Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Damn You Curly Fries!

2 Saturdays ago I awoke bright and early to face my impending doom at my weekly weigh-in and weight management support group. Well aware of my weigh-in fate, dread crept into my thoughts. A consultation with Dionne Warwick and her psychic friends...not needed nor required to predict the results of a week's worth of poor food choices (*heavy sigh...deep thoughtful contemplation*) I blame the curly fries, plain and simple. As I dressed for the meeting I nervously anticipated my weigh-in. Wanting to reach my 20 pound goal, I began concocting schemes in my head to increase my chances of weight loss. AND at that, point my irrational thought process commenced...I thought to myself...self:

"What if...just what if...I weighed my bra and panties on my food scale to determine my heaviest undergarments? I may...I just may shave an ounce or two maybe three, possibly four by choosing to wear the lightest undergarments. Hmmmmm. OR" What about going commando?"

Going Commando: The practice of not wearing undergarments under one's clothing. For men the term "going commando" is also referred to as "free balling." For the record, me...going commando...not a viable option.

Wanting a seat for me meeting,I scrambled to get dressed in order to make it on time. Fast forward...Sooo...I arrived to my meeting location. I approached the scale, and immediately I'm mean mugging the scale thinking, "Scale, don't start none, wont be none!"

Mean Mug or Mean Muggin: To scowl at one's opponent in efforts to provoke said opponent into a confrontation. Used in a sentence: "I know you are not mean muggin me. What cha wanna do?"

Just as I suspected, a 1 pound gain. The scale revealed my indiscretions. Tattletale. Not surprised, I removed my weigh in booklet from the counter and retreated to a seat in the meeting room. I sat and reflected on my defeat, and realized my son's abandoned curly fries was not the only culprit that contributed to my dietary recklessness. The other saboteurs included: a sleeve of peanut butter sandwich Girls Scout cookies, a one Mr. Captain Crunch and his friend Mr. Sugar Bear, many trips to the candy jar in the classroom next door...and so on...and so on...and so on...okay lesson learned. Instead of dwelling on my failure I internalized the weight loss information I've gained thus far, so that I can insure weight loss success in the weeks to follow. I deduced the following:

1. The scale should not be used as the only determinate to measure my weight loss success. When the numbers on the scale refuse to cooperate, I must also take into account my non scale victories (NSVs). My NSVs include whittling down 1 dress size, recognition of weight loss from friends, family and coworkers, and not falling victim to indulgent cravings.

2. All trigger foods must be removed from the environment. If curly fries, or french fries period cause a feeding frenzy, then Jack-In-The-Crack is off limits.

3. Work the plan: exercise, keep a food diary, plan, plan, plan, plan, plan, plan, plan, plan. Okay I get it. Planning is CRUCIAL.

"When you fail to plan, you plan to fail!"

Sunday, March 15, 2009

The Victory Robot...

So as of yesterday, Saturday, March 14, 2009, 21.8 pounds...vanished...GONE (never to return again!)! Unfortunately a previously scheduled hair appointment, prevented my attendance to my regularly scheduled Weight Watchers meeting; so, my 20 pound reward waits for me until next week's meeting. Unable to celebrate my success amongst fellow weight loss members, I rejoiced alone in my vehicle while performing the classic ROBOT. During times of extreme jubilation, I exude joy via the robot. Enjoy...........
So for every 5 pound milestone reached, the victory robot dance will be performed to express my exultation! AND...I will re-post the video!

Peek-A-Boo I See You Update

A friend of mine suggested that I update my Peek-A-Boo I See You blog with a picture of my newly resurrected collarbone. Check it, check it...check it out:

Whoop...whoop there it is! A picture...worth a 1,000 words.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

EXERCISE is a dirty word. Every time I hear it, I wash my mouth out with chocolate.

I detest working out! Exhausted, I returned home from work and collapsed on the couch for a brief 20 minute power nap. I woke up from my nap determined NOT work out. I vegged out in front of the television for a few hours, still firmly resigned to remain a permanent fixture on the couch...or so I thought. One of my weekly goals, working out at least three days a week resonated in my head, so I pulled myself from the dent I created in the couch and decided to suffer through yet another thrilling workout...whoopdeedoo! Tonight, I chose to torture myself with a boot camp DVD. Pleasantly surprised, I enjoyed the DVD, AND I realized I exercised myself one step closer to bringing my sexy back...3 DAYS IN A ROW no doubt!!

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Tales from the scale

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