight squeeze and uncomfortable. (Luckily the movie SUCKED and I left over an hour before the end, and enjoyed a nice stroll through town which restored circulation to my butt and cleared my head of images of blue weiner.) This time when the cluephone rang, it was for ME.



I have a chance to be on a Relay for Life team this summer, and I found myself excited about it. Something about getting outside my own weaknesses and doing something for someone else, all that kinda thing. I don't have anything inspiring, hilarious, or heck, even cohesive to share. I just figure that if I refuse to give up I won't be one of vast number of people who simply fail. It might not be pretty, bu I'll get there eventually.

Lent, or the Liturgical Season of Latent Hostility

I'm toying with an idea.

It may not be a GOOD idea, or a particularly Catholic idea, but its an idea.

I like Lent. I have the best intentions every year of being a Lenten Observer of the Highest Degree, and sometime around mid-March when I'm molar-deep in a slice of Bypass Lover's Pizza I realize, crap, its Friday. Oh well, waste is sinful too, I think, as I polish off the crust that has been dunked in shimmering garlic butter.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. I'd planned to make it a true, old school fast day, not a 'two small meals and one main meal', which strikes me as kind of a wuss sacrifice, but a true don't-eat-all-day then have one meal deal. Its only one day, after all. What the heck.

I've also been reflecting on my eating in general. I can't say its been particularly horrific, just mindless. I've been insanely busy, had a few things stressing me, and I simply haven't been paying attention. Last night I was home at 4:30 and had dinner on the table by 5:06, grilled fish, steamed veggies, top of the stove mac and cheese from scratch, and I was on the phone for the first 10 minutes of the cooking. Most of my meal plans are all about speed, since we shove eating in somewhere between car sharing and meetings. Exercise? I've walked a few times but its been so stupid cold I just couldn't bring myself to haul my stiff, sore ankles out there.

So I got this idea. No, its impractical for me to give up sugar forever. But 40 days? Could I do that? Would I derive some spiritual benefit from the sacrifice or would I just become an evil cranky bee-yotch and torment all I survey until I locked myself in the bathroom on Easter Sunday with a hatful of Cadbury Eggs? I'm being honest; this is a distinctly possible scenario.

Still, I think it'd be kind of a good thing to do. To give up the white stuff for Lent. I wont lie; I celebrated Fat Tuesday with a slice of pepperoni pizza and enough breadsticks to sustain a small village. I even drank a Pepsi, which has resulted in a caffeine rush that makes me want to simultaneously nap, burp, fight, and avenge a small village inexplicably deprived of breadsticks.

Maybe it'll jumpstart my program and get me back in the groove. And bonus; at the end, hopefully it won't be 17 degrees anymore. A light at the end of the tunnel in more ways than one.

I'm going to stay off the scale for 40 days too. Oh, I'll jump on tomorrow. But I'll give you the rundown on April 12th. (Try to think Yaay, Jesus! Not yaay, Titanic sank! Its more positive.)

You Otha Brothas Can't Deny

Oh, baby. I love the smell of Fox News in the morning. It smells like VALIDATION.

Check this out.

If this be true, then clearly I am a titanium-clad goddess of health and well being.

Never mind that I wouldn't have given Fox News the credibility of a Bazooka Joe comic during the election. Just never mind that.

Never mind it, I said.

Yeah, this isn't much in the way of a HASAY update; I'm still running on the afterburn-fumes of Christmas eating, but with my Idita-Walk challenge upcoming, and His Nibs undergoing some kind of Renaissance getting ready for his marathon, ongoing reform is in sight. I forgot to get on the scale today until I was fully dressed with shoes so I didn't bother, though I have a DOT physical tomorrow for work so the truth is out there.

In the meantime, I give you this. Celebrate it, ladies.

Cleaning out my closet

Everyone is doing a New Year's Resolution post. I don't want do do one. Why? Because I won't be magically imprinted with superpowers between 12/31/08 and 1/1/09 that will make me any more capable of meeting goals and expectations regarding anything from weight loss to responsible finance to regular brushing of the cat and making glimmering, shiny lists of to dos that suggest otherwise is a colossal waste of time. Look at that run on sentence. Look at it. Accept it before it destroys you.

Instead, I've got a list of things that have got to go. As in, Got to GO. You have to say "That's GOT to GO" while doing that head wag, finger in the air thing. Get all up in it Rosie Perez style.

1. Referring to someone's weight gain as 'ballooning' or 'packing on'.

As in, he/she 'ballooned to 240 pounds' or he/she 'packed on X pounds'. To the ballooners and packer-sayers, F-you. Because invariably, whatever they balloon-packed to is less than I weigh now. I neither expanded due to an iflux of gases, nor was I built like a snowman. Nor is my weight the worst thing that ever happened in my life ever ever.

