Biggest Losers? Not so much.

It's not often you get to feel good about NOT losing weight, but every once in a while we are granted a little Christmas miracle, like the demise of the Biggest Losers club.

I recently blogged about joining my work place's "Biggest Loser" weight loss competition. I will make a long story (filled with tales of my overeating) short and just say I didn't win. A very deserving gal named "Louise" won. She went and got a new haircut with her $50 prize and she's lookin' pretty sassy lately.

The Biggest Losers club was started just two (ha! two!) months ago by a bunch of co-workers who wanted to exercise, eat healthier and - most importantly - lose weight. Each participant would donate $5 and the person who lost the most weight won the money.

They were so smug in the beginning. They all went out and joined a gym. They exercised together. They'd gather in the hallways and talked about all the exercise they were doing. They seemed so certain their success was just over the horizon.

I'd already been trying to lose weight, oh for 20-some years, and have been failing miserably. I knew it was next to impossible. They had yet to learn.

I admit, I secretly scoffed at them. They actually thought that moderate amounts of diet and exercise were going to get them results? These people aren't teenagers. Ha! What were they thinking?

So, after two months, pools of sweat, massive sugar deprivation and a long, cold, demoralizing shower, the Biggest Loser club has come to its end. (I'm skipping around my desk right now singing, "I told you so, I told you so!")

The weight-loss wasn't as easy as they had anticipated. They blamed the holidays. So do I, every year.

They said they're going to pick up again after the new year. It will be a New Year's resolution of sorts ... and we all know how those end up. He he. I wish them all the best. ;)

Photo caption: Dancing Santa is laughing with them, not at them.

Honest A?

Is honesty always the best policy?

The other day I was chatting with my "friend" about how difficult it is to lose weight. I was babbling on about how often I exercise, how many times a day I forgo much of the food I would like to eat, blah, blah, blah.

"Just think about how fat you would be if you didn't all of those things," she said. "It could be worse."

Read: My ass could be as wide as the Great Wall of China right now.

So, while the whole weight loss bit isn't paying off in smaller clothing sizes - yet (WhyGodwhy??) I'm taking comfort in my regular level of fatness.

It could be worse, much worse.

Hallodaze

I stare at the bowl of Halloween candy 87 times a day. It’s almost empty. You and I both know who ate the candy. Let’s not pretend. Let’s not talk about it either.

I’m glad the bowl is almost empty, so I won’t have to worry about it anymore. My candy eating has become so robotic I don't even realize I'm doing it. Reach into bowl, unwrap, imbibe. Yum. Repeat.

Now, I have to learn how to kick this sweet addiction.

Then I look at the calendar, it’s almost Thanksgiving.

Sigh.

I love pumpkin pie. I have promised myself to only eat one piece – at a time. Today I had a conversation about pumpkin pie and if you overheard it you'd think I was talking about a lover.
That may not, however, be the worst of my problems. After Thanksgiving everyone really starts baking.

Sigh.

Why would anyone even want to try and resist baked goods? Yum. What's so great about being skinny anyway? I'll never know.

Once the holidays are over it will be a new year and time for another resolution.

I already know what mine is: Learn to love being PHAT.

Sigh.

Fat Farm

I feel like I live on a fat farm.

I joined the Heritage Biggest Loser weight loss group at work. It's a bunch of people trying to lose weight and win $50. I'm only in it for the $50.

The person who loses the most weight wins. Simple. Impossible. I can't even lose the most weight when I'm the only person in the contest.

There are a lot of people around the office now paying attention to what the others are doing and eating. I'm glad it's not just me anymore - both paying attention to others and having attention paid to me because of this blog.

The group also helps with some of the conversations.

Before they started, every time anyone had anything to say about diets, exercise, food, being fat, being skinny, writing a blog, trying to lose weight, gain weight, walking on the moon, cooking tacos, or speaking Chinese they would come to me. Now they have other people to bounce off of. Hell, they should bounce off of each other, all that extra fat has to be good for something.

The weigh-in was on Monday and on that day I did not eat the MnMs when I wanted to - being in the group helped me all 22 times I reached for that candy. Since Tuesday I haven't cared as much. I've eaten a mini Milky Way and the MnMs.

I wonder if they'll give me back the $5 I paid to join if I get out before Friday? There's no way I'm going to win, or lose (weight).

Love to Hate Her: Denise Austin

I hate her; I do, but I have to admit, she may be my only salvation.
Months of trotting my largess around parks and on my treadmill have amounted to virtual squat, but just over a week of Denise Austin's kickass exercise death match and I've lost 10 pounds.

Yes, I said 10 pounds.

Every time I look down at my bulging stomach I am shocked that it is actually bulging less. I have LESS of a bulge! There is hope left in this world yet.

Just to make sure my eyes aren't deceiving me I grab a hold of the offending blubber and heft it to see if my hands can make me understand what my eyes can't believe. It's shrinking :) :) :) !!

Getting here has not been pretty and more ugliness must ensue. MUCH more ugliness.

I only do the videos in my basement, because, God Forbid, one of my neighbors were to catch site of my hulking form flopping around like a sopping wet whale out of water. I wouldn't want to make them have to move out of town, or worse - attend therapy.

So while I struggle to breathe and heave my laden thighs just one more time - Come on, you can do it! - onto that step, I hate her, but I have to love her too. She's like the mother-in-law you'll never be good enough for, but you keep trying so damn hard anyway.

I admit, I don't do half of the exercises. "I'm not even trying that," I frequently think while jogging in place and fighting for air as I watch her skinny, fit butt prance around, but one day I just might get there.

So, though it pains me to do it, I leave you with an Austinism: "Strong bodies strong minds, because you are worth it."

