June: Twenty Three and a Half Hours

I’ve read that it takes 28 days to form a habit.  If you do something for four weeks, it will become routine for you.  Maybe not effortless, but it will feel weirder if you don’t do it than if you do. 

It was this line of thinking that led me to my newest plan.  Each month, I will tackle just one of my unhealthy habits.  Because clearly, it did not work for me to tackle all of my bad habits at once.  Baby steps, people.  Baby steps.

As inspiration for what bad habits to tackle first, I’ve looked to two health videos that have recently been brought to my attention.  The first is called, “Twenty-three and a Half Hours.”  It’s worth watching, but basically, the gist is that the best possible thing you can do for your health is simply to spend 30 minutes everyday exercising.

That became my goal for the month of June:  exercise for 30 minutes, five days a week.  The other twenty three and a half hours of each day could be spent drinking coke, loafing on the sofa watching Big Bang Reruns, and sneaking cookies when the girls were otherwise distracted.

And so, Monday thru Friday, I spent thirty minutes on the treadmill.  My goal is to eventually jog two miles for my weekday workout.  Which is a kind of torture for me, because I hate to run.  I abhor it.  Absolutely loathe it.  And when I’m done loathing it, I hate it some more.

Only the top picture is what I WISH I feel like when I run.

This is how I actually feel.

But despite my less than euphoric attitude toward running, I also feel that it is somehow the most accurate mark of fitness.  If I could run 2 miles every morning, and it eventually became ‘easy’ for me, I would feel fantastically fit.  In shape.  Able to catch Nicole when she decides to run off.  In my defense, she is very fast for a kid who is not even two yet.

I started out running just one quarter of a mile, and I’ve been adding another quarter of a mile each week (I always walk the remainder of my 30 minutes).  Last week was my 4th week, so I am up to running one mile at a time.  Many of my friends have started running, and they have begun to love it and crave it.  They start with 5ks and then suddenly are signing up for half marathons, whole marathons, or triathlons.  This has not happened to me yet.  I do not feel empowered when I run.  I do not feel a rush of endorphins.  Mostly, I feel like I am going to die.  Until I stop running; then I feel fabulous.  But I think it’s more the kind of fabulous you feel when somebody has been kicking you and then they stop.  Maybe it takes more than one month to fall in love with running.

I may not be in love with running, but I do love working out again.  I love it even though I haven’t lost a single ounce since I’ve started.  (To be honest, I think I gained six single ounces.)  Alas, you can’t exercise away a bad diet.  Which brings me to the second inspirational video and my goal for July:

The video is called, “The Bitter Truth,” and it is supposed to scare you away from eating sugar.  Ever.  Again.  It makes some very logical points, most of which you will already know on an intuitive level, but it’s nice to hear the scientific reasons behind them.

Soda is bad for you.  In every possible way.  Shocker, right?  It’s also delicious and refreshing, which is why I’ve had such a hard time kicking the habit in the past.  But, I’ll give it one more go.  My goal for July:  no more soda.  I can guarantee I will not be a fun person to be around in the next month.  My apologies to anyone I must come in contact with, especially during the next three weeks (which is apparently how long to expect the symptoms of sugar-withdrawal to linger).

How I feel when I think about not drinking anymore coke.

If I survive, I will let you all know how it went at the end of July.  :)

Thirty by Thirty? Now what did I mean by that.....

Hey, do you guys remember that time I started a blog about losing thirty pounds by my thirtieth birthday?!?!  It was so exciting and inspiring the way I got within just four pounds of my (revised) goal weight.  And it was such an interesting twist when I gained six pounds on my vacation to Washington, but guaranteed I’d be at goal before I turned 31.  That’s when I mysteriously disappeared from the weight loss blogging world for the next ten months.  Ahhhh--  What a hoot, right?

Only, wrong.  Because the moment I turned thirty, two things happened.  One:  My metabolism lurched to a halt, causing me to gain a pound every time I ate an extra cracker at lunch, and Two:  My memory was hi-jacked, and I thought my goal was to gain thirty pounds, not lose it.

Well let me tell you this folks, mission accomplished.  Mission.  Accomplished.  I wish that I were lying, or at the very least, exaggerating, but alas I am not.  For those of you who are not math majors, I’ll summarize my calculations:  I am now approximately 10 pounds heavier than I was when I started my whole 30 by 30 blog last February.  Depressing, no?

