Small Slice

I had hoped in a very small, stupid part of my brain that there would be some sort of mystical rainbows shooting out of my rear or something after a month on these meds, and aside from some improvement in the weird poo department, which I GUESS you could consider mystical, if you haven't changed your eating patterns or diet one iota and yet your number two is differentish, things are pretty much the same.

Continue reading "No mystical rainbows, yet." »

Posted by Jenny at 7:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

A few weeks ago, I sat down in my doctor's office and got "the speech." I've heard it all before - the extra steps each day, taking the stairs, eating small meals, blah blah blah.

And the thing is? I do all that stuff. And yet I got the hairy eyeball when I told my doctor that I typically don't consume more than 1,500 calories a day, and while I do have the occasional hamburger or cookie, most of my meals are pretty well balanced and healthy.

He looked at my overflowing cup of a body and suggested a weight loss class. I wanted to cry.

Continue reading "The 300 Calorie Project" »

Posted by Jenny at 8:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

It is curious how hyper-aware I am of every tiny maybe-symptom that occurs during the day. Last night, as I lay in my bed, a vague pressing sensation was in my throat. OH NO! I thought. Could this be a goiter?

And then I cleared my throat and no. Nope, there is nothing there.

Continue reading "The zeal of the newly diagnosed" »

Posted by Jenny at 9:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

And here I am, two years later, with an additional 15 pounds on my frame, and a new host of symptoms that have me frustrated. Swelling legs, hair falling out, weird heart racing baloney, fatigue... don't even get me started.

Continue reading "Something thickened. This way blows." »

Posted by Jenny at 8:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Since May of 2006, I've been blathering on about trying to lose weight by eating a sensible diet and exercising.  I've really enjoyed writing about my journey - all the wonderful comments and your own wonderful blogs have made this a huge pleasure.

As I've mentioned a few times, I've recently returned to work full-time, and I've found in nearly impossible to remember to eat, let alone spend the time needed to actually write thoughtful posts here.  I am still plugging away at exercising and eating well - but I need to devote my hours to actually doing it, instead of talking about it.

I'll admit, it is hard to leave - I wanted to be a triumphant weight loss success story, and be an inspiration to others, instead of just another mom who struggles to do the right things.  But as I've come to know you guys, it has become clear that you're not reading Big Slice because you expect me to be somehow different and better - you're reading because you can relate. 

GROUP HUG!

I'll still be keepin' it real over at my parenting blog - Three Kid Circus, and will be popping up from time to time at Mommybloggers.  You can also read me twice a week at BlogHer.org, where I'm serving up movie reviews and entertainment commentary. 

Being a ClubMom Blogger has been a fantastic experience.  I'll be reading your blogs, and cheering from the sidelines. 

Take care, and thank you for reading!

Love,

Jenny

Posted by Jenny at 9:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

I've been working on a mega-post in my head, all about BlogHer and the lessons I learned listening to the panelists and awesome audience members during the Our Bodies, Our Blogs panel, when I realized that maybe a week of wondering where to start is enough, and I can just leap back in over here with the first thing that comes to mind.

Only the best for my BigSlicers, yeah?

It came up during our discussion that some of us tend to be honest and open about our successes, but we gloss over those times when we aren't succeeding.  After my great run of daily exercise, I've fallen out of the groove, and am fighting to regain my daily "walk-break."  I've managed most of the days, but I've been angry at myself for not finding the time on the days where I've been so busy with other things that I never managed to get dressed all the way, or eat a hot meal, let alone read to my children or be present with them in the way that they need.

I've been reluctant to write these things.  I want to tell you all that I'll find a way to get my workout in, no matter how busy I become, and I want to say that I'm eating well, sleeping enough, drinking my water and above all, losing weight -

And none of these things are true.  Not this week.

I look at all the photos that have appeared online from BlogHer, and I see myself smiling and laughing, and it heals that little disappointment in my heart that I didn't manage to lose the weight this last year.  I heard my story from the lips of so many other women at BlogHer.  We all want to look our best - and what I'm really starting to understand is that maybe my best can't be measured in pounds or inches.  Maybe my best is something that comes from a place inside me, something that lights up my face when I'm talking to a friend.  Maybe I'm at my best when I'm surrounded by laughter and friends and women who unapologetically eat an extra helping of bacon, and throw caution and calorie counting to the wind when there's a dessert buffet.

It isn't that I'm advocating over-indulgence, or saying that bacon equals happiness, but sometimes, it just feels good to inhabit your own body, to look through your own eyes at others without turning your focus inward.  And yeah, my body still could shed some pounds, both for my health and physical comfort, as well as for my vanity.  Lord knows, if I could have talked these pounds off, they would be long gone. 

For now, I'm going to reclaim that hour of exercise that has become so restful and good for my mental health.  Onward.

Posted by Jenny at 11:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Why, hello!  The week is underway!  (Note to self:  post on Mondays.  Doh!)

It is a very bright and sunny 6:30 in the morning here at Big Slice headquarters, and I'm feeling great.  This is rather remarkable, because I pulled out my scale for the first time in about a month and hopped on it yesterday.  More on that in a minute.

My most recent 10-day challenge - daily stepped up exercise plus journaling was a 50% success.  Me and journaling, we just don't get along.  Me and the stepped up daily exercise, however - whoooo!  I'm absolutely loving how my body responds to the daily exercise, and I've found myself contemplating how to build up the intensity and push myself more.

Me!  Pushing myself!  More? 

"Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione Granger Jenny Lauck?"

With BlogHer a mere 10 days away, I've been noticing a lot of posts around the internet of women who are trying to lose a few pounds (or, you know, 30) before BlogHer.  I suspect there are a lot of crash diets, frantic exercise, and probably the purchase of a bunch of Spanx.  That was me last year.  Blown diet, an 11th hour attempt to sweat off a few pounds, and the futile attempt to encase myself in spandex, resulting in a sausage-like appearance.

This year, I'm proud of the progress I've made.  I went shopping this weekend, and picked up a couple of new dresses and tops, and discovered that I've lost a dress size since I scored the dress I wore to my friend's wedding.  It's a small victory, but a visible one.

Which is why when I stepped on the scale yesterday and saw 172 blinking at me, I couldn't care less.  It is muscle, baby.  ALL MUSCLE.  My waist is trimmer, my arms are thinner, my legs more shapely. 

How did you guys do?  Did you stick with the challenge? 

Posted by Jenny at 6:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

My friend Elise and I are often on the same page in our life stories.  We met through mutual friends during our single and broke days.  We met our husbands around the same time, followed one another down the aisle to wedded bliss (and blisters) and have children that are around the same ages.  We don't get the chance to see each other often, but we still have lengthy phone calls weekly.

It didn't surprise me in the least when Elise called and told me she'd been rummaging through some old boxes while putting away her Christmas decorations, and turned up some old photos of herself from her super-sassy late teens.  We laughed about how we used to be smokin' hot, and my how life has altered our abs and asses, our faces and our fantasies.  After a big, mutual sigh, Elise said something that made me start spinning.

"I wish someone, I don't know, like my mom or my aunt, someone would have told me to protect that body, to work hard to keep it strong and fit and not just surrender it for the comfort of Cheetos after a bad day. I wish someone had told me that I had a freaking six-pack, and that abs like that require maintenance.  I wish someone had told me then that the other side of thirty-five isn't a pretty place to be if you haven't worked out all along.  Shouldn't my mom have told me that?  Shouldn't someone have?"

Right away, I started weighing my own situation against Elise's.  I mean, I never had a six-pack to begin with, and I always thought I was fat, even when I wasn't.  So maybe if someone had said to me: "Jenny, you've got a great body, and if you want to keep it looking great, you're going to have to work at it your whole life long."  I might have laughed.  Or blown it off.  Or maybe I would have thought that they really thought I was fat, and they were trying to tell me I needed to work out more.

Because I was like that, you know...suspicious about compliments about my physical shape. I didn't understand when I overheard my mom saying that I was built like "a brick shithouse" that it was a compliment.  I thought it was another way to say "fat" and it wasn't until years later that I figured it out.

By then I was mighty mighty and letting it all hang out.  But that is a whole 'nother tale.

