Friday, June 10, 2011

Paint the Town California Raspberry

186.2 lbs. For two days now.  I don’t think I need to tell you what I’m thinking.

I’m watching the Bruins on TV (muted) and have the Red Sox on the radio (courtesy of MLB Gameday. $14.99 for the whole season. I highly recommend it). We’ll see if it’s a good night for Boston v. Canada (Broons v. Canucks, Sox v. Blue Jays). And I’m writing this blog. I’m a Gemini. We multi-task and we do it well. As for Canada, especially the Canucks and especially Burrows: Bite me.

I achieved an important milestone today and as you can tell from the numbers that it’s not on the scale. Yet. Being pissed off at said number, I turned in a monster calorie burn today, 1616 according to My Net Diary. And broccoli has been deployed. I repeat: broccoli has been deployed. And despite advances in freezing in the past 35 years, it’s still mushy and yucky.  I got the Green Giant steamer kind, figuring it would be close to raw. Nope, I had flashbacks to being twelve. Our dog used to get most of my share. I learned to tolerate raw broccoli, but since I have to dump so much dressing or cheese on it to make it palatable, it’s a wash on the health benefits. There was a report on the news today citing a study that said vegetables in the mustard family would prolong your life. This included broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage. Well, I guess I’m not going to live to be 200 if that’s what it takes (except for the cabbage. I need to develop a low-fat coleslaw dressing. And don’t mention broccoli slaw, it’s too chewy. However, if you give me the broccoli salad with carrots, raisins and that sweet dressing, I’m okay. Healthy?  Not so much).

Oh, yes the milestone: I I JUST PAINTED MY OWN TOENAILS. They’re sloppy and I’m not going to be working in a salon anytime soon, but the point is that I COULD REACH MY FEET!!!! The Great White Belly has shrunk enough that it wasn’t in the way. See?

I even found them festive enough to add my sparkly toerings (which hurt like hell if you wear them too long. Damned O rings).

Okay, so the scale numbers are driving me crazy by stalling and going in the wrong direction, but things are changing. I bought workout pants and shirt at Target yesterday (I needed something for yoga so that I could hold balance poses and I needed another shirt). I wasn’t gutsy enough to buy the L size (or too gutty, maybe?), but the XL shirt is TOO BIG on me. The pants are just right (The Great White Belly, though retreating, hasn’t given up completely).

The Peppermint Bitch was back at the gym today and had been in the steam room ahead of me. Guess how I knew? Complete lack of respect for the rules. Management had (so I’m told) given her hell the last time she did this, but apparently, she feel the rules do not apply to her.  Parents of America: you have no grounds to complain about other people’s kids because chances are; yours are just as entitled and snotty as everyone else’s. It’s on your heads if you think the succeeding generations are spoiled, demanding and weak. You raised them.

I also had a guy bark at me today because I had not said, “Thank you” as I walked through the door. Observation: it’s never the real gentlemen who scream to have the smallest polite gesture acknowledged. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even holding the door for me, just released it late. So, I guess he feels I owed him thanks for not slamming it in my face. I will say, with this particular gym, most of the guys go out of their way to hold a door open and I do thank them. I am not unmindful of the kindness of others. This morning’s case, however, did not rise to the level of good manners.  Again, misplaced entitlement.

I looked in the mirror this morning and my grandmother, Kay Thatcher, looked back at me. I have a picture of Gram (say it with me, “In storage”) from when she was about 40, I think. If I’m right about the age, she’d been married for 20 years at that point, survived the Great Depression and its hardships (my grandfather was a banker and Roosevelt’s Bank Holiday was enacted March 9, 1933, a month after my father was born), survived World War II and its rationing (Trenton, NJ wasn’t in much danger from the Japanese) and you didn’t see any of it in her face. Growing up, I always wanted my mother’s face. Hers is more oval than her late mother-in-law’s and she has more prominent cheekbones (I hunger for cheekbones). No dice: I look like Dad’s side of the family. Hey, genetic crapshoot, what are ya gonna do? Gram never looked her age. Even at 90 and oral cancer having taken part of her jaw, she could still pass for her late 70s. Except for two sections of hair that framed her face, she never really went gray (Dad on the other hand, was gray when I met him. When I said that he’d started to turn gray when my older sister came along, my mother came back rather tartly with “And it began falling out with you!”). That’s not a bad legacy to inherit. I know for sure I got her legs, just a longer version. Gram was pretty short, but she could exhaust the Energizer Bunny.

We’ll see tomorrow morning whether today’s strategy (big burn + high protein – grain + broccoli) worked. I’m looking for a good drop on the scale. I think part of the gain and hold was due to inadequate fiber. I have been taking the Vitafusion Fiber Gummies and ran out. I didn’t replace them until the day before yesterday, so that may have had a hand in the subsequent drop from 188 to 186.2). Since I’ve conquered the “able to paint my own toenails” and Pilates roll-up (if I was doing it correctly), I want that 40 lbs. down marker and I want it bad. Bring me its head.

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