The Daft Dieter

Facing the Fat

2010-12-27T13:39:00.000-08:00

+ 14.8

To say I fell off the wagon is probably an understatement... to say I fell off of and then got run over by the wagon is somewhat closer to the truth. To say that I put hot fudge and whipped cream on said wagon and ate it and then washed it all down with a bottle of Syrah is, in fact, the reality.

After a handful of cream puff-style self deprecations a couple of years ago (see below), I did actually get serious in 2009, taking part in a great controlled thermal loading experiment which ultimately helped me lose 22 pounds. 12 of which, slowly but surely, I've gained back. Well, shit.

Today, that charming 15-yr-old son of mine said, "Well, for a mom, you don't look too bad, but as a real person, you've got a way to go..." I smiled and (more pungent expletives raging around my brain) calmly replied, "One day, I'm gonna kick your ass." In the nicest way, of course.

Really, it's all about accountability; time to face the fat. If you're reading this post, it's because you've been invited to help me stay accountable, to reach and maintain my goals. I'm open to whatever it takes: questions, jibes, encouragements, bets, suggestions, smackdowns, you name it! Hell, does anyone want to join me?

My method: I'm planning to stick closely to the slow-carb plan outlined in Tim Ferriss' new book, The Four Hour Body. I've been going to the gym to rehabilitate a back injury, so at least exercise is covered. This plan ties in with New Year's resolutions, so give me a few days to gear up. Next on the agenda (GULP!): the dreaded measurements and specific goals. I think I'll need a stop at the local bakery to fortify my resolve... See you on the other size!

Critical Mass

2008-08-25T12:54:00.000-07:00

+18.2

Critical mass, as defined by Merriam-Webster, is "a size, number, or amount large enough to produce a particular result" and I can guarantee you, I'm there. The "particular result" produced was the bloodcurdling primal scream I emitted when I stepped on the scale and saw this "large enough" number on the little digital screen. A few more ounces, and I'll weigh what I weighed moments before I gave birth to 15-yr-old.

This isn't really so much an issue of pounds per se, it's more a problem of distribution. I would rather have been born an apple than a pear, but you get what you get. And what I got all resides between my belly button and my knees. I hate the way my thighs stick together when I stand up straight, but worst of all is the buh-thigh (where the butt meets the thigh). When I looked in the mirror today, I noticed that my buh-thighs are wider than my shoulders. Definitely NOT GOOD!

And one other thing: if I ever did lose enough weight to be happy with my buh-thighs, I'm pretty sure my already AA boobs would end up concave. What do you call that? Inverse critical mass? Better cover your ears; here comes another primal scream.

The Stress Test

2008-08-24T13:39:00.001-07:00

+17.8

This is why you're not supposed to get on the scale every day. How could I gain two pounds in 24 hours when I ate like a normal person? And I even skipped my glass of wine, for heaven's sake! It must be colonic buildup or something. On the other hand, I'll probably burn some calories just stressing out about those numbers I see down there between my feet.

Unfortunately, that's not true, according to the book I just bought and read, The Brain Wash by Michelle Schoffro Cook. Apparently, emotional and mental stress impair the function of the digestive system. Cook suggests that you "Try to create a peaceful state of mind when you eat. Stress can disrupt digestion so it is important to try to find some inner calm when eating." When I read this, I see myself meditating in the middle of the dining room table in the lotus position. The kids throw food at each other and the dog barks loudly for scraps, but in my illuminated frame of mind, I just eat my way down the Noble Eightfold Path to Nirvana and a Size 4 butt...

Somehow, the image isn't working. But she may be on to something. If I can't eat when life is stressful, if no morsel of food can cross my lips unless my innards are calm, then the solution is very straightforward: I'll simply starve to death. I may be dead, but I'll be skinny.

Pat-a-Cake, Pat-a-Cake

2008-08-23T14:31:00.000-07:00

+15.6

Kids are just great, aren't they? You can always count on them to tell you exactly what they think. Out of the mouths of babes... Adorable little 2-yr-old loves to snuggle in the morning and often pats me on the cheek by way of a greeting. This morning he pats my cheek, and then sits up and starts patting my stomach. "Boing," he says cheerily, "Boing, boing, big belly! Mama belly bouncy, bouncy!" He sticks his index finger into my navel and it sinks all the way in. "I'm getting up now!" I shriek as I bolt out of bed.

I'm relieved to see that the scale is cutting me some slack, but that feeling doesn't last long. "Is that what you're wearing?" wonders 15-yr-old, staring pointedly at the place where my tummy pours out over the top of my pants. "Why don't you wear those other jeans?" She means the ones that I can't get up past my knees right now. I convince myself that she's just retaliating because I won't let her wear thong underwear.

That's when 5-yr-old comes in and asks, "Mama, are you having another baby?" "No," I say, "I'm walking the dog." The fresh air and sunshine will do me good, I think, and I'll get some exercise as I try to shake off suspicions of a major familial conspiracy. When I come back in the house, I'm greeted by the sweet sight of 13-yr-old teaching his younger siblings some French phrases. 5-yr-old smiles at me brightly as she recites, "Maman est une grosse vache enorme!" (Mama is a big fat cow). How cute. I decide to sit on 13-yr-old until he begs for mercy...