When I had my first daughter, I vowed to never make her physical appearance an issue.  I didn't want physical beauty to be tied to her self-worth.  And yet, she's a beautiful girl, and already her looks are attracting attention.  She's physically active and strong, and with puberty only a couple of years away, I'm beginning to see the changing lines of her shape.  Hips are rounding, her waist is curving...what do I tell her about the years ahead? 

Continue reading "A Sword's Edge" »

Posted by Jenny at 7:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

So, I recently got a book to review in the mail.  Michael Thurmond's 12 day Body Shaping Miracle is actually a really cool, complete resource - I've posted a full review over at threekidcircus.com/auditions.

Anyway...

I read through this book, and the author recommends taking three full-length photos of yourself (front, side and back) in a bathing suit, printing them out in 8x10 size and then marking them up with a pen to take note of hunched shoulders, sagging butt, protruding stomach...in short, all your visible flaws.  This is so you see what you want to work on, and can measure your progress over the course of your program.

Oh, the HORROR.  I know that I would rather, like, NEVER see my backside straight on, and the thought of contemplating bathing suit photos is so...well.  Yes.

Okay.  (Deep cleansing breath)

Did I mention that I'll be attending my brother's wedding in February.  In Hawaii?  And that a swimsuit will be packed and worn?  Because hello, HAWAII?  In 2 1/2 weeks? 

Hee hee hee, hoo hoo hoo, hee hee hee - does anyone have a paper bag? 

So, yesterday, I spun around and contemplated my butt in the mirror after showering.  Although I can feel the muscles under the fat, the fat is still there, and it is actually dimpled.  I have cellulite on my butt.  Craters which could be named after Roman gods.  It looks like I was caught in the tail of a comet, and peppered with small chunks of space debris.  It looks like the surface of the moon. 

Oh my GOD.

So, yeah.  I'm going to take the bathing suit photos today, and then I'm going to be brave and honest and while I'm not going to post them here (yet) I am going to face down my back-fat and my  dimpled butt and my rounded shoulders.  I'm going to address specific problem areas (jiggle jiggle) and pursue some specific goals for my next set of photos.

I'm also going to be shopping for a skirted suit.  Heh.  Maybe a bathing cap with plastic flowers on it and a little chin strap, too. 

Continue reading "Why They Call It Full Moon" »

Posted by Jenny at 9:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

Denise (again) makes a very good point by mentioning my silence on the emotional issues that have helped hoist my chubby little fist full of snackies. I'm going to take a stab at revealing some of the emotional issues I have, and the way they have twisted my relationship to food.

Demon #6 - Recognition and Appreciation
Food has long been a way to reward myself.  From my earliest years:
"Finish your dinner, and you can have a popsicle." 
"Get good grades, and we'll go out for ice cream!"
Let's not forget the Starving Children in China argument.  I'm making it sound like my parents were plying us with sweet rewards daily.  This isn't the case at all.  But times of celebration, large and small, generally called for something yummy. 

In my adult life, a job well done has always been marked by a little something edible. As an office worker, a balanced ledger meant it was time for a visit to the vending machines.  As a new mommy, every breastfeeding session 'earned' a little treat. The thankless day-to-day grind of dirty diaper and dirty laundry and dirty dishes was sweetened by a little "thank you, Jenny!" in the form of a Pumpkin Spice Latte, or a handful of cookies.  This last year has brought me major improvement on that front.  No longer do I 'celebrate' each folded load of laundry with a fun-sized Snickers (or three) from a hidden stash.  No longer do I 'celebrate' the end of the day by polishing off a pint of Ben & Jerry's. 

However, the snacking urge remains.  I believe that there are several complicated emotional triggers behind this.  My need for appreciation and recognition is abated and soothed by chocolate and sweets.  I realize that I cannot continue to feed this need with food - but I am not sure how to fill the hole.  At the risk of sounding like an ungrateful wretch, I will admit that I find many of my hausfrau duties to be completely mundane.  Not only that, but I'm not particularly good at them.  Which brings me to Demon #7.

Continue reading "Emotional Demons" »

Posted by Jenny at 9:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

Day 7 of fruitfruitfruitfruit.  It's an all watermelon day, and I'm hanging in here, although it pretty much sucks to be eating watermelon when the skies are grey.  I want to eat warm things.  Warm things in big bowls.  Topped with cheese.

My friend and I were talking about the times in our lives when it was effortless to keep the weight off.  Any truly slender times in my life were notable for one, or several of these reasons:

1) I was angry about something.
2) I was broke and I couldn't afford food anyway.
3) I was too busy to eat.
4) I had iron-clad rules to follow.
5) I was getting a lot of attention from the menfolk.

I'll be the first one to admit that last one is pretty sad.  But it is true, so there you go. 

When I made the crazy decision to try this fruit thing, it was an act of desperation.  After reaching 168 pounds, the last two weeks of October found me eating irresponsibly, and three days after Halloween, I stepped on the scale and was greeted by a flashing 178. 

Well, there's weight loss success bullet point number one - I got mad. 

Really, really mad.  Almost seven months of this so-called dieting, and I regained almost every pound lost in a flurry of bad eating.  (Some of this weight gain was related to my monthly cycle - but still.  That number had me seeing red, big time.)

This morning I stepped on the scale, and I'm at 169 pounds.  I have three more days of fruit before I plan to return to a balanced diet.  But here's the hitch -

The regular eating I've been doing?  Even though I think the portions I've been eating are reasonable, I'm realizing that there must be quite a bit of unconcious eating going on during the day.  All day long, I'm finding myself pausing in front of the fridge.  When I'm preparing a meal for the rest of the family, I'm constantly stopping myself from putting morsels in my mouth.  It has to stop.

The doctor's visit I had last week was perfectly timed.  Although I was looking for information on why my hair might be thinning, the doctor managed to drop a few words into our conversation that got me motivated.  Pre-diabetes, anyone?  Risk-factors?  Obese?

I'm taking a stand.  No more messing around.  I will not eat myself into diabetes. I will not pretend that I didn't hear the man say "obese" and comfort myself with the thought of my big bones and three babies in five years.

I'm angry.  I'm really angry.  And if I have to count calories, or eat papaya, or get up at 5 am daily to workout, I'm going to do it. 

I've also put my husband on notice that I expect some major catcalls and compliments.  Sad, but effective.  Heh.

Posted by Jenny at 3:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

Okay.  I have discovered that it is astoundingly hard to take a photo of your own arm.  These things I do for you!

Behold the flab that is my bare arm:

I know, it could be worse.  Believe me, it has been worse.  But I really want to see if I can't make a visible difference in one month.  I know that to really reshape my arm, I'm going to need to lose some more pounds - but for now, I'm going to focus on the possibilites.
Look!  I made a little muscle move, and *nothing* changed.  That is just wrong.

Today is my 34th birthday... a perfect day to start something new.  Well, new-ish, since I've been exercising.

Posted by Jenny at 1:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

Last night, I curled up on the couch with a box of tissue and watched Steve Irwin's memorial program.  Steve and Terri have been a major influence on my children's love of wildlife, and it has been a very emotional couple of weeks for me.  While I am heartbroken for his father, sisters and wife, it is the thought of his children, growing up without him, that has me undone.

As the memorial ended, I wiped away my tears and heaved a shuddering sigh.  It was a great program, sorrow mixed with levity.  Between heartfelt eulogies, they presented video clips of Steve, as well as photo slideshows, and it struck me that his children are blessed to have such a bounty of media to help them remember their father.  Through the years, both Steve and Terri have been interviewed extensively, and they never failed to wax poetic about their love of wildlife, each other, and their children. 

It got me thinking about my own children.  Should my life end today, what would I leave behind for them?  How would they remember me?

Being a fat woman, I've learned to avoid the camera.  I don't enjoy seeing myself on videos.  The sound of my voice grates, the size of my butt causes me to cringe.  I rarely look past my own physical dimensions to see the twinkle in my eye as I play with my kids, or the way my laughter causes my children to beam with delight.  The photographic evidence of my life with my children is small and misses so many of the things I would want them to remember.

Blogging has become a way for me to capture these memories.  It is a way for me to freeze time and someday, to bring them inside my head to see what I see.  I don't know if it is vanity talking, but I truly do want my children to have this record.  And as dissatisfied as I am with my own physical shape sometimes, I am inspired to get in front of the camera more, to make a permanent record of my relationship with my children, my family and friends. 

