Do those celebrity weight loss stories get your goat? Who do they seriously think they're kidding? What woman wouldn't lose weight working with a personal trainer, a personal chef, a personal nutritionist, personal assistant, chauffeur, hair stylist, make up artist, house manager, butler, landscape artist, nanny, personal shopper, private Pilates studio, Olympic sized pool, indoor gym, tennis courts, running track? Strip away all that stuff and you betcha that Leah Rimini would have just as much of a challenge clicking through 1500 calories and pumping her quads off as you do.
What so newsworthy about a celebrity losing weight? Their stories baffle me. And I am supposed to be inspired how? I don't know any woman, or human who could relate to their testimonies. Now, show me a 20po who drags herself out of bed at the crack of dawn, grabs a five minute shower, wiggles into an outfit that's still hanging over a chair (because there was no time to run it to the dry cleaners), wakes up catatonic kids, shells out Pop Tarts like a blackjack dealer, tosses in a load of laundry, packs four lunches, signs a permission slip while brushing her teeth, throws the laundry into the dryer, takes the dog out, car pools two kids to two different schools, is replying to emails at her office desk by 8:00 a.m., works all day, speeds home to take Kid A to football practice, slaps together a meatloaf, folds the laundry, helps build a paper maiche volcano, eats dinner, cleans up the kitchen while quizzing Kid B on vocabulary words, tosses in another load of laundry, runs back to school to pick up Kid A, bakes two dozen Oatmeal Scotchies for the debate team, takes the pooch out for a quick walk around the block all before 8:00 p.m. and still manages to stay on the "Plan", and I'll show you a woman I can relate to. She's newsworthy and deserving of a People Magazine spread.
Think how easy it would be to lose weight if we never had to go near food, except to eat what was served to us by our personal chef on a silver domed platter in our dressing room on the set. Can you imagine never having to confront the aromas and sight of a pan of double fudge brownies on an empty stomach? You'd never have to enter a grocery store when your hunger is hitting a 10 on the starvometer. You'd never have to worry about putting a meal on the table for anybody, packing lunches, baking bake sale cookies, buying Snickers for Halloweeners, making holiday stollen or icing birthday cakes. Every food related task would be done for you including the circuit design for your training program. That would be great, wouldn't it? Or would it?
The 20/90 Plan is designed by you, planned by you, executed by you and carried out by you. You don't need anything or anyone else to take your weight off. You only need yourself. You, and only you, will receive the credit. Remember when Oprah proudly dragged the little Red Flyer fat wagon onto the stage of her t.v. show? It was piled high with fat, equalling the blubber she lost on Optifast. I wonder if crow was on her diet plan because she sure had to eat alot of it when she gained all the weight back while 74 bzillion viewers watched? I was sure inspired, weren't you?
Breakfast: Coffee w/4 T. Half 'n Half (80), a toasted Lender's bagel (210) with 1 T. cream cheese (barely a smear, 100), about 30 seedless grapes (90)
Lunch: PB&J (w/Polaner's Sugar Free Orange Marmalade, 230), 1 ounce pretzels (110), about 5 Doritos (I'm guessing here..70), Coke Zero.
Snack: Jolly Time 94% Fat Free Kettle Corn (mini bag 100)
Dinner: Lean Cuisine Sante Fe Style Rice & Beans (290), green salad w/2 T. Ken's Northern Italian Lite Dressing (50)
Snack: 1 cup Sugar Free Cafe Vienna (35), 1 Chips A Hoy White Chocolate Cookie (80)
Day 9 Calorie Count: 1445
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Day 8 Weigh In #1 The Moment of Truth
I tiptoed up to the scale, timidly stepped on, let a few seconds pass so all the poundage could shift about and register, then I glanced down...I lost 3.8 pounds! The Gods of the Scale were smiling and I think I even saw the read out window wink. In my best Sally Fields Oscar-accepting voice, I sang, "you like me, you really like me!" I bent down, tenderly patted that 'lil old Taylor lithium electronic scale and then, I hit the door walking. I had sold my Sole Meuinere to Lucifer last night, I had a debt to pay.
As I trudged up and down the rolling concrete sidewalks, I thought about the 20/90 plan. It works, plain and simple. There is no debating, dissecting or analyzing it. It's math. In the numbering mathematics scheme we use, 1+1 does not equal 3. In the dieting plan we are following, gobbling up more calories than we are firing off does not equal weigh loss. Less calories taken in plus more calories burned up equals pounds lost.
I realize that my first week's loss was high and I anticipated that on Day One, but I knew that if I followed the formula it would work. Always does. The rubber is about to meet the road in Week Two because the honeymoon period is over. What I like to call the "easily lost weight" (retained water) has been flushed away, now I'm into the concrete, the hard core padding that seems as if it has to be chiseled off.
How much weight did you drop this week? Are you on target? Did you hit the 1.66 mark? If you didn't, then you didn't follow the plan. You didn't count (or you counted incorrectly) and you probably didn't walk or run or do any kind of aerobic activity. Is this yet another failed attempt in which you'll blame the program? Are you serious about this? If you are, now is the time to get in the boat because the next 11 weeks are going to get tougher and you'll only have yourself to thank or blame. No one or nothing else to blame this go around, just you and the count. The defeated feeling that comes with failure can't be worth all the Little Debbie Zebra Cakes in the world.
I am the first one to admit it is not easy to get off your butt and allot 45 minutes to something that, at the time, doesn't have an immediate payoff. The 3/4 hour of activity might not seem as important as some extra sleep or watching "Lost". Nothing that is sacrificed in a moment of desire seems important. But it is important.
It's very important, and on Weigh In Day, it's vital.
As I trudged up and down the rolling concrete sidewalks, I thought about the 20/90 plan. It works, plain and simple. There is no debating, dissecting or analyzing it. It's math. In the numbering mathematics scheme we use, 1+1 does not equal 3. In the dieting plan we are following, gobbling up more calories than we are firing off does not equal weigh loss. Less calories taken in plus more calories burned up equals pounds lost.
I realize that my first week's loss was high and I anticipated that on Day One, but I knew that if I followed the formula it would work. Always does. The rubber is about to meet the road in Week Two because the honeymoon period is over. What I like to call the "easily lost weight" (retained water) has been flushed away, now I'm into the concrete, the hard core padding that seems as if it has to be chiseled off.
How much weight did you drop this week? Are you on target? Did you hit the 1.66 mark? If you didn't, then you didn't follow the plan. You didn't count (or you counted incorrectly) and you probably didn't walk or run or do any kind of aerobic activity. Is this yet another failed attempt in which you'll blame the program? Are you serious about this? If you are, now is the time to get in the boat because the next 11 weeks are going to get tougher and you'll only have yourself to thank or blame. No one or nothing else to blame this go around, just you and the count. The defeated feeling that comes with failure can't be worth all the Little Debbie Zebra Cakes in the world.
I am the first one to admit it is not easy to get off your butt and allot 45 minutes to something that, at the time, doesn't have an immediate payoff. The 3/4 hour of activity might not seem as important as some extra sleep or watching "Lost". Nothing that is sacrificed in a moment of desire seems important. But it is important.
It's very important, and on Weigh In Day, it's vital.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Day 7 Jif 'n Jel
Do you have a food that you have to know you can eat, anytime, if you want? A food that makes you feel totally indulged and completely satisfied, like a whack of Entemann's Ultimate Crumb Cake? A food, that once you eat it, you really don't care about what you eat the rest of the day or if you even eat the rest of the day? For me, it's a no frills, old school peanut butter and jelly. Always has been. That's my thing.
Ever since the second grade, when I opened my dinged up, metal Mary Poppins lunch box and discovered, right next to the Hostess King Don, the ooiest, gooiest grape jelly-stained-Wonder Bread sandwiching the creamiest Jif ('cuz my mom was choosy) peanut butter, I was hooked for life.
I still eat PB&Js (as you know from my food journals) and I am still loving 'em, in all their empty nutrition spongy white bread wonder. But, I'm compromising. I still have the white bread (the kind that when squeezed, like Silly Putty, mushes flat), but I've switched out the "jel".
Calorie Pop Quiz? When you prepare a PB&J how many tablespoons of peanut butter do you spread on it? 2? 3? 5? If you're honest, it's probably close to 4 or 5 and believe me, that isn't extreme. Now the jelly. 2 Tablespoons? More? If you took your average Wonder Bread PB&J, where do you think your sandwich would come in at on the calorie chart? 300 calories? 400 calories? Try 640 and that doesn't include the Vitamin D milk and Cheetos that usually accompany it.
I've 20/90'd my favorite lunch staple. I still have it, almost everyday on low cal bread (60 calories per slice) but I use Smucker's Low Sugar Preserves (10 calories per T.) with 1 T. peanut butter. I've looked high and low for a peanut butter that has less calories then Jif, but I guess no matter how hard those peanut butter producers crunch 'em, a low calorie peanut butter can't be made. Every jar of lowered sugar/less fat peanut butter I've picked up still has 190 calories per 2 T. Go figure. I could keep searching but I am satisfied and that's the key.
