Cowboys Like Fat Calves

Remember that treasure chest of "Jim-isms" I mentioned a few days ago? This is one of them. And I think he honestly means it as a compliment. As in, no one likes a skinny girl ... they're better with a bit of meat on 'em.

("Friday night girls" and "Skinny girls hate themselves" are two more sayings along this line that I can explain to you in person someday.)

But back to the subject at hand. Or leg, as it were.

I needed boots this weekend. Fashionable ones. With heels. I need them because I don't know how to hem pants and I just bought a black pair and a brown pair that were a smidge too long. Hence the need for two pair of boots ... a black and a brown.

I tried on several pair, looking for just one that would actually zip over my calves. Holy Toledo. My legs are not stick skinny. Never have been, never will be. But boy ... I didn't expect to battle four out of five styles of boots to get them closed. The two I bought are not exactly comfy, but with a little effort and elbow grease, they'll work.

What would I have done two years ago?

Ankle boots, I guess.

Zero to 13.2 in 6.0

If you're having trouble motivating yourself or think you just can't do "it" (whatever it is) because you are too sore/tired/out of shape, etc. ... listen to this little story:

My 45-year-old cousin, who hadn't run since he was a sprinter on his high school track team, decided to run a half marathon with his son. He had six weeks to train. (A quick Google search will give you 12-week plans, nine-week plans ... even an eight-week plan. I didn't find one for a total beginner with just six weeks.) He's a dad with a full-time job. He didn't have a lot of time to train. But he worked it in because it was important.

Before race day, his longest run was eight miles.

And, not only did he finish, but he finished 16th out of 72 in his age division.

Your body can do amazing things. If your mind will get the hell out of the way.

(And if anyone wants to do a half with me, and my cousin, in the LaCrosse area this spring, let me know. It's on like Donkey Kong!)

I (Heart) Gary Fisher!

I love my bike! I love my bike! I love my bike!

What I'm trying to say is, I love my bike!

Hopped on the treadmill this morning and ended up in tears. While my knee (after a week of continual ibuprofen) doesn't hurt too much to move, it's still "wrong." It feels like there's too much stuff inside the casing. And it feels like it could just collapse at any moment.

So I walked at a measly 3.0 mph for a mile just for spite and cried most of the way, cursing myself for being so stupid last Saturday. Part of me was hoping the damn thing would just explode so I could get it fixed once and for all.

(Dear God, I'm bitching because I'm frustrated. Please don't take me seriously ... I don't really want my knee to explode. Others have had injuries worse than mine and had to deal with them much longer. We both know I'm kind of a wuss. Thank you. Amen.)

This afternoon, I noticed that my knee wasn't throbbing. I was aware of it's "fullness," but there was no sharp, shooting pain.

This has to be a good sign, right? Maybe I just needed to get on it?

So, this afternoon, I broke out the bike and did 15 miles. I just couldn't sit still any longer. And, the bike is easier on knees, right?

Wearing some killer heels this evening, too. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Cross your fingers.

Better Spaghetter

Jim loves spaghetti. Bottled spaghetti sauces are cheap, but full of sugar and salt. So I make my own. It probably turns out different each time because I just toss in whatever I have on-hand. So I think this really isn't a recipe, so much as a suggestion. And an invitation to experiment.

This makes enough sauce for a 1.25-lb,  package of ground turkey for a mock bolognese

Better Spaghetter
1 small onion diced
1-2 tsp diced garlic
A turn or two around the pan of olive oil
1 big can diced tomatoes (find the ones with the least sodium)
1 small can diced fire roasted tomatoes
1 small can tomato paste
1 cup water
1-2 T oregano
1-2 T basil
To taste: garlic salt, garlic powder, red pepper flakes, salt, pepper

In a big stock pot, sautee onion in olive oil until it starts to soften up. Add diced garlic. Let it get all yummy and smelly. Add tomato products, some water, and green spices. You have to have it "loose" enough that it can bubble away on the stove for a while and not get too thick. Add other stuff to your own taste. Let it simmer away for as long as you have. Add cooked ground turkey and ladle over whole wheat noodles or spaghetti squash.

Or keep the ground turkey out and use it over a chicken breast with some parmesean or mozerella for chicken parm.

Without Exercise ...

