I'll See Your Zumba and Raise You a Bhangra

Those of you who think Zumba is the latest and greatest when it comes to cardio classes? Yeah, sorry. I tried out a new cardio/dance/fun class tonight that will, I am confident, make your Zumba passe.

Tonight, the gym introduced a Bollywood style dance/cardio class.

First of all, I would have felt bad for the two girls who showed up and started unrolling yoga mats (because the Bollywood class replaced a yoga class) if the sign hadn't been on the door to the group exercise room for two weeks. They hastily re-rolled their mats and beat feet.

The instructor, we'll call her Kali for reasons about to become apparent, is a pretty young lady who looks like she could star in a Bollywood musical.Sweet smile, mean as a snake: she told us to take off our sneakers. Doesn't seem so bad? YOU didn't have your feet swathed in socks and Vitamin D ointment this afternoon. One wrong move and I'd have done involuntary splits. Remember JIm and Pam's wedding on "The Office" and how Andy Bernard injured himself? You get the picture.

Beyond that, I do not do a lot of barefoot. It's California and summer and unless I need more foot covering, I live in my flip flops. This does not make for toughend feet. "I don't understand," you say. Okay, try bouncing energetically barefoot on a hardwood floor doing moves that create FRICTION between the floor and your toes. Like me, you will develop a Jai Ho -normous blister on the bottom of your big toe in about 5 minutes of this activity (It's huge. It's disgusting. And the floor in the exercise room is filthy).

I soldiered on, though. I was not going to let a blister stop me. It did significantly restrict what I was able to do. Shark Week is coming on Discovery and I didn't want to leave a blood trail.

The moves are simple, but tough to do.Kali the instructor made them look so simple; fine, yes, I can cross step back and forth. Oh, you want the arms moving, too. And bouncing.  Energetic bouncing that shifts weight from side to side, arm movements, kicking and steps that are half bouncing and half skipping. We stopped a couple of times for some floor work, but at a brisk tempo. There were moves that I had done earlier in the day in yoga with Lila (Plank, Down Dog, Pigeon), but at much more measured pace. This was more like yoga on meth. We had a room full of people looking like they were trying to rub their heads and pat their stomachs.

I finally had to leave about 30 minutes in, not because I couldn't keep up (trust me, NOBODY but the teacher looked good in that  class), but the blister was threatening to rupture if I continued with the barefoot work (seriously, does this look infected?).

It's a great workout and I plan to return next Tuesday. I'm just going to keep my shoes on, though.





I

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.

Are My Tights and Cape Back from the Cleaners?

183.4 lbs. OH, YOU ARE FUCKING KIDDING ME. 6 LBS. UP IN A WEEK? ALMOST 3 OVERNIGHT????

(If you under 18 and reading this, please stop. While vulgarities are not the best way to express oneself, they are preferable to beating the ever-loving shit out of the first person you come across)

MOTHER FUCKING SON OF A BITCH! What the hell happened? I don’t get it, I do NOT understand this. As my grandmother (who NEVER swore except for once in her life and you are about to hear that) said when something unexpected and absolutely unwanted turned up in her life (namely, my great-grandmother), “Jesus hell shit and damn.”

Was this my fault? Must be: no evidence of ninjas breaking into my home, stuffing a funnel down my pie hole and force-feeding me like a goose (this is how we get foie gras, Kids. Appetizing, isn’t it?). What’s that? “Ninjas don’t leave evidence.” Okay, stop geeking on me and focus.

This is on me: not only because of the highly personal nature of the setback, but also because it is completely on my shoulders to solve. Look, I’ve said this before about victims: they have no power. If you do not take responsibility for your failures and setbacks, you have no right to take credit for your successes. “It’s not my fault because…” gives power to the source you’re blaming. If that or they or he or she (whatever it is outside of you) can control you like that and you allow it to continue, you’re not going to have a wonderful life, especially if that or they or he or she finds out and exploits that weakness. You don’t want to live your life on the end of a chain.

You may have guessed there was an explosion of anger and frustration when I read 183 on the scale (which, yes, is still intact. I’m not killing the messenger on this one). The energy it created could have gone in one of two potential directions, as I see it. I could have 1) screamed “FUCK IT!” and just started stuffing my face. This is a time-honored reaction which has been deployed many, many times in the past and part of the reason I got up to 225 lbs. However, since the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, I doubted this would have cleared the decks of the excess tonnage. Option 2) take that energy and put it to good use on the Rotating Staircase of Death. I grabbed my gym bag and hit the road.