So, I need some ideas.  Beyond the snapshots, beyond the blog entries, beyond filming on holidays and school functions... give me some suggestions for ways to create a family record. 

Posted by Jenny at 10:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

I've received a couple of requests for tips to stay motivated on the way down the scale.  I've got ten suggestions that may help:

1) Choose an eating plan that isn't going to be a royal pain-in-the-patootie to follow. 

My personal rule on this is that I'm not going to cook two different dinners every night.  I try to include at least one food that is 'kid-friendly' in every meal, but they eat what I eat - no more Chef Boyardee or Neon Orange Mac and Cheese. 

Also, I was miserable trying to count points and calories and fat grams... I chose The Fat Fallacy because it is more relaxed on the actual structure of the eating plan.  Which leads me to number two:

2) Diets are for the short term.  Lifestyle changes, including daily exercise, a healthier diet and smaller portions, are long term solutions. 

Diets sort of suck.  I mean, you can really and truly lose weight, but what happens when you do?  If you lose all the weight, or some of the weight - but you've been eating in a way that is going to be difficult to maintain for the rest of your life, you're not going to be motivated to keep eating that way.  You don't become thin and lose your taste for cheesecake - so either you have to learn to eat in moderation, and deal with stress in another non-food related way, or you're going to be dealing with some backsliding. 

3) Get yourself a set of eating rules to live by, and post them on your fridge.

When I was thin, I had these unwritten rules that I lived by that helped me monitor the portion sizes I ate, the types of food I ordered in restaurants, and the exchanges I would allow.  For example, an ice cream cone was fine, if I took a walk on my lunch break.  I always had a salad before a meal, and planned to take half of my entree portion home.

My rules now:  A serving of protein at breakfast.  A salad for lunch.  No sodas.  One glass of juice a day.  Three meals, no snacks.  I shoot for 8 servings of veggies and 2 of fruit a day.  I fail on this, a lot.  But when I'm reaching into the fridge to make dinner, I try to pull out a veggie in every color I have.

4) Change the way you grocery shop - have a plan.

I really started packing on the pounds when I first lived with my husband.  He grew up on Hamburger Helper and canned chili over rice, Spaghettios and Mac and Cheese.  We'd eat these giant plates of these boxed entrees and maybe a single vegetable on the side.  I gained about 30 pounds that first year.

I used to go into the store without a plan.  I'd just wander down the middle aisles of the store, tossing packages of side dishes and boxes of entrees into the cart.  Now, I plan out my menu for the week, make a detailed shopping list, and since I'm not shopping for mixes or kits, I find that my shopping rarely takes me into the middle aisles.  I spend most of my time in the produce section and the dairy case, with quick stops at the bakery and meat counter. 

5) Change the way you cook.

Instead of relying on nutritionally bankrupt kits and mixes, try fixing some real foods in a simple way.  Cooking doesn't have to involve hours and big bucks.  Take a look at my Small Slice album to see what kinds of foods we eat around here.

6) Add in some exercise that makes you smile.

We all know that we are supposed to be ''feeling the burn when we workout.  For full-figured women like myself, it doesn't take much to go straight past burn into meltdown.  I hate sweating.  I hate hurting.  And I hate any exercise that makes me do either. 

But here's what I've learned about myself:  I am a lousy runner.  But I love to walk.  I'm  horrible at lap swimming, but I love to flip around and pretend I'm a synchronized swimmer or a mermaid.  I would rather die than do aerobics - unless it is some corny offshoot like Cardio Striptease.  I like to play, rather than work. 

Here's the other thing - working out, or playing hard, it makes me a nicer person.  It burns off some of the frustration I carry around from parenting, it gets all those lovely endorphins rushing around, and it allows me to laugh.  I laugh because I can't get the steps right.  I laugh because my kids are delighted at my mermaid impressions.  I laugh because I'm not focusing on the end of the 20 minute tape, or the last mile I need to walk.  I'm laughing because I'm having fun.

You don't get a medal for suffering through boring workouts.  Find something that sounds like fun, and get busy.  Netflix rents fitness DVDs.  There are all sorts of cheap or free exercise classes through local recreation and parks departments.  Heck, just go to the park with your kids, and do whatever they do for an hour.  You'll be amazed at the fun you're having, and the quality workout you get.  And if you don't like something, try something else.

7) Blog it.

I know that blogging is new to a lot of people, and can be scary.  Few women would willingly talk about their weight loss plans online, right?  WRONG.  Check out the Fat Fighters directory in my sidebar.  Do a Google search.  You'll see that there is a huge community of bloggers who are cheering each other on, and sharing their progress. 

Feeling fat, isolated and depressed can make it difficult to reach out to people in your own community.  Our own families are often unable to motivate us to make the life changes we really want to make.  Having a place to record your thoughts, connect with other people who face similar challenges, and build a community of your own is invaluable for those of us who don't have a support system in real life.

The internet is a fantastic place to find support, information and friendship.  Free blogs are available through www.blogspot.com and a zillion other sites. 

8) Appreciate who you are today.

There is a lot of self-loathing that goes on in the head of a dieter.  Many of us eat for entertainment, or as a coping mechanism.  We become angry with ourselves for letting ourselves gain weight.  We often don't take the time we should with our appearance.   What does it matter, right?

If you are dragging around in pants that are two sizes too small, or two sizes too big, or stretched out men's teeshirts, or constantly wearing yoga pants or sweats, here's my advice:  take a friend who will be honest, and go shopping.  You need to have a couple of fresh outfits that fit you and flatter you at your current weight.  It doesn't have to cost a fortune - just a new pair of jeans and a few fresh teeshirts can be enough to change your whole outlook.

Respect yourself now, or you'll never have the strength to keep on keeping on with your diet.  Forgive yourself for being heavy, let go of the anger, and allow yourself to move forward. 

9) Expect some failure.

Rules were made to be broken, and sometimes you just need some cheesecake.  If you fall off the dieting wagon, never fear.  Once you surface from your sugar-coma, acknowledge that you overdid it, and take note of how your body feels.    That sluggish feeling that follows overeating isn't a good one.  Rather than punishing  yourself with more overeating, or a drastically sparse day featuring only iceberg lettuce, take a deep breath and go back to the planned menu. 

If you spiral out of control on vacation, or if stress causes you to lose control, remember that they don't crown winners for losing weight, nor is anyone keeping score to make sure that you never step out of bounds.  Take a deep breath, and start again. 

10) Set small goals and celebrate each one.

When you have lots of weight to lose, the thought of all those pounds can discourage even the peppiest of optimists.  Trust me.  I'm three months into this, and I've only lost 8 pounds.  It's frustrating me to the extreme. 

When I reach 10 pounds lost, I'm going to get a massage.  I am not focusing on the whole 50 pounds - I've got two pounds to go, and then I'll work on that next ten. 

These are just a few of the ways I try to keep myself on track.  I'd love to hear some of your tips for staying motivated when you are working towards a weight loss goal.

Posted by Jenny at 4:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

...The tough probably do something about it, unlike me.  I spent most of yesterday feeling shell-shocked and whiny.  I made falafel and salad for dinner, and about 3 bites in, I didn't feel half as bad as I thought.  By the time I was finished with dinner, I was mellowed out and able to think clearly.

This week, I'm going to put myself in remedial eating school, because I've been sliding backwards with my eating - not in portion sizes, but in every other area.  It is affecting me both physically and emotionally. 

The thing about my hissy-fit tantrum misunderstanding pig photo taking breakdown this weekend is that it is completely out of character.  I am, at least 99% of the time, comfortable in my own skin.  I assume that people like me.  I don't feel judged or secondary to my pants size.  I go about my business and don't take myself too seriously. 

Yet, my husband makes a random comment and I go off the deep-end about it.  Suddenly I'm the 1000 pound pig in a box, a side-show attraction.  Could my mismanaged eating and sporadic exercise be the cause of this sudden attitude change?

I'm thinking it can.  Here's why -

I've been focusing a large part of my diet on processed grains and dairy fats.  I've reintroduced caffeine to my diet, near-daily.  I haven't been eating my daily salad for lunch, and my breakfasts have either been skipped, or contain no protein.  My dinners have been okay, but the focus has been on the pasta, the potatoes, the rice... with balance, this would be fine.  I am out of balance.

