I am forever trying to lose weight. One plan or another. None that work. Now, I have not come up with a new plan to try yet, but I always try to watch or limit my carbs.

Somehow, though, I always seem to reach for the toast my DH, Steve, doesn’t “want”.

I still cannot for the life of me figure out how you just “don’t want” every morsel of food on the table…mine, yours, everyone’s.

Anyway, we were out for breakfast one morning…he always leaves a half slice or more on his plate…and typically I eat it. Hey, you don’t get to this weight without eating. 

One day, I reached…and he grabbed it from me and licked it! HE LICKED IT!!! Then, he put it back on his plate. And continued to finish his coffee like nothing happened.

I laughed so hard I almost peed… But, I didn’t eat that toast. *sigh*

This. This is why I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions and grand declarations.

I am starting over again…day 1. I am just so easy to distract. I do not know where that comes from, either. I am a Taurus. The Bull. Stubborn. Determined. A force to be reckoned with…unless it has to do with food or comfort. Gads. Then, I am like a kitten in a field of wildflowers and catnip. “Wha…? Oh!! Look over THERE! Um, oooh, here…no! THERE! Ah, THAT one…um, oh! LOOKIE! Oh! Wow! OK, I need a nap…” Dear God in Heaven.

OK, there are many things I am going to use as an excuse here. OK, no there aren’t. I am not going to use any excuse. It is just too easy for me to fall off. I thought I wanted this. I DO want this. But I can’t seem to do it for more than 5 days. My one free day stretches into 5 and then, well, dang. It’s very easy for me to skip meals. If I’m not hungry, I skip the meal without even realizing it. By the time I notice what has happened, I am ravenous. Then, all bets, and diet plans, are off.

Also…for some reason…well for lots of them…over 100 of them, actually…I hate going to the gym. I used to go every day. I would swim and sit in the jacuzzi and the steamroom. I would be like a shiny, red lobster when I left, but my skin felt so good and my arms were getting some definition and muscle. I felt better than ever. I don’t remember why I stopped. But I did and gained more weight and now… Well, now I think I would slosh all the water right out of the pool if I got in.

OK, so…wahwahwah. I am done with that now. Today is another day. Start over and go til I get sidetracked again. Maybe I can make six days this time. I’ll let you know.

I did not leave my pajamas, or my couch yesterday. I wasn’t depressed. I wasn’t sick. I surfed BlogExplosion for hours. So, in essence I was…well, yeah. Lazy would cover it. I. Was. Lazy.

It’s a safe bet that that’s how I got so fat chubby plump overweight heavy oh, hell…fat in the first place. Also? I seem to have some, er…commitment issues.

I made the grandiose resolution on New Years, or even before, to do Body for Life…for me. No one else. Just for me…and it lasted less than a week. Twice. I hate the gym, I hate the denial [of food…I love to eat], I hate the whole thing. I can’t seem to figure out the thing, the one thing, that I can do and stick to it.

Mir, on the other hand, is committing to doing something amazing. Her friend has breast cancer. We all hate breast cancer. I buy breast cancer stamps, and I have walked in a couple of the 10K walks here in Sac. But to commit to this…well, you have to read her story to get it, maybe.

If I wasn’t impressed with her before…well. Bravo, Mir. Bravo. If you can, click a couple of buttons and send a pledge for her. It’s a great cause.

I have no good excuse. Busy. Lazy. Uninspired. Anyhow.

I went to the gym today. For the first time in…well, I don’t know, but I am sure they could tell you since I had to present myself to the little scanning thing to get in.

One reason I hadn’t been there was because of the locker room. Oh, it smells fine, as locker rooms go. They have dozens of cheerful little workers who clean it often. I have been in much worse. No, it’s not that. *sigh*

It’s just that…well, there are people in there. Not just any people. Annoying ones. Depending on what time of day you go, the annoyance changes.

Early am…like buttcrack of dawn, is when I thought I could sneak in, and back out, with no notice. And truth be known, I could. They sure aren’t looking at me. But it’s what I have to see. Men- [I know there are no men reading my blog. I have exactly 3 readers, all women. Still.] Men- avert your eyes for the next part.

In the wee early hours of the morning, say 5:30am to about 8am is when the locker room is full, like a rush hour commuter train…full of skinny, sunbed-tanned, Victoria’s Secret clad, hair-doing, make-upping, perfuming, high heeled, dressed-to-get-them-a-rich-one…women.