As I was entering the last 8 minutes on the RSoD (Rotating Staircase of Death) and watching the sweat drip off of my nose onto the treads and comparing it to the better curveballs thrown in the major leagues (Seriously, without trying, I can get a truly filthy break on a sweat drop and it will land about a foot away from the drop point), I was still puzzling over the “Okay, so what have I done wrong here?” question. I began making plans to order HCG from my former acupuncturist in St. Louis and hitting Round 2, but I wasn’t enthusiastic about that plan. I think noticed that not only had I completed my workout (45 minutes), but had maintained a faster pace than I had ever done.  Oh, I still look like I’m about to keel over, but I survive to tell the tale. I moved over to the elliptical machine (Remember in
“Stripes” how every time Bill Murray shot off his mouth to the Sergeant, the whole platoon got punished? Same principle). When you’ve got forward momentum, use it, Baby, use it.

While on the elliptical, mentally grumbling and snarling (and actually flipping off Alex Rodriguez every time ESPN shows his smug mug. Both hands. I don’t like the guy), the grumbling and snarling included such entries “My sinuses have been congested for over a week” and “Why is my GD face breaking out?” and “How the fuck am I going to get back on track?” as well “Thanks a lot, GOD! Way to pull the string when I’m on the brink of 50 down!” (Okay, so I wasn’t in my “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar” mode at that moment. Hey, everybody goes to the zoo now and then). The TVs were showing Comic Con coverage and  John Mayer’s cover of “Route 66” (“Cars” soundtrack and a FINE rendition. I highly recommend it for your cardio mix) popped on the headphones. The feet kicked in, the tempo kicked up and I was distracted from the problem to solve…Freeze frame (another good song, but this is not the context): I do the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle and find that when stuck, if I put the puzzle down and do something else for a while, when I return to the puzzle, suddenly, the answer I seek just pops into my head. This is problem-solving. Okay, back to the machine….So, I am lip-synching Route 66 and pedaling away like crazy on the machine when it hit me…

My old arch-enemy. Sugar. And his evil henchman, Starch.  (I can’t decide if we’re talking tights and capes or more of a black fedora and trench coat, but this is what Comic Con images will do to an oxygen-depleted mind)

Suddenly, it became clear: the inability to eat just a measured amount of wasabi almonds (they contain sugar), the constant, compulsive grazing that was getting worse, the bloated feeling, the sinus congestion (with slightly bloody nose, low grade fever and annoyingly crappy feeling. No, there is no better way to describe not actually sick. You feel CRAPPY). The emotional downturn. Oh yeah. Sugar had invaded my Fortress of Solitude/Bat Cave/League of Justice Headquarters (Comic Con, remember) and had begun to use my tools and weapons against me.

Here’s the thing with sugar and me: it starts and perpetuates an eating cycle. The more I have, the more I want. Sound like an addiction? It does to me.

I had allowed some sugar back into the diet, isolated intake, but not made it a part of the everyday meal. The coconut I had been craving: all of it was sweetened and I had started eating it regularly about the same time my metabolism had been thrown into reverse. And the zits had started. And the eating had gotten out of control. And those jeans I’d worked so damned hard to get back into didn’t fit. And I was feeling crappy because SUGAR IS INFLAMMATORY TO YOUR ORGANS. Bastard tricked me again.

Upon returning home, I rounded up all of the coconut products I had left as well as any brown rice or granola (even the gluten-free stuff. Gluten free, yes. Starch free, no) and gave them to some friends who think I’m somewhat nuts, but they also like pina coladas, so it’s win win.

We’ll see what the scale says tomorrow morning and for a few days after that (I don’t know how long it’ll take for it to work its way out of my system). 6 lbs., I’ll give it 2 weeks to self-correct, sticking to protein, vegetables, fruits and nuts in the interim.

And in the meantime, Sugar and Starch have jumped into their evil motorcycle and sidecar (with a sugar molecule painted on the side) and driven off in search of an actual victim.

Take that, you little molecular mother fuckers. You won’t destroy MY world.

