A Whole Backpack Full O'Snacks

Here's what's in my carry-on:

Fiber One bars
Jolly Ranchers
Pistaccios
Craisins
Gum
Hand Sanitizer
Passports
Magazines/Book
Phone chargers

No clothes. No spare underwear. No swimming suit. But plenty of snacks in case we get stuck someplace where there's no food. I should see someone about this, shouldn't I? And now I'm worried about getting through customs because my passport photo looks like someone else.

I'll be happy once we're there.

Clumsy Is As Clumsy Does

My brain must already be on vacation. This morning, I padded downstairs for the next-to-last workout before leavin' on a jet plane and I climbed on the treadmill ... nothing out of the ordinary.

I bumped the incline up to 3.5 and set my pace at 4.3 for the first mile. Then 4.6 for the next mile and three-quarters. Walked at 4.0 for a quarter mile and then cranked the speed to 4.8 for the last part of my 4 mile walk.

And I was watching some ditzy broad reupholster a chair on a home fix-it show. (Just between us, I think she was doing it wrong ... you know, based on my extensive HGTV knowledge.)

In any case, I must have been pretty engrossed because all of a sudden, I felt my toes falling off the back of the belt.

For two steps.

Toes touching the end of the belt as they tried to step forward. My heart quite literally stopped.

I grabbed the bars, hoisted myself back up to the front and THEN breathed again.

Really? After 11 months of being on the freakin' treadmill for at least 45 minutes a day, at least 6 days a week ... I'm going to fall off the day before vacation?

Now I'm thinking some sort of seatbelt rigging should be required. Like a fall protection harness.

I wonder what body part that would chafe?

Unexpected Downside of Being Thinner #8

My boobs have fallen and they can't get up.

Or shall I say they'll never be "up" again ... at least not without a serious bra with built-in significant structural engineering or a round or two of plastic surgery.

(The bra is probably more in my budget.)

It's sad. Of all the places to loose weight, this was the one place it could have stayed.

Shifting

I put on a pair of pants today that I hadn't worn in more than a week.

(Last week was pre-Super Bowl casual week at my work ... jeans every day as long as you wore green and/or gold. Sad part of that story was most people HAVE enough green and/or gold, mostly in the form of NFL licensed team gear, to make it a whole week, no problem. But I digress.)

The pants were loose. Not too big. Not falling off my hips. Just loose. Roomier in placed they weren't roomy in a week ago.

Part of me was thrilled. Part of me sighed and thought, "Crap. My clothing budget is SPENT for the quarter."

Now, I'm not lighter than I was a week ago. I've been holding pretty steady for the past couple of weeks. Up one, down two, even, down one, up two ... even "gained" two lbs. during the Super Bowl game, according to my scale.

But it feels like things are starting to shift. Which usually means I might drop a couple of permanent pounds one of these days.

Fifteen pounds to my goal. I'm predicting I won't hit that until June. I'll keep you posted.

My Friend is a Packer Fan

Remember my friend who walks along the side of the road smoking a cigarette?

See post "Dedication" from December 2010:

http://carsickcaravan.blogspot.com/2010/12/dedication.html

Today he was sporting what looked to be a brand-spanking new Green Bay Packer jacket.

I hope it's as warm as it is spiffy looking. No ciggy this morning either. I think it might have been too cold to go bare-handed to hold the dumb thing.

Posting Schedule

I'm not going to post from vaca. But I will be gathering stories to wow you with upon my return.

Well, probably not wow you. Entertain you a bit, perhaps.

So I'm going to post a few extra things today, tomorrow and perhaps Friday. If you need a daily fix, read them one at a time. If you are a glutton, like me, you'll read them all at once and then have to do without for a week.

I just hope you don't forget me and come back after the hiatus. And I hope you can get Oprah to read this, fall in love with it and offer me a columnist position for O Magazine.

