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…

Too Sexy for My Jeans (Well, Not Quite)

186.6 lbs. You would think burning 1200 calories in one day would get you somewhere. I’m suspecting sugar intake (sweetened non-fat yogurt and sweetened gluten-free granola). Sugar is inflammatory to the pancreas and the liver. I have emailed Trader Joe’s asking them to come up with a gluten free granola with a lower sugar content. They said they’d look into it. I believe them. Trader Joe’s listens to its customers.

New rules for Presidential candidates: You must appear on “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader” and win, emphasis on American History, Civics and Geography. I will not name names, but the leading Charismatic Idiot punted the football on a point of American history so basic, it’s practically encoded in our DNA. You know, Idaho (the CI’s place of birth) and Alaska (the CI’s current safe haven and proclaimed beloved homeland although she now has a home in Arizona. John McCain must be ready to hang himself) are awfully close to Canada. Can SHE produce a birth certificate? That isn’t Canadian? I have my doubts. Okay, to be fair (who am I kidding?): She did say “warn the British” but finished with something like “that they couldn’t take away our liberty (or guns?).” That kind of fumble tongue is what causes international incidents. She then went on to say that Paul Revere had rung the bells in the Old North Church. Ain’t nobody ringing no damned bells that night because that would have, in fact, WARNED THE BRITISH (the HMS Somerset was at anchor not too far away. Part of the team that carried out the warning TO THE COLONISTS (who were technically British, I suppose) had to row past the Somerset to carry out their end of the mission; I’m thinking it was Revere. I’d have to go CHECK THE FACTS. (One thing I keep forgetting to look up is whether the Boston Marathon route is linked to Revere’s ride. It is a Patriot’s Day tradition and Revere (and the Minute Men) kicked that off in 1775).

The sad thing is that there are probably good, capable people in the Republican Party who could ably lead the country, but we’re never going to hear about them because they’re getting shouted down and crowded out by the spotlight-hogging fucktards (you heard me) who have shown themselves to lack character and courage, but by God, they sell a ton of books. People of America, we deserve better and it’s about goddamn time we demanded it. We are not a nation of dumb, easily dazzled and misled sheep.

But I digress.

14^th inning for the Red Sox and Oakland As. This is why Red Sox fans drink.

I had a bit of a cheat with sweet potato fries at Red Robin today (turkey burger, no bun, tomato slices, lettuce and a very little swipe of the chipotle sauce). I may pay for it tomorrow on the scale, but that would make a change from 186.6. I may have to do another Monster Monday workout.

But that’s not the biggest deal of the day. Or maybe I should say “not so big” deal.

Right now, I’m wearing a pair of size 14 Not Your Daughter’s Jeans with Tummy Tuck Technology. The Triple T allows you to wear a size smaller than you would normally. As previously mentioned in earlier posts, they’re made in the USA. Pricey, but you can find them at Nordstrom Rack for a discount (I don’t know about Marshalls, Ross or TJ Maxx, but I imagine it’s worth investigating).  These are high-waisted “mom” jeans (such a dumbass term), but they are excellent quality garments and worth their cost.

Mine are loose. And I just washed them.

If you are a regular reader, you know that among my Holy Grail garments are two pairs of Levi 501 jeans. These are buried in my storage unit, probably next to the crate containing the Ark of the Covenant (which explains the persistent humming sound). They are, without a doubt, the most flattering jeans I’ve ever pulled up.(from the butt downward. Nothing makes the Great White Belly look good).

Emboldened by the loose (ish) waistband of my current size 14 jeans, I undertook a reconnaissance mission at the Levi’s Store today. I encountered a helpful, very friendly (and kind) salesman named Michael who had no problem with my trying but not buying. He brought a pair of 501s and another pair of “boyfriend cut” (I think they were 511s). Drumroll, please.

The 501s (max waist 30, I think. Size 13), I could pull up but not button. Not a downer though: I COULD PULL THEM UP OVER MY HIPS. This is good, this is progress.

Okay, the 511s. Waist 31, inseam 32: PULLED UP, ZIPPED AND I COULD BREATHE!!!!!! These are lower rise jeans than the NYDJs, so the Great White Belly has to go down even more before I’d wear them (Not muffin tops, FLABALANCHE). They’re skinnier cut through the legs than usual (Look, if you’re plus sized, everything is boot cut unless you’re in jeggings) and they flatter my legs AND BUTT.  (Admit it, Ladies, that’s the biggest priority when we’re shopping for jeans. Why don’t men care as much about their asses? Is it because of the fart lighting obsession?). But I could wear them now , if I want to, that’s the biggest point! Even after sweet potato fries! Oh, Motivation, you move in mysterious ways!

I am going to bust this lousy plateau. One of the things I mentally chant to myself to keep going on the Rotating Staircase of Death or push through the cardio burst (greater speed and resistance on the elliptical, jogging on the treadmill) is this: “Eyes on the prize. Keep your eyes on the prize.”

The prize is still off in the distance, but if I don’t need the binoculars to see it anymore. Every step on the RSoD or elliptical is a step closer to it.