Golluhm

Bageria’s been sick, I’ve been working long hours, and wasn’t inclined to cook and maintain the diet.  Going off diet “for just a week” and not going to the gym for the same reason has added up: 6 lb weight gain. Not good. Not pleased.

No time to get back into the groove - am in a week long off-site conference, 12 hrs a day.  The desire to get back onto it is there, the motivation and action is not.

 Hoping to change start over again after the conference.  Cheers, all.

Yesterday, I went home early with a sick stomach.  It’s Bageria’s day off, and she generally does chores in the day.  So I get home, just wanting to go to sleep, and get a hug.

 I get my sympathy as soon as I get home, followed up by:

“Oh, and I threw all your underwear away.”

 Huh wha?  Was something wrong with it?  Did bugs get into it?  Was there an underwear fire while I was at work?  Nope. 

Some context.  Since… let’s say September/October 2008, I’ve lost about 70 pounds.  I went from barely fitting in my fat clothes to having my pants look like the kind of pantaloons that a Musketeer or some other poofy-pants-wearing person from the 17th century would wear.  I don’t want to buy new clothes, because I hope/know THOSE will be too big, once I get to my goal weight, and to me, that’s just a horrible waste of money.

So, I noticed that my nice and worn in boxers were not immune to aforementioned poofiness.  When I woke up in the morning, I began to find the front of my boxers had basically rotated around my waist and were currently on my hip.  This, gentle readers, is not a comfortable sensation, as the LEG HOLES of my boxers still remained on… my legs.  So yeah, it’s Twister, Underwear Edition!

So I guess my fiance got tired of my grumping about this.  I finally decided to get some new jeans and jean shorts a couple of days ago, before we went to Great Falls Park.  Also, I raided my put-away “smaller” clothes, and found I could fit into a lot of them.  I was so happy that I could fit into them, and was officially an XL shirt-wearer again, instead of a XXL or even a XXXL!  I think Bageria took this as a sign that I was “ready” to move on to some more wardrobe changes. 

So, yeah, “I threw all your underwear away.”

Ok, underwear’s different.  Men develop a relationship with their underwear.  It takes time - YEARS - to break in a proper set of underwear, folks.  Sure, it looks ratty.  Sure, the elastic band may be showing.  Sure, one leg of the boxers is somehow shorter than the other.  But they’re COMFY.  And it’s important for a guy to have comfy underwear!  Even if the tradeoff is, occasionally, the oversized underwear trying to escape in the middle of the night!

So I grumped.  And frumped.  I think I even harrumphed.  But in the end, I’ve relented, even when she escalated the situation by deciding to throw all of my white tshirts away, too!

She went to the store, after all, and got new (unfamiliar!  strange!  unknown!) boxers and t shirts for the slightly smaller me.  They fit.  They’re snug.  I’ll get used to them, I suppose.  But I won’t become TOO familiar with them.  I’d hate to make new underwear friends, only to have Bageria throw THOSE away when I reach my target weight.

Oh, and I also hid a couple pair of my old boxers away.  You can’t quit cold turkey, you know.

Haven’t posted in a bit - all is relatively well.  This week has been pretty gym free, due mostly to a hectic schedule and the resumption of physical therapy for my ankle (caused by laundry gone horribly, horribly wrong).

 Anyway, something happened to me at the gym, a little over a week ago.  It’s more cute than offensive, but it does show that despite the weight I’ve lost, I’m still a fat person in appearance, and people are going to have their preconceptions about we folks in the Fatandwantsomenachos Tribe.  What a tribe that would be, huh?  Some of us breathlessly stalking the elusive nacho beast in the Denny’s forest, knife and fork held ready to strike at any second… the nacho beast is fierce, you realize - it’s the salsa that makes it surly.

 ANYway, I was at the gym a week or so ago.   I’ve actually been going semi-regularly, so much so that I, if not the other patrons, am beginning to consider myself a “regular.”  I mean, I’m not like Norm at Cheers, or anything, but when I do make eye contact with the other regular gym-goers - my own gender especially - I get the curt nod of acknowledgement.  It’s sort of like some sweaty animal acknowledging another’s presence in their territory - ok, maybe not.  Maybe it’s more like a secret handshake, and I get to use the really SHINY equipment behind the secret door?  Ok, no secret door.  Yes, I checked.  Still, anyway, I am mostly past my “they’re watching me” paranoia that I had when I initially joined the gym.

Notice that I said “mostly.” 