And it’s not as if I don’t know how it happened.  Basically, I grew tired of healthy living.  I missed my trio of old friends High Fructose Corn Syrup, Salt, and The Drive Through.  And somewhere along the line I forgot my reasons for wanting to lose weight in the first place.  Sure, it was nice to actually enjoy clothes shopping again, but it seemed nicer to enjoy dining out again.  I really enjoy dining out.

Also, with the purchase of our first home, my love of clothes shopping was immediately replaced  with my love of home decor shopping.  And let me tell you, there are no fitting rooms in Pottery Barn.

So basically, I spent the last 6 or 7 months delightedly free from any sort of diet.  I went from room to room adding homey touches here and there, [mostly] oblivious to the fact that I was putting on weight faster than I could say, “I’ll have a number ten, and make it a SUPER-SIZE!”

But as they say, “All good things must come to an end.”  And for me, the end of my ‘this-is-so-much-fun-eating-whatever-I-want-calories-be-darned phase was the day my elastic pants felt a bit snug.  I have oft touted the benefits of warm-ups, but lovers of the elastic pant beware:  they can, eventually, be outgrown.  Sad, but true.

And the day that I outgrew mine marked a cross-roads of such.  I was faced with two choices: A.  Do something about my unhealthy choices, or B. Buy bigger pants.  Decisions, decisions.  To tell you the truth, I’m still not quite sure which road I will take.  Obviously, I want to be healthy, but I’ve tried to start a diet and exercise plan several times with no real gumption.  I just seem to lack motivation...and a metabolism that can burn more than two carrots and a banana.

Some of you may now be thinking, “Why is she telling us this if she hasn’t even decided what to do!?”  Well here is why:  In about two months, I will be going back to Washington State to visit, and I want to avoid that awkward moment when my friends and I see each other and we’ve already said, “Good to see you again!” but now they are thinking, “Wow, she got kind of chubby” and I am thinking, “OMG, they think I’m chubby--I should have warned them!!” but neither one of us wants to say it out loud, so we just keep staring at each other with these weird plastered smiles on our faces.

You’re welcome.


In all seriousness, I could use some inspiration, some motivation.  Some wise words of encouragement to aid me in my decision.  Also, I could use a personal trainer and chef.  You may send donations with checks addressed to “Rebecca’s Home Decor Fund”, er, wait that’s not right....

Week 24: The Long Pause

Total Weight Lost:  12 lbs

You may have noticed that it’s been a LONG time since I’ve written.  Five weeks to be exact.  Sometimes, no news is good news; this is not one of those times.  Remember my proverbial diet wagon?  I didn’t fall off.  I was thrown off.  And then that diet wagon rolled right over me.

Apparently I do not blog while on vacation.  Nor, apparently do I diet.  Nor do I exercise (much).  I think that’s pretty normal.  Vacations are for cramming in all the fun you can: spending time with family, getting together with friends, checking out new places and rediscovering old ones you used to love.  Dieting can easily be forgotten, and when vacation only lasts a week or so, this isn’t an issue.  The problem is I vacationed for a month.  “Whoops,” hardly seems to cover it.

But I’m not one to dwell on past mistakes; “onward and upward,” I say.  The question is:  will I still make my 20 by 30 goal?  The short answer is, “no.”  The long answer is, “Nooooooooooooooooooo.”  It’s just not going to happen.  I think as of this morning I was back to being down only 12 pounds.  I think 8 lbs in a week is a bit insane, especially when that week includes your 30th birthday.  Because if there is one thing I plan to have on my 30th birthday, it is cake.  Chocolate cake.  And plenty of it.

So my weight goal hasn’t been met, but I don’t think my little experiment was a total waste.  My biggest success?  Allison hasn’t asked for fruit snacks in ages.  She stopped asking for granola bars.  She helps herself to carrot sticks and low-fat string cheese.  She asks for apples and says, “That’s a healthy choice!”  She hasn’t stopped asking for suckers yet, but I can’t blame her.  Afterall, we all have our ‘cokes’.

Our pantry is pretty healthy these days.  If there is one thing I’ve learned over the last six months, it’s that I have no will-power.  None.  But knowing is half the battle, right?  I am confident that I will make it to my goal weight while I’m still 30, and when I do, I’ll tell you all about it right here.  Until then, I’ll be getting my writing fix at my new blog:  Happyland.

Thanks for all the support!

