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Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Day 30 Weigh-In: Say Cheese







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When I arrived at the center for my Day 30 Weigh-In my consultant says I look like I have shrunk at least 2 sizes!

Okay, that's sweet. But 2 Sizes?  After what I've been through, I should be almost toddler size. Forget sizes 2-8. I should be size 18 months. How about we get me into a onesie?

She warns me that even though I have no more HCG injections, I still have 3 weeks of 'maintenance' ahead of me.

This means slowly introducing fat back into my life. I know what you're thinking. "Just look behind you."  Yes, we've met. But we're not talking about that much fat. I am allowed exactly one ounce of cheese. A day. Pitiful right?   How big is an ounce of cheese? Exactly 1 square inch. Nevertheless, I am over the moon! I never really loved cheese all that much, but now the idea of it sounds so decadent. Just saying cheese, makes me happy! Okay, so maybe I've been feeling a little deprived.



I am also allowed to have 4 ounce servings of protein instead of 3 1/2 ounces. I know. Big Whoop. I can also have 2 servings of fruit daily. 1 at breakfast and 1 at lunch. What that means is 6 strawberries, 1 apple, 1 orange or 1/2 of a grapefruit. Aside from that I am still not allowed any starch or sugar and that means none of the following:                                                           
  • Bread
  • Potatoes
  • Corn
  • Wine (whine)
  • Crackers
  • Cereal
  • Chocolate
  • Popcorn
  • Chips
  • Cookies
  • Ice Cream
  • Cake
  • Pizza
  • Pasta
  • Candy
It occurs to me that the next three weeks are not going to be much easier than the last three. 


Now its time for the weigh-in and measurements:


Day 30 results: 13.5 pounds and 32.5 inches. (Holy Spanks Batman! That's over 2 & 1/2 feet.)


I'm a little disappointed because I still need to lose another 16.5 lbs to hit my 30 lb goal. But my consultant tells me that I should not be hung up on the number on the scale, because what I have lost so far is all fat. The 32.5 inches proves it. She's right because I am getting into clothes that have not fit me in 4 years. But you want to know the best part? 


I earned a command performance from my favorite crustacean, Sebastian! 


"Feelin' Hot Hot Hot!"


Monday, April 26, 2010

Side Effects

So I have discovered that extreme dieting does have some side effects. Here are just a few:


Hunger: No, I'm not just talking about feeling a little peckish. I'm pretty sure my stomach thinks I lost my teeth.


Cold Hands: Diet appropriate foods are more often found in the fridge than on your pantry shelf. Something to do with fresh produce. Go figure.


Envy: I am jealous when I see anyone eat. Yeah, even little old ladies. Especially my mother, because she makes it look like it's so much fun.


Need More Pedicures. I can see my feet. 


Slow Reaction Time: I read somewhere that lack of carbs slows your reaction time, so no operating heavy equipment, no tractor trailer driving. Geez, does that explain why I'm driving slow enough to drive Miss Daisy? Or maybe it's just a Driving-in-Florida thing.


Mood Swings: Okay this might not be entirely accurate. I wouldn't say my mood exactly swings. The needle is pretty much stuck on foul. I wonder? Is that why they call them 'Skinny Bitches'?  And does that explain my road rage? Or maybe it's just a Driving-in-Florida thing.


Brain Drain:  I think the technical term is stupidity. Sometimes I just can't form sentences. I read somewhere that lack of carbs not only causes a slight memory loss,but also impacts your ability to concentrate. Or maybe it's just a Getting-old-in-Florida thing.


Poor Math Skills: I read somewhere that lack of carbs impacts your ability to add and subtract. Do you believe that? Well, you shouldn't! Just checking to see if you're paying attention.

Fatigue: Okay this is an easy one. After all, I am eating 500 calories a day. I'm not exactly ready to run a marathon. Actually it might be safe to say that I am not ready to run. Period. My get-up-and-go got up and went.


Thinness: The Holy Grail of side effects! But hang on. My final weigh-in  is looming, so the verdict's not in yet. Say a prayer.