 Ok, so where was I?  Right, storytime.  So, I usually do about 35 minutes of a brisk walk on the treadmill - enough for 2 miles, at a decent elevation.  With my still gimpy ankle, I can’t go much faster, but I manage to work up a decent sweat, and a heartrate that will allow me to get a good return from using the gym machines downstairs.  I’ve broken the workouts into 3 days: legs, chest, and shoulders.  It was leg day, that day - I’m pretty good with leg day (having carried this weight for so long, I’d better have reasonably strong legs, right?).  So I move from the treadmill to the first machine on my agenda, the sitting leg press.  I doink around with the machine, adjusting the seat length, the weight, etc., and then I go off to get a drink of water. 

One of the gym managers was standing by the machine when I got back - I had passed her once before, earlier, and I understand that she was also a weight loss success story, way back when.  Anyway, I come back to the machine, and she shoots me this sympathetic, concerned look, and whispers to me, “Are you ok?  Do you need any help with this machine?”

Huh?  I guess I looked puzzled when I went to the water fountain, or something.  But I guess she thought that I had no idea how the machine worked, and stomped off in frustration.  I thanked her, and told her I just went to get a drink of water, and she went on her merry way.

Now, this could have happened for one of two reasons: 1) new gym, new people going to the gym, and some people just might not know how the machines work - she was being helpful; or 2) fat guy doesn’t know how to use the machines because, well, he’s fat and doesn’t know about gyms.  Paranoid much?  Yup, and thus I ascribe to reason #2.  Who knows, maybe she was showing some former-weight-loss empathy for me!

I’m not offended by that, really.  Not now, anyway.  I know what I have accomplished, and I know I’m good on the leg machines.  I’m not a newbie, and I know it.  I do find it amusing, though, that there may have been the perception that the fat person is more unfamiliar, inexperienced or, perhaps, inept when it comes to being in the gym.  Of course, this might be simply due to the all-too-common sense of low self-esteem in an overweight person.  But it might be true, as well, right? :)  As I related it to my fiance, it felt a bit like being the proverbial fat kid in school - singled out b/c of the weight, and assumed to not be nimble at dodgeball (I hit many a person in the head for making that mistake:) ).

So, I know I’ve lost weight, and have begun changing my eating habits.  So does my fiance, and my friends.  But I’m still fat, no doubt about it.  And until I get through my goals, I still think I’m going to be the Fat Kid At Gym.  But that’s ok, this time - it’s motivating, and it’s a reality check, for me.

And I’m going to love hitting people in the head with some dodgeballs, along the way.

<pithy comment>

<expression of cautious optimism, tinged with another pithy comment>

<tangent on semi-frequent gym attendance>

<renewed expression of optimism, based on weight loss>

<praise for fiance>

<out of the blue comment about ponies, Richard Gere, and a hamster wheel>

<tie in to weight loss, dress pants approaching clown-pants size, and cats eating shoes>

<another pithy comment, just for kicks>

So, my fiance and I have drawn a line in the sand to change our lifestyles and work towards good nutrition and overall health.  It’s important to us for many reasons, both as a couple, and as individuals.  She’s really taken the lead on this effort, and I have to credit her with that. 

 Last year, we tried South Beach a couple times, but this year, we’ve made a firm commitment to STAY on it.  She’s the one who bought the books to learn about why South Beach made sense for her and, by extension, me.  She’s the one that creates the meal plans, and does the vast majority of shopping.  She’s the one that cooks food in bulk so we have something to eat for the week (yum, fennel turkey patties!).  Me?  I cook sometimes (sometimes at gunpoint).  I bug her about the shopping, about this and that.  Many times, I find myself being needlessly critical.  So yeah, ultimately, I’ve been a tourist on this voyage.  I’m the guy in the ugly Hawaiian shirt, taking pictures, soaking up the benefits of the landscape, and making the occasional comment (sometimes snidely).  She, on the other hand, is the person that’s MAKING the landscape, and has the tour all charted out. 

I tell her how much I do appreciate all the work she’s exerting all this, but sometimes I don’t say it the right way and it comes off sounding a bit lame, or gratuitous.  But it isn’t intended to be – Bageria is the reason we’re both on this diet.  She’s the reason we’re going to the same gym.  She’s the reason I’m getting off my butt and GOING to the gym.  She’s my motivation, my partner, and my best friend.  And she deserves all the credit in the world.  She does so much in general, and I know I flipflop between saying I know and coming up with something snarky.  But here’s the truth of it:  without her, my life wouldn’t be a life at all; and I’d see no point in bettering it. 

