Wednesday Weigh-In No. 6

Previous Weight: 167
Current Weight: 166.5

Boss called it a holding pattern. Yeah, that's what it is. Without stepping up my game, it's likely to stay that way. I guess I know what I gotta do.

As for the rest of the group, spirits seemed high this morning as most people logged a loss, including the Big Boss, who'd been going up and down and evening out through most of the competition, but lost 3 pounds this week.

The Scorekeeper and I were talking the other day about why this competition is so important -- at least in the larger scheme of things. It's not so much the way it's making us feel about ourselves ... sure, getting thinner boosts our self-confidence and buoys our spirits (thanks to the warped images our society insists should make us feel good about ourselves, but that's another topic for another time). The conclusion Scorekeeper and I came to is how necessary this sort of thing is for our health.

In this week's Women's Day (no I don't read it -- I'm not exactly in the 60-year-old grandmother demographic this rag caters to), an article highlighted the risk factors for diabetes, which Scorekeeper points out is becoming epidemic in America. Anyway, the article lists some risk factors as having a body mass index (BMI) of 25 or more and rarely exercising. Those of us with any weight to lose at all (and I'm not talking about those of you losing those 20 or so vanity pounds), should worry about that increased risk. It's a little scary when you think about it. It's not just diabetes: you gotta worry about heart disease, high blood pressure, strokes and any number of metabolic diseases.

What we're doing is all fun and games, sure. But there's a greater stake to this game than any of realize.

And you know, I'm 29. I'm young. I've always been healthy. Until recently, I always ate well: I avoided processed foods, bleached and refined grains and sugars, skipped foods with preservatives, all that kind of stuff. And when I quit doing all that, well, that's when the weight gain thing started happening. And that's when I started sleeping more and feeling less rested. And that's when my joints started aching when I sat in one position for too long. And that's when my cognitive skills started slipping. And, well, you get it. I got old in a matter of months.

And dammit, it's ridiculous to have a list of complaints like that. I'm 29! I should still be able to scale El Capitan if I wanted to (CA rock rat reference for any of you who get it, hey Yosemite), or -- and here's the big 'un -- hike up McKinley on the eve of the full moon in August to watch the sunrise on the peak. That's what I was supposed to for on my 30th birthday. I have a long way to go to get in shape for that in 6 months.

So, sorry to have gotten serious on y'all, but I really thought it's important to put what we're doing in perspective. We should all pat ourselves on the back for our weight loss. But we should pat ourselves for doing something even more important: giving ourselves an extension on life.

Here's what else the Woman's Day article said helps prevent diabetes: being active for 30 minutes a day, five days a week, lowers your risk by 50 percent; eat 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon a day (in your coffee, oatmeal or on toast) reduces risk by 29 percent (hey, I'm not making this up); cut out refined sugars and carbs; eat breakfast (breakfast eaters reduce risk 35-50 percent); and have one drink a day (red wine is supposedly good for heart health too).

Cheers.

A Day Before Weigh-In No. 6

Weight: I donwanna talkaboutit

So Bushes and I were talking this morning. She's actually excited to weigh in this week because her home scale is giving her some good numbers.

I'm not so sure I'll be as happy tomorrow. I haven't been a good girl lately. I've been sucking up vices like it's my last day on Earth -- drinking beer and wine, hitting Chinese buffets (coconut shrimp is like crack to me) -- and exercise? Fuhgettaboutit.

It all started last Friday when, after an especially taxing week at work, Boss suggested we head over to Cracker Barrel to reward ourselves with some comfort food. It was exactly what we needed, but it fricken blew the diet. And I'm still recovering.

It'd be no big deal and I wouldn't be whining so much if I'd just quit sitting around every day. Burning calories means having the luxury of consuming calories, right? Sure. And it'd happen if there were just a couple more hours in the day. As it is, and I've said this a million times before, the only time I could squeeze in activity is first thing in the morning. And that, at least, is one thing Bushes and I have in common. She knows she should wake up at dawn and exercise, just like I know I should, but damn, it's hard! I have great intentions. I set my alarm for 6 a.m., I lay out my work clothes each night (I took Big Loser's advice and quit sleeping in my sweats for no other reason except that it's ridiculous). But come midnight, I'm still wandering around my house plucking discarded socks out from underneath the coffee table, sending out one last email to an old college buddy back in California, furiously scribbling down notes for my next cover story or novel that suddenly popped in my head and have to be committed to paper before they flit away forever ... well, let's just say, I can't go to bed early. And that usually means I sleep through the 6 a.m. buzzer.

