Wednesday, June 4, 2014


My last blog was about an ax I have to grind with the church. The one before that was depressing as all get-out. So on a more positive note, and at the risk of jinxing myself, I'm ever so slowly winning the battle of the bulge. 

As a kid, my dad's nickname for me was Twiggy. That lasted til puberty hit. Since then my weight has been up and down. Mostly up. 

Where I work, nothing is too personal to ask a co-worker. When it's normal to ask someone when their last bowel movement was, nothing is sacred. Most people who have noticed don't just stop at, "You've lost some weight!" They follow up with a dozen questions. ("Excuse me, are you my doctor?") That goes along with working in a hospital I guess.  

"How much have you lost?" Honestly, I don't know. I didn't weigh myself one day and start a diet. Near as I can figure, 25-30 pounds since January, but most of it in the last few months.

"Are you sick?" It would never occur to me to ask someone who has lost weight that, but again, these medical personnel are a strange breed of cat. 

"Are you trying to lose weight?" Why yes, I am. I'm not fortunate enough for the fat cells to just decide they were tired of hanging around, so they'd pack up and leave. The struggle is real.

"How are you doing it?" Four words. Eat less. Move more. How's that for making it seem simple? 

This journey began in January. My blood pressure sky rocketed. I have lousy genes when it comes to blood pressure and weight both. If I got my weight under control, maybe the BP would improve and I could go off the Lisinopril. I made a couple changes then. I gave up my late night snack of cereal and milk. Oh, how I miss you Special K with your delicious chocolate chunks. Since then, I've just figured out what works for me.

I have a hard time being enthused about meetings of any kind, certainly not one where someone is recording my weight and I have the possibility of being ashamed and embarrassed if I gain a pound. Sorry, Jessica Simpson. No Weight Watchers for me.

The idea of eating packaged, overpriced food is nauseating. It may work for Kirstie and Marie. Not me. 

I'm not accountable to anyone. I don't count calories or points. I don't measure or weigh food. I don't pop pills. 

I don't have enough self control to stick to one plan or diet rigidly. My plan is simply made up by me. No name. It's sorta, kinda, but not really a low carb diet. While I have cut them down, I still eat apples and other fruit and veggies which are not allowed on Atkins. I've eliminated processed junk food and sugar. I eat more protein. Cottage cheese, tuna, chicken and peanut butter. I get the all natural, no sugar added peanut butter. It tastes like cardboard, but I figured out that if it's refrigerated it's not as bad and I can choke it down.

I do some stretching and moving. I'm not sure it would qualify as exercise since I don't break a sweat. Maybe I'll get there soon. 

While I'm liking the changes I see in my body, some have me rather baffled. Have I always had a freakishly long neck? It's the first thing I notice now when I walk by a mirror. I asked Cliff about it and he said it seems longer because it's skinnier and doesn't have a double chin covering half of it. I can feel my collar bones poking out now. I have ribs too. 

I'll keep working on this and in a couple months post some before and after pics. It won't be Twiggy though. Just a stronger, leaner, healthier version of me.