Saturday, April 24, 2010

A Hungry Woman

As a hungry woman, I am desperate to avoid situations where people are eating or even situations where there is a potential for eating. Sounds impossible doesn't it?  Well maybe it's not.

For example, earlier this week my dear old Aunt B went into the hospital for surgery and I decided to pay her a visit. Since Aunt B is my mother's sister, I invited Mom. 


I know what you're thinking: Will I ever learn? But this time I had it covered. The plan was to pick Mom up right after I left work and since this was going to be after 1PM, I figured she would eat lunch at home. And just to be sure, I asked to please eat before I got there. That way I could avoid witnessing one of Mom's junk food banquets. Good plan, right?


So we get to the hospital and Mom needs to stop at the gift shop to get a little something for Aunt B. Sweet, right? We each pick out a trinket and walk over to the cash register when suddenly Mom, sucked into the gravitational pull of chocolate, does an about face and heads straight for a display rack loaded with candy bars. 


It wasn't a long walk from the gift shop to Aunt B's hospital room, but it was long enough for Mom to finish a giant (like the size of your foot) Three Musketeers. As I led the way through the hospital corridors, Mom ambled along behind me, chewing,sucking, smacking and swallowing. If her legs had moved as fast as her mouth we would have arrived in Aunt B's room faster than you can say matricide. And Mom enjoys a candy bar even more than she does a chicken wing. If I had had the courage to turn around and look at her, I might have witnessed true love.  


But to be fair, she had to finish her Three Musketeers because there was no way it was going to fit into her purse and since we were visiting Aunt B in intensive care, Mom couldn't very well walk into her room carrying a humongous hunk of chocolate. I'm pretty sure that there's no food allowed in ICU. 


When we got to her room, Aunt B-poor thing-was hooked up to a number of machines and was just waking up. Her surgery had been the day before and she was still a little groggy from the meds. She apologized because she had to remain flat on her back. Doctor's orders were that she was not to lift her head off of her pillow and she was not allowed to moved her left arm, which was hooked up to an IV drip, among other things.


A few minutes into our visit, Mom and I excused ourselves from the room while one of the nurses came into attend to Aunt B. As we waited outside I could have sworn I saw someone carry a tray of food into her room. "Must be hallucinating, I thought, because this is ICU and there's no food allowed here. Is there? Besides that, Aunt B can't eat. She can't even raise her head."


Not too long afterwards, the nurse opened the door and invited us back into the room. For a moment I thought I was being punked, because there lay Aunt B flat on her back with a plate on her stomach. Eating a grilled cheese sandwich. With her good arm. And this wasn't one of those hospital food sandwiches. This was a beautiful grilled cheese with just a hint of cheese oozing out of the ends and the bread grilled to just the right color. It was a flashback of the grilled cheese Mom used to serve with tomato soup.


I may be in need of a mental health professional, because in that moment I envied Aunt B. What kind of a person is jealous of an 80 year old woman in a hospital bed eating a sandwich? A really hungry one, I guess.


Still, I was glad that Aunt B was doing very well. After about an hour, Aunt B looked like another nap was coming on (My guess was that the grilled cheese did her in), so Mom and I left.   


Never one to be outdone, Mom opened her purse during the drive home and whipped out a plastic bag full of peanut butter crackers. My torture didn't last long though. The crackers were history in about 2 exits.


Oh and what I said about avoiding 'eating situations.'  Yeah. Impossible.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

You Say Tanita

I went to see my weigh-loss consultant yesterday and she tells me the scale is broken and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. 


Because one scale may not be calibrated the same as the other, if you weigh in on this scale one day and that scale another day, you may not get accurate readings.


