Sugar Story

I was reading a recent entry by Jeanne of "Not Born to Run" infamy on her recent commitment to not eat sugar and thought it might be time to tell the tale of my own adventures with sugar.

Sugar's been a mainstay of my diet since childhood. When I was in grade school it was a very hip-slick-and-cool thing to bring a box of Jello for a snack. That's right. Put your finger in your mouth, dip your finger into the box of Jello, return your finger to your mouth. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat.

Lime-flavored crack. Had we thought to snort it there would have been a schoolyard full of sugar-crazed kids with green powder residue on the tip of their noses. Solitary adolescent souls searching their next hit of strawberry dope in the local Piggley-Wiggley. Wild knee-high party-goers with lampshades on their heads throwing back chasers of Mountain Dew laced with hallucinagenic orange sugar dust. Pass me a line of Blueberry Bliss or some of that south-of-the-border Raspberry Razamadaz. Groovy Baby.

As the years rolled on I continued getting more rolly-polly from chasing the sugar dragon. It wasn't out of the norm for me to eat an entire gallon of ice cream in an evening, polish off a two pound bag of M&M's, or make a batch of raw chocolate chip cookie dough disappear before it ever found it's way onto a cookie sheet. A six pack of Dilly Bars from DQ. Heaven on a stick, dipped in chocolate.

A little sugar is fine; moderation is a beautiful thing. I just didn't have the power to be moderate when it came to sweets because I was and am addicted to the stuff. A certifiable sugar junkie.

I was an addict because when I wasn't eating sugar, I was either feeling physically and emotionally sick about what I'd just eaten or planning for what I was going to eat next. There was no down time when it came to sugar. It had my full attention. Sit at home with a bowl of ice cream or go for a walk, visit a friend, stroll through the museum? Is that a question or a joke? Nothing was better than eating something sweet with sugar.

I was an addict because my addiction was continuing progressing. A little sugar was never enough because I always wanted more. Bet you can't eat just one! Sure I can...one box, one container, one package, one carton, one gallon, or one jar. Not a problem. Easy-peasy. But even then, even when the one was huge, it wasn't enough. A little like the "recreational drug user" who given enough time goes from using on the weekends to every night to all through the night to being the next candidate for a featured role on "Invention."

I was an addict because I couldn't stop even though I clearly saw what it was doing to me pound by pound by pound. The weight I was gaining was limiting my life and making my world smaller and smaller as I got bigger and bigger. I was miserable but I couldn't stop.

And I was a sugar addict because sugar is an addictive substance. Just like alcohol, heroin, cocaine or marijuana, ingesting sugar has been found to increase the serotonin levels in the brain and the higher those levels are the calmer and happier you feel. Of course, the calmer and happier only lasted for minutes compared to the hours of feeling horrible but still, had sugar been made illegal and the price of Snickers spiked to 100 dollars a bar, I would have been selling packets of table sugar on the streets to earn enough to buy a mini-snack size of the chocolatey caramelly nutty treat.

Fast forward to January 1999. Phatgirl weighs in at 325 pounds and feels sick and tired and willing to try anything. And that's when....drumroll please.....I. Gave. Up. Sugar.

Statistics now calculate that the average American consumes approximately 135 pounds of sugar per year. That's 2-3 pounds of sugar a week, up from less than 1/2 pound twenty years ago. After some rough calculations, I've estimated that by the age of 26 and a 1/2 I'd eaten my life time quo of sugar so nada mas for me.

In my last few years sans sugar here are some little sugar-free tidbits:

1. Read labels. Even if you don't keep a bag of pure cane sugar in your pantry, it's still there in foods like breakfast cereals, mayonnaise, seasonings, peanut butter, microwave popcorn, soda pop, spaghetti sauces, ketcup, canned kidney beans and in a surprisingly high percentage of the cans, jars, boxes, bags, and packages whereyou would least suspect to find it. While limiting all sugar is impossible, try to avoid foods that list sugar in the top five ingredients.
   


2. Sugar by any other name is still sugar. Corn syrup, dextrose, sucrose, dextrose, lactrose, cane syrup, cane sugar, molasses, maple syrup, and yes, honey. Even though honey is natural sugar and not refined sugar, it's still comprised primarily of simple sugar and contains more calories (65 per tablespoon) than common table sugar (48 per tablespoon). The only difference is that it's sugar that's gone through the body of a bee on its way to your blood stream. And remember, "sugar-free" doesn't mean "calorie-free."
   
   
3. I gave up sugar all at once instead of cutting back gradually and that worked for me because the sooner the sugar is out of the system, the sooner the cravings will diminish. In other words, I only wanted to snap the fingertips of anyone who stood between me and a Hostess Cupcake for a couple weeks instead of a couple months. How long it takes clean out the system is up for grabs but time varies between 21-30 days.
   


4. Once the physical craving diminished then I just need to tackle the emotional cravings or mental obsession; those ideas that told me that it wasn't really my birthday if you I didn't eat a piece of cake or starting the day without Starbuck's cinnamon crumb cake made it hardly worth getting out of bed in the morning. Those were just feelings and feelings pass and as time went along they passed quicker and showed up less and less. That doesn't mean I never hear the pastry shelves at the coffee shop talking to me but it's more of a whisper than a shout.
   
   
5. I use Splenda as a sweetener, however the truth is the more I use it the more I crave sweet things that I see in the dessert aisle at the store. It just tends to keep that sweet thang going. When I minimize my intake of artificial sweeteners or remove them altogether, that's when I have the easiest time.
   


6. The first 40 pounds I lost came from giving up sugar without making any other changes to my food or adding exercise. Even if you don't make any other change to how you eat, if you only give up sugar there's every chance you'll end up with a weight loss.
   