Continue reading "When The Going Gets Tough..." »

Posted by Jenny at 8:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm sitting here typing away with a stack of three Thin Mints cookies sitting near my elbow.  They've been sitting there since earlier this evening when my husband helpfully brought them to me.  I haven't decided whether or not to eat them.  I certainly haven't eaten much else today.

I have a confession to make.  I am really struggling with getting back with the flow of my schedule.  There is a chaos to my days, and it interferes with eating well.  I've fallen back into the habit of feeding the kids, with the intention of feeding myself at a leisurely pace after they've lost interest.  What ends up happening is that I end up skipping meals.

Surprise, surprise.  I'm not losing weight because my body is hoarding calories.

I have another confession.  I just ate one of the cookies.  Mmmmm.

It has been at least a week since I had my regular burst of daily exercise, too.  I am seeing a dramatic shift in my moods, and my abililty to bounce back.  Earlier this year, I was struggling mightily to keep myself level.  I was alternating between frustration and apathy over many of the important tasks I should take pride in.  Suspecting seasonal depression, my parents suggested that I see a doctor and find out what I should do.

Continue reading "3-2-1" »

Posted by Jenny at 10:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (15) | TrackBacks (0)

Forgive me, ClubMom, for I have sinned...

I went off on a mistaken blogging vacation, and have only found my way back now.  BlogHer was fun - a little too much fun!

Despite my food choices (bacon!) and many alcoholic beverages and sodas, I am holding steady at 174 pounds.  I am surprised, but delighted.  Portion size and eating pace really does help - as does great conversation with great company.  I was chatting so much that I am surprised I managed to eat anything at all. 

It was good for my self-image to attend BlogHer this year.  I had the opportunity to see myself through the eyes of affectionate people, and although the pictures are multiplying on Flickr as we speak, I have no anxiety about it.  I see the photos, and remember how I was feeling at that moment (probably tipsy!) and suddenly, it doesn't matter how big my arms are.  I felt truly accepted and embraced.

I'm finishing up my laundry and dusting off my workout clothes for a trip to the park with my kids.  It's good to be home.  I'll get this week's menu up this afternoon. 

Posted by Jenny at 2:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

In a cruel slapping motion, fate has scheduled my monthly bloating and comfort-food craving and intense emotional outbursts for this coming weekend.  BlogHer ain't ready for this, I can guarantee it.
Add in the fact that I am reliving my youth (specifically, my teenaged acne) and you have one mama who is very glad that I can at least say that I've lost some weight. 

While this week will take me away from home, and tempt me with all sorts of opportunities to indulge, I plan on sticking with the good eating habits I've developed.  No late night snacks for me! 

I have to admit, there is a certain amount of terror involved in going to an event like BlogHer.  Last year, I was horrified to realize that with any group of passionate bloggers, there will be photos taken right and left, and worst of all - I would have no control of them.  No chance to photoshop out that zit, or crop out my large rear.  I had to let go of my fierce desire to only show my 'good' side, to edit out the weird expressions or the unflattering angles.  At BlogHer - I left my online persona behind, and for better or worse, became three dimensional. 

The conference was a smashing success, and while I was by no means a focal point of the conference, I turned up in enough embarrassingly bad photos to make anyone dive head-first into a vat of Ben and Jerry's.  I cringed, and cursed my inability to just hold a pose and smile like normal people.  And then, I shocked myself and let it go.  I took another good look at the goofball woman in those photos, and looked past The Butt and the open mouth (probably shouting instructions to the camera person) and saw a woman having the time of her life. 

I've realized that I cannot photoshop myself in daily life.  I cannot slim my upper arms or smooth my wrinkles for a trip to the grocery store.  I can't freeze my face into the perfect smile.  I can't tell people what to see when they look at me. 

After the birth of my children, I felt like I had a shield around me.  There was this sense of invisibility.  People looked at my children, and smiled.  They looked right through me. 

For a while, this was a relief.  I wasn't feeling at my best - I had gained 40 pounds with my first pregnancy, and wasn't losing it quickly.  When I became pregnant with my second child, nine months after the birth of my first, I was relieved.  I could just let my body do its thing.  I drew my invisibility cloak around me and sighed.  Now, three and a half years after the birth of my youngest, I no longer have a baby in a sling to draw the eye away from my figure.  I rarely have a stroller to hide behind.  I notice that people are making eye contact with me once again.

It feels like I'm on stage, and I haven't learned all my lines, and I've gotten one of those mall makeup counter makeovers, hoping for pretty and ending up with hooker.

Once again, I'm facing the bloggers-with-cameras-and-Flickr firing squad.  I have already made my peace with the fact that there will be unflattering photos of me appearing on the internet.  And I'm dusting off my penetrating glasses - the ones that allow me to see past my own hangups to the woman everyone else sees. 

But I'm also working on learning to keep my mouth shut and smile.

Posted by Jenny at 7:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

Kim called me out, and we agreed to settle this challenge, once and for all.   We drove across town in our minivans, and prepared the troops for a full-scale assult on Pump It Up - The Inflatable Party Place.

We almost had the place to ourselves, and we stalked in, dropped our shoes and purses and began jumping like maniacs.  Kim is a screamer, too, so we made more noise than our kids, leaping around and acting like total fools.  It was so fun.  So, so fun.

We did the obstacle course, and ran laps in the basketball court, and although I know I said I wasn't ready for video yet, behold:  I "invented" a "trick" - meaning I made friends with gravity, and worked some Jazz Hands into the equation.

See Me Roll on Vimeo
This Could Go Really Great, Or Really, Really Bad on Vimeo

I'll have the album up soon - but I have to say that this challenge was really fun, and a great workout.

Posted by Jenny at 2:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I do believe I can make a girlie little bicep!  Heeeeee!

I mean, clearly, I have SO far to go, but I have muscles under all that flab! 

I've been having technical difficulties over here, first with my camera, then with my old computer, and now that I have my new laptop, I'm having trouble once again with my camera.  Small Slice WILL be updated this morning, if it kills me.  And it won't, because I have muscles!

I don't know if any of you read Three Kid Circus, but I've mentioned over there my new obsession with Greek Yogurt (plain) drizzled with honey.  I finally got back to the store and scored a few cartons and I'm in heaven.  Seriously, how did I not know about this stuff before? 

Actually, it's probably good that I didn't, because I wasn't exactly a restrained eater, if you know what I'm saying.  Because even now, with my restraint and lady-like, dainty portions, I'm still tempted to go face down in a tub of this stuff. 

Anyway, I've been sticking with my menu this week, except for last night, when I enjoyed sliced apples dipped in yogurt with honey and almonds.  And when I say enjoy, I mean ENJOY. Hah.  The depths of my sickness are revealed to the internet.  Hello!  My name is Jenny, and I'm obsessed with yogurt!

Tonight is mini-pizzas.  I usually make the dough from scratch in my Kitchen-Aid mixer, using this recipe:

Basic Pizza Dough -

from James McNair's Vegetarian Pizza

1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 cup warm (110 to 115 F) water
1 envelope (1/4 ounce) active dry yeast
3 1/4 cups bread flour
1 tsp salt
1/4 extra-virgin olive oil

Basically, you mix the sugar, water and yeast, wait to make sure it gets foamy, then combine 3 cups of the flour and the salt, and stir in the yeast mixture and the olive oil.  Then you knead it until it is smooth and glossy and no longer sticky, and then let it rise in an oiled bowl covered with plastic wrap until it doubles. (1 to 1 1/2 hours)

After it doubles, punch it down, squeeze it into a ball , roll it around in the oiled bowl again and  then cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate that bad boy until the dough is puffy - 35 minutes to an hour. 

Then you form the pizzas - this makes 6 equal-sized mini pizza - about 8" across.

As I said, I normally do this by hand, with the mixer and then hand-kneading.  But then, DUH!  I remembered that my bread maker has a dough function.  I tried it the last time I made pizzas and it was perfect.  I'll be doing the bread maker routine this afternoon.  Unless any of you wants to see the non-cheater version.