Here's the difference between the me that exercises and the me that doesn't:

• Without exercise, I have a hard time concentrating during the day.
• Without exercise, I wake up tired and stay tired during the day. I'm assuming I'm getting more restless sleep, as the circles under my eyes will attest.
• Without exercise, I have to be so much more careful about how I eat. The "relaxed" habits I've acquired don't work now that I'm not burning those extra calories.
• Without exercise, I'm freaking ornery. I'm mad that I'm off my pace to add miles and will have to start over. I'm scared that I'll gain 95 pounds back in a week or so. I'm worried that I'll start to like this not exercising thing and fall off the wagon all together.

So, I went back to basics today. I stopped at the grocery store and loaded up on the right stuff. I made a pot of spaghetti sauce tonight and planned my meals out for the upcoming week. Kale, edamame, spaghetti squash, zucchini ... it's all back in rotation.

And while the run of pizza, Mexican, ice cream and sugar cookies ... all in one week ... was fun, it had to end!

Now I have the confidence to know that I can do this. I have done it before. I will be OK.

Bummed

I'm not going to be running on Saturday. At least I don't think I will be. And I'm so disappointed. I really wanted to go 10 miles, before it gets too cold and while I was on this roll. I knew I had the wind for it ... and I was hoping for the leg.

It's still so strange to me to get my head around the fact that I'm disappointed I can't work out. That I WANT to run and am so genuinely upset that I can't right now.

Trying to be careful and patient so that if this is just an "overdid it" situation, it can heal and I can get back to work as quickly as possible. Scared to death that I screwed something up in a big way.

Either way, my Saturday this week isn't going to nearly as much fun as I had planned.

The 10% Rule

When I acquired a husband, I acquired his treasure chest of charming, should-be-copyrighted turns of phrase. Some of them aren't fit for public consumption. But some of them are downright prophetic.

One of them is "The 10% Rule."

He throws it out whenever I am having trouble doing something simple or ordinary. Like when I'm struggling to get the cover back on the battery compartment of the TV remote. Or when I'm packing and repacking my computer bag, trying to get 10 pounds of crap in a five pound space. Or when I'm reading assembly instructions for installing software. You get the drift.

As little beads of sweat break out on my hairline, I hear, "The 10% Rule, Lisa."

The definition/tagline of The 10% Rule is as follows: "You must be 10% smarter than whatever you're playing with."

There's another 10% rule commanded by runners and trainers everywhere. I've heard it from my sports med doc and my running friends.

It goes like this: "When trying to add miles, only add 10% more per week."

I broke both of these 10% rules this past weekend. And I'm paying for it.

Not only did I 1) add nearly 20% more miles last Saturday, but then, like someone who apparently is smarter than the sports med doc who told me not to run at all, I pushed it a bit more and 2) walked for 3 miles the following day.

My bad knee is killing me. By the end of the workday, it's throbbing and I can't bend it properly to walk down the steps. I haven't been able to work out in three days. And it's not getting better, it's feeling worse.

Tonight I'm loading up on ibuprofen and icing it.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

My Point?

I rambled a little yesterday. I was leading up to this:

You can do anything for a little while.

You don't have to give up all pizza forever and spend two hours exercising every day for the rest of your life. You don't have to eat rabbit food and be hungry all the time and wake up a 4 a.m. to get a walk in every morning from now until you're old and gray.

You do have to commit to changing the pattern that's not working for you now ... for a while. Until you get where you really want to be.

Then you can eat pizza again. Once in a while. You can skip a day of exercise. Once in a while.

And you'll feel better. Every day.

You can do it.

How Hard is It?

A little while ago, a friend declared sort of publicly that she was making a change. Getting healthier. I let her know I was in support and wished her the best.

I also told her that it wouldn't be as hard as she thought.

I've been thinking about that this past couple of weeks. Why would I say that? Losing weight is hard, right?

Well, yes. It's hard. But now that I can look back on it, after 18 months, it really doesn't seem like it was that hard. And it was certainly not as hard as I thought it would be all those years I was too afraid or too stubborn to try. And it was most definitely not as hard as carrying around those pounds and all the baggage that comes with them.

It took me six months to lose 70 pounds. And another 12 months to lose 25 more. That's more than 500 days of waking up and deciding to do the right things. Eat better. Exercise. Believe I could do it.

Compared to the 25 years I felt like crap about the way I looked and the way I felt, 500 days doesn't seem like such a long time.

And you've heard me say it before, the biggest regret I have about the whole thing is that I didn't start earlier. That I couldn't figure it out, that I couldn't trust myself to try.