Week 19: Wining, dining and a blast from the past

Total weight lost: 16 lbs

I’ve been in Washington for just over a week now, and I’m pleased to say that all heck did not break loose just because I am on vacation.  Yes, I’ve been enjoying the occasional BBQ, the frequent meal out, and I’ve raided the goodie cupboard more times than I would like to admit, but happily the scale has not shown any ill effects from my choices thus far.

I spent the first part of this week cleaning out my childhood room.  It’s a task I’ve been meaning to accomplish for ages, and I figured what better time than when I’ll be staying in the room next door for an entire month.  I found a lot of treasures and a lot of junk.  I discovered my pre-historic gameboy in like-new condition, safely nestled in its uber-cool fanny pack case (Yes, I tried it on.  And yes, I took a picture).  I found my first camera, ‘le click,’ with a half-used roll of film in it, which I intend to complete and have developed.  I re-read a diary entitled, “My Darkest Secrets,” where the first thing I wrote was, “I got a 3.95 GPA last quarter.”  I kid you not.  My GPA was apparently my darkest secret, followed by:  “There is a boy at school that I think I like” and “Today we started PE at school”.

Back when overalls were cool...ish

I also finally got rid of a lot of the clothes I had stashed away and forgotten about.  I tried on my old prom dresses (they fit!), and I made myself give away my last remaining pair of overalls.  I know they’ve been out of style since the 90s, but they are just so darn comfortable.  I thought about keeping them for old time’s sake, but I knew the temptation would be too great.  Sure, I may start by limiting myself to donning them strictly as lounge-wear, but it would only be a matter of time before they would make their way back into my wardrobe full time.  I just can’t risk another embarrassing raid by the fashion police.

In other news, last night I had the pleasure of hanging out in Seattle with a couple of good friends.  I had forgotten how much I love the city:  the view of the water and the space needle from I-5, the ‘rain’ that never really gets you very wet but can wreak havoc on carefully curled hair, the place where the famous pink toe truck used to reside.  And now, I can add a new item to my long list of things I love about Seattle:  El Gaucho. 

It’s supposedly a very well known steakhouse, though I had never heard of it until last night.  I have it on good authority that Bill Gates takes his guests there (which may explain why I have not heard of it—Bill and I run with slightly different crowds).  Anyway, as we approached the restaurant, I saw a man standing outside the door behind a podium, just like they do at fancy clubs in the movies.  I assumed his purpose was to kindly decline admittance to those who were not cool enough to enter, and I had a fleeting moment of panic (perhaps brought on by my recent trip down memory lane) that he wasn’t going to open the door.  Fortunately, I had left my overalls at home, and he just politely held the door as we all trooped in.

The flaming Bananas Foster

The inside was amazing: black-leather covered doors led to a dining room and bar that epitomized ‘classy’.  Elegant black booths sat empty but beautifully set, and the pristine bar was stocked with bottles of what I can only assume were the most expensive liquors.  We were not there for the alcohol (though the cocktails were exceptional).  We were there for dessert.

The waitresses (yes, we had more than one), brought us menus and placed our napkins on our laps.  I ordered the Chocolate Bourbon cake, while my partners in crime requested a house specialty, Bananas Foster.  Both were indescribably delicious.  Yes, I shared my chocolate cake like the polite girl that I am.  Well, I shared two bites.  After that, I was perfectly content to finish off every last candied pecan all by myself.  It was the kind of dessert that’s worth falling off the diet wagon for.  Heck, I’d take a running jump off the diet wagon for that particular cake.  And that’s not all.  At El Gaucho, I was even escorted to the ladies’ room by one of the well-dressed waiters.  Oddly awesome, right?

Here’s to being back in the Pacific Northwest, if only for a month.  I’ve missed it!

Week 18: 20 is the new 30...

The only time it wasn't my fault...

Total Weight Lost: 14 lbs

I’d like to say that the three weeks without my scale were liberating and successful:  I rediscovered my love for fruits, vegetables, and portion control.  I forged a healthy relationship with myself that had nothing to do with a number.  I slipped easily into my ridiculously small jeans.  But that would be a big fat lie.  I’d also like to say that it wasn’t my fault.  I was stressed.  I was tired.  I was too busy, too bored.  But that would also be a big fat lie.  Because the truth is, the only time anybody has put cake in my mouth for me was at my wedding. 

So here is what really happened over the last three weeks.  I did feel a bit liberated without the constant reminder of what effect my dietary choices had on my weight.  On previous Fridays, I would be careful of what I ate because I knew my weigh in was the following day.  But without that annoying detail hanging over me, I felt free to eat all the salt I wanted with my chicken strips and fries.