I'm off to see what Steph has on her sadistic little mind for today's activity, and then I'll be finally taking on the Strip Tease aerobics, which has been sitting in a sad little NetFlix envelope all this time, waiting on me to get bold enough to work it out in my cluttered living room. 

Posted by Jenny at 9:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I woke up this morning already exhausted... the last few days have been filled with family visits and the chance to hang out with one of my long-time friends and her darling family.  I have to confess - I've been unable to keep up the training pace of 30 minutes run/walk interval stuff I set for myself.  My shin splints are back, and I'm moping, instead of refocusing my attention.  I'm still managing at least 30 minutes of exercise a day, but I clearly need more.

Then, I clicked over to Steph's blog, and saw that she's laying down some simple fitness challenges for her readers.  I apparently need someone bossing me around, because I got all excited about yesterday's weight challenge, and even did three laps of my house crab-walking.  For the remainder of the Month of Motivation, I'm going to put my daily exercise stats at the bottom of each entry.

I've been eating well, and moving well.  I feel my muscles working as I move around, and I'm already stronger and more flexible.  I just wish the scale would make a dramatic move.

Mel is all about Naked Weight Loss Blogging...I agree that there is no running from the truth, and admitting how far we need to go, and where we are at now is powerful motivation.

That is, if you are a normal person.  Less than a month ago, I returned home from a vacation, and cringed my way through every photo I appeared in.  I am fat.  There is no sugar coating it.  Here's where it gets tough for me, though.  I have been working out, and eating well, and I've seen a change in my overall shape, no matter what the scale says.  I feel...well, not thin, but sassy.

And here is where I fail.  Every diet.  Every time.  Instead of embracing the sass and moving forward with the diet, I trumpet the modest success I've achieved, and begin to slip back to my old habits.  I feel the pull of that desire to just be okay with myself, with being heavy, with Big Slice panties, because it is surprisingly easy to like myself.  Unless I see it, I don't connect myself with the fat photographs. 

Not this time. Not this time. 

Let's hear your fitness challenges - I'm looking for quick, simple activities that I can do with the kids.

Day 18:  I've lost five pounds.  I've managed my eating.  I've exercised and even felt "the burn."  And although I'd love to just hit the drive-thru for a milkshake to celebrate, I'm going to take a photograph to remember why I have to keep going. 

Today's exercise:  20 minutes on the mini-trampoline, mostly jumping.  30 squats with 30 pounds total weight.  30 straight legged deadlifts with 30 pounds total weight.  30 calf raises with 15 pounds total weight.  50 crunches on the swiss ball, followed by 25 oblique crunches, each side on the swiss ball.  Then, ten lunatic minutes crab walking around my house at top speed, laughing like a loon.  Before bed, I'll do 25 minutes of yoga (my P.M. yoga tape)

Posted by Jenny at 8:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

Dawn, over at the fantastic blog The Gimlet Eye, reminded me today that yoga is a wonderful way to listen to your body, and get in touch with your inner calm.  She has just made a major move to a new country, and is still centered and focused - amazing.  I need some of that.

It has been years since I managed a daily yoga practice.  In truth, most of the yoga I do now is peppy, child-centered yoga.  Granted, it is fun to bounce around pretending to be a balloon, or to roll around on the floor, but I truly believe that I need that quiet, reflective experience that comes from moving through challenging poses, and feeling my breath flood every cell of my body.

I'm adding a footnote to my Month of Motivation goals - I WILL establish a daily yoga practice.  Either before the kids get up, or after they go to bed, I will give myself at least 20 minutes to reconnect. 

This has nothing to do with the fact that my favorite DVDs star Rodney "pantyman" Yee.  No, really. I'm not even half as flexible as I once was, and yet I know that the rewards will be as great. 

Posted by Jenny at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

You know what is the best thing ever?  Starting a new workout plan that insists that on the first day, you rest.  That was my yesterday.  I walked around, shooting my mouth off about how "I'm on Day One of my new training program, yes, that's right, I'm going to run a half-marathon."

Day One = REST.  Totally awesome.

Today, however, was Day Two.  The task - run 1.5 miles. 

In all my bragging yesterday, my friend Kim (Yes, Dog-Crap Analogy Kim) caught wind of what I'm up to, and insisted that she, too, is going to run a half-marathon.  Well.  That girl is always one-upping me.  First the monkey bars, and NOW the half-marathon? 

Actually, we decided to meet and run laps around the park while our two youngest played.  We figured out that we needed to run around the park path 6 times to get our distance.  It would be an exercise and play-date!  Lookie at us multitaskers! 

We decided to drive to the park, because we figured we wouldn't want to walk home after.  This was a good call - but not because we were too tired.  See, no one asked the toddlers what they would enjoy doing on a lovely Tuesday morning.  My youngest was okay with it.  Sort-of.  Kim's son barricaded himself in the van, and refused to come out and play. 

With some slight of hand, and a well-timed grab, we got him out, and brought him to the picnic bench.  Then we did some pathetic, self-conscious stretches, and I took off for my first few laps.  After the first lap, my three-year-old joined in.  She trotted just ahead of me, setting a good pace, and yelled encouragement back to me. 

"Come on, Mommy!  You can do it!"

I puffed back to the picnic bench after three laps, and Kim did her first three looking like a champ.  The kids and I stood along the walk and cheered for her as she cruised into lap three.  My daughter joined Kim on one of her laps, too.  Who needs a personal trainer?  My three-year-old is totally up for the job.

I had a solid fourth lap, and then my shins started to ache.  Knowing that I had horseback riding lessons in an hour, and I would be needing my legs, I used that as a lame (I know, it was lame) excuse not to finish my last two laps.  While I did some more awkward and self-conscious stretching, Kim trotted around the park three more times.  She kicked my hiney, man.  Again. 

While Kim made her way around the path, I corralled the two little monsters into my van for a private viewing of SpongeBob on our portable DVD player.  You know, I used to scoff at the moms with the DVD players in the car.  That's why it has windows, I said.  Kids get too much TV already, they don't need no stinkin' movies in the car, too, said I.  Then we got one for our upcoming trip and I owe lots of moms a big apology and maybe a gift certificate to NetFlix.  Best. Invention. Ever.  EVER.

Oh!  And in further Kim News - she witnessed me making it all the way across the monkey bars at the school!  I did it!  I did it!  My arms didn't fall off!  Want to know the secret? 

Here it is:  If you hang 179 pounds of woman off of two stumpy, non-callused hands, you are not going to be able to do it.  You can't just hang.  You have to start off swinging. 

So, Kim and I will meet again for a rematch on Thursday.  We've got two toddlers, six laps, and bragging rights riding on the outcome.  Provided we can even walk on Thursday.  Heh.

I'm also down one pound to 178.  This is tedious - but I think I know what the problem is.

Ready for the bad news? 

I haven't been eating hardly anything.  I haven't been cooking hardly anything.  I knew when I decided to take on Fat Fallacy as my lifestyle guide, I would have a hard time with scheduling.  But this last week and a half has kicked my sore buttocks all over  the place.

I won't eat unless I'm able to sit down and appreciate the food I'm eating.  I won't eat in the car, nor in front of the computer.  Not in front of the TV either.  I need about 30 minutes, three times a day, just for eating.  And I'm not finding it.

With the last week of school festivities in full swing, I've been galloping from one place to the next, leaving the house before 8 am and often not returning until after 5 pm.  I'm attending field trips, driving from school to stable to store to school again with no pitstops at home.  I've skipped breakfast AND lunch for the last four days.  This has resulted in really low energy and no interest in cooking a real dinner.  Add in the fact that my husband is on a business trip, and I'm preparing for a week-long vacation with the three kids and a cross-country flight, and you've got a recipe for diet disaster.

Tonight, I ate a Happy Meal.  It was gross.

I'm thinking at bare minimum, I need to eat a protein rich breakfast.  I hate to shovel the food in, but this wishful thinking that my schedule is going to miraculously allow me time to eat, while contemplating the texture and aroma of each bite, is delusional.  Especially this week, when all the planets have aligned, keeping me from having any free time.

I'm not allowing my body to get the nutrients it needs, and it's affecting my potential weight loss.  I need to find the time to eat.  I need to slow down. 