If you have a food that you absolutely love, keep eating it, otherwise you'll begin to feel deprived. Deprivation morphs into pity, pity leads to despair and the next thing you're thinking is, "this sucks, I'll never be able to make it 90 days" and you won't. You are doing this day by day. How do you eat Haagen Dazs' world's largest cinnamon dulce de leche hot fudge sundae? One bite at a time.
Breakfast: Coffee w/4 T. Half 'n Half (80)
Lunch: PB&J (230), Diet Coke (0)
Dinner: McDonald's Double Cheeseburger (450), Diet Coke (0)....
I know. McDonald's two nights in a row? Let me tell you, sometimes we've had McDonald's two meals in a day. And yes, I watched Morgan Spurlock's documentary and yes, I even read the book, but today was
about "getting through it" and that's exactly what I did. I got through it. I deserved a break today and I happily gobbled down what I had coming to me. I won't bore you with the harried, mundane details but suffice it to say, that, after I forked over $4.89 (no sodas) to fill the bellies of three people, everyone felt better.
Today I didn't walk. I honestly didn't even think about walking. I plopped down on the couch after the kids went to bed (when I could've been walking) and savored 3 Chips A Hoy White Fudge Chunky cookies (240) and 1 cup low fat milk (100). I made a pact with the devil, right then, that I would exercise a full sixty minutes for the next three days straight to make up for this lost day.
Day 7 Calorie Total: 1100
Ever since the second grade, when I opened my dinged up, metal Mary Poppins lunch box and discovered, right next to the Hostess King Don, the ooiest, gooiest grape jelly-stained-Wonder Bread sandwiching the creamiest Jif ('cuz my mom was choosy) peanut butter, I was hooked for life.
I still eat PB&Js (as you know from my food journals) and I am still loving 'em, in all their empty nutrition spongy white bread wonder. But, I'm compromising. I still have the white bread (the kind that when squeezed, like Silly Putty, mushes flat), but I've switched out the "jel".
Calorie Pop Quiz? When you prepare a PB&J how many tablespoons of peanut butter do you spread on it? 2? 3? 5? If you're honest, it's probably close to 4 or 5 and believe me, that isn't extreme. Now the jelly. 2 Tablespoons? More? If you took your average Wonder Bread PB&J, where do you think your sandwich would come in at on the calorie chart? 300 calories? 400 calories? Try 640 and that doesn't include the Vitamin D milk and Cheetos that usually accompany it.
I've 20/90'd my favorite lunch staple. I still have it, almost everyday on low cal bread (60 calories per slice) but I use Smucker's Low Sugar Preserves (10 calories per T.) with 1 T. peanut butter. I've looked high and low for a peanut butter that has less calories then Jif, but I guess no matter how hard those peanut butter producers crunch 'em, a low calorie peanut butter can't be made. Every jar of lowered sugar/less fat peanut butter I've picked up still has 190 calories per 2 T. Go figure. I could keep searching but I am satisfied and that's the key.
If you have a food that you absolutely love, keep eating it, otherwise you'll begin to feel deprived. Deprivation morphs into pity, pity leads to despair and the next thing you're thinking is, "this sucks, I'll never be able to make it 90 days" and you won't. You are doing this day by day. How do you eat Haagen Dazs' world's largest cinnamon dulce de leche hot fudge sundae? One bite at a time.
Breakfast: Coffee w/4 T. Half 'n Half (80)
Lunch: PB&J (230), Diet Coke (0)
Dinner: McDonald's Double Cheeseburger (450), Diet Coke (0)....
I know. McDonald's two nights in a row? Let me tell you, sometimes we've had McDonald's two meals in a day. And yes, I watched Morgan Spurlock's documentary and yes, I even read the book, but today was
about "getting through it" and that's exactly what I did. I got through it. I deserved a break today and I happily gobbled down what I had coming to me. I won't bore you with the harried, mundane details but suffice it to say, that, after I forked over $4.89 (no sodas) to fill the bellies of three people, everyone felt better.
Today I didn't walk. I honestly didn't even think about walking. I plopped down on the couch after the kids went to bed (when I could've been walking) and savored 3 Chips A Hoy White Fudge Chunky cookies (240) and 1 cup low fat milk (100). I made a pact with the devil, right then, that I would exercise a full sixty minutes for the next three days straight to make up for this lost day.
Day 7 Calorie Total: 1100
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Day 6 "How Long Does Getting Thin Take?"
My favorite philospher, Winnie the Pooh, once mused, "how long does getting thin take?" Like that "bear of very little brain", all 20PO (anyone, actually, with butter to shed) would like it to happen quickly. The fact is, the weight didn't pile on overnight and it certainly won't melt off overnight. For Pooh, who is still wondering around the Hundred Acre Woods with a honey jar stuck on his nose, I doubt it will ever come off.
But for us...90 days! How are you holding up? By Day 6, the novelty of starting a new plan "that is really gonna work this time" is wearing a bit thin. You're anxious to see results. Keep on counting and moving and let the math do the rest. You can expect to see, if you have been doing exactly what you signed up for nearly a week ago, a 1.6 pound drop on Weigh In Day. It's a given. If you don't attain that, you need to look at how you blew off, hedged, guessed, hindered or cheated the plan.
If a baker placed red velvet cake batter into a hundred degree oven for ten minutes and removed it, would you expect it to be baked? No, that's crazy. Science takes over at a certain sustained baking temperature that produces a successful outcome. Similiar application to weight loss. If you haven't decreased your daily caloric input and jump started your aerobic engine, don't expect to hop on the scale and see a 1.6 pound loss, or any loss at all. There's no "explaining" this plan away, like there are explanations for other diets: ate a Hershey Kiss with my 7 egg, butter, sirloin bacon omelette and gained 9 pounds; combined a tangelo with roasted turkey and shot up two Gap jean sizes; couldn't get my hands on any Tijuana Fen-Phen so I ate the entire Thanksgiving meal before the inlaws arrived. Keep counting.
You're closing in on your first, of twelve, Weigh In Days to see if the plan has measured up or if you have measured up to the plan. In less than forty eight hours, you'll have, as the corporate world calls it, hard data (your weight loss) and experience (counting and moving) to make you a bona fide expert in weight loss. You could probably teach those unenlightened Atkinites a thing or two. Armed with first hand success, you will be dangerous. Dangerous enough to forge through another week. Hang in, you're almost to your first goal.
Breakfast: Coffee w/ 4 T. Half 'n Half (80), 1 1/2 cups Cocoa Krispies w/1 cup skim milk (300)
Lunch: PB&J (230), Diet Coke
Snack: 4 sips Pepsi (about 40), 1 medium orange (60), handful Reese Pieces (the package listed 200 calories per 50, I had about 25) (100)
Dinner: Smart One Enchilada Suiza (310), baked potato w/ 1/2 T butter(150), 1 Chips Ahoy! White Chunky cookie (80).
Day 6 Total: 1450
But for us...90 days! How are you holding up? By Day 6, the novelty of starting a new plan "that is really gonna work this time" is wearing a bit thin. You're anxious to see results. Keep on counting and moving and let the math do the rest. You can expect to see, if you have been doing exactly what you signed up for nearly a week ago, a 1.6 pound drop on Weigh In Day. It's a given. If you don't attain that, you need to look at how you blew off, hedged, guessed, hindered or cheated the plan.
If a baker placed red velvet cake batter into a hundred degree oven for ten minutes and removed it, would you expect it to be baked? No, that's crazy. Science takes over at a certain sustained baking temperature that produces a successful outcome. Similiar application to weight loss. If you haven't decreased your daily caloric input and jump started your aerobic engine, don't expect to hop on the scale and see a 1.6 pound loss, or any loss at all. There's no "explaining" this plan away, like there are explanations for other diets: ate a Hershey Kiss with my 7 egg, butter, sirloin bacon omelette and gained 9 pounds; combined a tangelo with roasted turkey and shot up two Gap jean sizes; couldn't get my hands on any Tijuana Fen-Phen so I ate the entire Thanksgiving meal before the inlaws arrived. Keep counting.
You're closing in on your first, of twelve, Weigh In Days to see if the plan has measured up or if you have measured up to the plan. In less than forty eight hours, you'll have, as the corporate world calls it, hard data (your weight loss) and experience (counting and moving) to make you a bona fide expert in weight loss. You could probably teach those unenlightened Atkinites a thing or two. Armed with first hand success, you will be dangerous. Dangerous enough to forge through another week. Hang in, you're almost to your first goal.
Breakfast: Coffee w/ 4 T. Half 'n Half (80), 1 1/2 cups Cocoa Krispies w/1 cup skim milk (300)
Lunch: PB&J (230), Diet Coke
Snack: 4 sips Pepsi (about 40), 1 medium orange (60), handful Reese Pieces (the package listed 200 calories per 50, I had about 25) (100)
Dinner: Smart One Enchilada Suiza (310), baked potato w/ 1/2 T butter(150), 1 Chips Ahoy! White Chunky cookie (80).