At the moment, she’s in a sort of slump.  She’s not had a good few days, and doesn’t feel that she’s meeting her goals.  But she’s come so far, and done so much, not only for herself, but for me, and for a number of friends that are on their own journeys.  I know this is a funk she has to get herself out of.  Will she?  Abso-damn-lutely, I have no doubt.  But, maybe you folks reading this could just let her know how awesome she is?  The love of my life shouldn’t feel sad, given the enormous strides she’s taken, and the number of people whose lives she makes better, each day. (Like I said, her name’s Bageria, you can find her on my friends list.) 

Well, I think I’m reasonably certain that I’ve made my mini-goal.  Well, more to the point, I’m sick of the digital scale being so sporadic on days.  Feeling pretty good, though I’ve got a long way to go.   I think the next mini-goal will be for 30 lbs… 

Since I joined Buddyslim, I’ve been hesitant to make the weight ticker visible to anyone but myself.  I guess the extent of my fatness is a secret shame to me.  Yes, people can obviously see I’m fat, but they don’t know how much.  Maybe I can hide it with baggy clothing.  Maybe if I walk a little taller, and suck my gut in, it won’t look so bad.  But, dammit, I made some progress, and I’m pretty pleased with myself.  Pleased enough to be a little less self-conscious today.  Pleased enough to make my weight ticker visible.  Whew.

Funny story (to me, anyway):  Was getting dressed for work today, and pulled out one of my random belts for a pair of pants that was too loose (I couldn’t fit in them in January).  I was walking down the stairs, and I could tell the pants weren’t very tight, even with the belt.  Next thing I know, gravity started playing with me - my pants fell down around my knees, and I nearly trip over a nearby cat that decided that the newly created “pants tent” was an invitation to play!  So I guess I’m getting a bit smaller, and need to invest in a new belt.

Lucky that didn’t happen at one of my work presentations…

It’s been the same story all week.  We have a connection, we two - I can tell these things.  I watch from across the room, and I know my target is just playing coy by pretending not to look back.   I eagerly but nervously visit the object of my fascination first thing in the morning, and at evening’s end.   Sometimes, I just can’t think about the next time we share our next quiet, short-lived moment. 

Me, clad only in tshirt and underwear, sidling over so nonchalantly, then slowly climbing on top, holding my breath in nervous anticipation,

And then…

I focus entirely upon the act…

And then…

Sometimes I have to climb off and then back on, because I’ve tilted my prey into uselessness. 

And then,  

I remain perfectly still, paralyzed by my companion’s piercing gaze…  

…

I’m talking about my scale, you freaks.

Since last Saturday, I’ve been close to approaching a mini-goal that I set for myself in mid February: losing 25 pounds.  I’ve been stepping on and off that thing constantly, morning, evening, and night.  Bageria tsks and walks away, thinking I’m being obsessive - well of COURSE I’m being obsessive, lady!   My dear fiance doesn’t understand that it’s for lack of certainty that I keep visiting my new mistress, the bathroom scale.  See, one day, I’m a pound or two OVER my mini-goal, the next day (or hour, or ok, let’s face it, minute) I’m under my mini-goal!  So how can I be sure that I can proclaim that I’ve met my first target until my beloved scale states, in beautiful black LCD numbers, that I’m consistently under that goal weight?  Yes, my scale is a finicky bitch.

Answer: I can’t.  So, I can’t say for certain that I’ve met my goal of 25 lbs yet.  Not until I’m _certain_.  And until that happens, our little tete a tetes will continue - me and my lovely, lovely, scale.

So, I’m no longer stalking the gym by my house like some off-kilter groupie.  In fact, I let my fiance convince me in going to a new gym that had just opened up a few miles from where we live.  The inner dialog in my head kinda pitched this in a sleazy salesman’s voice as “A ground floor opportunity!  Act now, and get your pick of treadmills whenever you want!”  Well, far be it from me to resist my inner sleazy dude in a cheap sharkskin suit.

Truth is, I joined on March 1.  I went there with Bageria,  and the place wasn’t at all packed.  I mean, it wasn’t quite desolate - new people kept coming in, checking the digs out, and inevitably joining.  Still, it had a ton of cardio equipment, no crowds of people that I would feel paranoid and self-conscious around, and it looked like it was going to be undergoing further improvements and additions.  The fact is that one of the primary excuses I’ve used for NOT working out was that I didn’t like… well, I guess I didn’t like the notion of feeling fat around non-fat people.  Here, at this brand-spanking new gym, I couldn’t really use that excuse.  Not yet, at least:)  And it was sort of neat, imagining that I could be one of those people that the gym staff would know by name - sort of like a Bizarro universe version of Norm from Cheers.  For those of you too young to get that reference, I hate you and your lack of white hair.  Now get off my lawn!