I have this weird, illogical perfectionism streak.  It tells me that I shouldn't take up exercise if I can't do it right. It tells me that I know the "right way" to eat now, and by golly, I'm going to do it that way.  I'm not giving myself the space to be flexible.  I mean, I know I don't want to mindlessly eat in the car, or shovel handfuls of cereal straight from the pantry, but to forgo eating because I can't do it "right" is crazy.  But that's what I've been doing.  And it isn't working out.

Balance.  I'm seeking balance. 

Posted by Jenny at 9:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (19) | TrackBacks (0)

I was reading Mary Tsao's ode to her tanning days yesterday.  She waxes sentimental about the smell of tanning lotion, the feel of the sun on your skin, the healthy glow of a good tan...

Now, personally, I'm a burn and peel kind of girl.  The few times I've achieved a "good" tan have been hard won, with many aloe vera smeared, red-as-a-lobster days.  Nonetheless, I find myself on the verge of a vacation, and my skin is dug-out-from-under=a-rock, hiney-white.

Yay me!  I protect my skin.  I wear SPF 10 Bazillion!  I wear broad-brimmed straw hats and long sleeves and that is all well and good when it's 70 degrees and not humid.  But I'm going to Florida, land of muggy weather.  I am going to be showing some skin.  And I gots me a lot of skin to show.

It is one of those things you hear, when you are a fat girl - tan fat looks better than white fat.  Just like bacon.  Is it true?  I'm going to err on the side of probably.

So, I can't tan the sun way, and I am inept with those self-tanners.  I wish I could afford a trip to a salon where they exfoliate and spray it on, because I figure it might turn me orange, but at least it would be an even orange. 

Funny story - I took my husband on a getaway to Monterey, California for his birthday.  Actually, he was still my boyfriend back then.  I decided to fancy myself up for cheap, and dyed myself a streaky orange for the occasion.  Despite my resemblance to an Oompa Loompa, we had a frisky, romantic weekend that resulted in my oldest daughter.  I'm a leeetle scared of a repeat performance.  I just can't trust that he'll be able to resist the tiger stripes, man. 

Anyway, enter Benefit's Jiffy Tan.  This is a tan colored gel/lotion stuff that you "lightly smooth" onto your skin, and it makes you look a pleasant brownish color.  Not dramatic, mind you.  Not orange.  It has a citrus-y smell, but not overpowering.  I bought this stuff last year, and gave it a try, and liked it, but then I kept putting it away and forgetting about it.  The best part (IMO) is that it washes off with soap and water.  No tan palms, and no fading over time.  It's on until you shower, and then you're done.  No harm, no foul.

This morning, I decided to give it a whirl.  Behold!  One leg with, one without.

Also, admire the new skort and chubby knees.  They would be so cute if I was three.  I'm just sayin'.

What do you guys think?  Natural? Weird?  Is there something else out there that I must try?  Should I just embrace my blotchy white skin? 

With the impending vacation, I'm going to skip out on the menu for this week.  I will continue to share my meals via Small Slice, but since I'm not shopping for a week's worth of food, let's just say we're going to wing it this week.  Small servings!  Eat slowly!  Yadda yadda yadda.

Posted by Jenny at 4:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

I weighed in. (Duh duh dun.)  Here we are in week four and I'm...

179.  Whoooopie. 

So, let's recap for all you newcomers who are just dropping by for the first time.  I started at 179.  I promptly gained two pounds.  181.  Sheesh.

Then!  I lost A POUND.  As in one. A single pound.  But it was "that time" of the month, so okay, I stayed away from the scale.  Until today.

I'm back where I started, folks.  That number better start going down, or I'm going to have to do something drastic.  Like, um, something.  Drastic.  Or something.

I'm trying to keep a good attitude here.  I'm cooking healthy meals for myself and my family. I've cut way down on my portions, and I'm exercising and having fun.  For example, today at my three-year-old's Orff class, I spent an hour shaking my booty with a silver streamer-clad shaker in each hand.  I stomped and jumped and twirled.  I rocked that class. 

I was doing my patented train move at one point.  It goes like this: Chugga chugga chugga chugga ding ding. I used to bust this one out when I was a toddler apparently.  You sort of groove along, moving your hands at your sides like you are running and shrugging your shoulders and then when you get to the ding ding part?  You kick out to one side.  Twice.  Once for each ding.  Oh yeah, that is some fancy stuff.  I impressed all the toddlers. I think I missed my calling as a choreographer.

I just want some instant results, and I'm not getting them, damn it.  Tomorrow morning, I'm picking up my marathon-running, opera-singing, black-belt-in-tae-kwon-shut-yo-mouth sister after I drop the two big kids at school, and we're storming the opening of the Athleta factory warehouse sale.  I'm fixin' to get some new skorts, and maybe some tank tops that wick, because I am not the delicate flower I would like to pretend, and sweat is icky. 

Oh, and people, I need some help.  I was IN LOVE with Bliss Spa's antiperspirant "Underarmy" and now it is discontinued and I want to weep giant crocodile tears.  I need a good antiperspirant, because a deodorant alone doesn't thrill me.  Help me find a good one for my sensitive underarms, I beg of you.

Let's talk for a minute about skorts.  How I love skorts!  They hide a multitude of sins.  Specifically, the sins wrought by my chubby thighs seizing the hems of any shorts I put on and inching them step by step up into my crotch.  This leaves me taking two steps and then hopping awkwardly, hoping to dislodge the bunched up fabric.  Chugga chugga chugga chugga ding ding! So not cute.

The only solution I've found is to either always wear long pants, or wear shorts and suffer.  I mean, I could wear a skirt, but (I can't believe I'm saying this, sigh) my thighs chafe if I walk too much and sweat.  That is, until I discovered the almighty skort.  My favorites have a spandex-y bike short built in under the skirt, which halts the thigh action.  But even with a regular pair of shorts underneath a skirt, who can tell you've got half a yard of fabric balled up in your bidness.   Who knows?  Who cares?  You're walking weird, but still looking jaunty because your skort has you covered. 

So I'm off on a mission for cheap skort deals, and I've been given the green light to shop in the Barbie-sized clothes to try and find some very specific cuts and colors and fabrics for my buddy Mir, who is doing the Boston 3-day pretty quick here.  Between Mir's darling, baby-sized dimensions and my petite sister, I am going to have a great time pawing through the S selections, before I wander over to the XL racks. 

I've got my camera back up and running, and I've posted the last few dinners in the Small Slice album over there to the left.  I need to step up and do some of these fitness challenges.  Which, by the way, I'm still accepting new challenges.   Leave me a comment with a double-dog-dare to do something you'd not only like to read about, but you'd love to see a photo essay on.  I'm going to start knocking these out this weekend.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid. 

I'm building a "team" of fellow diet and exercise hot mamas to have some fun.  If you want to join up, send me an email and I'll add your link.  The more the merrier!  Be sure to pop over and say hello to Mel at The Amazing Shrinking Mom - she's doing fantastic on her diet, and inspires me daily.

Posted by Jenny at 10:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (14) | TrackBacks (0)

Yesterday, I had my horseback riding lesson, and ended up with a nice bruise on my leg.  See?
Now, I'd like to tell you that I got this mondo bruise from some spectacular stunt, but the truth is I smacked it on the side of the mounting block, which tipped over while I was trying to hoist my Big Slice Panties into the saddle.  After that graceful maneuver, I rode with my usual combination of whoops and giggles until my lesson was over, and I limped back to the van with a tenderness in my calf that didn't seem to come from my normal riding moves.  Oh yes, I have moves, people.  Crazy Wind Horse Riding Girl moves.

Anyway, behold the bruise.  I keep compulsively showing it to people, like they care.  Not for pity, no , not at all.  No, I'm showing people so that they will make that "Ew!" face and ask me what happened.  Because then I can tell the story again.  And again.  I think I'm a glutton for attention.  I also think I need a pedicure, stat.  (Maybe they will ask me what happened at the salon!)

Before my kids were born, I always thought that I would shrink away from injuries, unable to cope.  Turns out I could probably be a great ER nurse, with this cool head and iron stomach of mine.  I never thought I would enjoy challenging myself physically, but with each new thing I try, I find that I am a competitive little wench, and am enjoying the aches and bruises more than is strictly polite.

