The Hungry Games: Larry, Moe, and Curly Fries

A huge part of getting in shape and losing weight (OK, sore subject; still hasn’t happened) is eating properly.  It’s critical that a true Fitness Diva stay on top of the latest research in nutrition and dieting.  I am going to summarize modern thinking on this subject for you.  Pay attention!  There will be a quiz at the end!

1.  Carbs are bad.  Don’t eat them.  They turn into fat.  There are good carbs and bad carbs, but all carbs are bad.  Carbs are a source of energy, and it’s hard to do squats until you puke without energy, but carbs are bad.  Now, you need whole grains in your daily diet, but don’t get them from bread, because all bread is bad.  Well, unless you buy the Ezekiel stuff at $5 a loaf, but if you can afford that, just get plastic surgery and eat whatevertheheckyouwant.  If you don’t eat enough carbs, your blood sugar might drop (especially if you’re a hypoglycemic like me), but just suck it up, because carbs are bad. 

2.  Protein is an essential part of your body, and you need lots of it.  Protein stabilizes blood sugar and makes you feel full.  However, red meat is bad.  All of it.  Especially the cuts that taste good and are served on/with bread (see #1).  Chicken is OK, but Bo Pilgrim says don’t eat a fat, yellow chicken.  So, I guess brown chickens are OK, but only if they’re treated humanely (does that mean like a human, cause I know some humans that don’t get treated too well?).  Now, I know that most of us have teeth that were made for cutting and tearing meat, but you’re supposed to disregard that because all red meat is bad.  Fish is OK, unless it’s from the ocean, because then it’s full of mercury and BP Oil.  Don’t eat that.  Maybe stick to the aquarium at your local library.  You can get your protein from dairy products, but don’t even get the researchers started on the downside of that.  Too much protein is bad for your kidneys.  Just ask Dr. Atkins, who died after falling on ice and hitting his head.

3.  Eggs will raise your cholesterol.  Eggs are a great source of protein.  You should only eat the whites, because the fat is found in the yolks.  The nutrients are all found in the yolk, so be sure to eat lots of those.

4.  Fruit provides fiber, and sometimes small bugs, which is a source of protein.  However, fruit is really sugar and water, which makes it a carb.  See #1.

5.  Sugar is the devil.  The only thing worse than sugar is artificial sweetener, which turns into formeldahyde in your body, which is actually a preservative, so why doesn’t that make you live to be 100?  Basically, you just need to drink water, unless it comes from the sky, ocean, water fountain, or faucet, because those are all polluted.

6.  Fats are bad.  Look at your butt.  You really need more of that?  Fats are essential to healthy cells.  There are good fats and bad fats, but all fats are really high in calories, and calories are bad.

7.  Eat lots of veggies.  Only eat organic, because the others might be covered in pesticides.  Organic veggies are fertilized with poop, and they might give you E Coli, so avoid those.  Buy organic and you won’t have money for the Ezekiel bread, or therapy, which you’re going to need if you finish this blog.

8.  Dark chocolate is full of antioxidants and is good for you, which is why you should only eat the brown M&M’s. 

9.  You should eat 6 small meals a day instead of 3 big ones.  If you really want to lose weight, do intermittent fasting, which is where you eat whatever you want for 6 hours and then starve yourself (or just sleep) for the other 18.

10.  McDonalds now posts the calories to everything they serve, WHICH TAKES ALL THE FUN OUT OF EATING THERE!!!  Eating is not supposed to be fun.  Bite your tongue for thinking otherwise, which you’re probably already doing anyway since everything else is a forbidden food. 

 

Get it?  Got it ?  Ready for the quiz?

 

What are you supposed to eat if you want to lose weight?

 

YOU’RE ASKING ME??? After 5 weeks of diet and exercise, and not losing an ounce, you seriously think I know the answer? 

 

On another note, my black velvet pants fit a whole lot better than the last time I wore them.  Go figure.

 

Sweats…The New Swimsuit

OK, so I haven’t blogged in a few weeks. I have a conflicted personality, personified the day I wore my leopard purse with my zebra blouse and felt immense self-hatred. I’m an odd mixture of left and right brained tendencies, and the left side has been in control lately. So, my blogs have suffered, but I’ve put up some great games of Words With Friends.

I have good news. MY FAT IS FIRMER THAN IT USED TO BE!!! I wore a skirt this weekend that hasn’t fit since the Republicans controlled the White House. However, I am going to come up short on my goal of being a swimsuit model by spring break, unless I find $10k and a plastic surgeon with an open slot before Friday.