               

Doldrums

180.6 lbs. Since Monday, the 18^th. Want to play Mad Libs? “Given the weight spike and subsequent plateau, Susan has been feeling ___________ (emotion).”  If you’re accurate, this game gets a PG-13 or R rating.

“The Doldrums”: Certainly, you’ve heard of the Doldrums. Let’s have a little education session here. It originated as a nautical term meaning  “the area encircling the earth near the equator where winds originating in the northern and southern hemispheres come together.” (Thank you, Wikipedia). How does that translate into a term that has come to mean “the blahs”?  Back to Wikipedia: “Early sailors named this belt of calm the doldrums because of the inactivity and stagnation they found themselves in after days of no wind. To find oneself becalmed in this region in a hot and muggy climate could mean death in an era when wind was the only effective way to propel ships across the ocean.”

So, a sailing term that refers to an area where forward motion is slowed considerably, even stopped, is probably the most accurate term to describe the current state of 50 lbs. to normal BMI. I am becalmed at 180.6 lbs. and it can be deadly.

Not deadly in the literal, physical Monty Python parrot sketch sense. No. These doldrums sap the forward motion and the will to stay strong and stay on the program. In other words, they have the potential to kill the whole project and that scares the bejesus out of me.

Whereas I could have food in the house and not be tempted, I find myself emotionally eating (bored grazing). I’m still trying to figure out the raging coconut obsession (and yes, that’s getting fed). The slippage of control has me substantially worried.

Yes, I have a job that permits me to work from home HOWEVER, right now, it’s time consuming and I miss the freedom of being able to hit the gym when I wanted and avoid crowds and weirdos. Unfortunately, I’ve been hitting both this week and my routine has suffered. I tried going to yoga on Monday night (Lila’s class at a different facility) and that didn’t work too well. Smaller space, bigger crowd and I was next to the wall getting a good look at my flesh slide downwards and gather under my right cheek as I was in Triangle Pose. Not attractive. I just left the gym for tonight (got there at 9:30 PM) hoping to avoid crowds. Crowds, no. Zombies and vampires, yes. There was the woman who was tweeting or texting between sets (Sweetie, no. I’m the secret sauce reporting on the gym, not you), dark lipstick, black fingernails, spider web tattoo on the shoulder. Five’ll get you ten she’s Team Edward and jonesing for the next Twilight movie. There was the group of big, buff guys who weren’t working out so much as clustering around a machine and chattering like magpies (and you thought women were the big gossips. Please. I was in a co-ed by alternate rooms dorm in college. The walls were thin. Not intentionally, I got to hear the list of every woman in the dorm who gave blow jobs and their relative skills at same). There was the woman whose workout consisted mostly of staring into space. Now, she could have just received news that was jolting and shocking and caused her to go catatonic. I’m not unsympathetic unless…I have completed three sets on two different machines in the amount of time you’ve sat on your dead ass just staring into space on the one machine, THE ONE MACHINE, that I need to finish my lower body workout. Up the dosage, Honey. Zombie.

The net effect of these inconveniences is that I’m finding my motivation greatly lessened. Again, a point of substantial worry. I’m already out of the Calvin Kleins and 501s that I was able to fit into again and back into the Not Your Daughter’s Jeans that preceded them.

These are issues that need to be addressed forthwith. I have a plan of attack, but it costs money and that, while the flow has been re-established, it is not a flood of money. I think another round with Torquemada is in order, more acupuncture (deal with sleep, appetite, sinus congestion coming on again and metabolism boost). I have restored my supplies of n acetyl cysteine, tyrosine and alpha lipoic acid to get those neurotransmitters fed and happy again. That SHOULD address the grazing/overeating issues. And I have not ruled out going back to HCG for Round 2. I had great success with it the first time and frankly, I’d be a lot happier dealing with the plateaus and spikes at a far lower set point.

I have also come up with a list of benchmarks and rewards for hitting those benchmarks. Carrot and stick philosophy, but given my behavior lately, I’m more likely to eat the carrot and beat someone with the stick.

I DID accomplish something this week on the Rotating Staircase of Death: in a fit of pique, I hit the button for a faster rate than I had done before. I didn’t make it to 45 minutes (I felt like I was going to pass out), but I did sustain the greater pace for over a half-hour. Okay, so I can still do this. I can still push and feel good about it. There’s hope.

Now, if I could only figure out the coconut obsession…

Ten HUT!