   
7. Despite popular opinion there actually is life after chocolate and caramel and an apple with cinnamon or frozen grapes can be considered both fruit and dessert.

I'm not saying everyone should give up sugar. Believe me, if I could eat a dessert once in a while, or nibble on one cookie and then put the rest of the package away, or walk away from a half-eaten scone then I'd be eating sugar. But I can't so I gave it up. Out of necessity. And as a result life is sweeter than ever!

The Queen Rejoices

I am spoiled. SpoiledSpoiledSpoiledSpoiled. But then, should royalty expect less? I, Queen Phatgirl am now the happy late Christmas gift recipient, courtesy of my wife and the UPS delivery guy, of a Sony portable DVD player, suitable for viewing at my gym on my Nautilus TreadClimber® TC916. Pardon me while a queen speaks like a commoner but ----

Yippee Skippee!

It's not that I haven't enjoyed moving to the groove of RuPaul singing "Looking Good, Feeling Gorgeous" but after two years it was edging up on my last sweaty nerve. Now, the entire world of film media is mine! What shall it be first? Treadclimbing to vintage episodes of "Thirtysomething," weeping on the elliptical to "Terms of Endearment" or shall I say it, enjoying the sight of Grey's Anatomy's McDreamy and McSteamy while I'm PhatGirl McSweaty? Oh joy. Oh bliss. As the great theologian and all around good neighbor Mister Roger's observed "What a lovely day in the neighborhood suburban gym!"

Speaking of which, the gym I mean, this has been a full out cardio-kickin' week despite a drippy-nose-sore-throat-nasty-cough cold. I know, just the kind of gymrat you want to follow onto a piece of exercise equipment but hey, that's yet another reason why pre-moistened disposable disinfectant cloths are such a great idea!

And in other news, in getting ready to begin training again I have an upcoming visit to the podiatrist scheduled to deal forcefully, once and for all, with the ongoing exploits of The Evil Twins, those two mad-cap zany toes that began their comedic rise to fame on my first day of training last year and continue to dazzle audiences and sneakers everywhere. I've cottled them too much. Custom soles, top end powerwalking socks, cutting escape hatches in the top of brand-new running shoes, hot baths, ointment soaks, and ridiculously expensive medicine. The time has come to just end the misery and rip our little annoying knuckleheads off. Let me clarify. The toe nails, not the toes. The end. The final curtain call. Say "Goodnight Gracie."

PhatGirl's Deep Dark Secret

After reading my last entry my wife offered up a gentle suggestion that went something like this, "So Honey, why don't you blog something about, oh, I don't know, walking maybe?" Apparently she's under the impression that a blog called phatgirlwalking should occasionally mention none other than...walking. Fine. Okay. I can do that.

In a nutshell, I started walking in January 2006 and over the next nine months kept walking, training first for a half marathon in July and then a full marathon in October. I logged somewhere around 500 miles more or less during that time. Since pulling a DNF at the Portland Marathon I discontinued walking. First, there was a full month off for recovery and physical therapy and then in November I started back to the gym and have been going nearly everyday with cardio six days a week punched with two to three sessions a week with D_wn, my personal trainer.

Here's the thing. When I was logging all my miles outside I couldn't have imagined spending time in the gym unless it was 20 degrees below or 100 degrees above celsius. No, more than that. I mocked those who did. Why would anyone choose to walk for a couple hours on a boring dreadmill in a stuffy room when you could set out from your front door, walking in a half-dozen directions, each with its own sights and sounds and surprises? I was an outdoor-training snob and proud of it, thank you very much. But something has happened over the past couple months. I've fallen in love with the gym and it's recirculated air, the stiff white terry cloth towels, the clanging weight machines, the sound of Britney Spears singing "Oops, I Did It Again" pulsing through the sound system, and yes, D_wn my perky and adorable personal trainer. It seems that Phatgirl has become a gymrat.

All fine and good except for one little thing. Later this month I need to begin my sixteen week training schedule to prepare for a half-marathon in April and I've come to realize that I'm actually dreading the idea of leaving the cozy artificial environment of my gym cocoon for the highways and byways of the great out-of-doors a few days a week. This surprises no one more so than it does me, Phatgirl. Can anyone else relate?

Adventures in Cheese

I'm in bed with a cold. Within reach is a box of Kleenex, the tv remote, the cordless phone, a couple chewable Zicams, a bottle of Robitussin and two cats that have been vying for position all morning long; Annie wrapped around my head on the pillow and Tweety at my feet. I've already had my sick naps, dozing to the sound of the TV, and eaten a sugarfree popsicle because you eat popsicles when you're sick. Even if you don't like them, you're suppose to eat them. Fortunately for me, sugarfree popsicles are my methodone for real sugar food so I'm more than happy to ingest. I share my health status to serve as a warning. I'm bored and when I'm bored I blog. About absolutely nothing. As if you needed proof...

Christmas 2006 will forever be known as the Year of the Cheese. Delice D'Argental Triple-Cream. Shaved Parmigiano Reggiano. Mascarpone. Smoked Gouda. Stilton Blue. Sharp Cheese. Brie. With fruit. With Crackers. With Fig Jam. With dates and almonds and chocolate-dipped strawberries. All accompanied by the muffled sound of arteries gurgling with cholesterol. I served some gorgeous cheese platters at our house over the holidays but I am so over cheese. All cheese has been banished forthwith from the house with the exception of a single package of Kraft No-Fat Shredded Cheddar (can you even call that cheese?) in it's handy-reusuable bag and four mini-wheels of Laughing Cow Original Cheese.