I may have to start muting the TV.

Chocolate Pastry Bender

Chocolate + pastry = get the hell outta my way.

Diet? Diet who?

Damn you $1 Arby's chocolate croissant, damn you.

Super Sexy Salsa-style Scrubbing

Today I developed "Latino Fusion Floor Scrubbing."

1: Put on some funky salsa-style hip-hoppy cross-breed music.

2: Get scrubber, bucket and cleanser.

3: Shake your rump while squatting down to hand scrub the floor. Do not let your knees touch the ground. Work your arms in circles, swing your hips from side to side like you're Jessica Rabbit.

Oh yeah, eat your heart out J Lo.

It may not be pretty, but it works. Have fun.

Can't be Helped, Can't be Stopped

There are some people in this world that, no matter how hard you try, you just can't help. They have to want to help themselves and if they don't there isn't anything you can do about it.

I am one of those people.

I refuse to stop eating Tim's (an editor at the newspaper) awesome brownies and if anyone tries to stop me I will hurt them.

Tim makes the best most chocolaty, nutty, chewy deeelicious brownies in the history of the world. He is famous for them in at least five different areas of this office.

Today we celebrated something. Who knows what?? I can't keep up. It was another workday, another table of fat and goodness.

But there was something different.

Today they put the dessert table all the way across the room, so it wasn't right in front of me.

I don't know if they did it on purpose, or if that's just where - after one million years - they decided it should be, but that's where it went. WWWWAAAAAAYYYY far from me and out of my sight and smell range.

How does that old saying go? "Out of sight, out of mind?" That's because they're all in my mouth. (That's what she said.)

At least I have to walk across the room to get my fix now. It's hard though because I can't just nonchalantly walk by and snag a piece of banana cake, I have no other reason to be over there so everyone knows what I'm doing.

At least I'm getting some extra exercise. Sigh.

Another gift designed to destroy me

It's no wonder a girl can't lose weight around here. Newsroom gifts never have less than 10,000 calories in them. 

Notice my skinny co-worker Nate Stemen in the background enjoying his choco-chippty muffin. He won't stay skinny long. Muhahahahahaha!

Bathroom Confessional

"I have a confession to make," the voice from the other side of the bathroom stall said over the sound of me peeing.

"Tell me what you have done, my child," I said.

I didn't really say that. The voice was one of my co-workers. What I said was, "Are you seriously confessing something to me from the other side of a bathroom stall?"

Laughter. "I guess I am," the voice said. "I ate a Snickers bar today. I was was really hungry."

I wish I could remember my reply, but I don't, so here's what I should have said ...

"Ask forgiveness from the scale gods and do 100 sit-ups in penance. Go in peace my child and don't eat any more Snickers bars this week ... and never to speak to me of Snickers bars while in the bathroom again!"

Maybe I need Brain Surgery

Most overweight people are open to trying pretty much anything to lose weight. Diet pills, cardboard food, diet liquids, torturous exercise, starvation, laxatives, drinking 80 gallons of water a day, a humiliating blog - you name it - we'll do most anything to lose weight.

I think I've finally found something I won't try, well, probably not.

Brain surgery. Yep. Doctors are now probing the brains of fat phattys and controlling their impulse to eat.

Neurosurgeons drill about 10 centimeters into a brain, on both hemispheres and once they find the "food center" they implant electrodes connected to wires and install two pacemaker-type devices are implanted into your chest to control the amount of voltage that is sent to your brain.


It's called deep brain stimulation by doctors. It's called freaky weird by me.

With the surgery, electricity is introduced to specific parts of the brain that are believed to control specific behaviors, such as feelings of hunger and satisfaction.

To test that the electrodes are in the right spot the doctors are able to make the patient hot, cold, happy, sad, thirsty, nauseous and pretty much any combination of feelings they want.

"They knew exactly every pinpoint," one patient said. "It was like they knew my body. They knew how my body was reacting to everything, and they knew what to do to make it back where it should be."

Once they get a successful response in the food part of the brain doctors implant a permanent generator, and the patient has this constant electrical current to that part of the brain and you just don't want to eat anything that's bad for you ever again.

I don't know about you, but I'm a pretty big believer in the idea that we should control our own brains. The scariest part of this whole experiment is that I'm wondering how bad could it really be?

Yet, despite my failures, I believe we are capable of learning. Take me for example - I've been married twice - won't do it again. My brain learned its lesson. See? My brain is capable of learning. One day it will learn to control food intake and figure out a dozen milk chocolate macadamia nut cookies for one person is Bad, Bad, Bad.

Besides, how do we know that the brain of the woman that had the surgery isn't going to start loving wheat germ now? It's just not worth the risk.

Fives reasons for five pounds

I've been avoiding you.

I don't want to tell you that I've gained back the five pounds I lost.

Somehow I fell off the wagon. This is what happened:

Last week my daughter and I made chocolate chip cookies and zucchini bread. I ate ample amounts of both.

I've been walking less - for which I have dozens of excuses. Here are the five main ones.

1: The weather. It's been colder and rainier. I haven't pulled out my warm weather clothes yet, so I can't walk.

2: Back to school. My daughter going back to school has thrown a wrench into my schedule. I was waking up early and walking on the treadmill before work, but now, with my daughter back in school I have to wake up even earlier to get my walking in, and well, it's hard. I like sleep.

3: I went to a wedding. Weddings are good excuses to overeat. There was a cheesecake bar (Damn that cheesecake bar!)