180.4 lbs. Extended commentary to follow          

Dear Whatever Parts of the Body Feel the Need to Shelter Excess Weight,

Okay, so potato chips were consumed, as were Jello shots (SUGAR FREE or so I was told) and Mandicakes (DAMN THE GIRL! KEEBLER ELVES SHOULD BAKE SO WELL!). There were days without hitting the gym because of the low level sinus bullshit going on and trying to get up to speed on work. You made your point.

However,

This is not wartime Amsterdam and that adipose tissue is not the Frank family. You have been to the gym every day since Saturday. The water intake has gone back to where it belongs, as had the sugar consumption. You’ve been getting as close to 8 hours a night as possible and yet, no. You decided to gain and hold. This is NOT an option. Either you can release the additional pounds or we’re going to consider some other options, such as intermittent fasting (Meaning no eating outside of a 5 hour window) or we’re going to play HCG Round 2. 500 calories a day for 3 weeks? 40 days? Want to play that game again? Purge the sugar, starch and oils from the diet and the system? I can do it standing on my head, which means you get to play, too.

Your choice, Body. You can play nice with the 6 days per week of exercise and 1200 calorie intake and get me past the 174.6 lbs. (aka 50 down) mark within the next 14 days OR we can contact Dr. Fit back in St. Louis and get some more HCG and do it that way. Oh and in case you’re considering protesting, I have a memo from Alberto Gonzalez that says I can pursue any of these options, God bless America.

You wanted coconut, I’ve given you coconut (curried chicken salad dressing: ¼ cup non fat Greek yogurt, 1 tablespoon Coco Lopez, 1 teaspoon curry powder. Stir together, refrigerate overnight and allow flavors to get to know each other. 200 grams of grilled chicken, cut or torn into bite sized pieces, ½ cup shredded coconut, ½ cup raisins and 1 apple cut into bite sized pieces. Makes 3-4 servings). Ralph the Renegade Sinus is holding the right inner ear hostage and demanded wasabi for ransom: I ponied up with wasabi almonds. You wanted chicken, chicken, chicken after tonight’s workout; what did I just give you? Did I exceed the recommended caloric intake to satisfy you? Yes. The least you can do in return is to turn EVERYTHING that’s been given to you into muscle and energy  and healthy organs.

So, here’s what we’re going to do: starting tomorrow, we’re back on the N acetyl cysteine, alpha lipoic acid and tyrosine to get the cravings back under control (While I am willing to indulge you up to a point, macaroons are not allowed. Sorry) and get the motivation geared up again. We’re going to figure out a way to make a wasabi/yogurt dressing for more chicken salad adventures (what else would go in such a salad? Cucumbers, definitely. Sort of like a kappa maki roll without the rice. Avocado? Maybe). What’s that? No. No mayonnaise, even it if endangers our street cred as a white Protestant. Mayonnaise is only good as edible mortar: all it does is bind the more interesting ingredients together. And that includes a tomato sandwich.

We’re back to pounding down at least 10 – 12 glasses of water per day. We are no longer going to eat unless there is an actual physical sensation that needs to be addressed and I am pretty sure reinstituting the amino acid regimen will reinforce this.

No alcohol. Water or tea or black coffee, that’s it until and unless you get with the program.

Chocolate almond horns? Not so much. Clearly, sugar is not your friend. You want sweet? Have some stevia.

So, Body, either you show me that you’re back on board with the weight loss project or the floggings will continue until morale improves.

Dismissed.

Metamorphosis of a Sort

177 lbs. Okay, it’s not 176.4, but it’s not 178.4, either.

Payday! Yes! Such a beautiful thing! The base of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maslow's_hierarchy_of_needs  let Wikipedia explain it), food, clothing and shelter, are covered. Yea! I am not sure where Dr. Maslow would fit “cover overdrawn checking account” in there, but that’s been cleaned up, too.

I also had to fill out and get notarized paperwork to prove that I have the right to work in this country. Since the President had to run the same gauntlet, my theory is that in 1961, nobody was born in the US.