Ever notice how seemingly unrelated events can combine in a divinely-inspired time frame? Well, about the time I realized my goal wouldn’t be met, my husband/personal trainer/butler found a new online workout routine he couldn’t wait to try out on me. I’m sure it has a name, but let’s just call it “Hell.” Things went downhill quickly when he pointed to a machine that I’m pretty sure was used on a terrorist in “Zero Dark Thirty,” and said, “Meet your new best friend.” It was a squat machine. Now, I didn’t just fall off the fitness truck. I do lots of squats in Zumba and Piyo, but this required that I do squats with WEIGHTS ON MY SHOULDERS!!!! And this is my new “Best Friend???” No, honey, my new best friend would have a time share in Maui and a private jet. She sure wouldn’t have a 40-pound bar attached to black leaded weights. I was about halfway through my sets when I almost puked. Again, unrelated events converging at an inopportune time. When my ears started going numb, I figured a bright light and heavenly voices were next. You’d think almost puking would end the workout routine. Yeah, well, you’d be wrong. Shoulders were next. Something about drop sets. The only thing ready to drop was me. I literally curled up in the fetal position on the bench and whimpered like a puppy.

I should just give up. Forget the goal. Surrender!!! I don’t need to be a swimsuit model. Maybe cellulite isn’t that bad after all. It could be my new “Best Friend.” After all, it’s really only warm enough to wear a swimsuit a few months each year. Shoot, I don’t even need to wear a swimsuit! I’LL JUST WEAR SWEATS TO THE SWIMMING POOL!!!! I’ll start a new fad, and we’ll all feel better about ourselves.

My new dream was quickly shattered. At rock bottom, my trainer said he was proud of me, and I did a good job. I wanted to cry, and not because I couldn’t control any of my motor skills. Maybe I could last a little longer. Besides, squatting until you almost puke totally ruins your appetite, putting you in a beatiful calorie deficit for the day.

Fat Tuesday, or The Scales Factor

It’s Fat Tuesday, which is totally appropriate given that I’ve gained MORE weight in my 2 weeks of diet and exercise. The next person who tells me it’s all muscle is going to lose some teeth.

I asked my personal trainer/husband/butler what he thought. His response? “You need to focus on strength training.” NOT the reaction I wanted. “More Zumba!” was what I HOPED he would say. My nostrils flared like one of those wild boars you can legally shoot from a helicopter in the state of Texas. I didn’t marry a fool, and he quickly validated the benefits of Zumba.

See, here’s the deal. It’s just not in my genetics to do strength training. I mean, I’ve never walked past a heavy object and thought to myself, “Self, that heavy object is just screaming to be picked up by a dingy blonde. You’d have soooo much fun if you lifted that for 3 sets of 15 reps.” Nope, never happened. Not even on a good day when I was younger. I am, however, genetically designed to boogie. Give me a beat and I’ll dance my socks off. Apparently, based on the scales, that’s the only thing I’ll dance off. But, I will do it, I will enjoy it, and I won’t stop till I just can’t boogie no more. My cave woman ancestors may never have pumped iron (or stone, depending the age of said ancestors), but they sure knew how to get their groove on, and for that, I am grateful.

I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing. I’ll do weights when he’s there to protect me from those who would laugh at the site of me walking through that section of the gym, and Zumba 2 nights a week. It makes me happy, and less likely to go postal on family members.

For the meantime, I’m not going to worry about what the scales say. I have a new attitude, and a new strategy. You see, my old shoes hurt my knees (the old gray mare ain’t what she used to be). Once I overcame the sadness (wink wink) of buying new shoes, I settled on a pair of hot pink Reebok Flex tennies. If you wear bright enough shoes, no one looks at the rest of you, which I figure is just as good as losing 15 pounds. Happy Skinny Wednesday.

Zumba and Delusions of Grandeur

Admit it. You do it too. You may physically be in a court at your local gym, dancing the Samba to Zumba music, packed in with other 12 sweating moms, but in your mind, you’re thousands of miles away. Maybe the first time, you’re on a broadway stage, dancing in a chorus line. The next night, you’re Natalie Wood, crooning for your forbidden love in Westwide Story. Maybe you’re Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing, and Patrick Swayze is going to bust through the door and yell at your instructor that “Nobody puts Baby in a basketball court.” Or, when you’re feeling really good about yourself, you’re Sandy, struttin’ her stuff in head-to-toe leather at her school carnival for the final number of Grease. Whatever the setting, you live it twice a week for an hour at a time.