4: Work. Last week I had things to do that required early mornings and late nights. I was very busy and ate on the fly and twice I didn't have dinner until 10 p.m. I wouldn't have eaten at all that late except that I was really hungry. Once, during a late night meeting my stomach was growling so loudly the person sitting next me actually got hungry. When fat people's stomachs growl it's not cute. It's just embarrassing.

5: Progress. I haven't made any. It's really hard to continue to try and eat right and exercise when nothing is happening.

Yesterday my daughter and I went walking in downtown Detroit. It would have been a good outing except for the fact that we made two stops. 1: Vincente's Cuban Cuisine. Yum. We ate beef empanadas (deep fried) and Papas Rellenas - they're breaded potato balls with meat inside (deep fried).

We then continued on our walk and found ourselves in Greektown, right outside of - 2: Astoria Pastry Shop. I think the Astoria Pastry Shop is what my heaven looks like. 

One chocolate covered macaroon later and we found our way down to the Riverwalk, where let's face it, I was too full to get any real walking done.

I've determined that, now that I'm over age 20 (a while now), for each granule of sugar I eat I need to walk one mile. I'm going to try and do better at applying that equation to my daily life; and I'll try not to avoid you so much.

Cheesecake Dreams

I went to a wedding last night. It's usually pretty hard for me to get all gushy about weddings - having been in two failed ones myself.

I've got high hopes for this wedding though; I fully intend on being invited to the 50 year anniversary, even if I am wheeled in there with an oxygen tank and my own paramedic (maybe I'll be skinny by then?)

When I looked at my photos of the night I realized I didn't have any of the bride and groom, the beautiful surroundings, the hilarious line dancing, or any even of my friends I sat with.

No, what I had a picture of was cheesecake.

In my defense, if there can be one, the cheesecake was really good - they had a cheesecake bar! A cheesecake bar! - That's what I said as I trampled down three unsuspecting guests in front of me - Sorry Grandma!

The fact that I had to wear my sister-in-laws dress, which should have been two sizes too big for me, but wasn't, should have been enough to stop me from even looking at that table. As any weight-struggling chubby girl knows - sometimes even looking at food can cause weight gain.

It's amazing that I was even able to run since the damn girdle (I know, whatever) I was wearing kept causing my pantyhose to slip down to my knees. I didn't realize my hose were down there until they impeded my walking.

Yeah, I'm a real class act. I spent the entire night pulling those damn things up. Come to think of it, I bet it was a real sight for any onlookers. (Note to self: Check YouTube for embarrassing video.)

It was worth it though. Good times, good friends, good food - of course.

I hope they found Grandma under the cheesecake table. Maybe I should call someone??

Bliss. Of the Wedded variety?

Today we're celebrating my co-worker Angie's wedding. Yay for Angie and David, who will be married Saturday.

These doughnuts are the beginning of the many tasty treats we'll have today.

If I can resist these delicious little circles of love all day today I will be my own hero.

I'm told, however, there is triple chocolate cheesecake being added to the table shortly. That doesn't bode well for me. I hope nobody gets hurt.

McStake

I was feeling a little bit chubby and dejected after long week and a worse day including two traffic jams, when on my way home I decided to stop for some food.

Mistake one: Never stop for food when you're feeling bad about yourself.

Problem one: Construction. Why is there construction on every road I travel on? Just once this year I really wish I could just get somewhere without sitting in construction related traffic. I'm starting to despise those damn yellow cones nearly as much as my first ex-husband - and that is not easy. That man makes Lindsey Lohan look like a choir girl.

Problem two: The only places to get food without getting into more traffic is ... fast food.

My karma started working on me as soon as I pulled into that McDonald's driveway.

I ordered my angus burger and fries with a side of tartar sauce - because let's face it, if you're going to do it you may as do it right. The tartar was for the fries - a tasty little trick I learned in Paris (Yes, I can manage to eat garbage in a country known for the best cuisine in the world).

Of course, there was no tartar sauce in my bag when I got home.

But wait! Oh, lucky me, I have tartar sauce in my fridge!

Halfway through my "meal" I decided the tartar tasted - off. That's when the date on the bottle caught my eye.

That tartar had expired - in 2007.

Mistake two: Eating tartar and french fries. What is wrong with me??

That did for me. I deserved it. After being so good for days and days that's what I get for breaking down and eating high-calorie, zero nutrition filler.

I checked the rest of my condiments and I don't why, but I was shocked to find that some of condiments actually dated back to the Clinton presidency. In fact, I think some of them came into the house with that first husband.

I quit right then and there. I gave my remaining food to my two little dogs - they'd really been getting my nerves lately anyway.

Instead I ate mini tomatoes out of my garden. They were delicious; they actually tasted like food.

Sun Chips Bags are Genius

My co-workers were eating Sun Chips yesterday and Jason a.k.a. "the office food cop" observed that the bag was really, really loud.

“How am I supposed to sneak chips with a bag this loud?” he asked.

It should be noted he was also trying to sneak cookies and said the plastic container they were in was too loud as well. Note to food manufacturers: Please make your containers quieter for us PHAT folk. (Why are you sneaking so much food, Jason?)

We do a lot of eatin’ around here.

It turns out we’re not the only ones that think the new Sun Chips bag is super loud.

There’s a Facebook group called “SORRY BUT I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THIS SUN CHIPS BAG” that has over 33,000 fans.

The Wall Street Journal even wrote a story about it.

They quoted someone who said it’s “the worst when your stoned at 2 a.m. and trying to not wake up the house.” (Hmmm. I wonder where the WSJ is finding their sources?)

That bag got me to thinking.

What if every food you ate was really loud and drew attention to you?

That could be a really good diet incentive.