Somebody, some evil, ill-intentioned person, gave me a cold this week. Given the amount of time I spend on my own (I work from home.  There’s no one else physically in the home, okay? I had to fill out a form promising I wouldn’t commit sexual harassment. How? I just want to know how?), this seems improbable, yet, here I was with the raw throat, blocked up ears, low grade fever (and it’s just so much fun when the little bastards pair up with hot flashes) and wimpy sniffles. In the middle of a phone conversation, a fever blister had the nerve to pop out on my lip and invite company.  And I since I take a daily dose of lysine, it was doubly insulting. In case you’re wondering what I recommend for dealing with viral invasion: bore the little bastards to death. Get in bed and just sleep until they go. Half a bottle of Nyquil should do it.

Today is the third day in a row I have not been to the gym, partly because I didn’t wish to infect anyone with this and partly because I wanted to focus on mastering the new job (PAYDAY! Did I mention I got paid today?) and I did feel cruddy.  And that makes me feel shitty. Not physically (the physical symptoms are more annoyance than anything else), but I feel anxious and edgy because I’m not exercising.

It’s wonderful. It’s a kind of backdoor confirmation of motivation (sorry if I sound like Jesse Jackson).  This means I’m on the right track.

Another sign that I’ve changed my couch potato ways is that I signed up for the President’s Active Lifestyle Award (www.presidentschallenge.org). Yeah. The kid who did so miserably on the President’s Physical Fitness Challenge in grade school (and NIXON was the President), this a 180. I have to be active for at least 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week for 6 out of 8 weeks. If I succeed, I get a certificate. It’s not quite the sew-on badges that they had in grade school (my older sister earned a couple of those, I think), but it’s a start.

So, in addition to the weight loss (WHEN THE GREAT WHITE BELLY CHOOSES TO COOPERATE), the body shape I like better and feeling stronger and healthier, I will get a an award for making these changes. Now, there are folks who will sneer because of who the President is and will sneer at the program but you guys can just go straight to hell. I don’t care if I come across like an 8 year old striving for a gold star (and I got one of those on my work the other day), I am doing this. I’m going to get a certificate for physical fitness. Who’da thunk it?

Cost Benefit Analysis

178.4 lbs. NOT A BLOODY WORD!!!!! It was the South that was supposed to rise again, not my GD weight!

2 lbs. spike after Sunday (well, I was sure of the spike, just not the amount. We could start a pool on these things). Pizza is the Devil’s creation; you heard it here first. However, the spike decided to hang around. Bastard.

After last night’s attempt to get in a full workout (notice the use of the word “attempt.” Its presence implies that I was not successful) at the later 7-8 PM hour, I was reminded of a joke by Steven Wright (Great deadpan BOSTON comedian). One of his lines: “I got arrested for scalping low numbers at a deli. I got 50 bucks for a 3.” There were LINES for the more popular machines and I could see myself with a velvet rope and a clipboard saying, “I’m sorry, you’re not on the list” and quietly accepting a twenty to admit them. I could make a fortune.

Please explain to me, why, more than 30 years after graduating high school (I have the dated diploma to prove it), I am still subjected to adolescent attitudes and behavior from people who also have high school in the rear view mirror. Case in point, last night, I saw an open machine, hopped on and started to work. I was then subjected to a prolonged stink eye from the friend of the woman who was on the machine next to me. Apparently, they wanted to work their thighs side by side and I thwarted that ambition. No, she wasn’t standing by the machine when I got on; nobody was near it who could make a legitimate claim to being next in line (I would have yielded. I’m not an asshole). Nope. She just glared at me; didn’t ask to “work in” or otherwise share the machine. She just went the passive aggressive route and stared. Sorry, kids, but you are rank amateurs compared to the manipulators who trained me. Ask me directly, I’ll cooperate and then some, if feasible. Use hints or body English or guilt, sorry, no hablo. I had my fill of that bullshit during the first 40 years of my life.

But that’s not why we’re here tonight.

A dear friend wryly observed the other day (during a Harry Potter and Satan’s snack marathon. Did I mention that pizza is evil? Write that down) that the Universe was teaching her lessons in “extreme frugality” and we compared notes on the challenges of nutritious, healthy eating on half a shoestring.

What it comes down to is this: When you have to choose how to spend a limited amount of money on food, whether you’re aware of it or not, you’re making the decision as to which has the higher priority: your money or your health.

Since this is my blog, you get my opinion: I will go with my health.