All this cheese talk reminds me of the first vacation Dana and I took as a couple six years ago to the Pacific Northwest for the ritual show-n-tell of new relationships. You know how it goes. We've all done it to one extent or another. You kidnap the other person, trapping them into the passenger seat of your preferred mode of transportation, and take them on a guided tour of all the sites from your former life, former life being loosely defined as all time that occurred prior to meeting him/her. It goes something like this: "Here is the house where I grew up. This is street that I walked everyday to school. This is my grade school. This is my high school and that is the bus stop where I caught the bus every afternoon unless I was driving my 1968 Chevy Nova. This is the church where I worked and worshipped. This is my old dry cleaners, my old grocery store, this is where I got my videos, that's the station where I filled up my car with gas." (Blogger's Note: I just read this paragraph to Dana who laughed and said, "You still do that. The information is ceaseless." Compliment or criticism? You decide.)

Cheese. I'm getting to it. Stop nagging.

So on this trip we spent a few days on the Oregon Coast and because everyone had said "Oh, if you're anywhere near Tillamook, you've got to go to the Tillamook Cheese Factory because it's so interesting" and so, like naive children, we went. Dana and I were at the Tillamook Cheese Factory for an hour. Let me now share with you all that we saw and experienced.

We arrived and entered along with a herd of eager cheese tourists. We were led through a hallway that looked down on a factory room filled with shiny stainless steel equipment that, given it was the weekend, wasn't doing anything cheese-like. We were given a free sample taste of cheese the size of a postage stamp and then guided to the predictable Souvenir Shop slash Cheese Store placed stragetically in front of the only escape exit door. While the rest of the cheese mecca worshippers were buying up sharp cheese like it was a blue-light special and ingesting mammoth mountains of Tillamook ice cream we made our hasty retreat.

The best part of our Tillamook Cheese Factory tour is that it was so highly over-rated and dismal disappointment that it's now become our gold standard against which we compare all other less than momentous adventures. "Well Honey, at least it wasn't as bad as the Tillamook Cheeeeeeese Factory," and please note, the word cheese must be articulated as cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeese to signify the ridiculous notion that cheese could ever be worthy of a guided tour in the first place. It's not like we're talking about something as intriguing and spell-binding as Velveeta.

Say Yes

Advanced mea culpa's if what follows sounds more like an audition for a motivational speaker than a simple blog entry. It's just that I'm passionate about this human tendency we have to often settle for less simply because we can't or don't or won't take the action to begin moving us in another direction. If you've read any of my previous blog-o-ramble you know I love my life, and because I treasure so much the quality of my life today I have regret for the years I wasted living a life that was less than it could have been. I wish I could have known myself sooner, found love sooner, opened my eyes to the world sooner, taken care of this phatgirl body sooner. At the same time, I hold each "if only" hand in hand with accepting that the Anita I was, was doing all she knew to do and so I try to go easy on her and remember her gently and treat her compassionately, for while it's true that sooner is better than later, I've come to embrace the idea that later is better than never.

All that I've muttered through in that scrambled first paragraph was just an introduction to say what I intended to say all along and that is this - - -

Yes you can. The only reason you can't is because you won't try.

• You haven't lost weight because you won't get off the couch and make the necessary life changes.
• You haven't began a new career because you won't go back to school to get the training that's required.
• You haven't found love with a special someone because you won't take the chance to ask him or her if they feel the same for you.
• You haven't developed a spiritual connection with God because you won't admit to being reliant on anyone other than yourself.

But it's not too late to have or do or be any of those things. Let 2007 be the year to begin, not to arrive but simply to begin. Everything we long for begins with one small and single action and if you make 2007 the year of beginning your dream, then 2010 can be the year of living your dream.

• If you want to lose weight, look honestly at how you've been eating and change just one thing that will reduce your intake of calories TODAY.
• If you want to get in shape, get up off the couch and walk around the block or go to the gym where you own a life-time membership TODAY. (Don't worry. They'll issue you a new card at minimal cost.)
• If you want to spend your life with a more fulfilling career find out what classes are being offered at the local community college and sign up for one TODAY.
• If you want to find the love of life, make a list of all the virtues and characteristics you would want that special someone to possess and then use that list to begin to transform who you are TODAY. (When we grow into what we want to find in another, the other often finds us.)
• If you long for a spiritual life, to know God as you are known and to love God as you are loved, bend your knees on the floor and tell say "Hello, it's me" TODAY.

When we look at the first step it takes to moving in a direction that will enrich our lives, why do we hesitate to take them? Why don't we do what we need to do to become who we most want to be, to have what we most desire, to be in relationship with who we most yearn to know?

Here's my guess. Fear. Always fear. Afraid we'll fail as we did in past attempts. Afraid we're not young enough or smart enough to learn what we need to learn. Afraid that our heart will be broken or that we'll be rejected. Afraid in needing God we'll look weak or naive or that God won't come through for us or even show up for us. Simply put, we're afraid to risk but you. are. worth. the. risk. And so is your dream. No one you admire in this world has arrived where they are without risk, without failures, without an occasional mess. A life lived without a few failures is a life that never lived to its full potential. Risk the chance.

And remember, the results don't come overnight. Instant gratification is fine for 5-minute rice but it doesn't work for the big dreams of life. Life changes come through decision built upon decision, step after step. Everything great, all that we dream for takes commitment, tendacity, discipline, hard work, and time, and they all begin with that very first step. That moment when we say yes, the instant when we nod our head to the dream and decide we will do whatever it takes, as long as it takes, to move from where we are to where we want to be.

2010 will be here before any of us can imagine so this year take the first action to fulfill the dream of a lifetime. Make the commitment. Do the work. Risk the sacrifice. Put new priorities in place. Say yes. Give a nod.

Electronic Work Out

Argh. Such a day. It started out brilliantly enough with a morning outing to 24-Hour Fitness for an 80 minute session on the Tread Climber. With only four machines that are sought and fought over by ardent fellow gym rats, I was thrilled to see that Santa had delivered six or seven of the premier Precor EFX576i Elliptical machines. Next to the Nautilus Tread Climber, these bad boys get my heart rate pumping and sweat glands flowing like nobody's business, so with more machines as an option to my cardio sessions, I won't have to trip old ladies and knock down old men to get to be one of the fortunate four.