“Rene is eating her fourth helping of Doritos,” the bag could announce when I reach into it. Or, “This is your third Oreo” or "That's 600 calories Tubby," or “Look at Rene eat this doughnut” when I stick my pudgy hand into the box.

Nobody wants to eat annoying, snarky food.

They already market cookie jars that moo or oink when you open them and little things for your fridge that will do the same when you open the fridge door.

Apparently we PHATties have been shameless for a while.

On the flipside (also a tasty cracker), healthy foods could say things like, "Look at how smart you are!" or "Bet you're going to lose a pound this week!" But healthy food doesn't generally come in bags or boxes.

Perhaps Sun Chips is onto something here. Every time someone reaches into that bag we turn and look.

“That’s five times today, Karl, we are trying to work over here, geez.” (Just joking boss, we know how much you like your chips. Here! Have more chips!)

I think I’m going to start putting all of my food into Sun Chip bags. I could use them for sandwiches, leftovers … chili, pretty much anything.

The rule would be that I have to eat it directly from the bag - no taking the food out of the bag to eat.

Either I’ll lose weight because I don’t want everyone to hear every bite I take, or I’ll be PHAT and deaf.

Pretty much I've got nothing to lose. Except my hearing. I’ll just get earplugs.

Hey, wait ... Karl! Save some of those chips for the rest of us!!

Goodbye Old Friend

I was so sad to hear that the comic strip “Cathy” is going to end that I almost ordered myself a chocolate fountain and six pound cakes to mourn.

Cathy has been the comic I turn to every week and enjoy just as much as I do free cookies samples at the grocery store - a lot.

I’ve always felt that Cathy, via her creator Cathy Guisewite, really had her pulse on the typical day in the life of an average woman.

Cathy struggled through the "four basic guilt groups" of life — food, love, mom, and work — the strip pokes fun at the foibles of modern women.

She went through the same type of trials and tribulations that I do – an obsession with weight, shopping, pets, shoes, boyfriends – “AACK!”

Just read some of her book titles: “Wake Me Up When I’m a Size 5” (1985); “Abs of Steel, Buns of Cinnamon” (1997); “Shoes: Chocolate for the Feet" (2000). "think I'm having a Relationship with a Blueberry Pie!" (1981) :Only Love Can Break a Heart, But a Shoe Sale Can Come Close" (1992).

Cathy always made me feel connected to other women and feel better about my own troubles. She always made me laugh.

Her strip is scheduled to end in October. I’m going to miss her.

I quit.

I quit today. I caved; abandoned all hope of victory over the flab that rules my body.

I can’t take it anymore.

As I write this I’m shoving Nacho Cheese Doritos down my throat and feeling sick. Sick of the world. Sick of food marketers. Sick of bad food that tastes good. Sick of avoiding all the food I enjoy.

I don’t have what it takes. Skinny girls really are a special breed.

Yeah, I’m ashamed. I hate myself. More than that, I HATE hating myself just because it’s so easy to eat an entire family sized bag of Doritos.

Why’d they have to make them so damn good, cheap and convenient? (There’s a hooker joke I’m not going to put right here) I can get them in three flavors in the vending machine right outside of my office door for less than $1.

The Doritos weren’t even my only indiscretion. I’ve been cheating my ass off – except my ass is only getting bigger.

Last week I went to a Pure Romance party where they sell “intimate” devices for lovers – enough said – and in between licking flavored lotions off each other’s arms and sniffing each other’s boobs, women eat dips and sweets.

The first thing I saw was a tray of delectable homemade cream puffs.

My immediate instinct was to tackle that tray and have my way with it, but I didn’t.

I fought the urge and won for about an hour until the evil maker of said creampuffs practically shoved one down my all too willing throat.

Thank you Cathy’s creampuffs, you have ruined my life.

It didn’t stop with the creampuff. Over the weekend, away from home, I ate two jumbo chocolate chip cookies and felt guilty and fat and horrible with every sweet gooey bite ... but I did it anyway.

What’s worse – I haven’t been walking nearly as much since that immoral little pastry entered my life.

Now I’m feeling FAT and lazy and horrible and I just want to quit.

Even worse is that my week is filled with meetings and another weekend away from home with more good food opportunities.

What’s a PHAT girl supposed to do?

So I quit. At least until Monday.

FAT = STUPID

I might actually be dumb because of how fat I am. I guess I can stop blaming my parents.

A study just published in the journal “Human Brain Mapping” compared the brains of people who were obese, overweight, and normal - aka probably too skinny - and found that Fat people have less brain mass.

For the record, according to my Wii Fit, I’m obese. My Wii Fit may also be obese – since it is a big idiot.

In any case, I’m not alone.

The World Health Organization estimates more than 300 million people across the planet are obese, and another billion more are overweight. None of these people live in Hollywood.

The study, which I found at Naturalnews.com indicates that being too fat also causes brain degeneration and maybe even Alzheimer’s disease.

The scientists set out to document whether the brains of normal, fat and obese people were the same.

I’m no scientist, but I could have told them the answer – PHAT people have way better brains than stick chicks – suck on that skinnies. Come on, don't be mad; at least let us have the brains.

What the guys in white coats found was that obese and overweight people had between four and eight percent less brain tissue than people of "normal" weight. That probably explains alot of the things that go on in my family.

Wouldn't you know it? Three months on this weight loss plan and the only place I’m losing weight is in my brain? Unfreakinbelievable.

This study marks the first time anyone has established a link between being fat and having what scientist Paul Thompson called ... drumroll please... “severe brain degeneration.”

Alright, Mom, you were right.

Thompson said, “The brains of obese people looked 16 years older than the brains of those who were lean, and in overweight people looked eight years older.”