People. Let’s consider this. I weigh…well, I will say I’m on the far side of 250. My ego is pretty much trashed just looking at myself in a mirror. I do NOT need to see this, let alone even think about showering or dressing in the same vicinity. I went in there they last time I was at the gym and went into the handicapped stall. I sat in there for 20 minutes trying to talk myself into changing and walking back through. I could not do it. I walked through, eyes forward, and left.

The reason I was there so early was that if you go to said gym…a “family-oriented” gym in the later morning, say, 8:30ish to noon, the stay at home Moms are there…with all the kids…in the womens locker room. I am not usually shy. But while I was changing, next to my locker, a woman entered with her two small children…guessing 2 and 4. The younger needed more attention, so the older, boy, was trailing behind…and gawking. “Mommy!” He patted her backside madly as she tended the toddler. “Mommy. MOMMY! That lady is FAT!” She glanced up at me, shushed him and gathered them both to another section of the room. Whether she was as horrified as I was I will never know. She never apologized or even looked embarrassed. I understand children that age are awful…I happen to think most of them are just hideous** anyway.

So. I have a new strategy. I go to the gym. NOT to the locker room. I will arrive ready to workout, do the workout, and leave. Today was day one, of said strategy, so we shall see. I did the elliptical trainer for 50 minutes at about 100 strides per…hmmm, must be hour? The skinny little snip next to me [again…there are roughly 40 machines in this area…do you have to be NEXT to me?] was doing 200. Pppffffttt. If I had wanted to, I coulda thrown her to the ground and mashed her into pulp. I chose not to. Nyah.

So, after 50 minutes of said activity, someone in my weight class burns about 575 calories and that’s OK with me. I had to have lost a gallon of sweat, too, so what’s that…4 pounds? HooYA! The lady across the room had on a beenie…you know, like a knit cap. I can tell you what, that would have made me pass right out. I was hot enough as it was. I am thinking of getting one of these Banditos. It’s a bandana, but it has “cooling crystals” in it, to, um…keep you cool, I hope. I will have to be cautious of the color I order…don’t want to get shot. *sigh* Such an odd world we live in today.

While I was there, I watched several of the 592 TV’s [OK, maybe 20. Still.] in the cardio area. I saw, in 50 minutes, film of Muslum rioters about 5 times. They are angry about a cartoon about Muhammad. “Hundreds” of people. In Iran. Many others around the world. The sign I saw on TV said, in English “Muhammad the Prophet not a joke to laugh!” Well, OK, probably not.

But guess what? Neither is MY Savior, Jesus. Neither is MY God. Still? Jokes every day. Not just jokes either, but attempts to block us from our beliefs. Folks in our own country…not just the “thousands around the world”…want to take God out of the schools, and off our money and out of our lives and our thoughts. These people are the minority here, but they are a noisy and self-important minority, assuming they know better what the founders intended than they did. Acting as though we are too stupid to know what we believe is incorrect. Because, of course, the majority of people, if they believe in God, well, can’t possibly be right. *sigh*

But to make a joke about a Prophet or God? Well, hey. I make them myself. Hopefully, my God has a sense of humor. Otherwise, a lot of us are going to need those cooling bandanas.

**Don’t bother with hate mail, please. I have a grandson and several step-kids. They are not perfect, I love them anyway. I am also entitled to my opinion. I frequent many stores, restaurants, etc, where I am appalled at the manners, or even just common sense, people and their children lack. Everyone is so concerned about being politically correct…screw that. How about just being courteous. How about teaching your kids not to be rude. That would be nice. Thanks.

I have not written in awhile. Mostly, because I am boring. I bore me. And since this is very much like talking to myself…well…I am not inclined to do that so much. Yet, if I write to someone, like they always say to do [write to your reader, whoever that is] I am not as honest as I could be. Then again, it’s my damn blog, so I can do whatever I want to with it…write, don’t write, punctuate, not…or even do something crazy, like WRITE IN ALL CAPS SO IT LOOKS AS IF I AM SCREAMING ALL THE TIME. Hmmmm…I don’t choose to do that particular crazy thing. No worries. I do plenty of other crazy things.

This week, the crazy thing I am doing is…getting back to the gym. Eating right. Trying to drink the correct amount of water. So far the score is: Me - 4 Water - 4. I really don’t know why we are tied. It’s a stupid scoring system. I made it up, so don’t ask.

I have been to the gym 3 times out of 4 days this week, and I have been eating low carb without cheating all week. The water has bested me every day. It’s like, there are not enough hours in the day to drink the gallon or more a fat girl like me is supposed to drink. DearGodInHeaven, I will be drinking or peeing each minute of the 24 hours in every day. Unless I multi-task…I could drink while I’m peeing…that might give me half the day, anyhow. I’ll try that and let you know.