Now, that was all fine and good but that is precisely when paradise ended and purgatory began because the rest of the day was spent attempting to get our home entertainment hooked up...television, cable, tivo, slingbox, universal remote and dvd recorder. Beginning after a naively calm and carefree lunch there's been a one hour in-house installation appointment with Circuit City's FireDog tech support, a return trip to Circuit City to return the tivo and the universal remote, a stop at Comcast to trade in my old cable box for a new DVR box, and five hours spent re-configuring the connections I'd just paid to have done by a trained tech from FireDog. As it turned out when he left the phone line was dead, the dvd recorder didn't record, and the slingbox had no sound; none of these being minor points in my little parcel of terra firma.

Given my limited take-no-prisoners approach to electronics I now have everything up and running, which is to say until the cat dashes behind the television, gets dangled in the mountain of cords, and pulls everything loose. Yes, all is running smoothly on all 457 channels but I wish I could say the same for myself. I haven't even one nerve left in my body let alone 457 of them, I'm as grouchy as a rain-soaked cat and I'm fairly convinced that at one point in the evening while I was lying on my back wedged behind the television with eight cords and only six jacks remaining to put them in, I invented a entirely new language. In reflection it had a rather harsh gutteral quality reminiscent of an ancient Nordic dialect calling forth visions of marauding and pillaging Vikings. No offense intended to the Nordic community.

A noteworthy detail is that Dana wasn't seen all night except when spotted silently slipping downstairs to grab her dinner plate only to dart back seconds later to the relative safety and serenity a closed (and bolted?) door. A wise decision given my temporary emotional and mental state.

Despite all that, it's great to be home from the holidays, preparing my own food, working out at my own gym, and being annoyed by my own cats. All this and 457 channels. Sweet.

[Phatgirl Note: The events of today are what are commonly known as "cadillac problems." In other words, when you have food on the table, a bed to sleep in, a roof over your head, a steady howbeit modest income, your health, and loved ones, the ordinary trials and tribs that pop up in a day are little more than annoyances at worse and opportunities to grow and learn at best. Perspective kids, it's all about perspective.]

Christmas Nighty-Nite

Mom's on one couch reading. Dana's on the other napping. I'm on the Lazyboy blogging. Just the end of another Christmas Day and a fine one at that. The full stage production of a family Christmas took place on Christmas Eve with an ensemble cast of 31 siblings, nieces, nephews, great-nieces, great-nephews and an assortment of spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends, significant others and a puppy named Reed. It was a wonderful, joyful, wild, noisy, and slightly chaotic clan gathering making the peace and quiet of this present moment a welcomed end to the holiday fanfare.

Christmas Day as a whole has been on the mellow side beginning this morning. I'm happy to report that Santa was able to locate Dana and I at the Embassy Suites where we're staying because this morning the Diet Coke and Rice Cake we left out for the white-bearded fellow (yes, we did) were gone and lo and behold, there was a stack of presents under the artificial Christmas tree I'd hauled over from Mom's house to our hotel room. As a side note, if you and/or the entire citizenship of Denmark ever runs short on Christmas decorations, just dial 1-800-mymomschristmasstuffisoutofcontrol. She has more than enough for you, every Dane living or dead, and then some.

After opening presents following a thoroughly scrupulous breakfast of scrambled rubber eggs and water tinted with coffee grounds ala hotel and watching the last half hour of "The Christmas Story," (the "You're-Gonna-Shoot-Your-Eye-Out" movie), we headed off with MapQuest directions in hand for Christmas Day worship at a small Lutheran church. There were about 20 people there and they couldn't have been a more hospitable crowd right down to giving Dana and I a gift bag as we departed that included a loaf of homemade banana bread. Now that's a welcome I can get behind! Then it was back to my mom's house for a lunch of turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce and a re-heated plate of everything-else-that-was-leftover-from-Christmas-Eve-dinner, so that we could waddle into the den where we pick up where this blog began.

In the world of training, I managed during the holidaze to get to the gym at dawn on December 23 but haven't done anything since that would even remotely fall under the category of an active lifestyle, let alone exercise. And yes, I miss it and am eager to get my head and hiney and all parts inbetween back to the gym tomorrow upon my return home. The food has been marginally okay. Not great, but okay. The overall quantity of food was fine but the percentage of fat and carbs were at the high end and I feel it. Isn't it weird how your eating can be off for one day and you wake up the next morning fairly convinced you gained 23 pounds overnight, that none of your clothes will fit, and small children will run in fear at your appearance? Maybe it's just me.

Whatever the case may be, that's all I've got to tell you here on Christmas Day evening. Except Merry Christmas, of course. And a very sincere one at that.

Tagged at the Holidays

Jeanne tagged me and I'm not happy about it because my left foot was squarely on safe base! Seeing as it's Christmas and the time for goodwill, peace and all that there, I'm going to acquiesce and play nice. Just don't try it again o' ye who was not born to run.

1. Egg nog or hot chocolate? Holiday or ordinary day, it's four shots of espresso over ice, four Splendas and a splash of whole milk.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? The old man had better wrap them! Unless it's a puppy. Than a bow will do just fine.

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? Always colored lights. And just let me add a public service announcement that I'm so over those white icicle outdoor lights, so please, by all means, lose them and go back to real single string Christmas lights.

4. Do you hang mistletoe? No. I don't require props to get the desired results.

5. When do you put your decorations up? When the guilt becomes too overwhelming.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? Mom's raspberry mold jello with whipped cream. Mom gave my sister and I the recipe years ago and to date neither of us have been able to get the jello to set up properly. Apparently, our Mom is taking the actual recipe with her to the grave.