Now, the trick to having this fantasy SUCCESSFULLY is to be sure you stand in the BACK of the group, lined up behind at least 3 other women, who ideally are all heavier than you, so that under NO circumstances can you see yourself in the mirror. Because, Baby, once you see yourself in the mirror….the dream is over. The alarm clock buzzes, and it’s back to reality for you.

Here’s the deal. You know those lumps have you sticking out the side of your thighs? Yeah, well, Jennifer Grey didn’t have those. Those muffin tops sticking out the top of your spandex pants that you tried to disguise with the oversized 3-Day Walk t-shirt? Yeah, that chick from Flashdance didn’t even EAT muffins, let alone carry a baker’s dozen around her belly. No, it’s imperative that you maintain your spot at the back of the line, and pray that a stomach bug doesn’t hit all of your classmates the same week, forcing you to the front of the line.

Because the truth is, if I actually found leather pants like Olivia Newton John’s that I could pull up past my knees, and then danced in them, the friction caused by that much leather rubbing together would ignite, causing John Travolta to flame out in a whole new way.

Cinderella’s Walk of Shame

I went straight from work to the gym today, dressed like a million bucks. Upon entering, it was obvious that I was the best-dressed person there!!! Yeah, me!!! I was wearing my favorite dress, tall boots, and (fake) pearls. They, of course, were wearing t-shirts and sweat. Gym bag over my shoulder, I headed to the dressing room for a transformation worthy of theme music. I’d walk into that bathroom as a well-dressed professional and leave it as a Gridiron Goddess. If it were a scene from a movie, the Rocky theme would be playing when I emerged, an off-scene fan would be blowing back my hair, and all would be amazed at how low I was willing to go in the name of fitness. Yeah, baby, I can bring home the bacon and fry it up in the gym. Once in the restroom, I removed my dress clothes to don my lowly workout gear. First, the stretchy black pants (which, of course, visually take off 10 pounds), and hot pink t-shirt. Subtlety isn’t my thing. Next, those tennis shoes I was fitted for back when I was going to take up running 5k’s. There was one tennis shoe, and….wait. Only one tennis shoe. Where’s the other? I know it’s not in the car. Oh, Jimminy Christmas, I bet I dropped it on the way out of the house!!!

It’s at this point I feel like I’m living a Seinfeld episode. Forget a triumphant march to the stair master, accompanied by blaring trumpets. Any way you looked at it, I was slinking across to the floor to circus music. If I redressed into my fancy clothes, it would look like I’d lugged a gym bag in from the car just to use the restroom and go home. Or, I could keep the gym clothes on, and wear my high-heeled boots out to the car. Not sure which would look dumber. I finally opted for gym clothes and sock feet. I just knew everyone there was staring at me, thinking what a moron I must be. Maybe if I’d put on the shoe I did have, I’d at least be credited for remembering one of them.

The Weighting Game

Today was a big day.  It marked the one week anniversary of joining the gym and seriously working out, and not eating what I want.  My personal trainer/butler, repeately told me that I should only weigh once a week, on Monday.  Being the over achiever that I am, I weighed at least twice…..each day.  So, I wasn’t surprised this morning when I stepped on the scale, and….drumroll please……..I GAINED 1.7 POUNDS!!!!  Now, if you can’t predict my response to this, and you found this blog via my Facebook link, then you just need to hop on over to FB Land and click the “unfriend” button, because you obviously don’t know me!!!!  Numbers rule the world, and my scales rule my self esteem!  My worth as a human being is determined every morning (Ok, and sometimes when I come home from work and before I go to bed) by what my scales say.  “Crazy!” you say?  I’m a good, honest, patriotic American woman and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in these 42 years, it’s that my weight=my value as a woman!  I know this because I’m reminded of it every time I look at a headline on a magazine at Brookshire’s!  “How Beyonce Lost 40 pounds of Baby Weight in 3 Days,” “10 Days to Perfect Thighs,” “Liposuction for the Beginner,” and my personal favorite, the Sports Illustrate Swimsuit Edition, not to be confused with Time Magazine’s covers of malnourished refugees, whose clothes became tattered rags as the sojourned from one barren land to another.  The resemblance is striking, I realize, but the refugees have probably eaten more in the past 24 hours. 

