Let's Talk About Me For A Minute

Only now that I'm so sure that "nobody" reads this blog anymore, will I discuss the Dreaded D.

Not death, but something like it.

Back in May, I started a whole new project, that, unlike most of my artsy things, will not be posted with progress shots, and will ultimately never be finished.  For me, the "Tah-DAH!" person, few things could be more annoying that doing something which has no hope of ever being completed.  I'm a resolution girl, a results person.  I've spent the better part of the last, oh, 30 years or so, unveiling things:

Look!  While you were gone, I stripped and sanded and re-stained the bedroom staircase!

While you were busy watching TV, I made this massive, 6 course Thanksgiving dinner!

I took the liberty of knitting you this hat/sweater/pair of mittens.  I hope you like them!

And the little voice of the little girl in my head squeaks, "ta-dah!"

I didn't just up and decide to lose weight all of a sudden.  I saw the need coming on, slowly.  Considering that's how the weight has been coming off--slowly--I guess that make sense.

Funny thing....for the last 12-15 months or so, I have seen the erosion of my own optimism.  That in itself was not a funny thing, but it did, in a funny way, help me arrive at a sane approach to losing weight.  Yes, I've seen, and tried, some awful diets in the past, and while I was never one to dive into eating plans that were obvious fads, I've done a few of the more mainstream sillies. 

And what did I learn? 

Nothing.  I learned nothing.  I just kept on, thinking, "I'm not some fat girl" and by the standards of many, I suppose you could look at me and agree with that assessment.  The truth was, even at my height, the 200 pounds I was eventually walking around in, though I wore it fairly well, was fat.  And it was also 50 pounds beyond where I could have ever dreamed I'd be living.  In fact, I think that I just blanked out any number on the scale that was above 150, just because I felt like I could get away with 150.  When I weighed 150, that was the last time that I revealed my weight to anyone and they said, "No way--you don't look like you weigh even close to that," so in my mind, 150 was not a bad place.

Looking at myself right now, I think I'd be just skin hanging on a skeleton at a hundred and fifty!  So that became the goal.  Not the skeleton/skin combo, but, you know...

My approach was dreadfully simply and devoid of gimmick:  1500 calories a day, and work out no less than 4 times a week.  Build muscle by (gasp!) lifting weights, do some cardio and the rest will follow.  There is no carb restriction or severe fat restriction, just, a balance of calories very heavy in fresh veggies, but I still get to eat a friggin' steak when I want it, or have a beer. 

I knew that it would be slow, but hey, I've got nothing else going on, so who cares?

And let's talk about that, shall we?  How I've got nothing going on?  Career stuck in the mud, zero romantic interests...if you're in that rut long enough, eventually you'll get to that little voice inside who reminds you that being awesome is the very best revenge.  Eventually, you'll notice that with no one looking at you, it's the perfect time to create yet another "ta-dah".  So I'd like to take this moment right now and thank my boss for stalling my career and also thank all those guys who don't date fat chicks.  Yes, they are all assholes and I privately hope Karma shits on their heads.  I would not date, and don't want to work for, any of them.  The only thing that they are good for, in fact, is giving me yet another reason to want to kick ass, in the hopes that one day, when I am successful in spite of them, I'll be in a position to tell them to go fuck themselves, should they ever ask me for anything.

Very grown up of me, I know.

And so, the stats:  Weight, down 15-20 pounds, depending on what scale you believe.  My doctor's scale, one afternoon at the very beginning, when I was fully dressed, clocked me at 210.  I, of course, denied that number, and went with the more friendly 200-203 that I was getting at home.  This morning, 185.

The real story is the waist-line, though...I mean I don't care much about the weight, to be honest, I just want to look like I give a shit.  From 39 inches to 32.  That's a huge change. 

Crunches.  That's all I can say about that. 

OK, actually it was crunches done while simultaneously chest pressing dumbbells--that move, stolen from Jillian Michaels, is gold, my friends.  Just keep upping the dumbbell weight, and you can do this at any level. 

Hips, down 4 inches, thighs down 3.5 inches, and Pauline Nordin gets full credit for any changes that took place in my body below the waist.  She's bad-ass.

My arms basically stayed the same size due to the increase in muscle there.  I have biceps now.  Granted, biceps are easy and anyone can get them, but just being less blobby there a wonderful thing for one's mental health.  Triceps--those are the tricky ones.

There is nothing about my so-called diet that I would like to try to sell you, other than advising you to take half of the food you eat right now--assuming you're eating like a typical American--and change it out for raw or steamed vegetables.  If you do this, you'll be halfway there.  Then, as you lose weight, add that same amount of weight back into your exercise, to remind yourself of how hard it is on your body to carry around all that extra weight.  I did one-legged squats with 20 pounds sitting on my shoulders yesterday, and I'm here to tell you, that's no joke.  Ouch.  You'll wonder how you could even walk, before.

So that's my dumb diet blog post.  I have no plans to become a bikini-ready hard body, or run any marathons.  I don't even want to show off for anyone who thought less of me, before--those people are not worth a ta-dah.  At this time, it's really a positive thing on which to focus while things aren't so positive in other areas, and that's important.

Ta-Dah!