Great. I'm fat, Stupid and have a brain like a milkshake. Ooooh. Milkshake. Yum.

I assume this study explains where those five pounds went. Goodbye brain - you never did me much good anyway.

It turns out that the largest area of brain loss was in the the sensory lobe.

My theory is that us PHATies don’t have enough "sense" to stop eating and the Alzheimers effect makes us forget that we just ate - Ooo a cookie! I want one! Co-worker: "You just had one." Did I? I don't remember, give me another one.

I'll bet those scientist were skinny. PHAT scientists would have never started this study. Is there such a thing as a PHAT scientist? I don't think so. I wonder what's up with that. If I wasn't so stupid I'd try to figure it out.

This picture is of three of my brothers, known here as Obese, Fat and Skinny, using their combined brain power to nearly burn down a forest. For the record: I told them it was a bad idea. P.S. No trees were harmed during this incredibly stupid act. My study indicates that the scientists were probably right, as it was Obese's idea to start this fire.

Someday You Will Ache Like I Ache

I've developed a new exercise motivation technique – trotting behind my 13-year-old daughter Autumn and her friends on the park track.

Nothing will keep you moving like two young, thin girls in front of you. It even works better than pictures of skinny, half nude women on the refrigerator to keep you from eating.

Of course, there was no way could I keep up with them. We are different like pumas and donkeys. I need not tell you who the ass was.

I reminded them I’m over twenty years older than they are and at least 70 pounds heavier, but they don’t see those as viable excuses.

They did keep turning around and cheering me on. Once, I thought I heard something like “tub o lard,” but I couldn’t really tell from the blood pounding in my head. They told me later they said, “Boy you work hard” of course.

When they turned back around and laughed hysterically, I knew it was just because of how much fun we were having.

While I slogged along behind them, seeing them like a mirage ahead of me, hearing them laughing in the distance, I daydreamed about when I’d be able to keep up with them and the things we’d laugh about together.

“Remember when you were so PHAT you jogged a mile behind us and kept yelling for us to slow down, but we pretended not to hear you?” or “Wasn’t it a blast that time we had to call 911 after she passed out on the track and crushed that squirrel to death?”
“What about that time we left her in our skinny, youthful dust and we found her an hour later laying on the grass crying and cursing God and she said her tears were just sweat?”

Yes, those sweet girls and I will make many memories on this journey and then one day when they get old and fat I’ll be the one laughing.


Here is a woman that understands. Thank you Courtney Love.

I'm No Loser

Months of sweating, starving and generally hating life have finally paid off. I have lost FIVE entire pounds.

It may not seem like much, because, well, it's not.

I blame my competitive nature; I don’t like to lose and I take it seriously; too seriously apparently.

I am happy about the five crummy pounds though.

I delayed making this announcement in case the scale was faulty or maybe it was “water” weight, or the Chihuahua jumped on the scale behind me while my back was turned, or I gained it back.

It’s been a couple of weeks now and the five pounds doesn’t seem to be coming
back – like my sanity – it’s long gone.

While five pounds doesn’t seem like much, it is the equivalent of say a child’s bowling ball, or the stuff I took out of my purse the other day, so that’s worth something, right?

One good thing I noticed from it is, while hiding in my darkened closet, when I lifted my shirt I found that my belly rolls are now covering less of my thighs!

Bonus! I can see my upper thighs!

I haven’t seen the top of my thighs in ages! They’re pastier than I thought. (Note to self: better razors and fake tanning lotion needed.)

At this rate, with the 50 pound weight loss goal I set, I'll only be writing this blog for say the next fifty years.

Huh, I wonder if we'll still have "blogging" in fifty years? By then the computer will probably just be able to suck the thoughts from our heads. Look out computer - you really don't want to know what I've got going on in here.

Until next time, PHAT friends ... oh, do me a favor - eat something worthwhile for me. (The bigger you are the smaller I look!)

Cookie

My scale is broken. According to its faulty calculations I haven’t lost any weight. None, zippo, zero, zilch.

Well that can’t be right – can it? It stands to reason that it’s broken and about to get much more broken if it doesn’t fix itself soon.

I swear, aside from a couple of double chocolate Oreo cookies I have been on the diet wagon – and!!! I’ve been exercising EVERY day. Just last week I did a three-hour garden squat and pull marathon. Lemme tell you, those weeds make really good weights. They really don’t want to come out of the ground.

Add to that:

Instead of just 30 minutes of walking on my treadmill I get in about eight minutes of full-on trotting before I collapse on my basement floor. Eight minutes people! I’m not doing this for fun – I want some weight loss, but no, my scale silently torments me while all the numbers flick past, higher and higher until stopping at an undisclosed number way higher than say, a mountain.

"But what about the health benefits you’re surely reaping Rene," you ask?

Any small unseen health benefits I’m supposedly achieving are not worth the possible unfortunate positioning of my neighbors in the vicinity of my home when I decide I’ve finally had enough of this scale. I am a humanitarian, afterall.

I do admit, however, I have received small amounts of encouragement from my clothing. Unlike the scale they cannot change to toy with me. My clothes are getting a wee bit looser and they can’t fake it.

Just yesterday, I put on a shirt that I don’t usually wear because it’s a little too snug, but I was rushing and grabbed it – then as I ran down my stairs late for work, I paused. The shirt didn’t cling to my bottom three belly rolls as it had in the past, it floated right past them.

“Now wait a minute here scale,” I shouted. “My shirt hasn’t changed, but why haven’t you?” I demanded.