It's not that big of a deal, except that the lack of exercise inevitably means I have to make up for the extra calories in my diet. And I'm really going to have to get creative if I want to halt the gain I had last week. I considered this last night over dinner: a playing cards-size slice of pork, a thimble-size serving of mashed potatoes and a Titanic-size pile of cooked spinach. None of it tasted good to me. So why was I eating it? I would have been happy having an apple or a salad.

But this is something I've struggled with for a while. I've had an aversion to meat for as long as I can remember, and was a vegetarian for years because of it. I've always wondered what possessed early humans to look at one of those nasty, furry, tusked wild boars and say, "Mmm. Dinner." Now we breed the hairless kind to slap on our dinnerplates, but it's still the same thing. I quit being a vegetarian about seven years ago. That was the year I took my kids to my grandparent's house for Thanksgiving. They set the steaming turkey carcass on the table so we could watch as my grandfather ripped the flesh from its milky-white bones. I knew things had to change when my middle son, who was 4 at the time, was asked what he was most thankful for, and replied, without hestiation, "I'm thankful for meat!"

But, honestly, that's when the downslide began in regards to my health. I ate whatever was set in front of me, whether I liked it or not, and a habit was born. I know I'm not the only person who does this. I think it's human nature.

I mean, think about cows. They are these huge, docile creatures who spend their days ambling along enjoying life. They're all about eating healthy and meat from grazing cows is very lean. They drink the best water -- they'll wade out into the middle of a stream where the current is strongest and the water freshest to drink. They prefer the best, most tender grass and will wander for miles in a day to find it. And they love sweet delicacies. They'll turn away from cud if there's buttercups or sweet, red clover to be found.

What did humans do when they first encountered these peaceful beasts? Did they take their cue and start eating flowers? Hell no! They ate the cow.

Wednesday Weigh-In No. 5

Previous Weight: 166.5
Current Weight: 167

Two words: Damn it!

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. This has been a frustrating week. I spent the entire weekend rewarding my week's worth of hard work with sloth and gluttony (a long-held habit I am finding very hard to break). If I were actually exercising properly, replacing the fat lost with muscle, I wouldn't worry about gaining half a pound. It wouldn't dissapoint me as much as it is now.

But the bare, ugly, naked, fat-ass fact is this: I'm not exercising. I'm not taking myself seriously enough (in this competition or otherwise). I have no desire to beat myself up about it, but I'm pretty damned dissapointed.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

In other news, this little blog of mine stirred up a little bit of controversy last week. I made it public last week, to the office and to the world, and the reactions were mixed. Some liked it. Some didn't. Some were offended. Some just didn't like the monikers I gave them. Dropout said that her name didn't do her justice. Something more indicitive of her personality would be better, like Girl-With-Crush-On-Craig-Melvin. And Another Coworker had a couple things to say. First, her discussion about not exercising and losing weight was misconstrued. And second that Another Coworker is an awfully dismissive name. I agree. Henceforth, Another Coworker shall be called Bushes. (We'll see how well that one goes over.)

Big Loser lost another 3 and a half pounds this week. It's amazing to watch, really, and inspirational. She looks so good and wears a smile big enough to encompass all the pounds she's lost. You can't help but feel happy for her, even if she is bending you over and kicking your ass in the competition.

Boss had a different reaction to Big Loser's feat, one that I won't repeat here because it might harm delicate ears or stunt developing minds (and is always fairly surprising coming from a guy with two kids who grows beet red whenever someone talks about sex). You can tell he's happy for her, but it still hurts. He gained a half pound this week, too, and says it's a lack of exercise that did it (we're in the same boat with that one). You can see the dissapointment on his face -- just looking at the "big fat cross" (as Miss Competitive put it) on the community board denoting a plus 0.5 of weight gain makes us both sad.

Others are doing well. Bushes has lost a total of seven pounds so far, and hasn't weighed in yet today. She looks good, and swears she feels better just because she's eating better. I'm really curious how far she'll go. She does exercise, too, by the way.

Another staff member, He Who Shall Remain Nameless, got up this morning to exercise, and it showed: he lost a pound this week (and lost six pounds total with not that much to lose in the first place) and is deservedly proud about his progress. As for the rest of us, it seems most are doing a bit of a roller coaster -- a pound up one week, a pound down the next. Every pound gained adds a buck to the pot (and dammit again, I'm contributing to it this week). That's good news to Big Loser and Miss Competitive.

But hey, you two girls, don't count the rest of us out just yet. We're five weeks into this 12 week program. Some of us have memorized Aesop's Turtle and the Hare fable and have every intention of being a Turtle to your Hare.

It's wabbit season ladies. And the game is on.