Maybe I should take up roller derby.   I could use BigSlice as my call sign. 

The point of all this?  Get out there.  Try something, even if you think you'll look stupid, or wind up hurting yourself.  Because even if you do, you get to tell your war stories to everyone within shouting  distance. 

Posted by Jenny at 7:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

There was a time, a few years ago, when I was lifting weights several times a week.  I had built up my strength quite a bit, and was feeling proud of my little girly muscles.  Even though they were hidden under a generous layer of fat, I knew they were there.  I could feel them, and I felt strong.

Flash forward to now:  I unearthed my old exercise journal, and saw the weights and number of reps that I was doing, and thought that I could just pick right back up. 

Uh. No.

I'm having to start over, almost from the beginning again.  I feel vaguely disappointed in myself - surely those muscles are still there, right?  It feels like I should be able to just start again, and be able to lift that same weight, the same number of times.  Since that's not the case, I'm just going to put aside that training journal, and begin again. 

This is the training routine I'm going to be doing: Mistress Krista's All Dumbells, All the Time.

If you haven't read through Krista's site, it's a fantastic source of information and inspiration to get you up off of the couch (or computer chair, ahem) and get you started with building some fat-burning muscle.  She's got workouts for every level, with gym equipment or ideas for things you can lift around the house.  I really encourage you to check it out.

The main reason I fell out of practice with the weights is sort of silly.  I used to keep my dumbells  on the kitchen counter next to the fridge.  I posted my work out routine there, and while the pasta was boiling, I could grab the weights and squeeze in a few sets.  They looked ridiculous, sitting next to the coffee maker.  I decided to move them to my bedroom, where I could close the door and work out in peace.  I haven't lifted them since. 

So today, I'm moving them back out to the counter.  I'm going to get back in touch with those girly muscles of mine.  I'm going to squat while the sauce simmers.  I'm going to lunge while I broil.  I'm going to dead-lift while I'm dictating spelling.  I'm going to multi-task in new and frightening ways.

Pick out a routine, and pick up something heavy along with me!  Let's flex our girlie muscles!

Something else that needs addressing (or confessing) - I didn't make the dinner I had planned for last night.  The day got totally out of control, and by the time I got home at 6 pm, I couldn't bear to cook a decent meal.  I thought maybe a glass of wine would be just the thing to get me in the mood for cooking.  So, after a glass of wine, on a nearly empty stomach, I found myself a little loopy.  The kids were worn out, and I gave them a quick dinner of french bread and soup, with sliced mozzarella on the side.  I didn't eat that myself, though.  No.

I had a bowl of chocolate ice cream, and then climbed in bed and watched three straight hours of television.  So there you have the Big Slice Off The Wagon Dinner of Champions.  Big glass of wine, chocolate ice cream, in bed.   It was way better than those dried out sausages I cooked last Friday.  Alas - tonight I will resume the actual cooking.  I should've taken a photo of my "dinner" for the SmallSlice album, but I was too busy licking the bowl and contemplating whether it is tacky to put a straw in a wine glass.   

Posted by Jenny at 9:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

Early this week, my friend Kim threw down yet another challenge.  We are supposed to be walking both to drop our kids off at school, and again to pick them up in the afternoon.  It's a mile each way, making it a four mile day if we do both drop-offs and pick-ups.

Yesterday, we did four miles.  Well, actually Kim did four miles.  I did four plus, because I have a three- year-old who thinks that dashing away from me toward the street is the height of hilarity.  So I get regular sprints with added stress built into my daily walks.   Fun, I tell you!

Our daughters have this thing about horses.  As I was struggling to shove the stroller through our front gate, I heard a shrill "Neeeeeigh!" coming from across the street.  My daughter threw back her head and gave her best whinny back.  Our neighbors love these tribal greetings at quarter to eight in the morning. 

Tra la la!

Anyway, so we got the kids to school, and turned around for home.  Once we got home, I ran inside and changed into my riding tights and boots and grabbed my helmet for my horseback riding lesson.  Tossing the three-year-old into her car seat, I raced off to my parents house to drop her off so I can have my lesson.

At the barn, I couldn't find the saddle I used last lesson, so I grabbed another one.  Once I mounted, the poor horse was not having any of this.  He was all "Look, lady.  It's bad enough that I've got to carry your 179 pounds on my back, but this saddle pinches (or something) and you better get off before I MAKE YOU GET OFF."  Yay for quick dismounts!  I was two seconds away from playing rodeo, and let me tell you, that was not part of the plan today.

Once we fixed the saddle situation, we got down to business, and I bruised my butt all up with the stand up sit down trot trot trot business.  I'm happy to report that I didn't feel like such a dork this time.  However, I assure you that I still looked plenty dorky, bouncing around the arena with a fist full of mane and a big loony grin on my face.  I felt like doing that whinny that the girls do to greet each other. 

After picking my daughter up, I raced home in time to catch Kim on the walk back to school, thereby forfeiting any chance for lunch.  At the park between pickup times, we let the kids play on the sand.  Feeling cocky, I walked over to the monkey bars and grabbed ahold of the first rung.  Once, twice, three times, I moved my hands to the next rung, and then I dropped down, yelling "ow, ow, ow."

Kim walked over and looked me up and down and snorted before spitting in her hands and grabbing the first rung.  She almost made it all the way across and really stuck the landing.  Okay, she didn't actually spit in her hands, but she did give me the stink-eye. 

Well, I couldn't just let that stand.  I mean, come on.  So I went and grabbed the bar, and made it one space before dropping and complaining some more.  Then Kim called her daughter over and made her watch while she did almost the whole monkey bars again.  Show-off!  I bet she can't lift her arms tomorrow.   Before I knew it, Kim had goaded another of the moms into giving it  a try.  She failed after four swings.  You know what this means?  Kim is hiding some superhuman strength in her arms.  And also, GAME ON, TOOTS. 

To console myself, I wandered over to the tire swing and sat down, promptly wedging my butt in the hole and getting whapped in the head with the chain.  I turned the tire swing over to the kids, and wandered over to lick my wounds on the regular swings, where I sat my daughter on my lap and discovered that trying to swing while holding a three-year-old works your thigh muscles. 

Are you guys working it?  I want to hear what you guys are up to!

Posted by Jenny at 8:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

First of all, check out my left sidebar over there - see it?  The new photo album/recipe thingie?  I'm determined to actually post the dinners I make and eat over there for y'all to keep me honest. 

Because sometimes, a girl just wants to hit the drive-thru and get a super-size fries, even if she made a giant shopping trip and just ranted about dog-crap in food.  Must.  Be.  Strong...

Eliminating snacks from my diet may seem counterproductive.  Yet that's what I'm determined to do.  See, as a snacker, I habitually fill my body with empty, thoughtless calories, and end up overeating at meals, because my stomach was already close to full from all the goodies I ate earlier.  I know that there are some people out there who have difficulty managing their blood sugar, and need to eat small, frequent meals.  As for me, I really don't.  I rarely find myself hungry, because I'm always snacking.  This has messed with my body's cues in a big way.

This was one of the problems I had with some of the traditional diet programs - on the old points program through Weight Watchers, I found myself eating veggie soup for dinner every night, having found a way to squander all my points on a little bit of this and a little bit of that during the day.  I hated having to account for every bite.   They built in plenty of low-point snack suggestions, and while I appreciated being able to have a fat-free pudding, or a couple of low-cal cookies, or a diet soda, or heck, all of that and more, I was filling my body with synthetic crap in an effort to entertain my palate.  Less than an hour later, I'd find myself craving a little something to tide me over.  It was a never-ending cycle.

My challenge for this week is to cut all the snacks out.  I've caved a few times, but I am finding that by eating breakfast, lunch and dinner, and including healthy fats in each meal, I am satisfied, and don't need to seek out a snack between meals.  And you know what?  I'm enjoying every bite.  I've got plenty of energy, and I feel balanced.  This is a major improvement, let me tell you.

I'm not saying that all snacks are bad - I know that other people (like, not me) can snack responsibly.  I'm unable to, and I'm finding that the urge to snack is not based on hunger - which is the only reason to eat, if I'm understanding correctly.  Who knew?  Perhaps I need to take up a new hobby.