So I worked out that day, and was pretty… the word “relieved” is foremost in my mind, really.  It wasn’t a sense of pride, or satisfaction,  or excitement.  I was just… hrmm, it’s hard to really find one specific word to describe it.  Working out at that gym that day was a watershed moment for me - I hadn’t worked out in over 3 years, and not seriously in over 5.  After so many false starts at weight loss during that period, accomplishing a workout made this current effort at changing my lifestyle more real.  

Of course, I’m really good at getting in my own way, and spent nearly two weeks hemming and hawing about going to the gym again.  Granted, I had a cold during that period, but that doesn’t justify this reluctance I felt in going back to the gym BEFORE I became contagious.  I have to hand it to Bageria - she was a real trooper during that period.  She went to the gym numerous times, and even did pilates at home.  She was doing this for herself, and in a way, I felt guilty for not doing the same for my self.   Because we’re trying to change our eating habits and overall lifestyle TOGETHER, and in the same house, her behavior is affecting mine (and vice versa, I hope).  I don’t think that I could do this without her support, above all else.

So, 11 days and oh so many rationalizations later, I finally went back to the gym today.  Got a two hour workout - probably overdid it, a bit - and I felt that sense of relief again.  A 2nd trip, and a 2nd step towards me believing that this is actually it - this is actually going to be the time that I get off my butt, stick with it to its conclusion, and forge a new way to live my life.

I’m thinking that it won’t be another 11 days between workouts, the next time.  Besides, I really DO like getting the treadmill of my choice.  Thanks, sleazy-inner-voice-with-questionable-fashion-sense!  Bawk Bawk!

So, I’ve recently found these low carb noodles under the brand name: Shiratake tofu noodles.  Essentially, they’re made from the fiber of a japanese yam, tempered with tofu to make it less chewy.  Assuming you follow the instructions in rinsing them (the noodles are wet-packed) and patting them dry, you’ll be left with something that can satisfy your needs for noodles without some of the carbohydrate  baggage that comes with it.  It seems that I and others on buddyslim have posted calories and a recipe or two using these noodles - look them up on google as well, and do some research, if these sound interesting.  I’ll warn you in advance - the noodles taste like NOTHING, but they seem to absorb the flavor of what they’re served with decently.  Typical of tofu, though, so no huge surprise.

The only downside that I can see, in terms of getting them, as these seem may not be readily available everywhere - since I live in the DC area, I’ve been able to get them at the larger Asian grocery stores, and I also hear that Whole Foods have them.  Right now, Glenda and I are experimenting with different kinds of noodle substitutes - for instance, she made me a killer chicken soup that had tofu noodles in them.  Those noodles were very chewy - it was a good complement to the chunks of chicken in the soup, but your taste may vary. I’d really like to make a tuna casserole, or something similar, and see how these noodles fair.  Will update when I find out.

And me talking about these “miracle noodles” isn’t the same as me saying that these are the only noodles I’m going to eat, ever!  I actually think that might be a bad idea.   As I’m learning more about the South Beach diet that I’m on, I’m realizing that in order to perpetuate this diet into a lifestyle, I need to stop regarding all carbohydrates as the enemy.  They’re not - things that have a high glycemic rating (white flour, white rice, sugars - essentially processed foods) aren’t great for me, but that doesn’t mean that those things can’t be indulged in from time to time.  Also, having NO carbs in your diet can’t be healthy in the long run.  Yes, the Phase I part of the diet has essentially “detoxed” me from the “bad” carbs, but I get the feeling (because I’ve felt it too) that a lot of people might get trapped into the mindset of “all carbs are bad!”  It’s just impossible, I think, to be able to live with that philosophy forever - and that means once the inevitable “relapse” happens, the weight loss reappears.

So, I guess I’m starting to learn that this whole “new lifestyle” thing is not only about adaptation to new ways, but CRAFTING new ways to regard, prepare, and eat food.  This, I have no doubt, is going to take a long time to figure out.  But with the support of my fiance and friends, I feel more optimistic than I have in a long time.

I’ve been sick, so I think some of the weight I’ve lost in the past week I need to gain back, but I’m actually only 5 pounds or so from my 25 lb mini goal.  Not too bad, so far.

Pros: Weight loss, get to stay in bed, your honey makes you chicken soup (with tofu noodles!)

Cons: I think I needed what I just lost, staying in bed gets really old, after 16 hours, cats starting to look tasty

Enh, I could do without it.  Tomorrow, hopefully a gym trip is in the cards. <hack hack>