So, today I was on the elliptical [the only machine I can do without horrible pain in my inflamed achilles tendon…dammit] for 45 minutes, 425 kcal burned, 2.61 miles, um, elliped? Whatever. Some pain, but not bad. I am ready to be done with this pain. I am so tired of the Ibuprophen rotting my guts out…I have 2 doctor visits coming up in the next 10 days for it. God, please don’t ever give me a serious illness. I am too much of a wuss to deal with it.

Today was a little farther and longer than the other two days this week, so, a bit closer to my goal of 1 hour on the elliptical. When I get there, I will start swimming again. If I can get in 1 hour of the elliptical and 1 hour of swimming laps every day, maybe I can make a dent in this layer of fat surrounding me. Without too much pain. Damn tendonitis, anyhow.

There are always things that should motivate me to lose weight. Being able to breathe, feeling better, being able to do more things, having less pain. Not sure why that isn’t always enough…but right now it seems to be working. OK, that and the fact that I am NOT going to a reunion in June at the highest weight I have ever been in my life. So, if that is the case, and I am not willing to go there like this, then I have to start now and stay with it. Hopefully it will be habit by then.

It might help me if I was just a tad more vain. I just have never been. My Mom, my Grama, my sister…all vain as Hell. Really pretty women…always dressed like models…always perfect make-up and hairstyles. And then, somehow, there’s me. Not particularly hard to look at…but not Elle MacPherson, either. Never been concerned with the girlie things. When I was young, I didn’t read Glamour. I read People.

OK, I did swipe my Mom’s Cosmo, but mostly for the horoscopes and articles about sex. I was, um, mature for my age. LOL Just not into worrying about my looks. I had big boobs from the third grade on…I had all the attention I wanted from boys, and maybe more than I should have had. But it wasn’t because I was dressed cute and had used the most current Teen magazine make-up hints.

One time, I read that it was good for your hair to put mayonnaise on it. Made it softer and shinier. I never read the part where you were supposed to wash it out afterwards, apparently. My Mom looked at me in the car and said, “OMG! Didn’t you wash your hair?” I explained that I had, and had even put mayonnaise on it to soften it and make it shiny. She tried to hide her chuckling, but my stepdad was in hysterics. I lost my desire to travel in the “land of soft and shiny hair from magazine advice” from that point. I obviously didn’t get it.

Anyhow. I will probably never be good at the make-up thing and the designer clothes. I am defective in all the girlie things, and that’s OK. I am also boring. And that’s OK, too. My husband loves me. I have a functional brain. I have lots of ideas. I have lots of plans. I have lots of opportunities. I am not afraid to sweat. I know I can lose this weight. So. I will keep my vast multitude of readers apprised of my progress. Try not to overload my server with comments. Heh.

I would like to think that 45 is only halfway there.

Now, I used to think I wanted to die young…I never wanted to “be old”. I never wanted to be slow, or wrinkled, or grey-headed, or a little forgetful, or weaker than I was when I was young.

I still don’t think I want to be any of those things. But, I have a lot more I want to do now than I ever did when I was younger and maybe could have done these things more easily, and unfortunately, with more grace.

I want to be thin and healthy again. I was never particularly thin when I was younger, but I wasn’t as big as I am now. I have, as I said previously, started on the point-counting program in recent weeks. 14 pounds ago, to be exact. Which is higher than the average 2 pounds a week that they say is normal, but not the “waking-up-in-the-morning-and-it’s-all-gone” that I see in my daydreams. I know I could keep it off if that ever happened, but since that is about as likely as waking-up-in-the-morning-rich (which I still have a glimmer of hope for), I am going to kick it up a notch and head for the gym. Today. Husband in tow. Voluntarily. Amazing.

I want to go back to school. I am not thinking that it has much to do with Shari going back to school. Or Zoe going back to school. Or Steve and Sally both finishing Law School last summer. Or being shunned by the medical community for taking time off from nursing. I think it really is just me finally being ready to do something else. And then? Trying to decide what to go back to school for…and how to pay for it…and, well…honestly.

I want my next job to be doing something I love. I have not yet decided what that might be either. That has a lot to do with the school thing above. Having recently found and released my inner creative beast, (see the shameless self-promotion on Write2B in the far right columns!) I tend to believe it will have something to do with that. But, then again…do I want to head towards the Photography, which I love…or the retail sales, which I also love…or marketing and business in general? Good grief. Choices.

I want to buy a house. I have really not missed being a homeowner. Not a bit. I have enjoyed getting up on Fridays and knowing the lawn people will come and take care of the yard and I don’t have to even pay for it. I like knowing that the new roof and heating/AC unit that were installed in the last 6 years did not cost me anything but my monthly rent. Fabulous.