Day 6 Total: 1450
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Day 5 "Winners Never Quit & Quitters Never Win"
Sounds like something hokey your high school track coach would say. I think I saw that in a Sports Illustrated ad once. Wherever I saw it, it's true. This is Day 5, we're 1/18th of the way home. The fifth day of a 90 day plan set apart to accomplish a plan. A solid, common sense plan that includes 45 minutes of exercise a day. Are you exercising? Are you fitting it in? No doubt, there are days when it is humanely impossible to carve out an extra forty five minutes to do anything. Oh, you may have a couple of minutes while you're waiting for a dentist appointment, or an extra ten waiting in the carpool line, but a whole string of forty five minutes? The bad news is some days it just doesn't happen. The good news is, if we're honest, those days are few and far between. What about those days when there is plenty of time? When you could crawl out of bed earlier on a Saturday morning? When you could walk after dinner or head to the gym? The question is: are you exercising daily?
You have to make it happen. How bad do you really want to drop eighty sticks of butter? Aren't you tired of your story? Hasn't your moaning about "how fat" you are grown tiresome? Don't you think it bores others?
I know it does. My story bores even me.
Plan the time, just like you plan pedicures, business meetings, shopping trips to the outlet mall. Above everything else, make your exercise a priority. It's just for 90 days.
If you feel self conscious out there pounding the pavement alone, get a walking partner. You're partner can't always walk when you can? Let your son ride his bike along side of you? Don't have kids? Go to a park and hit their walking trails. The park's too far? Join a gym. You like to walk, but the weather in your neck of the woods is always rainy. Buy a treadmill. Can't afford a new one? Pick up a used one? Treadmills are so boring? Treat yourself to an iPod. Don't know how to use all that techno stuff? Go to RadioShack and buy an old school Am/Fm sport radio with an armband. Do you see where I am going with this? There will always be excuses. We have more excuses than ways to make trail mix.
By far, the most incredulous excuse that I've ever heard is, "I'm too fat to walk, I'll wait until I lose some weight and then I'll walk." Then never happens. A 20po I know confided that she's too embarrassed to walk in public because she fears people will make fun of her (mind you, this is an intelligent, very successful woman). When I see plump walkers and runners out on the streets, huffing next to traffic, pushing themselves in their New Balances home, I NEVER FOR A SECOND snicker or think, "look at those fatties, who do they think they are?" I silently cheer them on, admiring their motivation and wishing it was me out there.
If walking outside is your only option and you've never done it before, just go out and do it. The first time may feel strange and you may feel like every driver is straining their necks to sneak a better glimpse of you in their rear view mirror. Believe me, they're not. And if, there is one demented, psychopath out there who would stoop so low, so what? This isn't about some wacko. This about you. With every walk, you'll feel more comfortable in your skin (and sweats) and you will actually look forward to walking solo. It's like preparing Lasagna all Bolognese; each time it gets easier and easier, until you don't have to think about it at all.
An added bonus is you'll begin to relish the uninterrupted respite to mentally work stuff out in your head, jam to your own music and plan what you will reward yourself with when the 90 days are up. The benefits aren't purely physical. I feel like I can handle any catastrophe after a power walk. Walking gives you renewed energy, empowerment and inspiration. And you can take that to the scale.
You have to make it happen. How bad do you really want to drop eighty sticks of butter? Aren't you tired of your story? Hasn't your moaning about "how fat" you are grown tiresome? Don't you think it bores others?
I know it does. My story bores even me.
Plan the time, just like you plan pedicures, business meetings, shopping trips to the outlet mall. Above everything else, make your exercise a priority. It's just for 90 days.
If you feel self conscious out there pounding the pavement alone, get a walking partner. You're partner can't always walk when you can? Let your son ride his bike along side of you? Don't have kids? Go to a park and hit their walking trails. The park's too far? Join a gym. You like to walk, but the weather in your neck of the woods is always rainy. Buy a treadmill. Can't afford a new one? Pick up a used one? Treadmills are so boring? Treat yourself to an iPod. Don't know how to use all that techno stuff? Go to RadioShack and buy an old school Am/Fm sport radio with an armband. Do you see where I am going with this? There will always be excuses. We have more excuses than ways to make trail mix.
By far, the most incredulous excuse that I've ever heard is, "I'm too fat to walk, I'll wait until I lose some weight and then I'll walk." Then never happens. A 20po I know confided that she's too embarrassed to walk in public because she fears people will make fun of her (mind you, this is an intelligent, very successful woman). When I see plump walkers and runners out on the streets, huffing next to traffic, pushing themselves in their New Balances home, I NEVER FOR A SECOND snicker or think, "look at those fatties, who do they think they are?" I silently cheer them on, admiring their motivation and wishing it was me out there.
If walking outside is your only option and you've never done it before, just go out and do it. The first time may feel strange and you may feel like every driver is straining their necks to sneak a better glimpse of you in their rear view mirror. Believe me, they're not. And if, there is one demented, psychopath out there who would stoop so low, so what? This isn't about some wacko. This about you. With every walk, you'll feel more comfortable in your skin (and sweats) and you will actually look forward to walking solo. It's like preparing Lasagna all Bolognese; each time it gets easier and easier, until you don't have to think about it at all.
An added bonus is you'll begin to relish the uninterrupted respite to mentally work stuff out in your head, jam to your own music and plan what you will reward yourself with when the 90 days are up. The benefits aren't purely physical. I feel like I can handle any catastrophe after a power walk. Walking gives you renewed energy, empowerment and inspiration. And you can take that to the scale.
Day 4 "Down on the Farm"
Just checking in. How's the count going? Are you counting? By now, this whole counting thing should be getting easier with each Cool Ranch Dorito you put into your mouth. After a couple "two slices whole grain bread with 3 ounces turkey and a smear of mayo or honey mustard" (or whatever), you should have a pretty good handle on what your everyday run-of-the-mill foods contain. It may help keeping a tiny notebook with you and jot as you eat. I mentally add as I graze through my meals and snacks and that way I know how much I have left to spend.
You can easily count the clear cut foods, it's the funky ones that will trip you up. Take a Healthy choice Four Cheese Manicotti. That's a no brainer, it's on the back of the box. Boom. 380. But, the manicotti from Aunt Lena's cucina might not be so simple. It could be stuffed with velvety buffalo mozzarella or heavenly mascarpone (an Italian triiple thick cream cheese). When faced with a calorie conundrum, gauge it to the best of your ability, "Google" a similar item/portion, pad it just a tad and call it a day. Keep in mind, the Penne Pasta ordered at your neighborhood trattoria is not equal to a Lean Cuisine Penne Pasta, no matter how many times you roll it, cut it and boil it.
Don't fool yourself because you sure won't fool the scale.
Keep eating, keep counting and keep moving. I never said it was going to be effortless, but you have to admit, it's alot easier than you thought.
Breakfast (@ Bob Evans): 2 Egg Beaters, scrambled (70), 2 slices whole wheat toast with Smucker's Low Sugar preserves & a half T. margarine (210), 1 Lite Sausage (100), 4 T. cut fruit (grapes and cantaloupe), coffee (80). Total: 400.I "Googled" Bob Evans when I got home, clicked "Lite Sausage Breakfast" and in a nano second, it spit out 469.
I underestimated.
Lunch: PB&J (230), Diet Coke (0), 1 medium navel orange (60)
Dinner: 1/4 cup (just a tad over) cooked Linguine (250), 1 cup Newman's Tomato & Roasted Garlic Sauce
(140), 1 1/2 slices Pepperidge Farm Texas Toast (225), 6 or 7 Cucumber slices (10), and one half of a 3.5 ounce meatball (245). I was right at 1500.
I had managed to walk, but only for three three minutes. Day Four.
You can easily count the clear cut foods, it's the funky ones that will trip you up. Take a Healthy choice Four Cheese Manicotti. That's a no brainer, it's on the back of the box. Boom. 380. But, the manicotti from Aunt Lena's cucina might not be so simple. It could be stuffed with velvety buffalo mozzarella or heavenly mascarpone (an Italian triiple thick cream cheese). When faced with a calorie conundrum, gauge it to the best of your ability, "Google" a similar item/portion, pad it just a tad and call it a day. Keep in mind, the Penne Pasta ordered at your neighborhood trattoria is not equal to a Lean Cuisine Penne Pasta, no matter how many times you roll it, cut it and boil it.
Don't fool yourself because you sure won't fool the scale.
Keep eating, keep counting and keep moving. I never said it was going to be effortless, but you have to admit, it's alot easier than you thought.
Breakfast (@ Bob Evans): 2 Egg Beaters, scrambled (70), 2 slices whole wheat toast with Smucker's Low Sugar preserves & a half T. margarine (210), 1 Lite Sausage (100), 4 T. cut fruit (grapes and cantaloupe), coffee (80). Total: 400.I "Googled" Bob Evans when I got home, clicked "Lite Sausage Breakfast" and in a nano second, it spit out 469.
I underestimated.
Lunch: PB&J (230), Diet Coke (0), 1 medium navel orange (60)
Dinner: 1/4 cup (just a tad over) cooked Linguine (250), 1 cup Newman's Tomato & Roasted Garlic Sauce
(140), 1 1/2 slices Pepperidge Farm Texas Toast (225), 6 or 7 Cucumber slices (10), and one half of a 3.5 ounce meatball (245). I was right at 1500.