2. Thinking of oneself as the 'token fat girl'.

The only person in your circle of friends who thinks you are the token fat girl is you. If your friends think you are the token fat girl, get new friends. Otherwise, buy yourself something fabulous, wear it, rock it, and have a good time.

3. New diets.

Just eat. Eat well, eat things that came out of the ground or had a mother. Low fat milk? Okay. Low fat Twinkies? Who ya kidding. Make good choices, don't be miserable and OCD about it.

4. Exercise as torture

There's got to be movement you enjoy. Do it. Get a good music mix in your headphones and enjoy it.

5. Clothes that don't fit

Too big? Chuck it. Too small, as in never gonna fit too small? Get rid of it. Half a size away? Okay. Keep it for motivation. The rest? Trash bag. Trunk. Goodwill.

6. Being miserable in your existing body

Look. You could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Heck, you may not even make it to the end of the day. That's how life is. Short. Unpredictable. Too short to postpone happiness to some later date. The Department of Goal Weights and Measures does not, contrary to popular belief, mail you a magic wand when you get to a special number that makes all of life fabulous. You'll just be battling your personal demons in smaller pants.

7. Wasting time worrying what other people think

Want to go to the gym, GO! Want to do an exercise DVD? DO IT! Want to register for a 5K? GET THE FORMS IN! High school is over and the people who told you that you were worthless are just big hair in a black and white photo so stop letting them tell you that you can't.

All that said, go forward and have a fearless 2009.

*snork* Um, ah, what? Was I sleeping?

Oh yeah, babies. I'm here.

The last full month has been a complete blur. Let's see. Thanksgiving brought with it turkey and compounded illness that lingered for weeks, finally dissipating (mostly) in time for a weekend away to visit my grandmother and everyone in Maryland, during a week in which I spent 22 hours in the car and 0 minutes in front of a computer. I MAY have indulged a bit on account of being excited that after three weeks my sense of taste returned, but on the whole I behaved.

Christmas week hasn't been a wasteland of bad food, perhaps I had a bit too much cream cheese and pepper jelly, but I managed to avoid eating like a Viking on a bender, though I'm still kicking myself because my mother in law made two perfect, from-scratch pumpkin pies and I had NO PIE because I was too full after dinner and we forgot to take some with us the next day because we're IDIOTS.

This morning I brushed up my Sparkpeople profile slightly, with intention of utilizing it more in the coming year. Interaction and accountability seems to help me. I'm still using my same plan, I am going to extend the two normal days/two half days/two juice days/one fast day program through the month of January because 1) I feel fabulous when I eat like that and 2) The last couple of weeks I've been a bit lazy about it so I already didn't do it as long as I was supposed to and surprise surprise, the forward progress I was making ceased. Connection? D'oh!

ALSO, this morning I registered for the Idita-Walk 2009, a nifty event that has been going on in Nome, Alaska for 11 years. You don't have to live in AK; people from all over the country do it. Basically it works like this. You register, and from February 1 to March 31, you commit to walking 30 minutes a day. If you do this, by the end you will have walked a minute for every mile of the Iditarod, or at least 1049 minutes. Its a fundraiser for the very worthy Scout troop up in Nome, and it pulls me through the winter, just having a little challenge to get me through the days when I want to remove the frost from my windshield with a tire iron. If you are feeling extra wussy about getting out to walk there is a place on their site where you can check the weather in Nome. This morning it was -11 F. That's minus eleven degrees Farfegnugen, people. How they get to work without bits dropping off them is beyond me. But check it out. You can register online, log your minutes online, you can even register a doggie friend and get a participant leash. Or register a human friend who is into that sort of thing. Whatever you want to do.

So finish off the egg nog, my pretties, Old Man Winter is here waving his junk in our faces and we need to keep moving and keep the Seasonal Affective Doofus away.

If I cough up a pound, does it still count?

315.4 as of Wednesday, 12/3. For those of you playing along at home, this means I've lost 15.6 pounds.

But.

I got sick immediately after Thanksgiving, spending most of that weekend ensconced on one corner of the couch, drinking all the tea I could hold and slathering Vicks on myself until the cat would get within two feet of me, blink rapidly and back away. Because I'm an idiot I pushed myself and pushed myself all week, ticking off my list of 'to dos' between coughing fits. I have no appetite, because I have no sense of taste or smell. Pretty pointless to eat things you can't taste. Which is why there is still a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough in my refrigerator with no surreptitious spoon marks in it.

I am working my way through a giant plastic tumbler of sugar free cherryade, and I have a feeling another one is in my immediate future, just trying to wash the great green gobs of ishy gooey gopher guts out of my lungs.

Needless to say, I haven't exercised, since I have the lung capacity of an 80 year old former miner at this point. Walking up a flight of stairs is a wheezefest.

This weekend I'm concentrating on just taking care of myself, so I can kick this and be well for next weekend. I'm going down to visit my grandmother and celebrate her 89th birthday. I'd also like to taste food sometime before 2009, that'd be awesome.