Some of My Favorite Things

1. Smoked Gouda


2. Jicama (Peeled, sliced into french fry sized pieces and sprinkled with lime juice and salt.)


3. Everlast brand workout pants from TJ Maxx


4. Mentos watermelon gum


5. Kohl's Sonoma jeans (Because they're $17.99 each and, while probably not the height of fashion, they'll get me through until I'm at my goal weight and willing to buy the more expensive, cool brand. NOTE: I'm so old and Midwestern, I don't even know what a cool brand of jeans is.)

I Broke a Chair

Place: My sister's new house, in the town where we grew up.
Date: Three or four years ago
Situation: Pre-move-in painting party

I hate painting. I suck at it. But my sister helped me when I bought my first house and now it was time to return the favor. At the point where we join this story, I have already kicked over a paint can, filled to the brim with a beachy blue, onto the medium brown carpet.

Latex. It cleans up. Mostly.

And my sister is already regretting my involvement. She's just too nice to say so and too smart to turn away free help, no matter how awful that help is.

So, roller in hand, I'm attacking her bedroom wall. I am making the requisite "W" pattern and trying to keep a wet edge. But I need a little vertical assistance to get to the ceiling.

I grab a folding chair to use as a ladder.

Big mistake.

This folding chair is not all metal. The seat is a sturdy cardboard/pressboard covered in a nubby fabric. And when I step up on it, it collapses underfoot. How very embarrassing. I'm too heavy to stand on a chair.

My sister is kind and doesn't make a big deal of this. I'm too horrified to even acknowledge it has happened. We both figuratively look the other way and carry on with the task at hand.

The room gets painted. I go home. And I try as hard as I can to NOT think about it.

I broke a chair. I broke a chair because I weighed too much. I don't tell Jim. I don't tell anyone. This is not the kind of thing you discuss with anybody. I'm ashamed. I'm humiliated. And I have to bury it deep inside where it can live with all that other stuff that causes the pit in my stomach that never quite goes away. Do you know that feeling? It's fear and pain and inadequacy.

I'm thinking about it now because today is my sister's wedding anniversary. And I think my gift to her should be a new folding table and chairs, don't you?

First Time Ever

I had to be in Madison this morning by 8. Which means I had to be up at 4:45 a.m. to get an hour on the treadmill in, get showered and get on the road in time.

So, last night, after the coolest Super Bowl in recent memory, I set my alarm and nodded off, dreaming of green and gold.

This morning, my eyes flew open at 4:15, before the alarm. I could literally not wait to get downstairs and start walking.

Seriously.

I wanted to get out of bed and exercise. For the first time ever.

I popped up willingly and enthusiastically. This. Never. Happens.

I'm sure it was because I ate like crap yesterday. Had lots of salty snacks, pizza AND a thin slice of chocolate cake.

And I think there's something about those swimming suits sitting in the spare bedroom that's really motivating.

But I knew that even if I wasn't exactly good yesterday, I had the power to get back on track today. I felt in control. I wanted to get back on top of it. I was looking forward to doing so.

Weird, huh?

It's a good thing I was so excited about working out, too. I accidentally set my alarm for 5:45 a.m., not 4:45 and would have had to skip the workout or had to start Monday an hour behind schedule.

I'm betting I won't be so enthusiastic tomorrow morning. But it was fun while it lasted!

Is It Wrong?

Is it wrong to watch the Food Network while on the treadmill?

I do it. A lot. In fact, I'm a little obsessed. Occasionally I find things I can adapt for our new lifestyle. Most of the time, though, I am just watching for entertainment sake. Not really to learn a new recipe or cooking method.

It's wrong, right?

It reminds me of some kind of addictive behavior.

I caught a snippet on CBS Sunday Morning today in which they were interviewing Aaron Sorkin, the writer from The West Wing, A Few Good Men and The Social Network. He was talking about a pesky little cocaine habit that has caused a couple of trips to rehab.