This particular scale is a very complicated piece of equipment called a Tanita (ta-NEE-da). And if you think your bathroom scale is an in-your-face-know-it-all, you should try stepping on one of these babies. The Tanita scale does not just report your body weight. Among other things, it can report, fat percentage, muscle mass, BMI, BMR, (PMS?) and total body water. If for example, you are not drinking your 64 oz's of water daily, this contrary little contraption will rat you out faster than you can retain counsel


And it gets worse! A few seconds after you step on, it begins to spew a detailed printout of the sad state of your physique into the eager hands of your consultant. Trust me. The second you step off this thing, you have no secrets left. It does everything but check your pockets for candy bars. 

"So now what?", I ask. She informs me that she has a new scale arriving in a matter of minutes that will work until the Tanita is repaired.  In the meantime she has me step on a bathroom scale that is used as standby. Now I'm feeling pretty good about this standby because it shows of weight loss of 3 pounds. And while I haven't earned a performance from Sebastian the dancing, singing crab, I'm good with 3 pounds in 5 days.


I am inches from a clean get-away when one of the staff arrives with the new and improved temporary scale."Let's try this one",my consultant says. So I hop on and WHAT?  It indicates a loss of 2.5 pounds instead of 3. "Did you record the 3 pounds my chart?" I ask. As soon as she nods, yes, I say,"Okay. 3 pounds it is!"


So, as of day 16, I have lost a total of 7.5 pounds.


That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Dieting Dos and Don'ts


Okay, 16 days in and here's what I've learned.

Do plan ahead. Plan your meals. Shop for 2 or 3 days worth of food at a time.

Don't let yourself get too hungry. This can be dangerous. You're starving. You open up the fridge, freezer or pantry and...uh oh! The rest is a blur.

Do keep a food journal.  Write down everything you eat and drink. HINT: if your food journal reads like Tolstoy, stop eating! You're done.

Don't become Existential. If you eat a box of Jelly doughnuts in the middle of the night and no one sees you will it make you fat? Ah.... yes!

Do go to the beach.  I'll say it again: You versus a couple of feet of Lycra- Spandex is a great diet motivator.

Don't take my mother with you.  I don't know about your mother, just don't take mine. (Have you read my post:"If It's Not One Thing?")

Do eat out, but don't dine anywhere that:

  • Someone may ask, "Would you like fries with that?"
  • They boast "Over 1 billion served"
  • Salt is listed as a side
  • You can "Have it Your Way."
  • You place your order by speaking into the mouth of a clown
  • The desserts are bigger than your toddler
  • The waitress skates over to your car
  • You can eat in your car
  • Butter is listed as a side
  • They speak French
  • They speak Italian
  • They speak Spanish
  • You don't know what they speak
Alright, forget what I said. Just don't eat out. Period! You're on a diet for heaven's sake!  

Friday, April 16, 2010

Weights and Measures

So Wednesday was day 10 of the HCG injections, day 8 of the 500 calorie diet and my second weigh-in at the weigh loss center. It all went down like this:


My weight loss consultant (interrogator, priest, shrink, rabbi, confidant) brings me into a small office (confessional) and questions (grills) me about the last few days.  She wants to know how much water I am drinking, down to the ounce. Next, she looks over my my food journal, the sum which could fit on a postage stamp and questions me about my intake of herbs and vitamins, takes my blood pressure and records everything on my chart.  


Today I am also due for measurements. Now, for just a second I thought she was going to entertain me with a magic trick because she opens a desk drawer and begins to pull out a measuring tape that seems to have no end to it. Seriously, this thing is long enough to calculate the distance from the earth to the moon.  And while I have never seen anyone in the center large enough to need anything close to this much tape, I understand the logic. Can you imagine being told that they just don't have a long enough tape to go around you? It wouldn't take much more than that to send me right over the edge.   Anyway, this measurement was nothing,if not thorough. I was measured from my neck all the way down to my cankles. 


She tells me I have lost of total of 6.75 inches. Okay. I'm feeling pretty good about that until she leads me to the 'Celebration Room' for the weigh-in.  It's no secret that there has never been any love lost between the scale and me and today is no exception. Even that son-of-crab Sebastian remains gut-wrenchingly silent. Since my last weigh-in 5 days earlier, I have only lost another pound and a half. UGH!


