You Are What You Eat–Dang.

My new doctor has me keeping a food and exercise diary for a couple of weeks. I’m not new to the food diary, given my dedication to calorie counting a few years ago, but I haven’t written down my diet for quite some time. Of course, writing it down I notice that I really need to drink more water, and I could lay off the coffee, but I know these things anyway.

The first week of the diary, I was coming off the flu, and was pretty much eating what I thought would stay in my stomach. I am a weird case, in that when I am sick, I do best with greasy food and tomato based foods. High acid, high grease. I can keep it down. Bland? I will barf up jello and mashed potatoes so fast it would make Linda Blair’s head spin.

I only count actual intended exercise for calories burned. Although, since we worked non-stop on the house Sunday, I counted calories for that extended pace (using an activity calculator under the heading of “packing/moving.”)

In case anyone is interested, if I were a Great White Shark and you caught me, following would be the contents of my stomach for the past week:

Those are my logs. You’ll see calories in and out, and see about where I fall on the average day.

My eating philosophy is this: I make an intentional effort to eat fewer than 1600 calories Monday through Thursday. I can eat whatever I want on Friday, and then I strive to maintain balance over the weekend, but I don’t sweat it.

Because I felt bad last week, my caloric intake was much lower than normal, and I wasn’t cooking at home much. This week’s diary should look different, including homecooked dinners, instead of Babe’s (best chicken fried steak in the world!), Olive Garden (love the chicken parm, but who knew it was over a thousand calories per serving?!), and 7 Salsas.

Anyway, I’ve been saying that I don’t eat enough calories to maintain my weight, and feel like I am not absorbing proper nutrients from my diet. Hopefully, between the food diary, the new doctor, and the endocscopy/colonoscopy I have coming up next week, I’ll find out what I need to do to make my metabolism work.

40 in 52

According to the BMI, I need to lose so much weight that I might as well just check myself into Baylor and ask them to put me in a medically induced coma for three months.  The BMI has no idea that when I am mid-range of their scale, I look malnourished.  It’s okay.  They don’t know that my bone structure is that of a Clydesdale.

According to the trainer guy at my gym, his pincers, scale, chart, and tape measure (eeyaugh!), I should lose 46lbs to be at my optimal weight.  I like his better.  I don’t like jagged edges, though, so I’m going to clean that 46 down to 40 and work toward that goal.  Then, when I am with women who are complaining about their weight, I won’t make them feel inferior with my perfection.  I can still agree, “I know.  Supposedly, I should weigh 6lbs less to be my physical best.  It is so hard being me!” 

See, I’ve got 20 to get back to where I was this time last year, when I got laid off and started eating at Sonic every day.  Sonic is made of crack cocaine.  It is evil.  And maxi dresses are so forgiving.  It was like I was eating the devil and wearing an angel. 

I have yo-yo’ed for a full year now, finally gaining back into my red light territory.  It’s exhausting.  I can either quit and resign myself to a life of caftans and tater tots, or I can pick myself up again and work at my fitness.  Since the best thing about life is that you get to start over again every morning, and since I have a gym membership, I’m rebuking the tater tots in the name of Jebus and resisting the lure of the elastic waistband.

I’m not turning this blog into a weight loss diary, and have decided not to post my weight as I’ve done before.  If it’s that important, you’re welcome to look me up on and friend me there.  I will be keeping a tally of my goal here.  I am working toward a 40lbs weight loss in 52 weeks.

I figured out that I can do at least 30 minutes in the gym on my lunch hour ( future blog entries to include how to work out on a lunch hour and still smell nice) and I’m hoping I can find a way to get into the lap pool for an hour at least once a week.  Other than that I’ll be on my routine of calorie counting Monday through Thursday, eating whatever the foo I feel like on Fridays, and living moderation on the weekends. 

Why?  Because my favorite pants don’t fit and when I waved goodbye to Thor this morning, my arm kept going long after the wave was finished.