I figured if my weight got out of hand, I’d notice because my clothes would be tighter.  Seems like a sound theory, right?  There was just one fatal flaw:  you may remember that I wear a lot of elastic pajama pants.  And now that it’s summer, a lot of dresses.  It’s amazing how stretchy cotton can be.  Looking back, I imagine I could have gained about 10 pounds before noticing much of a difference in the way my clothes fit.  It was nothing short of a miracle that I only gained one.

That brings my total weight loss to 14 pounds, which leaves me 16 pounds to go in my last seven weeks, if I want to meet by goal.  And that’s the million dollar question:  do I want to meet my goal?  Sure, it would be great to see what I look like at a BMI of 22, but honestly, I think that weight will not be sustainable for me.  After all, I haven’t weighed that little since my sophomore year of high school.  And I didn’t even have hips yet then.

I’m not giving up on my goal; I intend to keep going with weight watchers and see where my body wants to be.  But I don’t intend to start starving myself or exercising 2 hours a day just to get to that point by my 30th birthday.  Especially since I’ll be on vacation for four of my seven remaining weeks.  I don’t know about you all, but I usually don’t come back from vacation weighing less than I did when I left.

I think my new goal by my 30th is to be down twenty pounds.  I like this new goal for a couple of reasons.  For one, I will be at the weight I was when Allison turned one.  And though I could see all kinds of flaws at the time, I look back at the pictures and think:  Holy schmoly I looked GOOD!  Hindsight is 20/20, and in my case a bit conceited.

The other reason I like the new twenty pound goal?  It’s what my doctor suggested.  When he told me I should only expect to lose a couple of pounds a month, I was a bit disappointed.  And skeptical.  I thought surely I’d be able to lose a bit more than that.  But maybe he knew what he was talking about.  Maybe.  He does have a degree in medicine after all.

So here’s to “Twenty by Thirty.”  Am I copping out by making my goal easier?  Maybe.  But I’ll still be twenty pounds lighter.  My BMI will be well within the normal limits.  I’ll still have done my body a favor by watching what I eat and exercising daily.  And maybe I’ll look back at pictures of my 30th birthday and think, “Holy schmoly I looked good!”.

Week 15: I feel pretty....

Total Weight Lost: ??

My apologies for being late with my blog, again.  This week’s tardiness had nothing to do with a sudden inexplicable crankiness.  Quite the opposite really.  I was just too busy baking (and eating) cookies and scarfing down other forbidden foods to sit down and write.  Also, I didn’t want to get chocolate on my keyboard.

Yes, I’m admitting it.  I had a rough week diet-wise.  Though quite honestly, I think a few days a month where you completely ignore the rules of dieting are necessary.  Seeing your clothes get looser and feeling energetic and in control is nice.  But so is sitting lethargically on the couch eating ice cream and chips right out of their containers.  Which pretty much sums up my week.

I felt terrific at the beginning of the week.  My pre-pregnancy clothes, with the exception of one ridiculously tiny pair of jeans that I’m beginning to suspect must have shrunk in the wash, fit.  I felt healthy and strong.  I had been flossing my teeth.  I liked what I was seeing in the mirror.  I was, in fact, feeling so good about myself that I was half-way through a very enthusiastic, albeit tone-deaf, solo performance of West Side Story’s “I Feel Pretty” one morning when I made the mistake of getting on the scale.

To my horror, the scale read higher than it had the previous week.  Perhaps a saner person than myself would have hopped right back off again and finished the song with a flourish.  Not me, my friends.  Not me.  I, instead, spent the remainder of the week sitting lethargically on the couch eating ice cream and chips out of their containers.  But ces’t la vie.  You win some, you lose some.  Or more appropriately: you lose some, you gain some.

Anyway, as of today I’m off the couch and back on the proverbial wagon.  In an effort to avoid what I will refer to as “scale paranoia,” I am putting up the scale for the next three weeks.  The next time I weigh myself will be Saturday, July 2nd, which coincidentally is the day before I leave for Washington!

In happier news, I took Allie to watch the senior recital of Ballet Caliente, a school of dance here in Southern Maryland.  It was amazing, and Allie loved watching all the dancers in their beautiful costumes.  I am thinking of signing her up for dance this fall.  Even if she is so unfortunate as to inherit my lack of grace and coordination, she will still look adorable in a tutu.

Ready for the Fairy Festival

Week 14: The Elusive 8 Hours

Total Weight Lost:  15 lbs (half way there!!)