"Good job", my consultant says, as I fight back tears. I am disappointed and she is compassionate and suspicious. I think I understand her. Whiles she has probably listened to more whining and held more hands than a first grade teacher,I bet she has also heard more excuses than a traffic cop with a ticket book.


She leads me back to the office where she hides all the sharp objects as I collapse into the chair moaning, "Why, why, why?" After we discuss my food choices again, and she is convinced (I think) that I didn't cheat (I didn't!) she assures me that 4.5 pounds & 6.75 inches in 10 days is respectable.


The problem is, is that I didn't sign up for respectable. I came to play and at this point I am not above fighting dirty. So I beg her for every trick in the book and here's what she tells me:
  • Drink More Water (As it is, I feel like I'm on the HC-PEE diet)
  • Stick with white fish like tuna and scallops. No beef or chicken. (Whimper.)
  • Drink less Coffee (Whine)
  • Drink a special tea from the health food store, called 'Smooth Move'. (nuff said?)
  • Take an appetite suppressant. (So'll I'll eat less?)
  • Try an apple fast. Eat only apples all day. (In case the 'Smooth Move' doesn't work?)
  • No body lotion with oil in it. (Aha! So it's my moisturizer that's making me fat!)
Okay, so with a new plan of attack, I am even more determined to persevere. I'll drink water till my teeth float if that's what it takes!  I'll drink special teas and eat apples till they're coming out of my ears!


I want a cookie.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

If It's Not One Thing

A girlfriend of mine used to say, "If it's not one thing, It's your Mother." Can anyone relate?

While she is a God-fearing woman who loves her family, my mother's true passion is shopping for clothes, going to the beach and eating. Strictly 'old school', she believes trying on clothes, sunscreen and health food are a waste of time.

So yesterday I offered to take her to the beach, which is an interesting experience under the best of circumstances. For those of you who don't know Daytona; we drive on the beach. 

Last summer Mom got her car stuck in the sand. She switched gears from reverse to drive for forty-five minutes while five good Samaritans pushed, rocked, and shoveled, before she realized that her emergency break was on. 


Get the picture?  She's the Lucy to your Ethel. The Abbot to your Costello. The Norton to your Kramden. The Kramer to your Seinfeld. The Calamity to your Jane. She's good-intentioned, lovable, loads of fun and a little dangerous. In fact, if I didn't fear litigation, she would star in her own blog.

This particular morning Mom needs a ride to her physical therapy session. (She took a fall up a flight of stairs....Don't ask.)  She decides to wear her bathing suit under her clothes so we can head straight to the beach after her appointment and not miss any valuable tanning time. Mom also thought it would be prudent to send me on a snack-run while she's at PT. 

This is where someone could get hurt, because especially now, Mom's idea of snacks and mine don't exactly mesh. For one thing, she eats anything she wants and I'm allowed to eat....ahhhh let me think..oh yeah..nothing! So I procure her junk food, and am out of that candy aisle faster than the M&Ms could say "Come hither". 

At 10 AM, when I pick her up from therapy, Mom asks about lunch. "What did you have in mind?", I ask. And even as the question left my mouth, I knew in my heart of hearts that there was only one place we could possibly be headed. 

Twenty minutes later Mom's sitting in her beach chair, covered from head to toe in dark tanning oil and feasting on fried chicken, potato chips, Snickers bars and Pepsi while I am hiding under a giant hat, wearing SPF 100 sun block, drinking water and suppressing murderous thoughts.

18 yr old Mom in Miami 
In case you're wondering, my lunch was a miniature tuna salad. Actually salad might be an exaggeration, unless you consider one tiny Campari tomato and two slices of cucumber a salad. Come to think of it, even miniature is an exaggeration if you consider that my seventy calories of tuna could fit nicely on a fifty cent piece.

My favorite part of the day was when the man walked past us and remarked how good the chicken looked. (Not nearly as good as it smelled, by the way.) 
Mom saluted him with a drumstick and said, "I know how to eat at the beach!" 

And I have to hand it to her. She really does.