Not bad for a fat girl


Establishing New Habits

Welcome to December. The most wonderful  fattening time of the year. I have a confession to make. I have regained some of the weight I lost back when the blog was new. Maybe all of it. I’m afraid to get on the scale. I know, though. My clothes are tighter again and I don’t feel as energized as I did.

Oh sure, there are lots of reasons. The first and most compelling reason is the change in weather. I was in my pool nearly every day exercising and I LOVED it. Weird. But then it got cooler out and the water became too cold so there went my favorite workout. Boo hoo, poor me.

HT New PackageThere there was my commitment to spending most of my free time in November writing. And write I did! Many many words poured from my brain through my fingertips. A post a day (sometimes more than one) and a rough draft of a novel came out of my head. Amazing. But writers need fuel (I find that Hot Tamales candy makes me particularly creative), and writing is a sedentary activity. My musings on that topic are here. Yep, I know, excuses, excuses.

So there it is. The weight is back and now it’s holiday time and frankly, I’m not feeling all too pleased with  how I’ve been taking care of myself. Or rather how I haven’t been. Oh sure, November was a kick ass month and I’m thrilled with some of the results, but now December calls for some changes.

Besides being holiday time, December is the time of year when I remember a friend who died far too young. She was healthy and vibrant and wonderful and capable. She was a wife and mother and daughter and sister and creative tour de force. That bitch cancer got her and had its way with her. She begged her friends to take care of themselves as best they could. I’m not doing that. I’m sorry.

I’m not saying I want to get healthier out of fear of cancer, per se, but out of respect for it, and heart disease, and diabetes, and all the other nasty complications of obesity. Yes, I’m obese. I know I am, and I don’t love it. (Read some of the reasons why here) I don’t beat myself up over it, because that’s counterproductive, but I do acknowledge it. Intellectually I know I have to get going, but emotionally I’m feeling a little stuck.

I think what stops me in my tracks is the knowledge that I’ve done this a million times before. I get fed up, I shake things up, I make some changes, and I improve my health and fitness levels to a greater or lesser degree. The problem is that I never take it far enough. I lose momentum. I need to develop new habits. Fortunately, November has shown me that I’m perfectly capable of doing just that.

Writing has become a habit for me. Instead of writing once or twice a week (if that) I’m writing once or twice a day, and for longer periods of time. I’m exploring different ways of expressing myself, and I’m not afraid to tackle topics that might have intimidated me previously. I need to take that determination and drive into the battle for my health. This is a fight I need to win. I must create new habits. I better warm up the treadmill and dust off my awesome pink boxing gloves. I have proven to myself that I can take on and complete a challenge. My new challenge is taking care of myself. Anyone care to join me? One step at a time, one change at a time, one day at a time.


Living Large at the Silver Paddock

My son plays golf. He came to it entirely on his own, having never stepped on a course in his life before becoming a part of the school’s golf team. driveHe picked up his first club as a freshman, and found that it was something he really enjoyed. Hooray!

I’m so glad that he found something that gives him such pleasure. He studies the game and talks about the game and even occasionally watches the pros or reads articles in golf magazines. Last summer my sweetheart discovered a great golf camp offered by our local university, run by their acclaimed NCAA coaches. It was a stretch financially, but we sent him. He also takes lessons at a local golf “superstore.” What can I say? The boy enjoys golf.

I’m especially glad he found it because it gives him some exercise and is something he can enjoy well past his teenage years. Neither his dad nor I play, and nobody ever suggested he take it up, so it’s something that is entirely his.

Last night his team held their end of the season dinner. As a freshman last year, he failed to mention this event to anyone until the last minute, then didn’t let us know that it was for families as well as players. Grr. This year I got more information out of him, and both his dad and I were able to attend.

The location chosen was a giant warehouse of a restaurant, a buffet type place that I won’t name, but it’s kind of like Silver Paddock. I had never been at this place before, and I will never return. Unless there’s another golf dinner there. Which there probably will be. Ugh.

The teenage boys love this place, which is why the coach selected it. Of course they love it, they are ravenous and there is so much food here, all of it available in whatever quantity one desires.Unknown I was hungry too, so I grabbed my plate and made the long trek to the start of the culinary display.

Way way down at the beginning of the line was the salad section. It was virtually deserted, and not terribly inviting with a few bowls of greens and some sad looking shredded carrots and garbanzo beans next to a couple of vats of mayo based concoctions. There were some jello creations too, and a couple of other odd things thrown in for good measure. Frankly, I was a little put off.

I continued down the line, plate still empty, past the soup station. Greasy vats of unknown origin simmered, waiting to be slurped down. Pass. Then I entered the Mexican section. Considering I live in the Southwest, this was pitiful. There were hard taco shells, some seasoned meat, and gooey nacho cheese, the kind you get out of a can. No thanks.

After that was the “Thanksgiving Dinner” portion of the food line. There were meats and side dishes galore, oh, and a tray of carrots. I took some of those, and a small dollop of mashed potatoes. As I continued on I found three varieties of chicken. I added a small chicken breast, bbq style, to my plate.

I hurried past the crowd waiting for leathery looking steaks, on to the deep fried section. There, fried chicken, shrimp, okra, potatoes, hush puppies, fish, and who knows what else waited to jump onto people’s plates. At this point I looked at my plate and decided that I had endured enough of this madness. I headed to my seat to eat.

It was okay. Not awful. Not great. Okay. Person after person around me devoured the food on their plates and popped up to get more. I stayed put.

The festivities concluded and my son and I got in the car to go home. “Did you notice anything about the demographics of that place?” he asked.

“Everyone in there was fat,” I replied, not missing a beat.

I’m glad he noticed. He’s not fat, and of course there were a few people in the restaurant who weren’t, but most of them were. The-cotton-candy-machine-has-arrivedJudging by how packed this place was on a Wednesday night, this restaurant must make a killing on the feeding of fat people. Quantity has definitely won out over quality in this scenario, and people were not only okay with this, they were clamoring for more.

I didn’t even mention the dessert section, which was by far the largest area of the buffet. There was chocolate flowing from some contraption and there were cakes, cookies, pies, brownies, and even cottons candy. Yes, gobs of spun sugar to top off your fat laden all you can eat feeding frenzy. Gross.

The experience reminded me of the buffet scene in Vegas Vacation. I cannot watch that scene without gagging. The movie is a favorite at our house, but that scene is so revolting that I have to leave the room when it plays. Perhaps if more people watched it, the Silver Paddock wouldn’t be so full of fatties.