So what was different about this time? I didn't think about 100 pounds. I thought about five. I didn't think about the 18 months it might take me. I thought about making good choices for one day. I didn't dwell about being hungry and wanting to eat. I thought instead about how nothing I could put in my mouth would make me feel better than being healthier.

Most of all I didn't think about the 25 years of failing or being disappointed. I thought about how much I mattered to me. I thought about how I only get one life, one body, and how I am in control of me.

And this time it worked.

No More Topless Sunbathing

They're cutting the corn in the field next to my house. That means the people that live on the road off to the side of my house can now see my deck again, after a long summer of lovely, green camoflage.

Guess that means any racy sun worshipping is officially over for the summer.

Not that I lay out there half naked.

Much.

New Schtuff

I have never understood my husband's fascination with Gander Mountain. I mean, how many different kinds of camo does one person need? Or fishing lures. Or bullets. Or things to attach to a bow. I mean, I think fish bite at things when they're hungry (after all, what else is there to do down there?) ... so I just don't get why they'd bite at the fluorescent yellow thingy more than the not-so-different fluorescent green thingy.

But I do know he enjoys having a whole treasure trove of "schtuff" to feed his addiction. When he needs a whatchamacallit, he heads to his stash and finds a whatchamacallit. It makes him happy.

This week I got a taste of the same thing. For myself. And my new HOBBY. (This word still makes me smile.)

I stopped at All Season Runner earlier in the week just to browse. I was thinking my new outdoor running program required some sort of revamp to the current water bottle situation. For the past three weeks, I've just been carrying a normal 16 oz. plastic bottle of water. But my hands aren't really big enough to carry it comfortably. So I'd drink half the water and collapse the bottle a little, making it smaller in diameter and easier to carry. But it still wasn't right.

At ASR, I found this adorable smaller bottle, curved to fit in my palm, with a strap that wraps around the back of my hand. For $15, it wasn't exactly a bargain, but it fit the bill. I also checked out reflective stuff for running when it's dark, pepper spray, compression shirts ... but I left with just the water bottle.

Today, while Jim was at Gander Mountain ... again ... I dashed over to TJMaxx to see if I could find some running tights and a long sleeve shirt that would work. I already have one of each, but thought I needed another set, should I want to run two days in a row without laundry in between. Sure enough, I found upgraded versions of what I have. An Avia pullover and a pair of Brooks running pants ... both with reflective stripes sewn right in and both with POCKETS for my cell phone!

And now I'm totally thinking I need to go back for the pepper spray. After the Zanesville OH wild-animals-on-the-loose thing and the cougar-on-the-trail-cam thing in northern WI, I had a burst of probably unfounded fear today long about mile 6.

Unexpected Downside of Being Thinner #14

Used to be that when I sat down at a restaurant, I had an instant place to tuck a napkin so that it wouldn't slide off my lap and onto the floor. My belly, or "chunk" as I preferred to call it, created a fold into which I could secure the napkin. If you can picture it, there was a crevice formed between my chunk and thighs.

There isn't one there anymore. So now my napkin falls to the floor more often.

Unexpected Benefit of Being Thinner #27

When Jim reaches an arm around my waist in bed, to pull me closer, spoon style, I don't instantly tense up and suck in my gut, hoping that he won't notice my "chunk."

There's no chunk. Squeeze away, sweetheart.

Unexpected Benefit of Being Thinner #26

When getting a pedicure during a season other than the dead of summer, I am able to "reverse fold" my blue jeans and pull them well up over my knees so they can get at my entire lower leg for the relaxing moisturizing calf rubdown.

In other words, the flare of my bootcut is bigger than my thigh.

What Makes You Happy?

Doing a lot of soul searching these days, trying to answer that question.

While every life has many reasons to fret, worry and fear, I am doing my best to accept those things I cannot change, as the saying goes, and put my time and energy into the activities and people that make me better.

The parts of my life I look forward to? The nights my family hangs out at my house, eating a little, drinking a little, talking a little, laughing a little. The afternoons when Jim comes home from hunting and pretends not to care when he sees that it's salad for supper.

And, these last three weeks, I look forward to my Saturday morning run more than just about anything.

Who would have ever imagined that?

I'm challenging myself. Seeing how far I can go. Last week I ran 7.25 miles and felt so amazing I can't find words to describe it. I can't wait to see if I can add a mile or maybe two this week. I'm obsessing about it and already anxious for the sun to come up on Saturday.