There are plenty of articles out about the correlation between getting enough sleep and successful weight loss.  Just google ‘weight loss + sleep’ and see for yourself.  Why is sleep so important?  Maybe it’s simple:   maybe people who are sleep deprived need to drink more high calorie caffeinated beverages and eat more donuts at meetings to keep themselves from falling asleep.  Or it may be more complicated:  is there some link between metabolism and REM sleep?  Whatever the reason, it seems experts agree that sleep is a vital component of a healthy lifestyle.

Unfortunately for me, a healthy amount of sleep remains ever elusive.  My sleep deprivation is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a mystery.  I know the exact cause.  Well, causes.  There are two.  I fondly refer to them as Allison and Nicole, and when I am not feeling so fond, I refer to them as Alarm Clocks One and Two (AC1/2). 

It’s not that I had perfect sleep habits before having children.  In high school, I got up at 5 am for jazz band and often didn’t get home again until after 10 pm.  In college, I got in the habit of staying up until 3 am and waking up at 7:50 for my 8 am calculus class.  But I was young and invincible; I had weekends and summer vacations to catch up on sleep. 

After Chris and I were married, we seemed to have copious amounts of sleep.  We were on a pretty regular schedule during the week, and weekends were for sleeping in, lazing around watching Smallville, and squeezing in afternoon naps.  We scheduled the odd vacation or two where we had even more time for sleep.  Like our first anniversary trip to Bull Shoals Lake in Arkansas.  We were so well rested we had time for various other activities, which resulted in Allison nine months later and the end of sleep as we knew it.

Allison has many charming attributes, but ‘good sleeper’ has never been among them.  I blame myself to some extent.  I had little experience with babies, and I honestly didn’t realize you had to teach babies to sleep.  I figured Allie would just fall asleep on her own if she was tired, like I did.  She was over a year by the time I got her on a regular nap schedule, and though we had weaned her from night feedings by 9 months, she was still waking up multiple times a night by 18 months.  I remember waking up to her wails, stumbling into her room, and patting her back, willing her to go back to sleep.  I’d slowly remove my hand and count to one hundred before attempting to creep out of her room.  Sadly, by this time in my life, my knees had started to pop.  More often than not my creaking joints would wake her when I tried to leave, and I’d have to start all over again.

Chris eventually convinced me to let her work it out on her own at night, which led to a brief interval of good nights for all.  We were so giddy from being well rested that we decided to have another child.  Of course, a baby on the way meant that it was time to move Allison out of her crib: a move that would seemingly squash all hope of a full night of sleep.  Ever.  Again.

Because it is virtually impossible to force a child to stay in her ‘big girl’ bed.  You can the lock the door (believe me, we’ve tried), but you can’t control what she chooses to do behind that locked door.  And AC1 rarely chooses to sleep.  Besides, once you’ve started potty training, a child without an exit plan is the last thing you want.

Which brings me to the situation we are facing now.  Allie gets up anywhere from one to four times every night.  The list of reasons she gives for being out of bed is long and varied:  “I need to go potty.”
    “I ran out of water.”
    “Will you please sit on my bed?”
    “Something is wrong with my blanket!”
    “I need a glass of milk.”
    “I fell out of bed”
And my personal favorite, “Mommy, may I please have a hug?”

And that’s just during the hours that it remains dark.  As soon as it’s light outside, we face a multitude of other bedroom visits:  “Mommy, it’s light outside, it is time to get up!”
    “Mommy, is it morning yet?”
    “Mommy, now is it morning?”
    “Mommy, I think it’s morning.”

We solved these issues to some extent by insisting that she stay in her room until 7 am.  If she wakes up before then, she has quiet time in her room.  It’s not fool proof.  Most mornings, we spend more time asking Allie to go back to her room than actually sleeping, but at least we are still lying in bed.  Exactly at seven, our favorite little early bird is back in our room:  “Mommy, it is seven now.  My clock has a seven on it, and I see yours does too.  That means it’s time to get up.  Get up, Mommy.  Get up!!”  At least she is cheerful.

Nicole has been a much better sleeper so far.  She gets up at most once a night, and she just eats and goes back to sleep.  She has been known to sleep in until 9 am, and is rarely up before 7.  But between Nicole’s once nightly wake up call and Allie’s 3 or 4 nightly visitations, there is not a whole lot of sleeping going on in our household.  Which makes me hope that, at least for now, a healthy diet and exercise routine is enough.  Maybe there will be time for sleep in eighteen
years...