The scale did not answer. It sat there silently on zero, daring me to step on it again. I didn’t give it the satisfaction, my boss was waiting and I didn’t want to show up for work sweating after beating the life out of that scale – and yes, I believe the scale not only has “life” but a personality. A really nasty personality, that loves to torment me, much like my little sister. It won’t win though, oh no nasty little scale – or shall I call you Cookie? Yes, Cookie, the EVIL scale – you will not win.

Taking it on the road

I took the PHAT blog on the road today for some public exercise. Yeah, this is all about shaming myself into weightloss afterall.

My daughter and I went to Beauti-Ful Heritage Park in Taylor. That is place really is a secret gem Downriver. It is so amazing there it Almost makes it easier to get some exercise. Almost.

We walk/trotted around the paved trails for a grueling hour with me putting my head down and speeding past all other park inhabitants - nobody, not even the little squirrels need to see me trot. Trust me, it ain't pretty.

The botanical gardens there are Spectacular though, and eased the pain of the exercise while making it even more worthwhile.

I'm thinking of making it my secret Downriver exercise hang-out. If you happen to see me there, however, don't expect a 'hello' I'll be running past like I never saw you - which, actually would increase the exercise, so not a bad idea.

I'm thinking of trying the rollerblades there, but I wouldn't want to traumatize the flowers, they're too pretty for all that and those poor squirrels might never recover. God help them if I fell while one was nearby - squirrel pate' - yikes.

The photo is of me acting as the (rather lofty) antenna for the butterfly. See? Those gardeners at Heritage Park sure know what they're doing. I bet I wasn't their idea for antenna though.

The Blame Game

Now it’s time for my favorite amusement — The Blame Game.

This is how it works: I blame someone, or something, in either my past or present for ruining some aspect of my life.
The game only works if you assume absolutely zero responsibility for your own actions — no problem there — I’ve never claimed to have control of ANY of my actions.

Today’s Blame Game guest is (drumroll please) … My mother.

It could be my mother’s fault that I’m PHAT because:

My mother always has a long purple-lidded Tupperware container filled with two sticks of pure butter somewhere on her kitchen counter with a loaf of fresh bread.

My mother always has cookies, chocolate candy, cake, pie or other pastries on the counter alongside the butter.

My mother loves to fry food.

My mother thinks sharing food is an intimate act of love.

During our annual 4th of July fireworks I argued with my mother for nearly half
an hour over my NOT eating a damn piece of apple pie.

I think her feelings were a little hurt. Looking back, I realized all she really wanted was to see my joy from eating the delicious pie.

I hate my life.

In hindsight, she was clearly upset that I wouldn’t allow myself to be happy by eating the pie.
She kept insisting it was just one piece – it could even be a small piece. I pictured it glued onto my thighs, where it would surely end up.

Everywhere I go people use the “It’s just one bite/piece/whatever” to get me to try something. Why? Because I think some people receive happiness from the joy of others. It’s a problem I’ve never had.

Food does makes me happy. You only need to look at me to know that.

When I was a kid it really made me happy.

I grew up fairly poor and one of the happiest times of the month was when the church or the Good Fellows dropped off boxes of food at our house.

Talk about a kid at Christmas. Food drop off day would send all of us flying into the living room like high school seniors on the last day of classes to see what was in those boxes.

“Look at this! Rice a Roni! Chef Boyardee!”

My ALLTIME favorite, however, was that huge yellow block of government cheese. That block could make more meals, for more people, than any non-poor person would ever suspect.

I love cheese.

If cheese is on a meal, I’m happier. In fact, give me extra cheese. An extra cheesy meal is like reliving the joy of food drop off day and thrilling at the luxury of it.

Ha — most girls thrill at diamonds and gold.

Maybe my mom’s not all to blame. Maybe she just loves me and wants me to be happy. Maybe I’m PHAT because I was (still am) poor.

In my experience, for poor people, food really is love and happiness. Food means we won’t be hungry another day, a week, a month.

Being poor makes us save the best, or last bit of food, for the ones we love. It may sound silly, but it is a gift.

When having something to eat is a measure of success, pastries, meat and real butter are proof that we’re doing really well.

In my family, if we have “non-necessary” tasty food there is no better way to show our love than to share it and enjoy the happiness in each other’s faces as we eat together.

Damn it.

I’ve got go. I have to buy a pie and visit my mom.

Spare pair of undies? Anyone?

I planned on cheating again. But this time it was for the good.
I decided I wanted to give my weight loss initiatives a boost with supplements.

Being the studious journalist I am, I began researching my options.

Everybody knows diet pills and the like are unsafe, ineffective and a rip-off. I, however, believing in second chances - even for mass manufactured, money grubbing, shame making pills, powders and liquids that lie their deceiving way into your medicine cabinet - decided to inquire.

I thought maybe they’ve changed since the last time I’d thought about using them. I’ve thought about ex-boyfriends the same way and been similarly disappointed.

My research ended in my near vomiting – which also happens to be an effective,
but unhealthy and kinda gross diet option.

I’ve now created a new rule: If the list of side effects of a "medicine" is longer than the list of benefits – I’m not taking it, or probably not, unless the benefit is really, really amazing – like plastic surgery, or those fat band stomach - shrinker things.

I found that a vast majority of weight loss supplements come with side affects such as:
-Increased heart rate (I had thought that was generally good.)
-Increased blood pressure (That comes with the heart rate thing, right?)
-Sweating (Like I need to do that more. Have you ever seen me on a hot day??)
-Constipation (Isn’t that counterproductive?)
-Insomnia (inability to sleep or stay asleep) – Their parentheses – not mine. If you have to explain insomnia, why use the word? Maybe us diet pill people aren’t very smart.
-Excessive thirst (I’m always excessively thirsty on Fridays; will that extend to other days?)
-Lightheadedness and drowsiness (Not just at work? Or as in maybe I shouldn’t be driving? I’m not losing weight to stay home for Pete’s sake.)
-Stuffy nose (Also common with the cocaine diet.)
-Headache (Probably from trying to quench the excessive thirst.)
-Anxiety (See cocaine diet above.)
-Dry mouth (Common with another popular anti-diet drug, which makes you want to eat even more.)