I had managed to walk, but only for three three minutes. Day Four.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Day 3 Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This:
Mama said there'd be days like this, she just never told me how many there would actually be. This was the day from Hell. I seem to have a lot of "days like this." Start with one perfectly fine morning, throw in a teenager with an attitude and a running late car pool, add a school project left in the printer, toss in a handful of football practice, four loads of laundry crawling out of my son's cave, mix in bare cupboards and you end up with one ghoulish stew.
I'm certain you have days like this, too. It was a sprint from the second the Westclox shot off and it hasn't let up since. The good news is in the midst of the chaos, I managed to get my walking in. I even turned it up a notch by walking so hard the last quarter mile home that my Final Four ball cap blew off.
I didn't have the time to walk 45, or even 35 minutes today, but I did get out there for half an hour. Beats a blank. In the day (like last week), I would've blown the walk off completely, figuring that if I couldn't exercise for the amount of time I told myself I should exercise for, then, I wouldn't exercise at all. I'd show myself.
I felt a sense of victory; one small step for me, one giant step for my outlook. I headed for the pavement right when Oprah was coming on and right as she was signing off, my kids and I were sitting in McDonald's. Yep, you read that right, McDonald's.
I had no extra time to squeeze in a trip to the supermarket, let alone, drag the bags home and actually prepare something in 13 minutes that my kids would deem edible.
I knew what I wanted the second I pulled in front of those golden arches. I also knew what I should have. I played out the pros and cons in my mind, like the frat kid in Animal House. Glinda, the Good Diet Angel whispered, "Asian Salad with Crispy Chicken" while, the Wicked Witch of the Weigh crackled, "Quarter Pounder with Cheese and Supersize the whole mess all the way to the scale!" Neither of them won. I strolled to the counter and gave the Lindsay Lohan look-alike my order in a low, firm voice. "I'll have a Big Mac" and believe me, I had it in all its twoallbeefpattiesspecailsaucelettucecheesepickleoniononasesameseedbun glory. Was it delicious? Yes, it was. Was it worth it? Every morsel. Did I kick myself later, tear the fridge apart searching for freezer burnt Fudgesicles or the tub of oatmeal raisin cookie dough I bought from the Cub Scouts? No. Did I hit the drive thru on way out and order a hot caramel sundae and a dozen apple pies because I had blown it so I might as well just eat through the next four hours and then really truly start? No. As you know by now, this isn't what the 20/90 plan is all about. This is about the "count."
I went home Googled "McDonald's Nutritional Info" and plugged the cost of the Big Mac into my budget. You want to know the most incredible thing? Not only did I feel completely, utterly satiated and as happy as the Hamburglar, I came in at 1380.
Breakfast: 10 ounces coffee w/4 T. Half 'n Half (80 calories), 1 Quaker Weight Control Cinnamon Oatmeal (160), 1/2 of a large banana (50)
Lunch: PB&J (230), 1 ounce pretzels (110), Coke Zero (zilch)
Snack: Jolly Pop Mini Healthy Microwave Popcron 94% Fat Free (90 calories)
Dinner: Big Mac (560)
After Dinner Snack: 1/3 cup All Bran, sprinkled w/Equal, 1/2 cup skim milk (150 calories)
Day 3.
I'm certain you have days like this, too. It was a sprint from the second the Westclox shot off and it hasn't let up since. The good news is in the midst of the chaos, I managed to get my walking in. I even turned it up a notch by walking so hard the last quarter mile home that my Final Four ball cap blew off.
I didn't have the time to walk 45, or even 35 minutes today, but I did get out there for half an hour. Beats a blank. In the day (like last week), I would've blown the walk off completely, figuring that if I couldn't exercise for the amount of time I told myself I should exercise for, then, I wouldn't exercise at all. I'd show myself.
I felt a sense of victory; one small step for me, one giant step for my outlook. I headed for the pavement right when Oprah was coming on and right as she was signing off, my kids and I were sitting in McDonald's. Yep, you read that right, McDonald's.
I had no extra time to squeeze in a trip to the supermarket, let alone, drag the bags home and actually prepare something in 13 minutes that my kids would deem edible.
I knew what I wanted the second I pulled in front of those golden arches. I also knew what I should have. I played out the pros and cons in my mind, like the frat kid in Animal House. Glinda, the Good Diet Angel whispered, "Asian Salad with Crispy Chicken" while, the Wicked Witch of the Weigh crackled, "Quarter Pounder with Cheese and Supersize the whole mess all the way to the scale!" Neither of them won. I strolled to the counter and gave the Lindsay Lohan look-alike my order in a low, firm voice. "I'll have a Big Mac" and believe me, I had it in all its twoallbeefpattiesspecailsaucelettucecheesepickleoniononasesameseedbun glory. Was it delicious? Yes, it was. Was it worth it? Every morsel. Did I kick myself later, tear the fridge apart searching for freezer burnt Fudgesicles or the tub of oatmeal raisin cookie dough I bought from the Cub Scouts? No. Did I hit the drive thru on way out and order a hot caramel sundae and a dozen apple pies because I had blown it so I might as well just eat through the next four hours and then really truly start? No. As you know by now, this isn't what the 20/90 plan is all about. This is about the "count."
I went home Googled "McDonald's Nutritional Info" and plugged the cost of the Big Mac into my budget. You want to know the most incredible thing? Not only did I feel completely, utterly satiated and as happy as the Hamburglar, I came in at 1380.
Breakfast: 10 ounces coffee w/4 T. Half 'n Half (80 calories), 1 Quaker Weight Control Cinnamon Oatmeal (160), 1/2 of a large banana (50)
Lunch: PB&J (230), 1 ounce pretzels (110), Coke Zero (zilch)
Snack: Jolly Pop Mini Healthy Microwave Popcron 94% Fat Free (90 calories)
Dinner: Big Mac (560)
After Dinner Snack: 1/3 cup All Bran, sprinkled w/Equal, 1/2 cup skim milk (150 calories)
Day 3.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Day 2 Coffee Talk
The best part of waking up is creamer in my cup. As I started Day 2 with my standard super-sized mug of coffee, it occurred to me to measure the Half 'n Half. I seriously didn't think it would amount to much, but generally, I simply glunk it in. Glunk, glunk, glunking it until the coffee turns the color of Cover Girl Creamy Natural foundation makeup. I like my joe to be a very light color of tan, more like a cup a cream with a splash of coffee. That's how I've always taken it...until now. Now, I'm counting. Counting every calorie I swallow. Half 'n Half gets counted too.
I glunked into a measuring cup the amount of Half 'n Half I usually pour into my 20 ounce (or so) coffee cup, and it came to nearly 8 Tablespoons! That's 160 calories! My daily ration of cream gobbles up nearly 10.7% of my daily calories and that's before I've even chewed anything. Over the course of a year, that's 58,400 calories, almost 16.6 pounds. Something's gotta give.
I certainly didn't want to squander hard earned calories on a cup of Folgers but giving up coffee entirely was out of the question. I could cut back on the amount of coffee I drink, which would cut back on the Half 'n Half , say ten ounces of coffee with 4 Tablespoons of Half 'n Half. That would still get me the "color." Or, I could drink it black (black coffee always looked so inviting when LouAnn served it up to Andy in those classic white ceramic coffee cups back at the Mayberry Diner, made you just want to wrap your thumb and finger around the handle and take a sip). Black coffee? I don't think I am ready for that, I think I'll try slashing my coffee serving in half, saving 80 calories a day.
Day 2 flew by because I was so busy sprinting from one "event" (vet, carpool, bank) to the next. I did manage to get my two aching calves out for a walk and I took the same route as before. Feeling a little less self conscious and a little more powerful, I finished four minutes quicker that the day prior for a personal best of 43 minutes. I didn't have much time to think about what I ate. I just ate.
Breakfast: 10 ounces coffee w/4 T. Half 'n Half, 2 (yes, 2!) servings Lucky Charms (one serving = 3/4 cups w/ 1/2 cup fat free milk! Have you ever seen THAT in a cereal bowl? You'd need a magnifying glass to find the green clovers!)
Lunch: I had my "all time metal lunch box favorite" PB&J. One Tablespoon Skippy & One Tablespoon Smucker's Sugar Free Raspberry Preserves spread on 2 slices Butternut Large Sandwich Bread (230 calories), 1 ounce pretzels (110 calories) and a Coke Zero (nada).
I scarfed down a bag of Orville Rickenbacher 94% Fat Free microwave popcorn (yes, I popped it first) on the way to the kids orthodontist. After the appointment, I arrived home to find a large pan pizza plunked down on the kitchen table. My husband had done the unexpected: picked up dinner! Out of extreme gratitude, hunger and exhaustion, I devoured 2 slices in 3.4 seconds flat (think Nathan's hot dog eating contest). I washed it all down with another Coke Zero. Although I should've eaten a Sesame Chicken Lean Cuisine that I had stashed in the freezer, I wasn't about to hurt his feelings (or dampen his desire to provide more dinners in the future).
Never look a gift pizza in the mouth. "'Tis better to err on many calories than to bring hurt to old man's eyes." That's an ancient Chinese proverb, I think.
