On October 4th, 2016, I set a goal to lose 16 pounds. After turning 40, I gained an average of 4 pounds per year, for the past 4 years. If I were to live another 44 years, at that rate, I would gain 176 more pounds. I realize that I am throwing a lot of numbers out there, and I prefer words to numbers, but ignoring the math got me into this pudgy-podgy mess.
Even though I am active and exercise 3-6 hours a week, I packed on the pounds, basically gaining one per season. Exercise is vital to me for aesthetic, mental, and physical reasons, but I was using it as an excuse to indulge; I rewarded myself with way too many treats because I thought I deserved them for my consistent, physical work. I would run extra miles for a glass of cabernet and a bowl of Goldfish Crackers (my all-time favorite food combo). Many nights I’d pour more wine and crackers and end up with a bellyfull of fish, a whole school, partying in the red sea. Double-fisted, glass in my right (pinky up), bowl in my left (Flavor Blasted, Xtra Cheddar), I sabotaged my workouts.
After turning 40, I could not keep running for food incentives and maintain my weight. My chemistry, hormones, and age had to be factored in, but again, I’m not a numbers person. I did not want to count calories in or burned.
So, I became thicker and constantly looked bloated. It was not a miracle that my water weight turned into wine handles, and the flat stomach I crunched to maintain became flabby. Instead of Sunshine, I could be coined as Puff-Shine. I was untoned and dumpy, and, although I was not yet fat, I was on my way to a roomier belt buckle. Who am I kidding? I hadn’t needed a belt in years.
Last fall, the heavier reality bell rang in with my 151 pounds on my 5’5” frame. I kept stepping on the scale to make sure it was right. How could this be? Is the scale broken? Can I deduct a few pounds for my wet, shampooed hair? Could the motion of flipping-off the scale promote weight loss? Could using both middle fingers burn more calories? That last pound, 1-5-1, changed my BMI (Body Mass Index) from normal to overweight. (In the About Me section, I declared my weight loss goal.)
Ever since puberty, with the exception of two pregnancies, I consistently maintained an American medium size 6-8 that I was happy with. (I stress American, because many foreign countries calculate sizes smaller. I am not China Girl Medium — I know this because the adult-female-medium size Steelers jersey that came from China was just big enough to fit Sports Fan Barbie).
I love my colorful, eccentric, extensive wardrobe, and was not about to replace it with bigger clothes. When I could barely button or keep the zipper teeth from flying open on my pants, I cried. When I walked and my bum jiggled with a bowl full of jelly (grape on the left, strawberry on the right), I cried. I tried to suck in my cheeks, (face and backside), but all that clenching gave me a headache, so I cried. Elastic waistbands and dresses were my go-to-garments, but then I got stuck in a denim dress at an Old Navy fitting room; I nearly threw out my back, trying to get free, and I cried. Shedding tears is not like shedding pounds. Look at the chart. See for yourself. There are no waistband perks for eye drops or crying rivers. I could wade in my own wallow, but it wasn’t gonna get me out of a Levi’s straightjacket.
I needed to shrink into the clothes I already have. I decided it was time to commit and get smaller before I let one more ounce creep in. In order to get my skin closer to my bones, I had to control what I put into my mouth. I needed a plan. (FYI – Looking for a plan that controls what comes out of my mouth too, but one step at a time 😉
My plan was to join a popular club to help me out. Read my blog, “Slimming Down with Weight Watchers” to find out what happened to my bones, skin, flab, muscles, and all that jazz. Before you do, look below at my weight loss goal. Do you have one? What can you get rid of? If need be, I know YOU can get rid of a toilet topped off with bloodhound licking four sticks of butter. YOU are that strong!!!