This next one, however, is what really stopped me in my tracks: “In extreme cases, they can’t control their bowels — they’ll leak all over their pants,” says Caroline Cederquist, M.D.
As if I don’t have enough problems. Having my bowels leaking all over my pants really does not need to be put on the list.

I wonder if people taking these medications carry around extra undies? Wear adult diapers? — Wait, I take it back, I DON’T want to know.

I can just imagine sitting at my desk at work and suddenly "leaking" all over my pants. “Excuse me guys, I just leaked my bowels all over my pants,” I say while covering my butt and running to the bathroom, where, God help me, I have a change of cloths.
Of course, I’d then have to quit my job in shame, in the unlikely case that I wasn’t fired.

Perhaps it’s needless to say, but I’ll be losing my weight the old fashioned way — diet and exercise and I’ll skip the ritual burning of the bowel covered clothes in the dumpster out back — thankyouverymuch.

Photo courtesy Palm Beech Post

Steamed veggies = LAME

Recently at work we had a 4th of July BBQ outside on the patio.

I decided way in advance that I wasn’t going anywhere near the elaborate, milky, syrupy, creamy, sweet, dessert table, but I would enjoy the BBQ.

I was feeling good about myself until my nearest co-worker – who is also (needlessly) trying to lose weight announced she wouldn’t be eating the dessert - or the BBQ either.

Noooooo BBQ for her. Instead she indulged on a bowl of steamed mixed veggies.

Yeah. Thanks for making me look like a PHATass even while I'm avoiding the dessert table.

Lemme tell you, when you write a blog about losing weight and people know about it, food gatherings are about as joyful as a pit of tarantulas to an arachnophobic.

Several of my co-workers taunted and teased me while I waited in the food line. One of them, without mentioning names (Donna), even videoed taped me.

I thought I'd playfully joke back with them by slapping their full plates onto their shirt fronts, but I had other fish to fry - those ribs needed eatin'.

While I despise my co-workers feeble and failing attempts at humor, they do keep me in line.

When I went back up for a second helping of ribs I was as quick and stealthy as a gazelle. Plus, I pretended I was just chatting with the caterer. Because of peering eyes I really had to plan out my eating - it was worth it though - Primo's ribs are the bomb.

For dessert, I did indulge in a few strawberries and slowly savored every single
morsel while disdainfully watching said veggie eater munching carrots at her
desk.

My boss, who’s humor is so off-colored and unexpected it often ends up painful – not only for the recipient of the joke, but bystanders as well, decided a plate of brownies was just what the veggie eater needed.

Diets be damned, he put the brownies right in front of her on her desk – and guess what?

She ate every crumb.

Thanks boss.

Happy 4th to the PHAT friends!

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow

Today I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, ready to exercise.

I wasn’t tired when I got up; it wasn’t a struggle and I didn’t even wait for the alarm.

After I started moving, though, something happened. Laziness took over.

I made my coffee and sat on the couch and looked at the wall – for two hours.

That’s weird, because it’s usually only at work that I’m able to go into a vegetative state of prolonged non-productivity, but I’m full of surprises.

After an hour of staring I got up, put on my sneakers and exercise clothes, then I sat back down and stared at the wall some more.

Staring at a blank wall is really underrated. I feel like I could do it again for a few hours right now.

While I sat there though, I swear I could feel my stomach growing larger. Still I didn’t move.

I imagined my fat cells laughing at me, growing, bathing themselves luxuriously in my fatty acids.

For motivation I pictured myself doing squats, push-ups and bends. I imagined how strong I would feel after I exercised, the way I would examine my love handles for shrinkage.

Yes, I’m going to get up. I’m going to do it, I thought, but still I sat there.

Laziness is paralytic.

I thought about the dreams I’d had while I slept – one about a cute boy I went to high school with and adored.
In the dream I was thin and we were dating. We both had a lot of fun with my thin bod.

I knew I should get up and pop an exercise video in the TV.

Instead I did some laundry. I made more coffee. I ate breakfast. I tweezed my eyebrows.

Since I’ve began exercising my eyebrows are getting precariously thinner.

I lamented how by now the morning news shows were over so I no longer wanted to walk on the treadmill.

I thought about the benefits of various exercise programs.

I thought about all the people in the world that were probably exercising as I sat there staring. It made me tired.

I don’t know where the time went, but before I knew it I had to start getting ready for work.

Disappointed and ashamed, I promised myself I wouldn't tell anyone about my two-hour, wall-staring episode.

I took off my sneakers and other workout gear and placed them in a prominent spot for the next day.

I will do better tomorrow.

As Scarlett said, “Tomorrow is another day.”

Rollerblading Rhino

Today, as I spilled mycoffee at my desk, I realized I’ve had a week of PHAT misfortunes.

It started with the birthday cake.

I jinxed myself a month ago while plotting to use my birthday as an excuse to indulge in high-fat goodness.
My daughter overdid it while baking the double chocolate cake and I didn’t tell her, but that cake was drier than the average grandma’s elbows. I haven’t gotten over the dissapointment yet.

Later in the week we went Downtown for tortillas for my annual Crusin’ Downriver BBQ fajita party.

While Downtown we went to what used to be my favorite Mexican restaurant for some greasy, cheesy flaming cheese goodness - hey, it was a belated birthday indulgence because of the cake!