7. Favorite holiday memory as a child? Christmas at my Grandma and Grandpa's at the dairy. A table loaded down with food, bubblelights on the tree, stacks of presents that reached to my nose, singing "Joy to the World" accompanied by organ music, and Uncle Ulphin disappearing only minutes before Santa would appear to hand out our presents.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I don't know what you mean and I certainly don't like what you're implying.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Only when no one is looking. As a child I had the habit of carefully peeling the scotch tape off the end of my presents whenever my parents would leave the house to see what I was getting before putting them carefully back under the tree. One year, I discovered a clear plastic bear from Avon filled with bubble bath. I got so excited about it that I poured half the bubble liquid into the bathtub, took a bath, wrapped the half-empty bear back into the box and had it hidden back under the tree before Mom and Dad returned home from eating dinner with their friends. That Christmas as the family gathered around the tree to open their presents, I opened my bubble bath bear (for the second time) and before I could even finish my great "Oh boy, this is a great present, I'm so surprised!" performance, my mom looked at me, looked at the bear, looked at me, looked at the bear, and then hooked her finger in that "get over here now little woman" way. Suffice it to say, I don't know whatever became of the bubble bath bear and the remaining liquidy soap. Christmas after Christmas I keep waiting...and hoping....

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree? Colored balls and a weird assortment of this and that collected over the years, along with one handpainted wooden gingerbread man my mom and I painted when I was a little girl. The colored lights have already been established (see 3) although Dana has to string the lights because I get way too frustrated with the whole process.

11. Snow! Love it or dread it? Love it. Miss it. Want it.

12. Can you ice skate? Only if I don't mind going into the holidays with a few broken limbs and a sore behind.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift? A little black and white color television from my grandma when I was about nine. I was in heaven.

14. What's the most important thing about the holidays for you? I'm going to have to opt for the birth of Jesus and the whole nativity, baby in a manger, angels exalting, shepherds adoring, Son of God in flesh extravaganza. That my little peeps, is the Christmas story and it doesn't get better than that, with all respect to the jolly fat man.

15. What is your favorite holiday dessert? Mandarin oranges and dates. In childhood it was the three-tiered cookies that looked like little Christmas trees my Grandma made every year.

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? Going to a candlelight worship service on Christmas Eve.

17. What tops your tree? Nada. Our tree is usually so small that putting anything on the top makes it look rather Charlie Brown-esque.

18. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving? Giving without a doubt, not that I've ever turned down a gift...

19. What is your favorite Christmas song? "I'll Be Home for Christmas" and in traditional carols, "Oh, Come All Ye Faithful."

20. Candy canes? I avoid stripes. They make me look fat.

Merry Christmas from PhatGirlElf

A Special Greeting from Me to You. Not you. YOU!
(You'll want the sound on...and then again, maybe you won't.)

Monday's Check-In Revisited

D_wn pulled out the measuring tape today and I'm encouraged, particularly the loss of almost five inches around the waist. When I was measured on November 28 my Lean Body Mass had dropped to 129 from 135. which meant I was losing muscle along with the fat as a result of not having enough protein in my diet. Over the past couple weeks by increasing my protein my LBM has gone back up to 133...a good thing.

November 6

• Body Fat Percentage 37.1
• Fat Mass 80.13
• LBM 135.86
• Upper Arm 14
• Forearm 10.5
• Chest 43.25
• Waist 43.75
• Hip 49.25
• Thigh 25.5
• Calf 17.5

December 20

• Body Fat Percentage 34
• Fat Mass 68.68
• LBM 133.32
• Upper Arm 13.5
• Forearm 10
• Chest 41.5
• Waist 38.9
• Hip 46.75
• Thigh 25.5
• Calf 17

Monday Check-In

December 11 Check-In
202

December 18 Check-In
203

I'm not discouraged by the one pound weight gain since I've been staying on target with both the food and exercise. Call it water weight, trading fat for muscle, or a simple prank of the scale gods, but my jeans are looser and I know I'm doing what I need to be doing so I'm not bothered by it. D_wn will be measuring me in a couple days so we have a final set of measurements for 2006 and hopefully there will be some results there.

While I remain just as diligent around my food choices I haven't been as diligent in logging it at CalorieKing but I'm committed to continuing to do that because awareness around the food is something that can grow fuzzy for me unless I take the additional step after or before eating to writing it down. I can end up forgetting a mid-afternoon snack here or something I added to my lunch there and it all adds up, one bite at a time.

Daily Caloric Intake
Tuesday, 12-12
1700 calories
Wednesday, 12-13
1465 calories
Thursday, 12-14
1395 calories
Friday, 12-15
1498 calories
Saturday, 12-16
1357 calories
Sunday, 12-17
Approximately 1500 calories (didn't use Calorie King today)
Monday, 12-18
736 calories but no dinner or night snack yet

Daily Exercise Log
Tuesday, 12-12
70 minutes on Tread Climber
Wednesday, 12-13
50 minutes with personal trainer, 60 minutes on Tread Climber
Thursday, 12-14
70 minutes on Tread Climber
Friday, 12-15
50 minutes with personal trainer, 60 minutes on Tread Climber
Saturday, 12-16
Zippity doo dah
Sunday, 12-17
Nada mas mi hermanos y hermanas
Monday, 12-18
60 minutes on the Tread Climber, 45 minutes with personal trainer, 5 minutes on Elliptical

Too Cozy for Cardio

This is Day 2 in the No Gym for Phatgirl saga. Yesterday was consumed with the gingerbread house extravaganza at the church which required no less recovery time than what's recommended for runners following a marathon. If you think I exaggerate then clearly you haven't spent four hours with twenty children and a truckload of sugar. That was Day 1.