I have an eating code of ethics when to comes to accepting and partaking of foods that your family, coworkers, friends (anybody for that matter) have baked, bought or prepared for you. You eat it. I think it may even be in the Bible somewhere, probably Leviticus, that states you are not to offend the bearer of good food gifts. How would you feel if you missed an entire episode of Mad Men baking your neighbor a pan of blonde brownies only to have her "oh so politely" pull the diet card: "Oh thank you sooooo much but I just can't, I'm watching my weight." How rude! Especially since you saw her hightailing her rear into her house the day before with a McFlurry in hand. I'd be a bit put out if my heartfelt Rice Krispie treats were shunned. How many times have you passed up something really scrumptious (like Baileys Irish Cream cheesecake) at a party or turned down your aunt's offer of homemade banana bread because you didn't want to "go off your diet", only to go home and eat everything in the fridge including the "Lunchable" earmarked for your son's zoo field trip?
Don't worry about those calories that you really don't want to eat, but feel like you should (and you should), just count 'em and be done with it. God does something miraculous with "grace calories." Sort of like the loaves and fishes thing, they don't really count...all the way.
Back to my pizza. I Googled Pizza Nutritional Info and anyway I cut it, one slice equalled 250 calories.
I knew a third piece would put me over so I grabbed a Granny Smith, definitely not my dessert of choice, but it was actually quite tasty. I ate 4 Werther's Original Toffees as I cleaned the kitchen and went to bed with a total of 1410 calories under my belt.
I glunked into a measuring cup the amount of Half 'n Half I usually pour into my 20 ounce (or so) coffee cup, and it came to nearly 8 Tablespoons! That's 160 calories! My daily ration of cream gobbles up nearly 10.7% of my daily calories and that's before I've even chewed anything. Over the course of a year, that's 58,400 calories, almost 16.6 pounds. Something's gotta give.
I certainly didn't want to squander hard earned calories on a cup of Folgers but giving up coffee entirely was out of the question. I could cut back on the amount of coffee I drink, which would cut back on the Half 'n Half , say ten ounces of coffee with 4 Tablespoons of Half 'n Half. That would still get me the "color." Or, I could drink it black (black coffee always looked so inviting when LouAnn served it up to Andy in those classic white ceramic coffee cups back at the Mayberry Diner, made you just want to wrap your thumb and finger around the handle and take a sip). Black coffee? I don't think I am ready for that, I think I'll try slashing my coffee serving in half, saving 80 calories a day.
Day 2 flew by because I was so busy sprinting from one "event" (vet, carpool, bank) to the next. I did manage to get my two aching calves out for a walk and I took the same route as before. Feeling a little less self conscious and a little more powerful, I finished four minutes quicker that the day prior for a personal best of 43 minutes. I didn't have much time to think about what I ate. I just ate.
Breakfast: 10 ounces coffee w/4 T. Half 'n Half, 2 (yes, 2!) servings Lucky Charms (one serving = 3/4 cups w/ 1/2 cup fat free milk! Have you ever seen THAT in a cereal bowl? You'd need a magnifying glass to find the green clovers!)
Lunch: I had my "all time metal lunch box favorite" PB&J. One Tablespoon Skippy & One Tablespoon Smucker's Sugar Free Raspberry Preserves spread on 2 slices Butternut Large Sandwich Bread (230 calories), 1 ounce pretzels (110 calories) and a Coke Zero (nada).
I scarfed down a bag of Orville Rickenbacher 94% Fat Free microwave popcorn (yes, I popped it first) on the way to the kids orthodontist. After the appointment, I arrived home to find a large pan pizza plunked down on the kitchen table. My husband had done the unexpected: picked up dinner! Out of extreme gratitude, hunger and exhaustion, I devoured 2 slices in 3.4 seconds flat (think Nathan's hot dog eating contest). I washed it all down with another Coke Zero. Although I should've eaten a Sesame Chicken Lean Cuisine that I had stashed in the freezer, I wasn't about to hurt his feelings (or dampen his desire to provide more dinners in the future).
Never look a gift pizza in the mouth. "'Tis better to err on many calories than to bring hurt to old man's eyes." That's an ancient Chinese proverb, I think.
I have an eating code of ethics when to comes to accepting and partaking of foods that your family, coworkers, friends (anybody for that matter) have baked, bought or prepared for you. You eat it. I think it may even be in the Bible somewhere, probably Leviticus, that states you are not to offend the bearer of good food gifts. How would you feel if you missed an entire episode of Mad Men baking your neighbor a pan of blonde brownies only to have her "oh so politely" pull the diet card: "Oh thank you sooooo much but I just can't, I'm watching my weight." How rude! Especially since you saw her hightailing her rear into her house the day before with a McFlurry in hand. I'd be a bit put out if my heartfelt Rice Krispie treats were shunned. How many times have you passed up something really scrumptious (like Baileys Irish Cream cheesecake) at a party or turned down your aunt's offer of homemade banana bread because you didn't want to "go off your diet", only to go home and eat everything in the fridge including the "Lunchable" earmarked for your son's zoo field trip?
Don't worry about those calories that you really don't want to eat, but feel like you should (and you should), just count 'em and be done with it. God does something miraculous with "grace calories." Sort of like the loaves and fishes thing, they don't really count...all the way.
Back to my pizza. I Googled Pizza Nutritional Info and anyway I cut it, one slice equalled 250 calories.
I knew a third piece would put me over so I grabbed a Granny Smith, definitely not my dessert of choice, but it was actually quite tasty. I ate 4 Werther's Original Toffees as I cleaned the kitchen and went to bed with a total of 1410 calories under my belt.
Day 1 The Weigh, The Truth & The Lite
164 lbs. That's what the scale blinked out. I took a deep breath. I stepped off. I stepped back on. 164. Okay, that's what I'm working with. Six hundred, fifty six sticks of butter. I was praying my weight was sitting somewhere over the rainbow in 150 land. I was so hoping it hadn't left OneFiftyVille, but it had. I can deal with that. The silver lining in this chubby cloud is that I did weigh myself partially clothed, in the middle of the afternoon, after eating TWO meals. That definitely breaks the "Scale Steppers" honor code. I had committed, not one, but three cardinal, or at least, venial slimming sins. If I am a tad artificially heavy at my first Weigh In, so be it, there will be a calorie correction in the future, of that I am certain.
Although, it's irrelevant what the scale says now, you will want to know your starting weight so that after three months, you can triumphantly measure your success. Drag out your scale, dust if off and step on it. If you don't own a scale, go buy one. If you are serious about this, jump in the car, head to Walmart and plunk down two sawbucks. Nineteen bucks is all it set me back (the cost of three trips to Burger King). You'll need a scale to check your progress and, there will be progress each week.
I added up all the calories I had consumed since I had gotten out of bed that morning and, came up with a ballpark of about 1241. Hmm..I have a whopping 209 left to "spend." I thought about turning in for the night but it was only 4:00 p.m., and the kids would be home soon. Instead, I laced up my grass stained Reeboks, pulled on an old pair of sweats and hit the floor, shuffling. Although I was hoping for minimal public exposure (school traffic was over and the rush hour hadn't started), I pulled a ball cap down over my forehead to disguise myself.
I felt self-conscious and huge. I started walking. At first, it was more like a stroll, but as I turned onto the side street, I picked up the pace. I was certain I resembled the hippo from Fantasia, but it felt good to move.
It felt especially good to be out in the sunshine, sucking in fresh air. I began to sweat. That felt good, too. I could have timed my pace with a sundial but I was out there, trudging up hills, flapping my arms and moving.
I felt exhilarated when I hit the front door. I hurried in to check the clock. I had been out for 47 minutes!
That 47 minutes carried me through the rest of the evening. I was energized well past the hour I am usually nodding off while sitting upright on the couch.
My remaining 200 calories came served up in a bowl of Fruity Cheerios (3/4 cup) with 2% milk (1/2 cup).
I hit the sack. Day One.
Although, it's irrelevant what the scale says now, you will want to know your starting weight so that after three months, you can triumphantly measure your success. Drag out your scale, dust if off and step on it. If you don't own a scale, go buy one. If you are serious about this, jump in the car, head to Walmart and plunk down two sawbucks. Nineteen bucks is all it set me back (the cost of three trips to Burger King). You'll need a scale to check your progress and, there will be progress each week.
I added up all the calories I had consumed since I had gotten out of bed that morning and, came up with a ballpark of about 1241. Hmm..I have a whopping 209 left to "spend." I thought about turning in for the night but it was only 4:00 p.m., and the kids would be home soon. Instead, I laced up my grass stained Reeboks, pulled on an old pair of sweats and hit the floor, shuffling. Although I was hoping for minimal public exposure (school traffic was over and the rush hour hadn't started), I pulled a ball cap down over my forehead to disguise myself.
I felt self-conscious and huge. I started walking. At first, it was more like a stroll, but as I turned onto the side street, I picked up the pace. I was certain I resembled the hippo from Fantasia, but it felt good to move.