The Stages of Dieting

2008-08-22T14:26:00.000-07:00

+16.8

In my personal experience, the stages of dieting are exactly the same as the Kübler-Ross model of the five stages of grief:

Denial These pants must have shrunk in the wash...
Anger Why can he eat anything he wants, when I can't even LOOK at a bagel without gaining 2lbs? Life is so not fair...
Bargaining I promise I'll start exercising as soon as I lose a couple of pounds so my gym clothes will fit...
Depression I'll always be plump, so why even bother? Pass that triple-cream Brie over here...
Acceptance Okay! I'll slim down! I'm motivated! I'll start, um, Monday...

My moments in the Acceptance stage never last long; I fluctuate mostly between Depression and Denial, which I self-medicate with whatever comfort food happens to be lying around. There's another stage which pops up once I'm in full Acceptance; it's called Panic, and it hit today.

I call a good friend, Ms. S, and scream, "OMG! This is drastic! I have to start a diet; even my fat pants won't button! I need a "Last Hurrah" piece of cheesecake right now!" Being the reliable Comrade in Carbs that she is, she says, "I'll be there in twenty minutes." We're good. We eat small salads first, and then we split a piece of cheesecake. After the third bite, Ms. S starts to moan, just like Meg Ryan in that infamous scene in When Harry Met Sally, and I start to giggle uncontrollably. She knows what I'm thinking and protests, "WHAT?!? I'm not having an orgasm, I'm just getting full!" Now I'm in rolling in hysterics (does this count as exercise?), and needless to say, she does eat the last bite. I decide to go back to Denial; it's a lot more fun.

To Diet, or Not To Diet

2008-08-21T16:51:00.000-07:00

+17.0

Honestly, this whole dieting thing is such a nightmare! I've been on a perpetual diet ever since 5-yr-old was born, with the exception of the nine months I was pregnant with 2-yr-old (when I used every excuse to chow down). Not the same diet, mind you, but a steady succession of different diets, combinations of diets, fitness plans, and failures. The Okinawa Program, The Mediterranean Diet, The Fat Flush Plan, Ultrametabolism, Low-Carb Life, The Zone, The Maker's Diet, The Volumetrics Eating Plan, The Detox Box, French Women Don't Get Fat, The Sonoma Diet and of course, Weight Watchers. It just boggles the mind.

There are a couple that I didn't try, like Atkins and South Beach. They just sounded too ridiculous. But then, there was that time in college when I tried a diet that consisted primarily of boiled hot dogs, canned beets, and vanilla ice cream. I kid you not. It's embarrassing, really.

Then there's all the homework involved; do they honestly think a mother of four has time for all these details? Counting carbs, counting calories, counting points, calculating fat/protein/carb ratios, precisely measuring portions, 12x3 reps of exercises with names like "dying bug", cleansing, fasting, purging, supplements, weird daily cocktails like unsweetened cranberry juice with spirulina (that one is plain disgusting), remembering not to eat carbs within two hours of eating protein, Epsom salt baths, weigh-ins, food journaling, etc... I definitely have a headache.

Isn't there some reasonable approach to weight loss? Husband, who's sporting a sizable tire of his own now (we belly-bounce every time we try to hug), says, "It's easy. Just don't eat dinner." Easy if you've been sitting at a desk all day, but not if you've got my wild after-school schedule and have to make dinner for four hungry kids. Most of my meals consist of what they leave on their plates. There's probably an intelligent answer to the diet dilemma out there, but I've got to eat several squares of >73% cacao dark chocolate just to have enough stamina to even think about it...

My Darling, My Hamburger

2008-08-17T07:37:00.000-07:00

+16.6

It's like this: sometime in the middle of the night last night, I started channeling Bridget Jones. Actually, I was probably Bridget Jonesing long before Helen Fielding ever thought her up, although my life now is much more mild mannered... but anyway. I stepped on the scale this morning and saw the hideous truth I've been trying to avoid: I'm 16.6 pounds over my ideal weight (My pre-Baby#3 weight), the same ideal weight I was within ten pounds of last time I looked. How did this happen? (That's a rhetorical question...)

Well, I was in a foul frame of mind a few minutes later when Husband walks into the bathroom and innocently asks,"What are you so dressed up for?" What crossed my mind was the fact that 15-yr-old and 13-yr-old are coming home from Europe today and I wanted to maybe look nice, but what spews from my mouth, rather venomously, is "Because my big fat @** doesn't fit into any of my pants, THAT'S WHY!!!" He looks stung, stunned; he really doesn't know what hit him. I was actually going to apologize when 5-yr-old, who unbeknownst to me was just around the corner, starts chanting (in that irritating, singsong way that kids do), "Mommy has faaaat @**, Mommy has a faaaat @**" I go in the closet to nurse my humiliation, and to cut the belt loops off my dress. Sashes with big poofy bows are so not happening right now.

The whole morning is really stressful, and since Sundays are a really bad day to start a diet anyway, I decide to stop on the way to the airport for a cheeseburger with fried onion rings on it. I eat the whole thing, even though I start to have heartburn after the first three bites. I should begin to feel guilty at this point, but in fact, my heart is swelling with pride. I resisted the bacon add-on I usually order, and when the server comes to ask if I want a refill on my "endless" basket of fries, I bravely say no. Obviously, I am a model of self-restraint...