Day 2 began at church where between the children's time and the sermon the congregation surprised me with a very sweet rendition of "Happy Birthday" and flowers presented by the children. Not your typical worship service granted, but that it happened on the exact anniversary of a very painful experience in another church...well...it meant the world to me and was a God-moment if ever there was one. After church Dana took me to the Christmas Dicken's Fair at the Cow Palace in San Francisco as a late birthday gift and then it was home to nap. Oh sure, I could have gone to the gym tonight but that would have required changing out of my jammies that I've had on since early evening, turning off the electric blanket that I'm snuggly tucked under, and missing the season finale of Survivor. All I can tell you is it's cold out there people and I'm just not hip on going back out into it.

But the truth? Though I can't get my body to move out the door to the gym, I miss going. I can't believe I just said that with my out loud voice. Two days of no gym time since I began my committed "until my money runs out" relationship with D_wn, my personal trainer, and I miss it. I think I realized how much working out was meaning to me on Friday when I got teary-eyed during my work out. I was standing in front of the mirror lifting weights when I imagined what the 40 year old Anita would have thought to see the 50 year old Anita in the gym on her birthday feeling so good and looking so good. The 40 year old Anita would never have believed it and that's why the boo-hoo moment. And that's why I can hardly wait to go to the gym tomorrow where my Tread Climber and Personal Trainer will do everything in their combined power to whoop my butt. Ain't gonna happen!

The Hardest Work Out Yet!

Who needs to pay a personal trainer, when you can simply organize a gingerbread house decorating party for 20 children between the ages of 2 - 11, corral them for games, herd them for lunch, flip a couple dozen grilled cheese sandwiches, benchpress a mega-pot of chicken noodle soup, chase down adolescent boys who repeatedly confuse the altar table for a fort, clean up the mess that remains when preschoolers are given squeeze bags of frosting and a quarter ton of candy, and bada-bing-bada-boom, you've had yourself a full-body work out and the time of your life! Be afraid D_wn, be very afraid.

It was a great day, a really, really great day. A funny, delightful, silly, and adorable day. It simply does not get any better than this, and the best part of it all? I get to be the really nice lady who plays games with them and shovels heaps of candy in their direction and then happily hugs them goodbye as they head home with their parent(s), wired up like the annual Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. The adored hero to preschoolers, the troublesome instigator to parents. It's a tough job but somebody's got to do it.

So what did you do today? And if it involved a nap, I don't even want to hear about it.

There's More than 10 Years Between 40 and 50

Today is my birthday. I'm allowed to be reflective and sentimental. I make no apologies.

I don't remember every detail of my 40th birthday but I remember enough. I was 325+ pounds and uncomfortable in my own skin. I was living in a house that never felt like a home. I had a job that was unfulfilling. I was in a relationship that never felt like love and was doomed from the start. I was unhappy. I was miserable. I excelled in self-loathing and was in every likelihood not the best candidate for a friend. I was, and I put this mildly, a physical, emotional and spiritual car crash. A bad one.

Ten years later and another world, another life. I weigh just under 200 pounds and enjoy moving this body, pushing this body, living in this body. I live in a home that feels like a home; a safe place in the world and sometimes from the world. I have a job that's meaningful and ministry that fulfills me, and I'm blessed beyond measure to be in a relationship that feels like love because it is love; the truest of love. A love I never could have anticipated and would have never had the nerve to ask for had I even known such love was possible. I'm more than happy. I'm overjoyed by my life and grateful for even the messy days, even the knock-you-down-and-suck-the-air-out-of-your-lungs days. I'm awed God has done all this for me, been so generous with me, so thoughtful of me. Thank you. Thank you so much.

And here is a simple thing but a wonderful thing. The best moment of my 50th birthday was this. . .listening to a message on the phone from my mom singing "Happy Birthday." Her voice was raspy and weak and the tune at times a tad off pitch but it would have put the Vienna Boys Choir to shame with it's sweetness.

Sunrise Sweat

I went to the gym this morning. At 5:20 a.m. Were I Catholic I'd call for a priest to perform an exorcism because clearly something is alarmingly wrong with that. Even more alarming is that I enjoyed being at the gym at 5:20 in the morning sweating on my favorite Nautilus Commercial Series Tread Climber TC916, that being the one located the furthest from the mirrored wall right next to the step climbers and conveniently located so that televisions one through fourth are within close visual range. I love my Tread Climber, and the truth be told, I'm pretty sure my Tread Climber loves me. It's just a feeling.

I wore my favorite gym teeshirt, the one I recently bought from Threadless T-Shirts in preparation for turning 50 tomorrow that reads "So far this is as old as I've ever been." I love it so much I bought two. One for the gym and one not for the gym. Of course, I've already mixed them up and so I'm not sure which is which. Kind of like a parent with their twin newborns. Okay, maybe not just like that. I'm not sure if I should tell you why it's my favorite. Maybe that would be too much information. Wait. I forgot it's you I'm talking to and these are the kinds of things we share, being blog buddies and all. Okay, my "So far..." shirt is my favorite for the gym because my sweat really shows in it and I love looking sweaty because it makes me feel so athletically hipslick'ncool. Tell me truthfully, did I cross the line by telling you that? Of course, if I did, it's not as if it would be the first time and all odds suggest it won't be the last. In other words, if you continue reading my blog, you best get accustomed to useless bits of too much information.

So here I am. An hour and a half of cardio behind me, a stop in at the local coffee shop where I just had to say "my usual please", a long hot shower, time spent sipping coffee and talking in bed with my significant other, a bowl of yogurt and fresh raspberries, and a blog entry. All before 8:30 a.m. and the entire day is still in front of me. Sweet.