Leslie Stahl asked him why he relapsed the first time. He said he thought he had his addiction under control and could use cocaine just a little. And you know how that story ends. After a second trip to rehab, he's been clean 10 years. She asked if he still thinks about using. He said, "Less than I used to."

I wonder if I will eventually feel that way about food. Will I not be so possessed by the thought of it, ever day, all day long? Will it really eventually just become fuel for my body versus the driving force of my day?

I hope so.

Prepping for Paradise

Vaca is a week away. Seven days from now we will have landed in 80-degree weather, made it through customs and I hope to have a fruity drink in my hand by this time.

I've got nearly everything we need to leave tossed on a bed in a spare bedroom, just waiting for a final checklist and the commencement of suitcase stuffing.

So I'm ready. Sort of.

Still trying to prep my head for the week "off."

All I can eat and all I can drink and a lounge chair by the pool sounds so very good on the one hand and so very dangerous on the other.

People have been asking me if I'm going to take a "vacation" from the regiment of all this losing weight thing. But it's weird. I've come to view the workout as a fun and good part of my day ... not a punishment. So I plan on taking my tennis shoes and workout gear. Using them will make me feel better and that's what vacation is all about, right?

I'm a bit nervous about the eating. The good news is that to get food I have to order it ... so it's not like going to the pantry and whipping open my own bag of Cheetos. And something tells me that wearing shorts and bathing suits will curb my appetite a little.

But I also realize the thinking about it, the planning for it, even the worrying around it is part of the new me and part of the process. I HAVE learned something through this whole thing. I can't wander in to this situation with out preparing for it.

Because no plan is a recipe for failure.

Candy-a-Holic

I'm addicted to candy.

I love Tootsie Rolls and Smarties and Dove chocolates and Mike & Ikes and those white nougat Brach's things with the red/orange/yellow jelly bits in them.

I crave jelly orange slices and 100 Grand bars and cherry licorice Nibs.

I can eat watermelon Jolly Ranchers until my teeth are covered in a sugary film that requires a serious tooth brushing to remove.

And for about 6 months, I didn't eat a stitch of any of it ... except for one square of Dove nightly, as you already know.

But three months ago or so, I started nibbling, allowing myself a piece of something a week. Or two. Or no more than one a day. I've never been a "buy an actual big candy bar" kind of girl. But I nibble. I know where the candy dishes are in my office. And I stop in every once in while.

Today, I had a little paper cup of M&Ms, five Mike & Ikes (two green, one yellow and two of my favorite orange), a Tootsie Roll, a roll of Smarties and a truly awful football-shaped sucker whose actual flavor I still can't identify.

That's at least 300 empty calories. Ugh.

WHY??????

I don't eat it because I'm hungry. I eat it because it's there ... even if I have to go find it. And, sometimes I fear that I eat it because in the deepest recesses of my brain I'm thinking, "Hey, you lost a whole bunch of weight. You DESERVE a piece of candy."

But that thinking will send me back to size 20-ville if I'm not careful. And it's also the reason I complain about getting "stuck" at a certain weight for a long time. Stuck means I'm not eating right and not working out like I should. It's a simple mathematical equation, remember? You have to take in less than you burn off.

Somewhere there's a balance between total deprivation and mindless consumption.

I'm going to do better tomorrow. And I'm skipping the Dove tonight.

Unexpected Downside of Being Thinner #7

Chafing.

Used to be my thighs would rub together and cause little red bumps when it was hot outside.

These days, I have an issue with the insides of my upper arms rubbing on the seams of my sleeveless workout top as I'm pounding away on the treadmill, with my fists pumping back and forth just as fast as my feet.

Bikini Blunder

OK. I'm telling you this at the risk of grossing you out. (And this is truly a post for just us girls.)

I bought a bikini for vacation. But before you vomit, relax. You'll never have to see it.

No one in the continental U.S. will ever see it. For a very good reason.