Two Days Before Wednesday Weigh-In No. 5

Weight: Somewhere Close to That of a Beluga Whale

I thought I'd whine for a little bit. I feel like whining.

I don't want to diet anymore.

I feel like I'm starving -- like I haven't eaten in months, and that's sad considering I haven't been dieting at all, just cutting back on calories ... a little, not even a lot.

What's killing me is the guilt. (The technical term for it is cognitive dissonance: I feel bad because I'm not living up to my own strict standards, but I refuse to do what it takes to live up to them or change my standards to fit my lifestyle so I just beat myself up about it instead.)

It's not so bad when I have an empty fridge and bare cupboards. Even if I'm hungry, if there's not to eat, I won't eat. But when there's kids in the house, that tactic borders on child abuse, so I can't do it. Instead, I have to frequent the grocery store two or three times a week and walk by the piles of avacados and buckets of sour cream and stacks of fresh-baked cherry pies and pretend that I'm not looking and pretend that it's not screaming out to me to quit this ridiculous competition and just forget about losing weight because it's not like I'm going to lose any substantial amount anyway and I've already lost six pounds and look at me, not even a pants size smaller yet and what's the use of it all anyway?

I hate that my resolve is dissolving. I knew it. I knew it. It always happens. Right about this stage of the game, too. I told you I've tried this weight loss stuff before and it never works -- mostly because I'm a weak creature tied to my bad habits like an anchor to a sinking ship, and because I lack the fortitude to stick it through.

It's not for a lack of wanting to do it. I wake up each morning with the best intentions. I've even started sleeping in my sweats so as to make it easier to make the transition from the bed to the street, but I never quite make it out the door to go jogging. I make up a million excuses why not to do it: I could sleep in instead, I have a to-do list a mile long and should get started on it early, I'd rather fill-in-the-blank. To make up for my lack of exercise, I starve myself through breakfast and lunch, but I'm learning that tactic is profoundly detrimental considering that I'm usually ravenous by the time dinner is fixed, and, well, I've already described my incredibly embarrasing lack of self-control to y'all so I won't elaborate further on that.

The only thing keeping me going at this point is the Wednesday Weigh-In. Knowing that I have to face that damn scale come Wednesday morning. Knowing that it won't be nice and tell me I look good anyway (like my husband will do), or tell me that it's not the pounds lost so much as the way I feel about myself on the inside (like my friends will do).

Screw all that. I've got to lose some weight.

Salad for lunch, anyone?

Wednesday Weigh-In No. 4

Previous Weight: 167
Current Weight: 166.5

OK, OK, so it's a half a pound. But there's a couple of reasons for me to rejoice this week.

First, losing half a pound is still a loss, and in a competition where each pound gained costs the offending weigher $1 a pound, any loss is a good loss.

Second, it was totally unexpected. I mean, this week I pigged out. I ate heaping bowls of carmel walnut ice cream at least four days out of the seven. I had beer - no more than one or two a day and no more than three or four days out of the seven. But still. I had my reasons for drinking.

This week was one of the most stressful weeks I've had in ages. I had to go to court for one of my kids yesterday and, although it wasn't a life threatening sort of court date, it was serious enough. Stress manifested itself in my desire to eat -- and I had to literally restrain myself. It was unfortunate for my kids, simply because I kept the fridge bare of snack foods all week (see how well I know myself?). It was grapes and falafel on pitas and brown rice for us most of this week.

That is, until yesterday. I had this impending sense of doom yesterday -- simply because I've never gone to court for something serious before and really had no idea what to expect. So, we picked up take-out chicken wings around 11 a.m. before we went to court, had milkshakes as our celebration treat when court was over, and at the end of the day, when my legs were shaking from the overload of emotional strain I'd been under, I picked up 15 roast beef sandwiches at Arby's (thanks to their five sandwiches for $5.95 deal) and a pile of Horsey sauce, and headed home to gorge one last time. (By the way, if 15 sandwiches sounds exhorbitant, consider that I have four teenage and pre-teen boys at home who easily eat a pound of meat each in one sitting if I let them.)

I had a sandwich -- 3 ounces of meat and an unhealthy, processed-white-flour bun -- but I still felt guilty. I countered my dietary transgressions with a bunch of crunches and lunges late last night around 10 p.m. and climbed into bed. By then, I'd resigned myself to having gained at least a pound after all the crap I ate last week. And I hadn't exercised at all -- not even a sit-up. So this morning's weigh-in was fine by me. I'll take half a pound. And I'll get back on the diet-and-exercise saddle and ride out this week with a renewed sense of motivation.

Because if I can face the biggest temptation -- eating in times of extreme stress -- and still come out on on top, I know that I'm going to be OK in the end. I may not win this thing, but I'll still be a big loser (weight-wise) and that's good enough for me.