Weight loss is supposed to be math, meaning numbers, my specialty!!!  How could this be???  I immediately ran to my butler to gauge his reaction.  “Don’t worry about it,” he says.  “You should base your success on how your clothes fit, and how you feel.”  I took a deep breath, resisted the urge to kill him, and decided he must be right.  I pulled out the pink and brown suit pants that were too tight a few weeks ago, slid them on, and…..drumroll please…..they didn’t fit any differently.  

To summarize, exercise is a fraud, and surgery is the only way to get the body I want.  There are only 2 things wrong with that.  I hate surgery, and I can’t afford it, which now only means one thing.  Back to my personal trainer/butler for more pain, which unfortunately for me, has meant gain.

Now, where did I put that People Magazine???

In The Beginning, God Created Pain

To be upfront, this journey actually started a few weeks ago, so I’ve got some catching up to do. I simply didn’t see the point in starting a blog about a journey that might not last as long as it took to type the first entry. The first workout was upstairs in our game room/home gym. Paul had just passed his personal trainer test and we were ready to begin. Ahhh…I remember it well. He said I needed to take a “before” picture, so I put on a pair of his lounge pants and my loosest sweatshirt. Hey, if I WANTED my picture taken in a bathing suit, I WOULDN’T NEED A PERSONAL TRAINER!!! That was the night I did my first deadlifts. I thought that was so appropriate, given that my cow heart would more than likely explode, and I’d die in the process. I just hoped he wouldn’t bury me in the skull-covered lounge pants and dirty sweatshirt I was wearing. Did I mention the BAR weighed 40 pounds??? If that weren’t enough, he had to put 5-bound weights on it, just to get the stupid thing off the floor so I could get my hands under it. That was 2 weeks ago, and I think I’ve blocked the rest of it out of my mind, sort of like post-traumatic stress. I just remember my muscles quivering like a jello mold in an earthquake. I just knew my weak legs would fail me on the way down the stairs, but at least I could say I died trying. The only thing I remember, and the reason one or both of us didn’t die that night, was the workout drink he made me. It had branch chain amino acids, ksdjfljrewr, woeureirueiu, and owurierui in it. At least that’s what it sounded like when he rattled it off. He assured me it didn’t have any mood-altering chemicals in it, but I drank it anyway. It tasted like a green appletini, and he said it didn’t have any calories. Honestly, it tasted to good for that to be true, but I figure if you drink it in good faith, thinking it doesn’t have any calories, then you’re not accountable for them. He said I could eat 30 minutes later. Excuse me….what???? I’m hungry. My muscles are so weak that I’m shaking, and I can’t eat??? What’s the point of working out if I don’t get ice cream at the end??? Where’s the payoff here??? This is where I normally decide that looking like a swimsuit model isn’t worth giving up the basics, like chocolate, cake, and cream cheese, and I throw in the towel. I think he saw the panic in my eyes, and was perhaps a little afraid, so he promised to fix me a fruit smoothy. Suddenly, the clouds parted, the angels sang, and I swear I could hear Duran Duran singing “Save a Prayer” in the background. My husband was going to fix me a shake?! That was almost as good as him cooking dinner for me! This might not be so bad after all. I mean, if he’s going to personally supervise my workouts, say nice things along the way, and fix my shakes when I’m done, then….he’s not my personal trainer, HE’S MY BUTLER!!!! And, if there’s one thing in life I’ve always wanted, it’s my very own butler!!!! I told him I was on my way to soak in the tub, and he could deliver it there. This exercise thing might not bite so badly after all.

The Dingbat and the Incredible Hunk

Have you ever seen the cover of a fitness magazine at the grocery store? You know, the ones with the really tanned, gorgeous man on the front with perfectly sculpted muscles, who looks like he just took a bath in baby oil? Yeah, we’ll, I’m married to him. Me? I look like the “before” picture on one of Oprah’s fitness makeover shows. To be honest, I’ve always been about 10 pounds over where I’d reallly like to be, and those 10 pounds just weren’t worth setting down my book to pick up a dumbbell. It’s not that I’m anti-fitness. I just hate exercise. All of it. The only thing I really like to do is walk, and that’s just an excuse to put on my head phones and escape to my happy place somewhere. That happy place NEVER involved a gym. And then I turned 40, and took a desk job, and slowly started to see muffin tops developing over my low-rise jeans, and while muffin tops are great when they’re streusel-covered blueberry, they’re not so great sticking out of your Lucky’s. So, when my husband passed his personal trainer certification and needed a guinea pig, I somehow found myself getting recruited. Follow along as this band geek/music major tries a life transformation that, at the very least, will provide other people some comic relief, and depending on the success of my new personal trainer, might just have a happy ending!