Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

Hello blog lovers. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of my life. I hope.

Weight management. I hate that term. It's always been a struggle for me, ever since I hit puberty some thirty years ago. Did I say "struggle"? Try "epic battle". I've never been a rail, but I have been in shape, somewhat thin, ridiculously large, and everything in between, at some point in my life.

You know how it goes. Lose a little weight, gain it back twice over. Well, do this for thirty years and you can collect some significant poundage. That's where I am right now. I'm at the largest I've ever been, which is a very scary thought, because I've been pretty big in the past.

So, why is it bothering me now? Other than the obvious "can't climb a flight of stairs without wheezing, washing dishes tires me out" reasons, that is. Well, in an attempt to become slightly more active after spending hours and hours at one computer or another in my house for a variety of reasons, I have re-enrolled in dog agility classes with Wile E. They're lots of fun ... or, at least, they were until hubby came to last class with a video camera. What a sobering sight! Especially since all of his shots were taken from the back while I was bending over to treat the dog or pick up her leash. Yowsa.

So, I've taken some initial steps towards self improvement.

Step 1: Make a montage of the agility video and post it on Facebook. A lot of these people haven't seen me since high school, so this will probably be a bit of a shock for them. It might make a few of them feel better about themselves, which is great. Glad I could help. I feel that a big part of my problem is that I've distanced myself from people. I've taken to hiding behind my computer screen, where I can be as thin as I want with very little effort. This is my first piece of self-imposed therapy to help me come out of my shell a little.

Step 2: Throw away the scale. I hate it. It hates me. When I was about twenty-four or twenty-five years old, my best friend was getting married and asked me to be a bridesmaid. I was in a "heavy" stage at that point, so I accepted reluctantly. Then she showed me the dress she had in mind and I just about threw up. I had a year to get myself into some semblance of shape so I could pour myself into this dress without turning stomachs. Don't get me wrong, it was a lovely dress. Very simple, ankle length, deep green, clean lines. Very flattering, as long as you weren't built like a killer whale, which I was. So, I joined Jazzercise, an hour long class three nights a week. What a blast that class was! I've never had so much fun working out in my life, and if there was a class nearer to me now I would join it in a heartbeat. At that time, Jazzercise was also offering their "Know More Diet" diet. Kind of like Weight Watchers, but a little more permissive. It worked wonders. I got into what I feel is the best shape of my life, I looked fantastic in the dress, everyone was happy. So, back to my point about scales. At this point, when I looked my best, felt my best, everyone thought I looked fantastic, I weighed a whopping 175lbs. You'd never know it to look at me. So, I've decided that weight in itself is very deceptive and completely useless as far as physical well-being goes. I'm going to ignore it entirely.

Step 3: Set a goal. My goal at this point is to be able to dress in regular clothing sizes. I hate having to go to the "plus size" stores or sections. I'm embarrassed. I don't try anything on, because I'm afraid to take it off the hanger. You see, the people who work at these stores know how to fold and tuck things on the hanger so that it looks somewhat normal. When you take it off the hanger and hold it up to take a better look at it, the garment then resumes it's actual proportions. I feel like I'm blocking out the sun when I unfold a pair of pants and hold them up for perusal. So, I avoid it. And I hate it. I don't want to do it anymore.

Step 4: Record my benchmark. I threw together a quick spreadsheet with columns for the date and the measurements of my various body part. I started this morning, and will continue measuring myself each week at the same time. It was a little sobering, writing all those numbers down, seeing them laid out in front of me in black and white. But, it will be good to have the numbers recorded from the beginning. That way, when someone I haven't seen in a while says, "Wow, have you lost weight?" I can either say "Yes, thank you for noticing," or "I haven't lost anything, you liar," and I know I'll have the proof to back it up.

Step 5: Get a grip. I have a pretty good idea of what works for me and what doesn't at this point. Diets don't work. We all know that. Healthy eating plans, like Weight Watchers and Know Your Diet, work to a certain extent. My biggest problem is when I fall off the wagon, I fall HARD. I know I won't stick to the program forever. I know I will fail. It's inevitable. And when I do fail, I'll gain back all the poundage and then some, and I'll wind up even bigger than I am now, which scares the bejeesus out of me. So, I'm going to try doing this without a wagon this time.