Once my hideous sunburn heals on my back, I'll be back to crazy exercising. I've added your DVD suggestions to my netflix queue, and I'm looking for more ideas and challenges.  What do you want to see me do?  Here's what I have in my arsenal:

• mini-trampoline
• weighted hula-hoop
• roller blades
• scooter
• bike
• exercise ball
• assorted dumbbells and a curling bar
• jump rope
• good walking shoes
• newly started horseback riding lessons (Haaa!  Comedy GOLD, people!)
• access to all sorts of indoor and outdoor exercise venues - ice and roller skating, rock climbing, paddle boats, hiking trails, inflatable indoor party gym place, dance studios, the beach, the redwoods... use your imagination.
• no shame
• several new, cute exercise outfits from Target, to whom we should just give the paycheck, already.
• a camera capable of stills AND video

You wanna see me do a Survivor-style obstacle course at the park?  You want me to ride five miles on my bike while pulling two tantruming kids in the bike trailer?  You want me to climb a bazillion steps?  Want to see me attempt a challenging yoga series with my three-year-old "helping?"

I'm willing to try.  More than that, I'm willing to document and present photo/video evidence for your amusement.  So let's hear it.  Leave me a comment with your wild plans - and if I maim myself trying to base jump off the play structure at the local park at your suggestion...let's just hope I don't maim myself.  Too much.  Golly, this is starting to sound like an episode of Jackass. 

Posted by Jenny at 10:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (1)

Every afternoon, my two older children have swimming lessons at our local pool.  With three kids, the smart thing to do would be to bring my bathing suit and play in the water with my three year old while waiting for the older two to finish their lessons. 

Actually, I've planned on doing that, I really have.  However, I sunburned my back so badly at the beach on Mother's Day that a soft tee shirt is excruciating.  I'm going to have to wait until it heals before I get back in the water.  Not that I'm so excited about prancing around in my swimming suit, mind you.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I took the kids to the pool that our homeowners dues pay for.  There was no one there, and I allowed myself to lay back in the water, floating without a care in the middle of the deep end.  I breathed in and out, in and out, and let myself drift on the surface.  I stopped thinking about my large thighs.  The water held me up, and I felt the tension just melt away.  I must have floated for ten, fifteen minutes at a stretch, only bobbing up to check on the kids.  It was so peaceful that I have been craving a repeat performance.  Alas, I am a lobster. 

Granted, swimming in a public pool with my three year old, and half the town isn't exactly peaceful.  But it would keep me safe from the siren song of the concession stand. 

The Fat Fallacy is all about eating real food.  Real.  Not things like Skittles and Coca-cola and nacho cheese.  Gummy worms are not real food.  Red Vines?  Totally not real food.  I knew I would be coming home and having a nice dinner of homemade mac and cheese, and I was looking forward to it.  I walked my three-year-old around the pavement four times before I thought to check and see if they would have anything "real" to snack on. 

I ended up getting tortilla chips coated with Que Bueno! Nacho "cheese" out of a pump.  I only ate a few, and felt guilty as hell, but man.  Why do I love that stuff?

My friend Kim pointed out to me that as consumers, we just accept the additives and mystery scientific-sounding ingredients in our food.  We don't even know what half this stuff is, and yet we put it in our grocery carts, and into our mouths.

"What is "red#40"? It's a dye.  Right.  But what is that?  They don't have to list the ingredients of dyes.  There are dyes in lots of things: paint, plastics, clothes.  Do we really need them in our food?

The same goes for drinks.  If you don't know what it is, don't drink it.  Just try to say the ingredients on the back of a can of bubbly black, clear, or neon cola.  Read the labels and you often see lactic acid in there - that's the muscle toxin that gives you cramps when you exercise.  Another one is phosphoric acid.  Prior to returning to graduate school, I was a research chemist and had to keep this stuff under the hood if I was even going to take the lid off."

~Will Clower, The Fat Fallacy, page 188-189

Kim's whole point was this:  if you tell someone that their food had just a little dog crap in it, would they still eat it?  I wouldn't.  Even if it was a microscopic amount.  I'm not eating dog crap.  Nope.  Not doing it.  Yet, today I sidled up to the counter and bought myself a paper dish of Que Bueno, which could contain dog crap, for all I know.  I just don't know.

I'm going to be putting all future foods through the dog-crap test - if I don't know for sure, I'm not eating it.   

Posted by Jenny at 9:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

It had been so long since I'd stepped on a scale that I was honestly not sure what to expect.  I froze before I stepped onto the scale, unsure of whether to take off my jacket and shoes.   The nurse sighed and said, "up you go!" and I took a deep breath and stepped on.  186 blinked at me in red digital letters.   I spluttered and stammered something about the wooden clogs and thick jacket and look!  I forgot to put down my giant purse!  But the nurse had briskly noted the number in my chart and marched off town the hall, motioning for me to follow.  

Before embarking on a new eating and exercise routine, I thought it would be a good idea to get a checkup and find out where I stand, health-wise.   I've heard that weight gain and retention can sometimes be attributed to hormone fluctuations or thyroid issues, and I secretly hoped I had something to blame my size on, other than a robust appetite and flair for sitting still.   I found out from this office visit that I am actually obese.  I'm also increasing my risk of all sorts of nasty things.   I found myself wanting to apologize to the doctor for my lack of control.

Instead, I marched myself down to the lab for some blood work.   After I got the results, I'm happy to say I'm healthy.  No little magic weight-correcting pill for me.  No, I'm going to have to go about this the old fashioned way.   As my doctor put it:  I need to eat less, and exercise more.  Well, duh.

Still, part of this process is undoubtedly relearning some of those things we know; yet do not apply to our own lives.   I decided that a good step in the right direction would be to purchase a functional scale.  After picking the kids up at school, I braved a trip to Target.   

Our Target is currently being renovated, and all the aisles are in weird places.   I wandered around for twenty minutes, with the kids getting progressively squirrelly, and finally found the right spot.  They had two models to choose from, and both were very high tech.   I looked them over for about thirty seconds, and then decided to see what I weighed on each scale.  So I could buy the one that said I was thinner, naturally.   My first-grader spotted an end aisle with animal crackers, and asked for a box.  I waved her on, and kicked off my shoes.   I was peeling off my jacket and setting down my purse when a very fit young man came into the aisle.  He stopped near my cart, in viewing range of the scale.   

My "yeah, I'm a mom, and I need to lose some weight, so bite me" bravado fled, and I sort of rustled around in my cart, pretending to look for something.   The guy began to investigate the scales, too.  Crud.

I finally kicked the scale sort of under the cart, and stepped up, holding onto the side of the basket.   It let off an ear-splitting beep, probably in protest of being forced to support my weight.  I glanced down.  The cart obscured the numbers.  I glanced over at the young guy, and he was smirking, eyes straight ahead on the display.  I tried to wiggle the cart over a little bit to see the numbers.

"Mommy," my son said in a shout. "Mommy!  What does one-seven-nine mean?"   

Okay, then.  I sighed and stepped off the scale.   I had been hoping to learn that the doctor's scale was horribly wrong.  Like the Queen in Snow White, I'd been hoping for a magic mirror to tell me what I wanted to hear.   Instead, I got digital numbers, coldly confirming that it is time to take action. 

As I slipped my shoes on, my youngest held her box of animal crackers aloft and began to shake it, hooting like a monkey.   Broken crackers pelted me as I knelt on the floor, and I leaped to my feet and grabbed the box.  The guy disappeared from the aisle, shaking his head, as I scrambled around on the floor, picking up crackers.   

Finally, with crumb coated knees and sticky fingers, I beat a hasty retreat, leaving the scales behind.   What happened to me?  I felt as awkward as my sixteen-year-old self did when I found myself nauseous in a drugstore checkout line, purchasing maxi-pads and acne cream with a cute boy from school in line right behind me.   After three kids, I can slap a giant box of hemorrhoid wipes (soothing!) and a three-pack of granny panties on the conveyor belt with nary a stomach flutter.   Why did I freak out when I thought some random stranger would overhear The Number? 

That's when I decided that I needed to blog this journey.   I need to be open, and accountable.  I need to lose the shame, and focus on the goals at hand.  I've had my moment of truth – now it's time to get started.   

Posted by Jenny at 6:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)