It’s All About Perspective

Standard

I know, I’ve been a neglectful blogger. My apologies, chickens.

Let’s blame NaNoWriMo, shall we?

I recently had a bit of a weight loss crisis. I hit the 35 pounds lost mark and despair settled in hard.

Because when you have a LOT of weight to lose, 35 pounds feels like a drop in the bucket. I think it’s the Biggest Loser phenomenon. We get used to seeing accelerated weight loss and the regular pace seems sllllloooooowwwww.

But it’s not. And 35 fucking pounds is NOT a drop in the bucket. Its huge. I just needed a perspective change.

When I started, I weight 260 pounds. (OOF) My goal was 130 pounds lost. HALF MY WEIGHT, Y’ALL. The equivalent of another person. Whoa.

And yes, I have a long way to go yet, but now it’s less than 100 pounds to lose. Which is epic. I’m a quarter of the way there. Also, I’ve lost 2 pant sizes. I’m wearing the smallest pair of jeans I currently own. Another 10-15 pounds and I’m going to need to buy pants in a size that does no start with a 2.

Oh my hades.

And I started in August, which was a scant 4 1/2 months ago.

So fuck off, Despair. I’m pretty much kicking ass.

Paleo Hawaiian BBQ

Standard

Yesterday was one of those days. One of those “what the ever-lovin’ hell am I supposed to make for dinner???” days.

I had a freezer full of chicken. I had green beans that absolutely had to be used. Like yesterday. And that was it.

Well not really. I also had a clingy infant who hates riding in the car and a preschooler that was having a difficult day. A grocery run felt akin to a suicide mission.

I could have made this. But I had no potatoes.

I thought about chicken soup. But no…

Searching Pinterest, I found this recipe for Hawaiian BBQ on one of my boards. It looked tasty, but oi. Not exactly Paleo.

But it could be. *insert evil laughter here*

Paleo Hawaiian BBQ

adapted from Best Recipes Evah

1/2 c maple syrup

1/2 c blackstrap molasses

3/4 c coconut aminos

1/4 c Red Boat fish sauce

2 tbs minced garlic

1 1/2 tsp ground ginger

1/2 medium onion sliced

1 stick of grass-fed butter (like Kerrygold)

1 1/2 lbs meat of choice

Throw your ingredients in a gallon size Ziploc bag. Give it a bunch of squishes to mix everything up. Add your chicken. (I used four thighs and 8 legs. Pork would be good in this too. So would salmon. And beef.) Toss it around a little to get everything coated.

Shit. Close the bag first, ya dummy. Mop, repeat the above and close the bag. Proceed.

Marinate your meat (heh) for at least 4 hours. I gave it about 6, turning it every 2 hours or so.

Heat your oven to 350. Take a Pyrex baking dish (9×13 or 10×15) and throw a stick of butter in there (unwrapped, for the special crowd.) Put the baking dish in the oven until the butter is melted. Take the dish out, arrange the meat in a single layer and return to the oven. Bake for about a 1/2 hour for bone-in chicken, turning the pieces at the 15 minute mark. If you’re using something besides bone-in chicken, I have no cooking time for you. Sorry. Stick it in there, pay attention, turn it once and take it out when it’s done. Bone in meat takes longer to cook than boneless. Godspeed.

We had this with brown rice and steamed green beans. It was YUM. I wish I had pictures of this, but my family scarfed it down like savages. Plus my pictures always suck, so it’s actually a kindness. If you really need a picture, make it and Instagram that bitch.

The Cruelest Month

Standard

I’m 30 pounds down.

30.

3.0.

Oh my gosh.

As great as it feels, it has not been a completely bump free. This last month, I’ve had a run of viruses that would not quit. A cold turned into strep throat, which turned into bronchitis, which faded back into a head cold. I’ve lost a month of training on my c25k. Worse, when I was at my sickest, meat and veggies weren’t possible. I got sick of broth. Pudding, jello and sorbet were my best friends. Then, I found that a bean burrito from Taco Bell was the ideal food for step throat. Filling and soft, it became the mainstay for 2 days.

Urgh.

My eating continued to suffer as I recuperated. I felt shitty. I deserved what sounded good, right?

And then, Halloween.

Fucking Halloween.

October was a cruel month, you guys. The good news is, I didn’t lose that much ground. 3 pounds, mostly because I’ve been too sick to work out. Oh, and eating carbs like a champ, but that’s over.

Really.

I swear.

My knees are wonky again, my energy level is in the toilet and I feel the need to nap almost every day. No bueno. If anything, I’m even more firmly convinced that my Paleo eating is absolutely right for me. So back I return, to my lean protein and delicious plant matter. Kale, I’ll never leave you again. Never shall we part, grass-fed beef. Honey, you’re the only sweet I need.

Get behind me, Satan…I mean candy.

I’m Being Assimilated

Standard

I’ve exercised every day this week.

Every day.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

To further the mind-bending, I’ve wanted to workout. I’ve made time when there really wasn’t any. The walk to and from school with the kids isn’t enough. I’m craving that sore feeling, the ache in my abs that the fucking Pilates workout from HELL gives me, the burn in my thighs from the floor work, my stiff shoulder from the pushups. I’m reveling in the sweat pouring off me as I push an extra 5 minutes on the elliptical.

What the hell, people?

All this added protein and veggies is obviously messing with my head. I’m starting to suspect this Paleo plan is a covert plot to create a nation of super soldiers, slowly seducing us to the fit side. It’s been days since I joked about needing a donut. (Yes, that used to be a daily occurrence and no, it really wasn’t a joke.) The pile of discarded clothing gets larger every day. An opened bottle of wine has been sitting on my counter for 2 WEEKS!

Best yet, it doesn’t feel temporary. This is just what I do now. They have me in their sinister, lean muscled clutches. Shit.