As for my competition, well, I was out of the office on Wednesday so I missed the collective reaction to the Wednesday Weigh-Ins. But, based on the progress people have made, I am quite certain the competition will only heat up from here on in. The Boss lost a couple of pounds and he's neck and neck now with some of the top losers. The Big Loser dropped another four and a half pounds this week -- she's definitely over her plateau and pulling ahead. And Miss Competitive lost a couple of pounds as well. Like Boss said at some point last week, she'll probably win this thing out of pure pluck. She's so competitive, she'll become an anorexic sack of skin and bones just to win it. Beautiful and rich. Our very own Hollywood hottie right here at Free Times.

We've had at least one competitor drop out -- and Drop Out thinks its quite funny to bring ice cream milkshakes to work at least once a week (and she even goes around asking everyone if we want her to bring us one, too). She also asks me out of lunch once or twice a week (and, yes, I usually acquiece -- I'm weak, OK?). But she's not the only one playing games: Boss deposited a bag of McDonald's french fries on the front desk a couple of days ago and sent deep-fried goodness wafting through the office. I'm not sure if anyone took the bait -- it was shortlived considering McD's fries are disgusting when they're lukewarm. Another diet-defining moment occurred a couple of days ago when the photographer needed a box of chocolates for a Valentine's Day shoot, and the chocolates were left on the communal office table for anyone to pick at.

So certainly, things are getting nasty around here. No one has cried yet (that I know of). But don't count out the tears just yet. There's still eight weeks left to go ...

Weigh In No. 3

Weight 167

Things have heated up around here. We've had some upturned tables and a few surprises. The Big Loser has plateaued but to her credit, she's looking really good. And anyone who works out a lot is going to have a week or two where their muscle-building weight outweighs their fat loss. That's not a bad thing (but it is one reason why a competition like this is a little illusional).

However, one person is quickly pulling ahead. We'll call her Miss Competitive. Miss Competitive didn't have much to lose to begin with, but she's already 13 pounds up and doesn't seem to be quitting anytime soon. She's overtaken Big Loser (who's at 12.5), and I'm not sure exactly what her strategy is beyond eating well and cutting out the alcohol.

As for me, well, I've lost a solid six pounds in three weeks. It's not much, and it's not enough to win the competition, but it's a start. And it's not bad considering there a few of us who've actually gained weight. (Those are the people who, let's just say, aren't taking the game all that seriously.)

I'm having trouble getting into a routine. My hectic schedule won't allow for exercise time until around 9 p.m., which is when I'm getting in some crunches, push ups, squats and a little kickboxing. It's not enough obviously (and I've only been doing it a couple times a week). I'm convinced that if I can lose six pounds just eating less and exercising minimally, that I could lose a lot of weight if I exercised regularly (and continued eating well).

It's a simple thing really. All I have to do is get up at 6 or 6:30 in the morning and go running. Thousands of people do it every day in this city, I know. But I have two things holding my back: I hate to run. Always have, and chances are good I always will. And I'm not in the best shape so the first few weeks (at least) will be hell. I'm not very good at sucking up and doing stuff. Obviously. I'm much better at whining eloquently about it on blogs.

I hate running so much that I decided that the best thing for me to do would be to drop $50 a month on a kickboxing class that's held twice a week in the evenings. Yesterday was the first class. But right before I was heading out the door to leave, my 13-year-old called me five times in the space of 10 minutes to complain about a number of things, all of which had to do with the fact that I was going to class and not coming home right away to mother him.

So, I gave up on the class. I'm a little disappointed because I know it's the motivation I need to get moving. But I'm not too upset considering I won't be dropping $50 a month after all. It has also enlightened me to the fact that even though I've dropped $35 a month on a gym membership for two years, which expires Feb. 7, I will never go to the gym. With kids at home, evenings are a wash, and if I'm not going to wake up in the wee hours to go running, I sure as hell am not going to wake up in the wee hours to go the gym. It's the same difference.

So, I'll also be saving another $35 a month come Feb. 7. I now have two options to win this thing. Buck up and get my ass out there and run, or spend the money I was sending to the gym each month on some sort of gym equipment - a treadmill, most likely - that I can use in my home where my kids will be comforted knowing I'm nearby and I can still use while reading or watching TV or doing some other activity that I always end up doing instead of exercising like I should.

So we'll see if anything changes over the next week or so. One thing's for sure, if I keep up this slow and steady pace, I'll do fine. We have 12 weeks in the intitial competition and if I lose just 1 pound a week from now until we're finished, I will have lost 15 pounds and that's not that bad, after all.