Makes me think I should find a way to focus more of my time and energy there. Find a job that feeds that part of my soul. Find a way to help others discover what I did inside myself.

I wonder what that might be?

One of the Best Things I Ever Ate

Restaurant: Hotoke, Smithtown, NY

Food: The Hot Girl Roll (I'm betting very few men order this. That's OK ... more for me!)

Description: Spicy crab and avocado inside, topped with seared salmon tataki and dressed in a slightly spicy sauce

Divine. Simply deeee-liciously-vine. I'm still dreaming about it two days later. It's perfectly worth a flight from Milwaukee to MacArthur Airport in Islip NY. Go Southwest ... you'll make a stop in Baltimore, but you won't have to get off the plane.

I simply can't tell you how good this was. And I'm dead serious about taking a flight to get it.

http://www.hotokejapanese.com/home.html

Sitting Not So Pretty

So there I am. In a conference room. With swiveling black vinyl chairs. And, I'm in a skirt. With bare legs. In a meeting with just four people.

I go to recross my legs. First the uncross, then the one on the bottom starts to swing over the top of the other and ...

"Pppfffffftttttthhhhhhhttttttttt!"

The air between my legs and the chair makes a gawd-awful and embarrassing-as-if-it-came-from-another-orifice sound.

A very loud sound.

It's all I can do to not crack up. Is there any point in explaining what it was?

What would you do?

Like is a Matter of Perspective

Question asked: "Do you really LIKE to run?" she asked. "I have tried it and I just don't like it. I mean ... " her face kind of scrunches up in a combination of disbelief, doubt and disgust, "do you REALLY like it?

Answer I gave: "Yes. I really like it. I spent a lot of years as a fat girl. And I like running and the way running makes me feel. It feels so much better than that did."

CC Readers Complete First 5K!

Our good friends GaryAllanFan and Amber attacked their first 5K this morning and kicked its hiney!

Way to go, ladies. You set a goal, you worked through injuries and related training challenges ... and you finished! With big, proud smiles, I hope.

You earned them.

Curiosity Killed the Cut

The Internet is a wonderful thing.

From the comfort of my couch, I have a whole world of research information at my fingertips. Tonight's "online class" explored plastic surgery and what you can do to get rid of extra skin.

Via the DeanCare website, I landed on a Before and After photo gallery of tummy tucks, arm lifts, breast lifts and something called "full-body contouring."

Full-body contouring apparently involves cutting a ring around your midsection ... a full circle all the way around the trunk of the tree, so to speak. Then they cut a ribbon of skin off, pull everything tight from the top down and bottom up, and then just sew it all back together again. Liposuction may also be a part of the procedure.

You can do that?

The arm lifts were the least gross and seemed the most successful. What I mean by successful is that the new arms looked normal ... like there hadn't been surgery. The tummy tucks came in next. Fairly good results. The thigh lifts were moderately yukky, with the afters not looking that much better than the befores. The breast lifts were most disappointing and verging on bizarre. Not a one of them (two of them?) looked anything less than obviously tampered with. And the full-body contours were just a collage of horror.

The whole experience has me wondering, "How did Picasso know?"

I had all but decided that even though my arms and boobs aren't cute, I could live with them. But I was toying with the idea of going on a consultation to see if there is a solution for my stomach and my thighs.

Not any more. So grossed out at the moment, I think I'll table it for now.

If I'm going to look freaky anyway, might as well look naturally freaky and not Picasso freaky.

Plane. Plan. Prevent Pizza Pigouts.

Getting ready for yet another work trip. Leaving on a jet plane Sunday, returning Tuesday. The weekend leading up to the departure is pretty booked and if I don't think about my eating now, I'm going to be sunk in the moment.

Here's what we're looking at:

Friday night, dinner with Crazy Cousin and hub. Saturday night, dinner with the fam-damily, for my favorite Mexican. Sunday dinner will happen late upon landing on Long Island ... land of pizzerias and delis. Monday lunch and dinner out with business partners ... that means drinks, appetizers and desserts. Tuesday a late flight home, screwing up the dinner hour.

Ugh.

So much eating. So much potential bad stuff.

Here's how I play defense:

1. Staying at the Hampton Inn, where I know I can get a healthy breakfast and there's apples for snackin'. And a nice fitness center.
2. Deciding now what I'm eating for lunch Monday and Tuesday ... regardless of the restaurant. Lettuce. If there is no lettuce available, I'll have a stolen Hampton Inn apple in my bag.
3. Taking an extra set of workout gear to squeeze in a walk Sunday night.
4. Packing my favorite traveling nibbles in those adorable, half-size snack bags, of course.
5. Getting a solid game plan together now ... and telling you about it so I have someone to hold me accountable.