It felt especially good to be out in the sunshine, sucking in fresh air. I began to sweat. That felt good, too. I could have timed my pace with a sundial but I was out there, trudging up hills, flapping my arms and moving.
I felt exhilarated when I hit the front door. I hurried in to check the clock. I had been out for 47 minutes!
That 47 minutes carried me through the rest of the evening. I was energized well past the hour I am usually nodding off while sitting upright on the couch.
My remaining 200 calories came served up in a bowl of Fruity Cheerios (3/4 cup) with 2% milk (1/2 cup).
I hit the sack. Day One.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
What's the Count, Ump?
When you go to the supermarket with your "magic" dollars in hand (let's say fifteen bucks to correlate with fifteen hundred calories), do you race up and down the aisles like a wild banshee, grabbing up beef tenderloins, throwing in King Crab legs, tossing in Walker's Shortbread by the caseload? Do you then head to the cashier, view the shocking total, shrug and fork over your fifteen big ones, thinking she'll make it "all okay?" I can assure you, she's not going to smile, wave her fairy dusted scanner and pretend you only spent fifteen dollars.
If you're anything like me, when you go grocery shopping, you make a list. You "plan" out what you need for dinner that night, for the kids lunches, for your son's birthday cupcakes. Then, you allot the money in the budget for those groceries and try to get the biggest bang for your buck. If you have fifty dollars earmarked for a shopping trip in which you need food for five dinners, ten brown bag lunches, a week end of country style breakfasts, you sure as heck aren't going to grab Parma prosciutto and a thimble sized container of homemade mozzarella at the deli counter. You make choices. Juggle here, skimp a bit, cut back there, save over there to allow for that (unless you're Steve Ballmer, and then who really cares).
Daily calorie counting is like grocery shopping on a budget, you budget your calories. You don't rise and shine in the morning and bellow, "Ah, I have 1500 calories! I think I'll eat nine servings of pancetta, eight "down on the farm" sausage patties, two boozelberry scones, and an inch slice of maple cured ham." You don't blow it all at the meat counter. You look at your day, each day, and you plan. If there's a bridal luncheon mid afternoon, you cut back at breakfast. If there's only enough time to grab a banana in the morning, pack some heat for later (a Yoplait or an instant oatmeal packet). If you really have to have that extra helping of Gnocchi Bolognese (and who wouldn't), and you're willing to sacrifice the Cannoli for it, then you go girl!
Fifteen hundred calories, that's what you get. You can choose to spend it wisely, or blow it all in one pop on a pint of Haagen Dazs Toasted Coconut Sesame Brittle Ice Cream, but like the cashier, the scale isn't going to make it "all okay" on the weeks you go over your calorie limit. The choice is yours. What's it gonna be?
I'd rather give myself a root canal if I had to follow a prefab diet plan. The good news again, is, I don't. There are a couple of foods in my pyramid I can't live without; Lofthouse cookies ( frosted discs of moist cake with a buttery cookie rolled into one), double dipped malted milk balls (these ain't your mama's Whoppers) and 24% or higher butter-fatted ice cream. If I deprived myself of this treasured trilogy for a quarter of a year, I'd go bonkers and chew the baseboard. Believe me, when I "eat around" (I'm certain you know what I mean by that) or deny myself what I truly crave, it ain't pretty.
If you're anything like me, when you go grocery shopping, you make a list. You "plan" out what you need for dinner that night, for the kids lunches, for your son's birthday cupcakes. Then, you allot the money in the budget for those groceries and try to get the biggest bang for your buck. If you have fifty dollars earmarked for a shopping trip in which you need food for five dinners, ten brown bag lunches, a week end of country style breakfasts, you sure as heck aren't going to grab Parma prosciutto and a thimble sized container of homemade mozzarella at the deli counter. You make choices. Juggle here, skimp a bit, cut back there, save over there to allow for that (unless you're Steve Ballmer, and then who really cares).
Daily calorie counting is like grocery shopping on a budget, you budget your calories. You don't rise and shine in the morning and bellow, "Ah, I have 1500 calories! I think I'll eat nine servings of pancetta, eight "down on the farm" sausage patties, two boozelberry scones, and an inch slice of maple cured ham." You don't blow it all at the meat counter. You look at your day, each day, and you plan. If there's a bridal luncheon mid afternoon, you cut back at breakfast. If there's only enough time to grab a banana in the morning, pack some heat for later (a Yoplait or an instant oatmeal packet). If you really have to have that extra helping of Gnocchi Bolognese (and who wouldn't), and you're willing to sacrifice the Cannoli for it, then you go girl!
Fifteen hundred calories, that's what you get. You can choose to spend it wisely, or blow it all in one pop on a pint of Haagen Dazs Toasted Coconut Sesame Brittle Ice Cream, but like the cashier, the scale isn't going to make it "all okay" on the weeks you go over your calorie limit. The choice is yours. What's it gonna be?
I'd rather give myself a root canal if I had to follow a prefab diet plan. The good news again, is, I don't. There are a couple of foods in my pyramid I can't live without; Lofthouse cookies ( frosted discs of moist cake with a buttery cookie rolled into one), double dipped malted milk balls (these ain't your mama's Whoppers) and 24% or higher butter-fatted ice cream. If I deprived myself of this treasured trilogy for a quarter of a year, I'd go bonkers and chew the baseboard. Believe me, when I "eat around" (I'm certain you know what I mean by that) or deny myself what I truly crave, it ain't pretty.
Once, I attempted to "eat around" the cookie. A Tollhouse commercial got under my skin and I foolishly thought I could dupe my craving with a "good" food. Yep, that would knock it right out of my crawl. My "eating around" insanity, had cost me, after the crumbs had settled, a staggering : 2- 100 Calorie Packs Chips-A-Hoy Thin Crisps (if the first pack didn't do it for me, why would I have thought a second pack would?), 1-Dannon Blueberry Yogurt (full strength, not Light), 1-Gala apple, 21 Cheese Nips, 4 celery stalks smeared with Skippy peanut butter and, THEN, the eating circle began right smack back at the Tollhouse cookie. I savagely tore open the refreigerated roll (think Wildebeest) and hacked off, in pure Lizzie Borden fashion, two shmooshed rounds of gooey dough which instantly evaporated on my tongue while I "loaded" the eighteen survivors on a cookie sheet, which were actually baked and then eaten.
Total cost of National Geographic binge: 14, 097 calories.
Memories: senseless
If you have a hankering for a "just out of the oven" chocolate chip cookie, I implore you to eat it, count it, and be done with it.
Long story short: The "Plan" is eat until you reach 1500 calories (or whatever you've determined your magical number to be) and then move your butt. On your mark, get set, weigh.
The Plan
You're armed with all the ammo you require to battle off 20 pounds in 90 days; determination and your magic number (daily calories). The only other thing you need is a pair of running shoes. That's it. Let the games begin.
Hmm...what is that you're thinking? You're mumbling something under your breath and you look a bit discombobulated. You seem hesitant, skeptical even. Oh, I get it. You're waiting for "THE PLAN", aren't you? You're thinking, "There's gotta be a meal plan in here somewhere, right? There has to be an A Plan, Eating In Restaurants Plan, a Holiday Cocktail Party Plan? Where's the #*@! plan?" You're looking for something along the lines of...
Hmm...what is that you're thinking? You're mumbling something under your breath and you look a bit discombobulated. You seem hesitant, skeptical even. Oh, I get it. You're waiting for "THE PLAN", aren't you? You're thinking, "There's gotta be a meal plan in here somewhere, right? There has to be an A Plan, Eating In Restaurants Plan, a Holiday Cocktail Party Plan? Where's the #*@! plan?" You're looking for something along the lines of...
Breakfast: 4 ounces extra pulp orange juice, 1 cup Postum, 1 medium sized egg, scrambled in 2 shots of Pam
Lunch: 2 slices diet rye bread, smeared with 1/32 ounce Shedd's Spread, 1/8 cup Cherry D-Zerta gelatin, blah, blah, blah.
Here's the good news: There is no plan. There are no seaweed capsules, lotions or tasteless TV dinners named after some Jenny lady. You can't believe it, can you? No Richard Simmons veggie stew, no gigantic balls to waddle over, no gag-reflex-inducing shakes, no Alba 66's, not even Ayds candies (remember those Kraft Fudgie wannabes that you'd choke back with a hot beverage to "curb" your appetite?). There's absolutely no grapefruit, unless you want it, and you can certainly have it. In fact, if you want to eat only grapefruit one day (although I couldn't fathom why), you can devour it in all its ruby red glory until you finish peeling numero sixteen. That's about how many of those citrus suckers you get for 1500 calories. Be my guest, pucker up.
The only "Plan" that works in losing 20 pounds in 90 days is the one in which you take in 500 less calories per day than you are currently taking in and exercising off 300-350 calories to make up the difference.
And, oh what a difference it will make. You can eat exactly the same foods you are eating now. Don't run out and buy barbecue pork rinds and caramel Styrofoam, I mean rice cakes. You can eat that Taco Bell chilito, or that savory Hungarian goulash, or even that last handful of Scream'in Yellow Zonkers, but, you have to count 'em. Every bite, every lick, every "stolen" McDonald's fry, every "just one sip" . When you get to your magic number (remember mine is 1500) you're done. Even if you hit your magic number at 2:00 p.m. You're done.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
How Are We Going To Lose 20 in 90? It's Simple. Do The Math!