That reason is: Kevin Bacon. Well, not Kevin Bacon exactly, but the six degrees of Kevin Bacon theory. If anyone in the continental U.S. saw me in a bikini, geographically the six degrees become something like four and then I'd be in trouble. You would know someone who'd know someone who'd know someone who saw me. And I can't take that kind of chance. Gack.

And my mother thinks I'm a slut. Ha!

OK, so I bought the dang thing as sort of a joke. I thought it would crack Jim up. You see, I've been ordering, shopping for and modeling swimming suits for the past two weeks and he's getting tired of the melodrama surrounding what I think is such a major decision. I thought throwing a bikini in there would be a funny way to catch his attention. To exaggerate the joke, I picked out one that was the Wonder Bra of the Bikini world. While it does good things for what's left of my assets, the color/pattern is sort of atrocious. I thought he'd indulge me, tell me it was cute, but agree with me that it was probably not appropriate.

But he didn't.

He said it was wearable. He said I wouldn't look like a freak on the beach. Or worse, like a 43-year-old trying desperately to hang onto my long-gone youth. (He also DIDN'T say "Va Va Va Boom, baby!" or "Hubba hubba." He's knows I'd never believe that.) He just said something that was the equivalent of "It's fine," and then squirmed into my heart with, "I'm proud of you for working so hard that you can actually wear a bikini on vacation. That's awesome."

Really?

Shit. Now I'm actually thinking about keeping it. I'm not so naive (or full of myself) to think I'll be one of the best looking things on the beach, but I'm pretty sure I won't be the worst, either. It DOES make my rack look pretty good. And if that looks good enough, maybe no one will notice the dimply, sagging thigh skin or the extra pooch on my stomach or my arm flaps?

And why is it that while I'm thinking, "I'll never see those people again anyway," I'm hearing, "It's a small world afterall," on a loop tape in my brain?

P.S. This is perhaps the most bizarre thing I've shared. And I just can't imagine what you're thinking. If it's too much, PLEASE let me know.

How Do You Eat an Elephant?

Do you know how to eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.

I love that concept. And I had a nice chat with my HR friend today that reminded me of it. It seems she's really thinking a lot about eating better, exercising more and feeling better.

But she's not sure why she doesn't "just start."

I can't tell you how many times I had that thought in my head through the years. Just thinking about "just starting" would get so overwhelming as I tried to plan out every detail ... What will I eat two weeks from Thursday when I have to go to New Orleans? How will I exercise on days I get home late? When will I find time to buy new shoes? What will I do when I fail? ... that I couldn't "just start."

In other words, I was so afraid to jump off the high dive into the deep end and drown, that I forgot I could just dip a toe in the wading pool and then step forward, little by little.

Honest to goodness, if you would have told me last February that in the coming month I would stop eating crap cold turkey, start exercising for an hour a day and drop 85 pounds, I'd have told you 1) you're smoking hash and 2) that such a challenge was just too big to take on and 3) that it was plain impossible.

As such, my intentions in the beginning were MUCH smaller.

I thought about little goals. Like getting through one day without eating crap. And after I got through one day, I tried another. And then another. And pretty soon I had a streak going; a streak I didn't want to break.

I built up a little confidence that I COULD succeed. I started to feel better inside and outside. Which fueled me to move forward.

Then, I started walking. I thought I'd try it. See how it would go. I didn't push myself to walk too far or too fast or too often. I'm not sure I remember, but I think my original goal was doing something for 30 minutes three days a week.

And before long, 30 minutes turned into 35 and then 40 and then 45. A really slow pace was increased little by little. Three days turned into four and then five.

And before long, the pounds started dropping. I knew that if I did the right things often enough, or at least more often than I did the wrong things, good things would happen.

Dip a toe. Try it for a couple of days. Or try it for a couple of days a week. Focus on what you CAN do. Don't let the whole of it overwhelm you.

And, pass the elephant sauce.