The Biggest Loser and a Box of Kleenex

I'm watching "The Biggest Loser" finale on Tivo at the moment and I have no problem admitting I'm teary-eyed and snotty-nosed. These are my people after all. Century people. People who were morbidly, dangerously obese and have lost a 100 or more pounds. We might not have a clubhouse or a secret handshake but we're all connected in a way that's hard to explain, but it boils down to this. We know.

We know what it's like to have looked in the mirror and not been able to see ourselves, who we knew we really were under all the flesh and fat that hid us. We know what it's like to have had the other passengers on a plane watch as we squeezed down the aisle with a look on their faces that said "I hope that huge person isn't sitting in the seat next to me." We know the humilitation of not having fit through a store turnstile or into a restaurant booth, and to have been treated in public as if we weren't there because somehow the bigger we were the more invisible we were. And most of all, we know what it was like to have wanted more than anything to just fit in, to look normal, to have tried everything and anything to lose weight only to find ourselves powerless in the end to change anything. And after trying and trying for so long we had given up. We had said that was how we were and how we would always be. Nothing had worked and nothing ever would, and so we gave up all hope and accepted that we would die fat and we would probably die young, and we only hoped when the end came they wouldn't need to bury us in a piano crate.

And then something happened; a something that was different for all of us. Maybe it was the burning desire to live long enough to accompany our newborn child into their adulthood and not miss a single minute more of their lives than was our destiny. Perhaps a doctor looked us in the eyes and suggested that the next time we wanted a donut we should consider picking up a handgun instead because it would be quicker and less painful in the end. Maybe it was growing so sick and tired of how our lives were going we couldn't bear it another day. Perhaps it was hitting the bottom of despair with a thud and having no other way to go but up and accepting that nothing we had tried on our own worked so we reached out for help and support from others, some to a 12-step recovery meeting, some to Weight Watchers and others to "The Biggest Loser."

So I'm teary-eyed and snotty-nosed because just as I know the pain and humilation they've been through in their lives, I know the joy they're experiencing now in hope restored and a the goal of a lifetime reached. I know when they look in the mirror today they see the person they knew was there all along just waiting to get out. I'm so happy for all of them, for their chance to participate in a life that up to now they've only watched from the sidelines. They've done an incredible thing; so incredible that only those of us who have "been there and done that" can really appreciate...because we know.

Just So You Know. . .

I haven't forsaken the whole notion of marathon walking. Be assured there are no future plans to rename my blog PhatgirlCalorieCounting or PhatgirlGymRat. The truth is that behind the scenes I've actually been wrapping my little pea brain around getting ready for my upcoming two half-marathons in April and July and my second stab at the Portland Marathon in October. This is what I've done to prepare:

1. I've registered for all three events.
2. I've booked hotel reservations for all three events.
3. I've reserved a portable refrigerator (mother of all necessities) for all three hotels at all three events.

And then there's actually training for the events, she said while slapping her forehead in mock astonishment, and that's why last night I pulled out my worn torn but never forlorn copy of Marathoning for Mortals by the Most Penguin John Bingham and plotted out my training schedule for 2007. Let me just say two things. Two things for now. Later. More. Much more.

Thing Number One: My training schedule for the coming year is different from my previous training. Most significantly, there's only one 20-mile training walk instead of the two 20-milers I did last summer and rather than only having two weeks between the 20-miler and the marathon, I'll have three weeks. I could just about do a happy dance over thing Number One. Actually, I'm going to step away from the computer for a moment to polka. I'll be right back.

Thing Number Two: Okay, follow this little sychronistic happening. When I track my training schedule backward from the date of the marathon in October to the half-marathon in July my long distance walk for that weekend is 12 miles, and when I work forward from the April half-marathon to the July half-marathon there are just the right amount of weeks to keep to an exact training schedule. Smooth as glass baby, smoooooth as glass.

So there you go. While D_wn, my Personal Tyrant, rules my universe at the present, in the future I will return to the hills and dells and trails with hoofers pounding the pavement.

By the way, Dana told me today that I needed to blog more regularly or my fanbase would disappear. You wouldn't abandon me. Would you?

Monday Check - In

November 20 Check-In
206

December 11 Check-In
202

Weekly Caloric Intake and Exercise Log
While I continue to log every calorie in (food consumed) and calorie out (toil and sweat) on www.calorieking.com, I won't bore you with the play by play day by day, but will instead dazzle you with these little stats:

Tuesday, December 4 through Monday, December 11
1400-1850 calories per day
60 minutes cardio on the Nautilus Tread Climber and 100 crunches per day

That's what I'm talkin' about! So, it looks like I'm averaging a weight loss of about 1.0 - 1.5 pounds a week and while that wouldn't keep me above the yellow line on "The Biggest Loser" I'm content with the progress. Content and hopeful in that this might be the time when Phatgirl finally sheds the surplus. And on that happy thought I'm calling it a night Boys and Girls.

Catalog Chaos

Dear Land's End, Eddie Bauer, PotteryBarn, Nordstrom's, Levenger, Savannah's Candy Kitchen, Solutions, Garnet Hill, Bloomingdale's, Hammacher Schlemmer, Harry & David, Hickory Farms, Monterey Bay, Plow & Hearth, Williams Sonoma, Sony, Dell Computers, Appleseeds, Carol Wright Gifts, Abbey Press, Frontgate, Sharper Image, Red Envelope, Hallmark, Lennox, Chiasso, Crate and Barrel, Popcorn Factory, Disney Store, Hershey's, Omaha Steaks, House of Almonds, Vermont Country Store, Lane Bryant, Silhouettes, Roaman's, Sierra Trading Post, Touch of Class, Ross-Simons, Current, Museum Store Company, Barrons, Oriental Trading, Discount School Supply, Kipp Brothers, ShindigZ and Lillian Vernon,

Stop. Sending. Me. Catalogs.