Daybreak Danger

I've developed yet another bad habit while on the path to my "maintain" phase. And when coupled with my too-frequent-and-too-much after dinner nibbling, it's a potential hazard.

For the past few weeks, I've allowed myself to lay in bed a bit in the mornings ... catching 10, 20, 30 more minutes of sleep instead of dragging my ass up and out as soon as I'm conscious.

The danger isn't in the actual extra sleep. And it's not in the reduced amount of time I have to work out. The danger is in the thoughts that creep into my head in the pre-dawn darkness.

"I'm REALLY tired this morning. Maybe my body is telling me that I'm overdoing it. Maybe missing just today wouldn't be so bad. I have reached a certain level of fitness, so missing one day isn't going to kill me. Maybe I'll get up, but I'll just walk instead of running. Maybe I'll just lift weights. Maybe I'll just do three miles instead of four ..."

You get the idea.

Remember, your brain is the strongest muscle in your body and it can talk you into or out of things that are not good for you. It will tell you you're too exhausted to run five more minutes. It will tell you that you can't stop eating Cheetos after 9 p.m. It will tell you you deserve a day off or half of a cheesecake.

You know what's right and healthy and good. Tell your brain to shut up.

And tell your convictions to step up.

Body Image Issues

I'm still surprised by how unable I am to see my body for what it is now. And I'm fascinated by the brain that processes the information.

Indulge me, please.

When I get ready for bed at night, I brush my teeth in our master bath, then walk to the kitchen for a drink of ice water and then traverse back to the bedroom, passing by a sliding glass door. In that glass door, I am able to see my back lit reflection.
I have watched the back lit me get smaller over the past 18 months. And for quite a while, I reveled in the shrinking vision.

Lately, I swear I see "bigger." And I know it's not true. The scale and the dressing room let me know I'm not expanding. But I see flabby thighs. I see a saggy butt.

I guess my standards for what is "big" have changed. That's OK, I think. My inability to see just how big I was before was part of the problem in the first place, as  I've discussed in previous posts. But it's hard to not get down on myself for the perceived flab, even when the logical me is smacking the emotional me in the forehead with the heel of my figurative palm.

Those feelings, of "it's not quite enough," are really powerful. And they can get my brain off track, causing needless worrying, off-program eating and weird training obsessions.

I can get beyond the emotional stuff by now. I know I'm healthier. I know my body is in a good place and I have no real reason to complain. I know my extra skin is a much better alternative to all the extra fat.

It just pisses me off.

Why did I let myself get that big in the first place and why didn't I do something about it at 25 or 30 or even 35, when my skin was more elastic and would have been more forgiving?

And every time I'm at the mall or the gas station or grocery store and I see a young girl who is carrying way too much weight, my heart breaks. I want to grab her and put my face in her face and make her understand that what she's doing, how she's feeling, the way she's living is so much harder in every way than taking control and getting healthier.

I don't want her to waste the time I wasted being miserable.

Maybe she could come look in my sliding glass door and see.

Prom Dress Attempt

Sunday night's attempt: Failed.

I can't zip the freaking thing. My rib cage, and the stuff that surrounds it, is just too big. And while I have room to pinch an inch here and there, I'm not sure losing five or 10 or even 15 pounds would result in losing the couple of inches I'd need to for the zipper to go all the way up.

But I am going to find a way to wear that dress. In some form.

If It Feels Good ... USE IT!

Wouldn't you know it?

After kvetching about how I couldn't run yesterday, I decided to try something different today. As soon as the sun was up, I strapped on my neon green Brooks, grabbed a bottle of water and set out to run outside.

The plan was to run down my road, take a right and run until I hit the next crossroad ... about 1.8 miles. Then run back.

So I did. When I got to the crossroad, I thought I could go farther. And I added another quarter mile. Then I turned around and ran back.

Barely broke a sweat. (It was still kind of chilly.) Didn't really feel winded. Felt like I could have run all day.

But, alas, I had plans and had to get showered and in the car.

My point? If it feels good, use it. Know there are just some days that feel good and some days that feel not so good. When you unexpectedly bump into the good ones, keep going!

Cocky 10K Crash

What goes up, must come down.