I still have work to do. My fruit and nut intake is higher than it ought to be. We’re making plans to purchase a half a steer next April, so that we’re eating grass-fed beef. Finding pastured pork has been harder – I’m still looking for a local source. And paying $17/pound for sugar free, nitrate free bacon seems more and more logical. I dunno ; probably more of the protein-vitamin molecules blocking the neurons in my brain.

Don’t send help, chickens. I’m loving the dark (and fit) side.

Mental Health

Standard

Aside from my elliptical workouts, I’ve started walking my son to school every morning. We live close enough to the kid’s school that I should have been doing this for the past four years, but I am lazy and we live on a hill, so…yeah.

When people find out I’m doing this, they are very enthusiastic.

“What a great way to get some extra exercise!”

“Jump start your metabolism in the morning! Way to go!”

“I bet you feel awesome.”

And I do. I smile and nod and let them believe it’s entirely fitness motivated.

Which is bullshit.

I walk my son to school so I don’t have to deal with the fuck-wits who drive their children to school. The middle school parents are the worst, but after the first week of watching idiots ignore traffic rules, the safety of others and plain old common sense, I’ve come to believe the seeds of middle-school-parent-fuckwittery are planted while their spawn are in the lower grades.

Christ on a cracker. Don’t stop in the drop off loop and walk your precious little drool bucket to the kindergarten door that is approximately 7 feet from your car. Park your Lexus and tend to your offspring without inconveniencing the rest of us.

Don’t follow the car in front of you out of driveway when someone has paused their progress to let that car out into traffic, especially if you are then blocking the road. Use your god damned company manners, ass hat.

And please, for the love of all that you find holy, don’t turn left when there are cones blocking the left side of the outlet and multiple signs saying NO LEFT TURN. Now we see why Junior isn’t reading at grade level.

But yeah – I’m walking for the health benefits.

 

Wallowing

Standard

20 pounds gone.

20 pounds is a LOT of weight to lose in 2 months. I’ve worked hard and done a great job. My outlook has changed in fundamental ways.

Once again, I’ve cracked the 250 mark (you know, the one I SWORE I would never, ever revisit? Sigh.). I’m rapidly heading for 240. I’ve had to discard 2 of my favorite capri pants because they’re simply too big for me. The shirt I’m wearing today? This is the last day I’ll wear it as well. It’s too big.

That’s awesome.

I’m trying really hard to hold on to these little victories. I need to focus on the positive. If I don’t, I start thinking about the fact that even though I’m moving in the right direction and I’ve lost 20 freaking pounds, it’s only 1/7th of what I have to lose. 14% of the way there. 86% to go. When I think of that, I get really overwhelmed. I still have 120 pounds to lose. Oye.

I want it. I want it badly. But dude. It sucks to give yourself a cheat day and feel like the table full of men next to you are snickering as you eat the cheeseburger you have been longing for. They didn’t know this is the first day in 45 days that I have indulged myself to this extent. They didn’t know about the 20 pounds I’ve lost and the healthy foods I’ll eat for the next 45 days, with only tiny indulgences like 85% dark chocolate or paleo ice cream. Does it matter? No, not really. Fact is, they probably didn’t even notice me. Any censure I felt probably came from my own head.

I hate that I’ve put in all this work, but still can’t buy the clothes I really want to wear or sport a cute River Song costume this Halloween. I’ll get there, but I want something tangible, now.

But it’s worth the wait. It’s totally worth a year of my life, a year of sweat and sacrifice, of self-denial, to be healthy. To be hot. To be River Song.

If only I could just regenerate.

Guilt, Pressure and Betrayal

Standard

Now what?

Finishing the Whole 30 feels a little anti-climactic, to be honest. I’ve reintroduced legumes, cheese and bits of gluten, as well as wine.

Red wine now gives me a splitting headache. Apparently, my sulfite tolerance is low. I can drink white wine, but only in small doses.

I don’t like peanut butter nearly as much as I thought I did. This is shocking to me.

Eating bread makes me feel sluggish. It also put 2 pounds back on me.

I can now eat 2 pieces of thin crust cheese pizza and be totally content. This is a dramatic difference. I even wished I’d stopped after one. Dude.

I cannot have chocolate chip cookies in the house. Hello, my name is Jennifer and I am a cookie addict. I only ate one though. (Okay, two.)

When I ate the cookie(s), my husband looked disappointed. Maybe. I probably created that look in my head. But he’s been going on and on about how proud he is of me, how I have a strength of will that I’ve never had before, how great my ass looks, etc. etc. etc. I know it’s meant to be supportive, but my GOD, the pressure. I feel it all the time now. Last night, I wandered through Target, starving, torturing myself by going down the candy aisle. Not masochism, just wondering if there was a brand of chocolate in their stock that I could eat. The answer is no, by the way.

Anyway, because the candy aisle wasn’t enough torture, I hit the frozen section. I was looking longingly at the frozen burritos when the fat chick that will always live inside of me whispered, “I could really go for a Taco Bell burrito right now.”

That bitch.

But I pictured my husband’s face. The betrayed hope. The head shake that he never, ever does, but that I can see nevertheless. How much of that is me, transferring my own guilt onto him? I honestly do not know.

Instead, I picked up a package of Apple Farms salami, which wasn’t strictly Paleo, but a treat. I ate half of it on the way home.

And today, I’m down a pound. Yay, me.

But I’m still wrestling with my guilt, my feeling of responsibility and need for my husband to be proud of me. Stuffing down the resentment caused by a single look I’m not even sure I read right. My head, it is a bizarre and troubled place sometimes. I’ll work through it, I know. (I think) But for now, it’s one foot in front of the other, trying not to look back at the delicious, indulgent, comfortable place I’ve left.