Part of it is that I’ve been working too damned hard to undo the good I’ve done by embarking on a lousy diet simply because the crappy food is more plentiful. Ramen noodles abound but 1) the noodles are made from wheat and the gluten will have an adverse effect on my system and 2) the sodium from the bouillon packet will screw up my body chemistry as well. Sure, the meal costs pennies, but I can’t afford the other costs: bloating, elevated blood pressure, skin issues, sinus infections. The 59 cents spent on the meal is more than offset by the costs of medicine needed to correct the side effects (Sudafed, cortisone cream, etc.). Pass.

Organic food costs more than conventionally grown. Cost benefit analysis: some folks will go with the conventionally grown because the food dollar will go further and the organic generally isn’t as pretty. Other folks will buy less organic with the same because the cost THEY don’t want to pay is that of the possible effects of pesticides and fertilizer on their body chemistry and also believe that the organic is more nutritious (No judgment or opinion on that one from this corner. I’ve heard the arguments for pro and con).

I am also more likely to buy meat or vegetables rather than starch. Starch may be a LOT cheaper and more filling, but my unscientific opinion is that I get a better benefit from the protein or the veggies.

(Again, flogging My Net Diary. After Angry Birds and Fruit Ninja, the best money I’ve ever spent on a phone app) Since I’m recording everything I eat and weighing and measuring in order to get the calorie count accurate, portion control has become my ally. Years ago, in this kind of situation before (Yeah, it’s taken this long to learn), I would give in to panicked eating and wipe out the food stores I had in short order. (For the record, I’ve never starved) Now, the food is getting stretched because I want to stay within my calorie budget.  I have grilled chicken breast from Fresh & Easy. I weigh out 100 grams at a time, whether I’m blending it with lettuce for a simple salad (I’ve become very meticulous about getting in my green vegetables) or brown rice, ground garlic and green beans or some other green vegetable for a quickie rice bowl. The 100 grams is a habit from the HCG protocol where your 2 meals per day consist of 100 grams of protein, 2 cups of a vegetable, a fruit and Blue Diamond Nut Thins (my choice because – say it with me – it’s gluten free). It may not sound like much, but 100 grams will fuel you pretty nicely. A package of that chicken costs $5.49, I get 4 meals from it this way.

A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling prosperous and beef-deprived, so I bought a package of frozen Kobe beef burgers from Trader Joe’s (and doesn’t My Net Diary scream at me about saturated fat). 1 patty is 660 calories. I also have a bag of brown rice pasta and a jar of Trader Joe’s organic marinara. I grilled a patty on my George Foreman  (and was amazed at the amount of fat that ran off, but that’s why I cooked it on the Foreman), broke it up into crumbles and added half the patty to 2 cups of cooked pasta and a half cup of sauce. By dividing THAT in half, I have two meals, 400 calories each and the pasta is filling. American chop suey or goulash or whatever you want to call it. Comfort food at a somewhat healthier level.

I drink a lot of water and I generally buy bottled water, including highly alkaline water at $2.00 a gallon. This is not as extravagant as it might seem because the price of bottled water is just about there.  I paid $2.29 for a gallon of bottled water from Trader Joe’s when I  bought the beef. The Trader Joe’s in Tarzana has a bottle filling station that costs $.39 per gallon for reverse osmosis (very highly filtered) water. However, this week, even that was a bit too much. I don’t like the taste of Los Angeles tap water. However, water is 90% of what I drink (the rest is iced tea). I grabbed my bottles, filled them out of the tap and stuck them in the fridge. You know what? Chilled, LA tap water isn’t so bad. America has the best, safest drinking water in the world and it is incredibly abundant and cheap. And I’m hydrated.

If you’ve seen “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” (you love Johnny Depp, don’t you? It’s the eyes and the cheekbones, I know) and remember it, there’s the moment when our hero, Charlie Bucket, is torn between cashing in the Golden Ticket himself and having the adventure of 10 lifetimes or selling it to help out his impoverished family (Charlie’s a nice kid). Charlie’s Grandpa George hauls the kid to his side and says, “There’s plenty of money out there. They print more every day. But this ticket, there’s only five of them in the whole world and that’s all there’s ever going to be. Only a dummy would give this up for something as common as money. Are you a dummy?”

Money comes. It always does. Maybe not as thick and fast and immediate as we’d like when we’re really scared financially, but it does show up. Like Grandpa George says, “There’s plenty out there.” Good health, on the other hand, once gone is not quite so easily re-established. I’ve done the research.

My momma didn’t raise no dummies.