My biggest nemesis is chips. I'm terrible with chips. If there's a bag in the house, it'll call to me until I give in and devour the whole thing in one sitting. Sometimes, it even calls to me from the store. It's a good thing I don't have a car anymore and I'm too lazy to walk to the corner store, otherwise I'd give in to the seduction and buy a bag a day. The plan here is not to give up chips, because I know that'll never last. But, I will try to buy the smaller Halloween sized bags instead of the extra-large Costco sized bags. At least this will help keep my portions in check. And if I give in to the urge once in a while and demolish a bag of Doritos all by myself, at least I won't feel guilty about cheating on my diet, because I'm not on one.

Step 6: Move. Exercise is also a big part of any weight management plan. I don't get any.

Did I mention the computers in my house? There are four of them. I have a part-time day job which I work from home, and they've provided me with a computer for that purpose. I have a computer in my shop which is used for the engraving business, and it's where I check my e-mail. There's the "personal" laptop, which is the old machine I used to use for the business, but it crashed one day from data overload. So, after moving everything to the new computer in the shop, I formatted the laptop and reloaded it with the bare minimum Windows and McAffee Anitvirus. I now use that one at night when I'm just chillaxing, chatting on IM and playing in Facebook. Then there's hubby's MacBook, which is just too much fun not to play with. It's used for all our photo/video stuff.

So I need to get off my comfy leather chair once in a while and move. Easy enough, right? Wrong. I have Trouble at home with me. Going for walks with him is like watching paint dry. I can't get my heart rate up because we're moving at about 1/2 a mile an hour. I can't go out by myself before work because Hubby leaves for work at 5:00AM, and I'm just not motivated enough to go walking at 4:30, sorry. After work isn't good either, because there's the business to run, supper to make, homework, housework, and all the other lovely things that come with being a home-owning, child-rearing adult.

I have a treadmill. It's a big, guilty secret of mine, because I bought it about 6 or 7 years ago with the intention of using it daily. It's a good treadmill, too, because I knew that a cheapo WalMart version would never hold up to my significant weight pounding on it day after day. It has since sat and collected dust. It's been moved around the house, up and down the stairs, a few times, but that's about all the movement it's seen. So, this morning, I'm quite proud to say that I dusted it off, plugged it in and had a little walk. Nothing spectacular. I won't be running marathons any time soon. It was a slightly brisk walk for 15 minutes, that worked out to about 3 P!nk songs on Hubby's iPod. But, it's a start, right? It's my intention to do this every week-day before sitting down to work, slowly building up to half an hour a day.

I'm also toying with the idea of pulling out my old hand and ankle weights and doing a little weight training at night before bed. But that won't be for a little while yet. Baby steps, after all. ;)

The last step is to blog about it. We all need motivation. Everyone knows that it's easier to work out when you have a partner there to kick your butt when you're feeling sluggish. I don't have that partner, so I'll be using you. I'll be accountable to you, my dear readers, for my progress or lack thereof. I'll check back once a week and let you know how it's going. That's the plan, anyway. Now all I have to do is click on "Publish Post" to make it official. OK, here I go... I'm clicking... now... right... now... (geez, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be!)

Are You Smarter Than A Third Grader?

I don't get it. When I was in the third grade, I would listen to my teacher, come home, take a few minutes to do my homework, go to school the next day. That was it. My parents did not have to sit with me for hours on end to get my homework done. They did not have to pull out a thesaurus to be able to explain what was being asked of me.

So then why, pray tell, do I feel completely inadequate when doing homework with my third grader? Why do I stare blankly at the page, wondering if maybe I should go back to school in order to tackle some of these questions? Is it normal to have to peruse the entire workbook in order to make sense of one question? Why are they using terminology at this level that I have never heard before?

And what the heck is with the paragraphs required to answer a math question? As far as I'm concerned, math should be "A + B = C". That's it. One of the problems my son tackled last night ended with several blank lines, preceded by the question "Explain how you know you're right." I beg your pardon? My son's initial reaction was, "But I don't know if I'm right." Somehow, I doubt this answer would have been sufficient for the teacher.

I think we're expecting a little too much from our kids (and parents) these days. After I've been working all day, the last thing I want to do is continue working into the night. Yet, that's exactly what we expect our kids to do, and we're forcing parents to do it as well. This can't be a good habit to develop. What's going to happen when these kids become adults? They might continue in the habit of working long hours, which will destroy families or compromize their well-being. Alternatively, they'll shut down. They'll finish school and scream, "I've had enough!" Either way, we're looking at ulcers or burn-out by the age of 25. Not a happy looking future, is it?