Tuesday, July 26, 2011
If a Volkswagen Leaves LA Driving East....
183.2 lbs. This simply will not do.
However, the skin and sinuses are clearing up, the mindless grazing has gone the way of the dodo, so I’m thinking the sugar that upset the chemical balance is leaching out of the system and the weight will come off. I have a goal of 125 by Dec. 31, 2011. Two weeks ago, it was easily do-able as I was proceeding. 6 lbs. up and sticking? Causin’ problems. I programmed My Net Diary (or, if you could get cheese over the internet, My Net Dairy) with the goal (although I made a mistake and input Jan 10, 2012 instead of Jan 01, 2012. It’s a happy accident). MND analyzes your goal, where you are, the time difference and gives you a recommended calorie intake. It has cut mine DRASTICALLY over the past few days.
Since I am doing everything I can to get things back on track (Well, let me clarify: everything within reason. I’m not about to quit my job so I can get back to the old gym schedule. I’ve done some wrong-headed and misguided things in my life. That would be one of them), the best thing I can do is focus on my job and keep on keepin’ on, as the saying goes, with respect to diet and exercise. Sugar has been exorcised from the kitchen (“OUT DEMON HYDROCARBON!!!! THE POWER OF SPLENDA COMPELS YOU!!!!”). Lacking the financial means to hire Richard Simmons for this purpose, I did it myself.
I ain’t happy, of course. I figure if I’ve got a little software program telling me “if you lose this number of calories per day, you will lose that number of ounces” and I have complied with the little software program, then I expect to see the number of ounces promised deducted from the daily weigh-in. I view it as a contract; I am holding up my end. Or so I think.
And, of course, the Red Sox are not helping distract me at the moment. Kansas City just hit back to back home runs and Terry Francona is not listening to me yell, “Pull him, Tito!” with respect to the pitcher. Of course, the man is 3,000 miles away, but I am nothing if not loud (or so I’ve been told. Many times. Like it’s a bad thing). (NB. Pitching change. Maybe he heard me).
This will pass. I know it. Do I have to adjust my expectations? Maybe. Probably. What bothers me about the new schedule is that Torquemada told me (and she is a personal trainer, so I listen) that in order to hit my goal, I would have to weight train 3 times a week, yoga and Pilates 3 times a week and at least an hour of cardio 6 days a week. I am absolutely willing to put in that kind of effort. Unfortunately, I can’t do that and get my work done before midnight every night. I will have to sign up for more training and see what she says.
Oh, I still want to hit that 125 lbs. goal, not so much for the number, but for the “I set a goal, I kept my eyes on the prize and I made it” feeling. That’s genuine accomplishment. And then the weight loss project becomes the weight maintenance project. The goal is not the end of the road so much as it is the road map. It’s a landmark, I guess. I’m losing you. Okay: let’s put this in terms of travel, since I brought up journey and landmark language. We’ll call the goal the Empire State Building (and I have been to the top of that, for the record. Macy’s was doing their annual mass tap dancing gathering; they try to break the record every year and it was a blast to see it from that perspective). Okay, so here’s the question and this gets us thinking about what our real priorities are: We know that the Empire State Building is in New York City, so we know where we’re going. But, are we going to just visit the building and then immediately leave New York because we got what we came to do? Or are we more interested in incorporating that into more time spent in New York? I see a parallel in the weight loss journey (and since I’m committing this to the permanent record, I am soooooo sick of the use of “journey” for every process we undertake as human beings including living. In the future, please limit it to actual travel or the band that sings “Don’t Stop Believing.”)Yeah, I’d like to get to New York and go up in the Empire State Building (the last time I was there, the view south was dominated by a pair of Twin Towers down in the Battery), but I’d like to stay in that area for as long as I feasibly can. The ESB got me there, but the locale keeps me there.
So, 125 lbs. makes a focus point for me; something to aim at. Okay, it sits in the middle of some attractive territory for me: smaller dress sizes, more defined, stronger body, an actual body image that conforms to the picture I have in my mind of what I want to be. I’m not going to hit the number , put on a party hat, take a picture of the scale (although I just might. No confetti, though. I weigh myself naked and you never know where that stuff will lodge) and then close up shop and go back to what I was doing (or not doing) food and exercise wise back in January. This is the decision making I was doing when I came to the end of the HCG protocol (which I’ve decided I WILL do again. You will have a front row seat); I knew if I wanted to maintain my progress and build on it some more, I was going to have to change the way I did things. Gluten is out, exercise and enough water to float a yacht is in. I eat enough chicken that I should be clucking. Beef is a once a month treat. Sugar and starch are now on the blacklist (I can live without noodles and bread and rice, but this boots potatoes, too. Rats). Chard is in (Good stuff, too. I would have refused it as a kid, but I guess your taste buds change as you age and the bitter or astringent things you didn’t like when younger get more tolerable as you get older. It’s got a great, earthy taste, sautés quickly to tenderness and loves a good dash of garlic and apple cider vinegar) . Bourbon, formerly enjoyed with a good ribeye, is now on the shelf. This is all on the road to 125 or the Empire State Building. This (stupid, effing, lousy, rotten, ding-blasted) spike and plateau that I’m experiencing is the equivalent of a traffic jam (Carmageddon, maybe. Or one of those classic million member herd of buffalo crossing the road ahead of my car) or snowstorm forcing me off the road (I hate winter). Now, I could choose to turn around and go home because of the delay. I am not going to do that. I will not get to see the Empire State Building (unless I’m watching “Sleepless in Seattle”) if I turn around. I will not get to experience the other delights of New York (they exist, they’re just not in the Bronx wearing pinstripes) if I turn around. I ain’t turning around.
I will not be denied.