I want to save for retirement. I know, I am sort of in a mini-retirement right now, but I know someday I will want to have some security. Living on the edge, like we do, is fine for now, but someday I would like to think we’d not have to think so hard about it. I want to do that planning now. Which means? I am actually planning to be old. Wow.

Anyhow. One thing at a time. I am headed for the gym. I am only halfway there, after all.

I have not made any secret about the fact that I am overweight. I have no delusions about it. I have to look at the sizes on the clothes I buy. I have to look at myself in the mirror. I’m not happy about it. And I’m not blind. I’m fat.

The clothing industry has recently decided…at Walmart, anyhow…that what USED to be a 2X (22-24W), is now a 3X. If that’s not bad enough, I have either gained some weight, or they have made the sizes a little smaller. So, instead of being a 2X, I am now a 4X. Seemingly overnight, though I am positive that’s not the case.

It broke my heart just a little to buy a bigger size, since I know it has to be my fault. No one else is shoving food down my throat. No one is stopping me from going to the gym. So, I spent the rest of the day getting healthy food for the house and mentally preparing to make the effort…again…to lose this weight.

It’s no small feat, the mental preparation. Fear of surgery certainly helps to get your brain in the right place to diet and exercise. I know many people who have had gastric bypass surgery…very successfully. One nearly drove me insane reporting her weight loss to me…almost hourly. “Good for you!” I would say. And? I meant it. For her. I wanted to kill myself. Or take a knife and lop the same amount off my ass every time she called. Who could really blame her? I would be ecstatic if I lost a pound every time I blinked or took a deep breath. I would only hope that I would shut the hell up about it to the “still fat and struggling” crowd.

I got home and began to unload the groceries from the car. While bending over to get them from the back seat, a carload of Eminem clones drove by and screamed a out their window at me.

“FAT ASS!”

I stood up, stunned. Not because they said I have a fat ass. I have already conceded that. Just at the raw hatefulness it took to yell something like that at me. What sort of pleasure does that give them? Were they kids? Immature? Young? I didn’t know.

I watched as they pulled in to my own apartment complex and parked in the visitors lot, then walked towards the office. They were tall, three of them. I slammed the door shut and walked to the office myself.

As I walked into the office, there they were…three white guys, dressed like wannabe rappers…eating free cookies and being treated like valued future residents. I asked the assistant manager if they had just walked in. He said yes, and I told him what car they were driving and where it was parked. It was obvious I was upset and he asked what was wrong. I told him what had happened…loud enough for the jerks to overhear…then I warned the apartment manager to be cautious who they rented to, because these three were trouble.

When I walked in the house Steve could see I was agitated. He asked what happened and I tried to shrug it off saying I was just annoyed about something. He asked again what happened and I broke down in huge sobbing tears. I told him what happened and then truly I fell apart.

“Good F**KING grief! *sob* Do they really think *sob* I don’t KNOW *sob* I have a fat ass? Do they think I don’t *sob* struggle with it *sob* EVERY F**CKING DAY? Do they honestly *sob* think I need to have it *sob* screamed at me by a carload of *sob* F**KING PUNKS?”

Um, I know I am normally pretty tame here, on my blog, but in real life I swear like a trucker…sailor…biker…whichever one of those is worse. And when I get angry, or upset, the F bomb is the one that seems to come out every other word. Nice trait, I know. Keep me away from your small children. Probably the best thing.

Anyhow, he held me and patted me and said how sorry he was…til I calmed down a bit. Then he excused himself and left the house. Good thing those idiots had decided against an apartment here…cuz he was loaded for bear, as they say. He had a discussion with the manager about the whole thing instead. Not sure what Steve thought he was going to do about it…but mighty gallant of my sweet hubby to make the effort to defend, um, what would you call it…my honor? Meh.

In trying to figure out why it hurt so much, I remembered what my Mom used to say when someone had said something hurtful to me as a kid.

Sticks & stones, may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me.

Now, my Mom was not stupid. She wasn’t June Cleaver, but she wasn’t stupid. She had to know what a huge lie that was. Words do hurt. They hurt a lot. They hurt to the quick…deep in the darkest, most sensitive and raw parts of your soul. That’s where they hurt.

Anyway. I have written. I am over it…for the most part. I will spend some time though, trying to figure out why words hurt…and why people like to use them that way. Maybe while I’m on the treadmill. That’s a boring enough activity that I ought to be able to sort out all the world’s problems…dontcha think?