Easy. It's basic arithmetic. If 2+2=4, then 500 x 7=3500. That's it in a hazelnut shell. All we need to know to lose one pound a week. Decrease your daily calorie intake by 500 calories (three and a half double stuffed Oreos, one half pint of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream, or a wedge of red velvet cake) and after 168 hours, if we do absolutely nothing else, we'll have dropped 16 ounces. Pretty easy, huh? How is it that most of us capable women who balance corporate ledgers, P&L's, household budgets, even our own checkbooks, struggle to lose weight? It's all about numbers. It is so ridiculously simple, it seems complicated. Addition and subtraction.
Now, you're thinking that 1 pound of quivering flesh lost per week does not equal 20 pounds in 90 days, more like 12. That's right. To lose the twenty big ones in three months, we'll have to shed 1.66 pounds per week. Do the math. That means we've got to ante up an extra 335 calories per day to get there.
Here's the catch (you knew there'd be a catch, always is when it involves something worth working for), that extra .66 pound per week is going to be burned off. Literally. We are going to exercise everyday for the next three months, come hell or high water, for forty five minutes. Three quarters of an hour of aerobic activity a day will sear off approximately 300-350 calories. Again, count the beans. Three hundred calories per day x 7 days per week= 2100 calories (give or take a few). We'll have real data in a week to prove if we're on target. If you have to ramp up your power walking or cut back on your daily ration of International Delight Amaretto Creamer, no big deal. This plan is flexible, adjustable and it's tailored to you, by you.
The next question is: where does the pendulum rest in the number of calories we need a day to lose the blubber? This one is really easy. Google "daily calorie requirements" and you'll get as many corresponding websites as there are meal replacement bars on the market. Punch your height, weight and age into a handy, dandy formula, multiply it by your activity level, press "calculate" and viola!, you've hit your BMR (basal metabolic rate). Your BMR is the number of calories your body would fire off in a day if you opted to lounge in bed and watch "The Office" reruns for twenty four hours. If you simply did nothing else all day, that's the amount of calories you require to do nothing. If you decide to calculate your BMR, be mindful of the light, moderate and heavy activity level categories. Don't fudge here. Trudging up basement stairs all morning, lugging up laundry loads doesn't get you extra calories in the "heavy" activity category. Heavy activity refers to heavy activity; training for a 26.2 mile marathon, swimming across the English Channel. Some days, you may "feel" like you've finished the Iron Man, but more likely, walking the pooch and dragging out the wrought iron patio furniture will still only get you into the "light" activity category. Always better to error on the safe side, that way there's no surprises on Weigh In Day.
Basal Metabolic Rate is a fancy, scientific term for, in my case, 2000 smackeroos. For me to lose one pound a week, I'd have to cut back 500 calories day (are you following?) and that would put my Calories Needed A Day To Lose One Pound Per Week at 1500. There's certainly nothing scientific or magical about that. The good news is 1500 calories is what is recommended for the female contestants on "The Biggest Loser" and I'm not about to argue with the success of losers. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Remember, I am not a physician, exercise physiologist or a nutritionist. I am a 20PO.
Now, you're thinking that 1 pound of quivering flesh lost per week does not equal 20 pounds in 90 days, more like 12. That's right. To lose the twenty big ones in three months, we'll have to shed 1.66 pounds per week. Do the math. That means we've got to ante up an extra 335 calories per day to get there.
Here's the catch (you knew there'd be a catch, always is when it involves something worth working for), that extra .66 pound per week is going to be burned off. Literally. We are going to exercise everyday for the next three months, come hell or high water, for forty five minutes. Three quarters of an hour of aerobic activity a day will sear off approximately 300-350 calories. Again, count the beans. Three hundred calories per day x 7 days per week= 2100 calories (give or take a few). We'll have real data in a week to prove if we're on target. If you have to ramp up your power walking or cut back on your daily ration of International Delight Amaretto Creamer, no big deal. This plan is flexible, adjustable and it's tailored to you, by you.
The next question is: where does the pendulum rest in the number of calories we need a day to lose the blubber? This one is really easy. Google "daily calorie requirements" and you'll get as many corresponding websites as there are meal replacement bars on the market. Punch your height, weight and age into a handy, dandy formula, multiply it by your activity level, press "calculate" and viola!, you've hit your BMR (basal metabolic rate). Your BMR is the number of calories your body would fire off in a day if you opted to lounge in bed and watch "The Office" reruns for twenty four hours. If you simply did nothing else all day, that's the amount of calories you require to do nothing. If you decide to calculate your BMR, be mindful of the light, moderate and heavy activity level categories. Don't fudge here. Trudging up basement stairs all morning, lugging up laundry loads doesn't get you extra calories in the "heavy" activity category. Heavy activity refers to heavy activity; training for a 26.2 mile marathon, swimming across the English Channel. Some days, you may "feel" like you've finished the Iron Man, but more likely, walking the pooch and dragging out the wrought iron patio furniture will still only get you into the "light" activity category. Always better to error on the safe side, that way there's no surprises on Weigh In Day.
Basal Metabolic Rate is a fancy, scientific term for, in my case, 2000 smackeroos. For me to lose one pound a week, I'd have to cut back 500 calories day (are you following?) and that would put my Calories Needed A Day To Lose One Pound Per Week at 1500. There's certainly nothing scientific or magical about that. The good news is 1500 calories is what is recommended for the female contestants on "The Biggest Loser" and I'm not about to argue with the success of losers. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Remember, I am not a physician, exercise physiologist or a nutritionist. I am a 20PO.
Eighty Sticks of Butter
My Ob-Gyn hurried into the examining room, shuffling through my file and plopped down on the low stool, facing my body. I was wrapped in, what felt like, Bounty paper towels. She peered up at me, through her Chanel bifocals and smiled warmly. She was petite, yet very striking and was dressed like a million bucks. A cross between The Doctor Wears Prada and Nicole Kidman. She had to be right around my age or maybe a tad older. She was sporting these fabulous pink Manolos with just the tips of her perfectly pedicured rose painted toes peeking out. I glanced at my grass stained Reeboks kicked over in the corner. I felt like LuLu from HeeHaw. At that moment, with my rear end flapping naked in the wind, I would've given my last nickel to be somewhere, anywhere else.
"How are you doing? It's been a couple years, looks like almost three."
"Yes," I mumble sheepishly, "time kind of got away from me." She nodded, "There always seems to be a shortage of time...looks like you've put on some weight since your last visit----"
I remember little of what was said after that. I was totally disgusted with myself. Averting my eyes when the nurse clanked the weight marker over to the big 50 didn't make my fat magically melt off to the "number" it had been, should have been. Buying stylish J. Crew charcoal colored yoga sweats a size bigger hadn't transformed me into a hip chick without a flabby innertube around my midriff. Throwing over sized sweaters over the whole mess that had appeared around my waist didn't mean the whole mess wasn't there. The days of swallowing really hard and sticking my chin out like a chicken in an attempt to camouflage the gobbler around my neck had caught up with me.
The worst part wasn't over when Dr. I Want To Be Her So Bad left the room. I slithered off the examining table, ripped off the "quicker picker uppers" and bent over hurriedly to snatch my clothes. That was when I saw it. In all its dimpled, white, cottage cheese-ish glory. From head to toe and everything, and I do mean everything, in between. My body's full length reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. I didn't know whether to vomit or cry.
I drove home in a drizzle that day wondering what the heck had happened to me? How had I gotten here? When did I board the Amtrak at Station Cool Stylish Mom and stumble unto Platform Plump (& Frump) twenty years later. That middle aged, slightly graying woman with the cellulite thighs and flabby tummy, staring back at me in disbelief wasn't me. Couldn't be. I surely didn't see myself like THAT. I saw myself as sophisticated and sleek as the models in the Eileen Fisher ads. Who was I kidding? I wasn't anywhere near them. I looked more like John Belushi in a bee costume. The mirror doesn't fib. I needed to face reality. My husband once joked that if I laid flat on my stomach, in my birthday suit, and he rolled a box of BB shots over by backside, every BB would find a spot. I laughed. He laughed. Ha Ha. It didn't really strike a nerve because I "knew" it wasn't true. But it was true and I was literally, the butt of the joke. He was right and I needed to get real.
I knew I had put on some weight through the years. Sixteen years of carpooling kids, eating dinner from white paper bags passed through the driver's window and carrying in pizza because you can't find the gumption to throw a meal together will do that to you. I thought that if I really wanted to take off the "couple pounds that had crept on," it would be a cake walk. I had control of those six or seven pounds. No problem. I'd diet for a couple days (generally two) by drinking Tab and munching 94% fat free popcorn and then I'd go straight back to my boob tube fare of Ben & Jerry's and anything sweet I could get my paws on. The next morning I'd start the entire pathetic forty eight hour cycle over. Yep, I've always watched my weight. But I've never watched it go away. I've brainwashed myself into believing that if I ever really wanted to buckle down and take it off, I could. Just like that. Snap. But I couldn't. I've never admitted how serious it was and now, three hundred pints of Cherry Garcia and zillions of starve/stuff fasts later, I am proudly tipping the scales, at least a couple dozen pounds over my ideal weight, and the needle is still climbing .