I don’t know what happened, but I think they started using Velveeta instead of traditional Chihuahua cheese. It was horrible and another PHAT disaster.

A co-worker, learning of my diet, gave me a chocolate fiber bar. I thought they were only for really old people, or those who have a problem with going #2, but apparently they’re good for PHAT girls too.
I’m told they’re tasty and I’m grateful for the support, but I can’t help seeing it as a omen of some sort. It was.

As that co-worker walked away, another started making fun of the “Rollerblading Rhino” title of this blog post and caused me to dump my coffee all over my desk, papers and oatmeal cereal snacks.

Another food misfortune.

I started calling myself the rollerblading rhino because of the Denise Austin exercise videos I've been doing. Austin talks a lot about “being strong and fit!” I got a little sick of listening to her prattle on so I started rollerblading on a track by my house in the morning to avoid her voice.

It didn’t work because as I forged ahead on the track when I wanted to quit, in my head I would hear, “You can do it! Feel those muscles working! You’re strong! And I thought,

“Yeah, strong like a freakin’ rhino.”

One good thing is that I’ve inspired another – skinny – co-worker to do more exercise via video. She says she loves it and is feeling strong and slim. She's received compliments right in front of me for how great she's looking.

Nice.

Afterall that’s all I set out to do with this blog – make the skinny people look and feel better.

(Oh, where in the hell in that fiber bar? I'm depressed. Sigh.)

I can't believe I ate the Whole thing

So, it’s birthday week, but the only cake I’ll be having is a rice cake.

My beloved co-worker Angie made me a “PHAT blog appropriate cake” out of rice cakes, marshmellos and coconut, since she knows how much I love to eat these (any many other) things at my desk.

Half a dozen people have walked past the cake and asked, “Where’s the chocolate?”
They were very nearly kicked in their chocolate-loving rear ends.

I told my other co-workers I’d be cutting the cake to share with them later, but they just looked at me as if I'd started stripping at my desk.
Thanks guys.

They don’t know how to appreciate a thoughtful co-worker, or a healthy diet, so I’ll eat the entire damn thing by myself. Loudly. Crunching on ever fiber-rich, low-fat crumb.

It’s not every day you can eat your entire birthday cake all by yourself.

Turns out you can have your cake and eat it too.

Cheers to all the PHAT friends.

Food Love Affair

Dear Food,

I miss you.

I miss all of things we used to do together.

Baseball game hotdogs, birthday cake celebrations, summertime picnics, late night dinners at favorite restaurants, trips to the bakery unable to decide just what to get and my favorite, cozy nights on the couch, just the two of us.

Life just isn’t the same without you

Everyday when I woke up you were there.
Bacon, sausage, pancakes with blueberry syrup and whipped cream.

At lunch we were together again. Fast food cheeseburgers, meatball subs, fried chicken carryout.

One of the best parts of my days was knowing I’d be going home to you, chicken enchilada, fettuccine Alfredo, BBQ spare ribs, warm apple pie.

Sigh.

Life just isn’t the same without you. There’s no joy going home anymore if you’re not there.

Deep-fried appetizers at the bar are only a painful memory now.

Sure, now I have more money and time since meals with less than 500 calories don’t take much to prepare, but the flavor of my life is diminished.

I think of you every time I drive past the fast food billboard with the pictures of the tasty new milkshakes they’re offering this month.

Every time a co-worker puts a snack on the community table, you fill my mind, and when friends invite me to parties I wonder if you’ll be there and how I should act when I see you.

My heart aches for the way we used to be.The carefree days of grabbing life like a handful of peanut MnMs has ended.

While spreading the low fat peanut butter on plain wheat bread for lunch today I nearly shed a tear.

I wonder what you think about my smaller belly and diminishing thighs. Since you’ve gone away they're slowly leaving me too.

I know we can never go back to the way we used to be, but I wanted you to know I miss you and whenever I think of us, I’ll do so with memories as sweet as the molten chocolate cake that filled my many nights.

Love always,

Rene'

Photo credit: stock.xchng

The Exercise Banshee

Denise Austin exercise video = Devil.

This morning, as I finally put my first evil exercise DVD in the player, I couldn’t help but believe that my karma had come back to bite me.

I shouldn’t have slacked off at exercising as many times as I have.

The video I chose - Denise Austin’s Personal Training System - gives you a choice between low impact/beginner, medium impact and HIGH (areyounuts?) impact.

You use your DVD player to choose your selection – easy, gimme the lowest setting ya got.

Not quite that easy.

My remote apparently is broken and wouldn’t let me change off of HIGH (Idon’thaveaprayer) impact mode.

The thing about exercise videos is they’re tricky.

I decided I would go ahead and do the video on HIGH impact, but in my own slacker way.

I didn’t want to change the disc now, I was too invested, or lazy – plus it took me 10 minutes to choose that disk – does that count toward minutes exercised?

No matter how hard I tried to tone the exercise (way) down I kept finding myself trying to keep up with those smiling, sweat-free, zombie-like fake women behind the leader devil, Denise Austin.

“Come on, you can do it, feel that fat melting away!”

It’s a good thing my 5-pound hand weights were being used to balance table legs, or I’d be exhausted.

“Higher, higher! Come on, lift those legs!”

Yes, everything is said with a smile and an exclamation point.

Afterwards, while laying at the bottom of my stairs, staring toward the top where the coffee was waiting, I felt good about my workout.

Also, I’d found a new place to vent my anger in safe and productive way.

I should probably leave my weights under table though, because for as much as I dislike Denise Austin, I DO like my TV and want to keep it – in one piece.