Have I ever bought a single item from your catalogs? Have I ever phoned one of your operators who are always standing by, read you the customer code off the mailing label conveniently located in the pink, red, green, yellow, blue or gray box, referred you to the page number where a desired item was located and then read the 23 digit item number printed in font type so miniscule that an ant standing in the center of the 23 digit item number would need a magnifying glass to decipher it? That's right. I never have and I never will.

Stop. Sending. Me. Catalogs.

And for those of you merchandising mavens who are under the impression that a colony of individuals live in my house whose names happen to contain the same letters of the alphabet as mine but in varying order, let me assure you right now, there is no one at my home by the name of Aneeta Cadnaugh, Danita Husby, Anita Cadhusey, Anita Cadonay-Hooseby, Atecka Cadnerry-Houseby, Anna Calonua-Husbey, or whatever other deviation of my name you have slaughtered beyond the point of absurdity. Even if such a group of people existed, since we all happily share the same letters of the alphabet wouldn't you think it in our collective nature to be able to share one copy of your catalog? And by the way, as long as we're on this, I'm not Miss or Mr. and if I heard someone shout "Occupant!" or "Resident!" on the street I wouldn't turn around and say "What?!" because those are not my name.

Stop. Sending. Me. Catalogs.

I give you credit. You are relentless. Three identical catalogs sent on three different days. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Are you so naive as to think I might have regret I didn't take the opportunity with the first copy you sent to purchase something that would complete my life and so now, in your good mercy you're giving me another chance? Pay attention here. Read carefully so you miss nothing. There was nothing I wanted in your catalog the first time you sent it. I have not changed my mind.

Stop. Sending. Me. Catalogs.

Stop sending me catalogs that are exactly the same as the one you sent me a month ago except for the new cover you've slapped onto the front. YYes, I noticed and no, you're not fooling me! Stop depleting our forests with catalogs that never get further than the recycle bin that waits open-mouthed to consume them whole. Stop making me get soaked to the bone by forcing me to wrestle your mangled catalogs out of my mailbox in the pouring rain. Stop giving people the impression that the true meaning of Christmas revolves around merchandise and spending and getting. What I'm trying to say is,

Stop. Sending. Me. Catalogs.

Oh, and could you please have someone from your online store send me an electronic receipt for the item I ordered off your website yesterday? Thank you.

Sincerely,
Anita Cadonau-Huseby

Monday Check - In With a Major Detour

I was there at the appointed time. D_wn, the Glutes Goddess, the Abs Administrator, the Perveyor of Pain, the Sargeant of Sweat was not. I was informed she had a fever or so the story goes. But I wonder. Could it be she has come to fear me? Let's just say that after an hour of cardio the other day, followed by 40 minutes of core training, I probably could have responded with a little less aggression when she suggested I conclude my morning with....the plank.

The plank. Who is the sick son-of-a-gun who thought this one up? I mean seriously. Either lay down or get up off the ground but make a commitment one way or the other! Oh fine, maybe the rest of you perky little runner types are all over this bad boy but for a phatgirl like me, .....the plank is nothing short of sixty seconds of misery a la elbows. I really don't think it's good to do anything that makes your glutes burn so intensely that you find yourself looking over your shoulder for a man in a flame retardant suit wielding a blowtorch. Let me offer you a piece of advice. If you're doing something that burns that badly, S-t-o-p. I-t! Besides, around forty seconds into.......the plank noises start coming out of my mouth that are disturbing at best. I suppose one could liken it to the death rattle of a lost soul tied to four stakes in the mid-day sun of the Kalahari Desert in Southern Africa at the very second they glimpse a ravenous cheetah approaching from the east and a wild-eyed leopard with an undenible agenda moving in from the west. Imagine the sub-human noise a person in such a predicament would produce and that's phatgirl from 40 through 60 seconds of......the plank. Grown men have been known to cower and weep uncontrollably at the sound.

And my point in all this, aside from listening to the clickity-click of my own keyboard that is, is to suggest that D_wn had no fever but that she was merely avoiding the unavoidable. That is, as long as she insists on....the plank.

While I didn't get on the gym scales today and thus have no weight stats, here's the rest of my check-in and people, it's so thrilling that if you're operating heavy-machinery while reading this, it's advised you pull over to the side of the road and turn the engine off before continuing.

Weekly Caloric Intake and Exercise Log
Monday, 11-27
1092 calories, 60 minutes on Tread Climber, 50 minutes cross-training

Tuesday, 11-28
1411 calories, 60 minutes on Tread Climber

Wednesday, 11-29
1423 calories, 60 minutes on Tread Climber, 45 minutes cross-training

Thursday, 11-30
1173 calories, 60 minutes on Tread Climber

Friday, 12-1
1475 calories, 40 minutes on Tread Climber, 50 minutes cross-training

Saturday, 12-2
1261 calories, rest day

Sunday, 12-3
1490 calories, 60 minutes on Tread Climber

Notes:

1. I need more calories. It's been recommended I consume 1485 calories for three days in a row and then 1900 on day four. Rinse. Repeat. I'm not intentionally coming in on the low side but by the time evening comes I'm not wanting to dump in calories just to dump them in. As a solution, I'm probably going to try and eat a little more than my usual yogurt and fruit breakfast, probably by adding in some grain.
2. The good news is that in terms of the Three Amigos (carbs, fat, and protein) I'm falling right into the recommended percentages though the protein percentage could still be a wee on the higher side.
3. As you might have already guessed D_wn is adorable, funny, professional, and very motivating. In other words, she's ideal as a trainer but much too Pollyanna for a blog and so I take creative license whenever the mood strikes and the mood strikes without ceasing. Maybe if she's drop.....the plank, I would be willing to negotiate a more favorable portrayal in the future. Until that time, she will remain so much blog fodder.