If you keep doing what you've always done, you're gonna keep getting what you always got.
In my case, that was nowhere. I made a vow to myself, as I drove straight to Target to pick up a digital scale, that "this was it." I was dedicating the next three months of my forty seven year old life to dropping twenty pounds. Ninety days. One thousand, one hundred and sixty hours. Twelve weeks. A blip in my existence. A brief season in my life. I was fed up with how I looked, how I felt and with schlepping around in baggy, has-been duds. There was no way that a measly twenty pounds, the weight of eighty sticks of butter would keep me down any longer. Butter. Come on.
I wasn't waiting for the next Monday or the First day Of The Month, or even New Year's. I was starting right where I was, after lunch, on a Thursday, a bump over hump day, and I was going to step on that scale confidently (without shaving my legs and underarms or clipping my nails first) and begin my journey.
I didn't need Weight Watcher's, Alli, Slim Fast or Trim-SpaX32. I knew exactly what I need to do. All "20 Pound Overweighters" know what they need to do. It's just a matter of doin' it. Twenty pounds can play tricks on us. It's deceiving because it's not enough weight to spark alarm and draw stares and with a bit of creative accessorizing, that unflattering flab can be disguised fairly well. Twenty Pound Overweighters are experts at hiding fat. But, twenty pounds is just enough weight to hold us back from feeling really good about ourselves and our appearance. That twenty pounds of Penne Puttanesca distributed evenly (if you're lucky)
and not so evenly (if you're not) about our bodies impedes us from realizing our potential. The more times we gobble up the latest Zone Bar only to scarf up everything edible in the cupboard when hunger and deprivation rear their ugly heads, the more defeated we become until we are hopelessly convinced that "we will never take the weight off." And we give up or give in. I 'm no psychologist, but I know that much. And if you are a 20 Pound Overweighter, you know that too. I'm not telling you anything new.
It's inconsequential how much weight you need to shed; five pounds, ten pounds, two hundred and fifty pounds. The point is when we set out to reach a goal, achieving it gives us so much more than a new appearance. Although, that in and of itself, is pretty frickin' awesome.
I had a plan, a good old fashioned one. A plan that worked, if I stuck to it. One that always works. I was mad as hell. The rubber had met the road, er...should I say the butt had met the mirror.
So, if you've read this far, I am assuming that you're ready to take the journey, too. That you, like hundreds of thousands of women, want desperately to break free from those g-darn pounds that piled on after you had babies, those eighty sticks of butter that accumulated over your rear when you were sitting on your ergo office chair, that weight that is simply a "reward" for a harried, stressed out, fast paced lifestyle.
I am assuming that you, want to, yearn to, once and for all to, rid yourself of the extra butter and get on with the rest of living, freeing up valuable time that you wasted fretting about weight and spending it on the truly more important stuff in life.
If you are willing to devote the next 129,600 minutes of your breath to changing your life, then lace up your grungy Nikes cuz you're in for one heck of a ninety day ride, I mean, power walk.
"How are you doing? It's been a couple years, looks like almost three."
"Yes," I mumble sheepishly, "time kind of got away from me." She nodded, "There always seems to be a shortage of time...looks like you've put on some weight since your last visit----"
I remember little of what was said after that. I was totally disgusted with myself. Averting my eyes when the nurse clanked the weight marker over to the big 50 didn't make my fat magically melt off to the "number" it had been, should have been. Buying stylish J. Crew charcoal colored yoga sweats a size bigger hadn't transformed me into a hip chick without a flabby innertube around my midriff. Throwing over sized sweaters over the whole mess that had appeared around my waist didn't mean the whole mess wasn't there. The days of swallowing really hard and sticking my chin out like a chicken in an attempt to camouflage the gobbler around my neck had caught up with me.
The worst part wasn't over when Dr. I Want To Be Her So Bad left the room. I slithered off the examining table, ripped off the "quicker picker uppers" and bent over hurriedly to snatch my clothes. That was when I saw it. In all its dimpled, white, cottage cheese-ish glory. From head to toe and everything, and I do mean everything, in between. My body's full length reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. I didn't know whether to vomit or cry.
I drove home in a drizzle that day wondering what the heck had happened to me? How had I gotten here? When did I board the Amtrak at Station Cool Stylish Mom and stumble unto Platform Plump (& Frump) twenty years later. That middle aged, slightly graying woman with the cellulite thighs and flabby tummy, staring back at me in disbelief wasn't me. Couldn't be. I surely didn't see myself like THAT. I saw myself as sophisticated and sleek as the models in the Eileen Fisher ads. Who was I kidding? I wasn't anywhere near them. I looked more like John Belushi in a bee costume. The mirror doesn't fib. I needed to face reality. My husband once joked that if I laid flat on my stomach, in my birthday suit, and he rolled a box of BB shots over by backside, every BB would find a spot. I laughed. He laughed. Ha Ha. It didn't really strike a nerve because I "knew" it wasn't true. But it was true and I was literally, the butt of the joke. He was right and I needed to get real.
I knew I had put on some weight through the years. Sixteen years of carpooling kids, eating dinner from white paper bags passed through the driver's window and carrying in pizza because you can't find the gumption to throw a meal together will do that to you. I thought that if I really wanted to take off the "couple pounds that had crept on," it would be a cake walk. I had control of those six or seven pounds. No problem. I'd diet for a couple days (generally two) by drinking Tab and munching 94% fat free popcorn and then I'd go straight back to my boob tube fare of Ben & Jerry's and anything sweet I could get my paws on. The next morning I'd start the entire pathetic forty eight hour cycle over. Yep, I've always watched my weight. But I've never watched it go away. I've brainwashed myself into believing that if I ever really wanted to buckle down and take it off, I could. Just like that. Snap. But I couldn't. I've never admitted how serious it was and now, three hundred pints of Cherry Garcia and zillions of starve/stuff fasts later, I am proudly tipping the scales, at least a couple dozen pounds over my ideal weight, and the needle is still climbing .
If you keep doing what you've always done, you're gonna keep getting what you always got.
In my case, that was nowhere. I made a vow to myself, as I drove straight to Target to pick up a digital scale, that "this was it." I was dedicating the next three months of my forty seven year old life to dropping twenty pounds. Ninety days. One thousand, one hundred and sixty hours. Twelve weeks. A blip in my existence. A brief season in my life. I was fed up with how I looked, how I felt and with schlepping around in baggy, has-been duds. There was no way that a measly twenty pounds, the weight of eighty sticks of butter would keep me down any longer. Butter. Come on.
I wasn't waiting for the next Monday or the First day Of The Month, or even New Year's. I was starting right where I was, after lunch, on a Thursday, a bump over hump day, and I was going to step on that scale confidently (without shaving my legs and underarms or clipping my nails first) and begin my journey.
I didn't need Weight Watcher's, Alli, Slim Fast or Trim-SpaX32. I knew exactly what I need to do. All "20 Pound Overweighters" know what they need to do. It's just a matter of doin' it. Twenty pounds can play tricks on us. It's deceiving because it's not enough weight to spark alarm and draw stares and with a bit of creative accessorizing, that unflattering flab can be disguised fairly well. Twenty Pound Overweighters are experts at hiding fat. But, twenty pounds is just enough weight to hold us back from feeling really good about ourselves and our appearance. That twenty pounds of Penne Puttanesca distributed evenly (if you're lucky)
and not so evenly (if you're not) about our bodies impedes us from realizing our potential. The more times we gobble up the latest Zone Bar only to scarf up everything edible in the cupboard when hunger and deprivation rear their ugly heads, the more defeated we become until we are hopelessly convinced that "we will never take the weight off." And we give up or give in. I 'm no psychologist, but I know that much. And if you are a 20 Pound Overweighter, you know that too. I'm not telling you anything new.
It's inconsequential how much weight you need to shed; five pounds, ten pounds, two hundred and fifty pounds. The point is when we set out to reach a goal, achieving it gives us so much more than a new appearance. Although, that in and of itself, is pretty frickin' awesome.
I had a plan, a good old fashioned one. A plan that worked, if I stuck to it. One that always works. I was mad as hell. The rubber had met the road, er...should I say the butt had met the mirror.
So, if you've read this far, I am assuming that you're ready to take the journey, too. That you, like hundreds of thousands of women, want desperately to break free from those g-darn pounds that piled on after you had babies, those eighty sticks of butter that accumulated over your rear when you were sitting on your ergo office chair, that weight that is simply a "reward" for a harried, stressed out, fast paced lifestyle.
I am assuming that you, want to, yearn to, once and for all to, rid yourself of the extra butter and get on with the rest of living, freeing up valuable time that you wasted fretting about weight and spending it on the truly more important stuff in life.
If you are willing to devote the next 129,600 minutes of your breath to changing your life, then lace up your grungy Nikes cuz you're in for one heck of a ninety day ride, I mean, power walk.
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