I was feeling on top of the world after my 10K. And the week following was a pretty normal workout and eating week for me.

Then I had to go to Vegas.

And it all fell apart.

I missed working out Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. I ran four miles on Thursday as part of a five mile effort and felt on top of the world. And decided I could take Friday off.

Combine that with what I ate in Sin City. A muffin the size of my head for breakfast ... on top of a Fiber One bar and apple. Dinner came too late all three nights ... after 8 p.m. The cookies in the box lunch found a home in my stomach and I even collected a few extra for the plane.

Why would I sabotage myself this way? I finished a 10K, remember. Hell, I even WON! I'm practically Superman and Wonder Woman, right? I have reached a certain level of fitness, I reasoned. I can take time off, eat a little looser, and then just pick up where I left off.

Reality is a bitch.

My plan this morning was to run five miles. I felt great on Thursday, so I figured skipping one more day wouldn't phase me.

I ran two and a half. And it about killed me.

I was winded and tired and just couldn't do it. I slowed the speed down. I lowered the incline. And I thought I was going to die.

I was so mad at myself. My self-imposed punishment was to stay on the treadmill for a total of seven miles, even if it was only a walk.

Foolishly, I'd begun to entertain the idea of an every-other-day workout schedule.

Not yet.

Soaking Up the Sunshine

It won't be long before the cold blows in and the sunshine fades. That means biking gets more difficult. And that makes me kind of sad.

I'm going to spend my weekend getting as many miles in as I can, cramming them into a schedule already full of family obligations.

And then I might buy a pair of snow shoes. Does anyone have helpful hints?

Foxy Fitness Ladies

There are some new exercisers in my little town. And I'm seeing them at least three of five days a week on my way to work.

They are two little old ladies. On bikes. With helmets.

They're all duded up. Windbreakers. Capri pants. Baskets on their bikes. And they're freaking adorable. I can only imagine that their weekly wash-and-set gets smooshed by the protective headwear, but they don't seem to care.

This morning they crossed paths with my friend. They're older than him by a good stretch.

Seeing the three of them out busting a move just makes me smile. If they can do it, I can do it.

Three Days, No Exercise

And boy, can I tell.

I'm irritable. Sluggish. Ornery. Jittery. Fit to be tied, as they say.

The fitness center at the Flamingo didn't open until 6 a.m., an hour later than I needed it to open to be at work by 7 a.m. So no workout Monday and Tuesday.

And then this morning, after yesterday's Dramamine and last night's Italian House dinner of spaghetti and garlic bread (oh, so yummy!), I had a carb hangover. So I opted to sleep in.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow morning to get back on track. Not only does my body need it (the scale said I gained seven pounds on my Vegas trip), but my mind needs it, too.

I just think clearer and handle the stress better when I use my early a.m. treadmill time to burn energy and wake up at the same time.

No More Limits #2

I got asked to dinner and a show by a sweet gentleman today. I considered going.

(But I figured he didn't want to take my husband and my mom along.)

I Ate the Garnish

At tonight's opening reception, there were several food stations set up for the attendees to nosh. Typical happy hour-type fare ... crudites, beautiful cheese trays, baskets of crusty bread, a beef carving table, etc.

While I loaded up on "safe" raw veg, I also saved room for some cheese. Edam, Brie, Bleu ... it was all so good.

But the best part?

The cheese tray was adorned with enormous blackberries and bunches of grapes. When the cheese was all picked over ... literally all but gone ... the grapes and berries remained.

I ate them.

And they were good.

I Know Where I Get It

My mom is on this work trip with me. It's Vegas. She likes gambling. I hate Vegas and gambling, but love my my mom, so we're both here.

Before we left the house, she was very concerned about having room for all her food.

"I need to take fruit. I need fruit, Miss Daisy. I have a piece of fruit every day for breakfast, and sometimes for lunch. Do you have room in your carry-on?"

And then I look. She has about 10 pieces of fruit in plastic grocery bags. And a box of 18 granola bars. Her cache is stacked next to my snack bags filled with wasabi peas, pretzels, Dove dark, almonds, cranberries and my own Fiber One bars. Combined, we have enough to keep a small army alive for a few days.

I talked her out of a few of the granola bars. We left them in the car at the airport.

But we'll sure be popular people if there's some sort of disaster and food is in demand.

New Low!

I hit a new low this morning. Low by a whopping 0.2 pounds from the old record.

So I ate a cookie.