SlimStacey

Anything's Possible!

"Hey, ma if you could see me now/Arms spread wide on the starboard bow/Gonna fly this boat to the moon somehow/Like Kevin Garnett anything's possible"  --T-Pain with SNL crew, "I'm On A Boat"

Yes, yesterday I absolutely trashed my diet, although I did exercise for 62 minutes, so it wasn't a total loss.  I still fit size 12 pants, but they don't require a shoehorn for me to stuff myself into.  I guess that's good.  I'm nursing a wicked hangover today from partying at the Bubba Beer Bash we had at our house yesterday.  I guess that's bad.  Twelve people cleaned out an entire refrigerator of beer and a six pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade (guess who had the six pack because she hates beer???).  That might be good, if we were college kids, but since we're full-blown adults either pushing forty or over the big four-oh, that's probably bad.  Very bad.  Now, I managed to avoid the hot dogs and hamburgers, so that's good.  But I ate an ice cream bar and half a bag of chips with half a container of Heavenly Baked Potato Dip by Lay's.  Now, according to the label, that's 60 calories per two tablespoons, with a whopping 45 calories from fat.  HOLY SHEEPS#!T.  That's bad, bad, bad.  I wish I could even tell you I ate just the two tablespoons, but this is my weight loss confessional, so here it is, the good, the bad and the ugly. 

I ate nothing all day until the party (bad) except for a handful of wheat thins with cheddar cheese on them (OMFG bad).  But this is the only day I've eaten like this in a while, and when I stepped on the scale this morning...not a pound gained.  None lost.  And I wouldn't want to imagine what a blood test would reveal right now (high blood pressure?  cholesterol?  fatty acids?).  A nutritionist would faint if she read this.  But that's OK, it's out of my system.  I can climb back in the saddle again tomorrow...because today I'm hung over and drinking coffee like a college kid would.

On the positive side?  Besides the workout and no weight gained?  (Miraculous!)  I actually am starting to have a waistline again.  You can look at my body and see a waist.  I'm not a wall of flab, all breasts and stomach rising up to meet said breasts.  Ugh, I'm about to throw up all the Heavenly Baked Potato Dip I ingested last night, which would taste really freakin' yummy with the Mike's Hard Lemonade, too.  (Now if you're going to hurl, my apologies.  You want a warm, cuddly blog?  Get the F*%CK out of here).  

The other good news?  I actually am starting to have guns.  You heard that right.  I'm getting muscle definition in my arms.  When I wave my arms, I don't have jiggling action anymore.  They're getting tight and toned.  That'll only continue to happen the more I work out, people.  You think that's not possible?  Guess again.  Kevin Garnett, pro basketball player who currently serves as the power forward for the NBA Boston Celtics...now that's an unlikely success story.  As a junior in high school, he was arrested for being associated in a huge brawl; after being frightened by the incident, he transferred to another school to finish out senior year, and decided to forego college and enter the NBA draft, after being called Mr. Basketball by the State of Illinois and was named National High School Player of the Year by USA Today.  He was named Most Outstanding Player in the McDonald's All-American Game and ended up being a fifth round draft pick by the Minnesota Timberwolves; the first NBA player to be drafted directly from high school in 20 years.  I could go on and on about all of his career accomplishments before being traded to the Boston Celtics (gold medal in the US Olympics, NBA Defensive Player of the Year, nine time all-NBA Team Selection, etc. etc.)  But the point is, as much of an unlikely candidate as someone like I am for a total body makeover, I now will predict the following:

In 12 weeks' time from now, I will drop inches and weight to the point where I will move from a size 12 back to my beloved size 8.  Marilyn Monroe was a size 8.  That's good enough for me, folks.  And each week, I will post a picture of myself wearing a bikini and I will state my measurements and weight.  You will hold me accountable.  I would try to hold myself accountable, but let's face it:  I'd just eat more Heavenly Baked Potato Dip and a boatload of ridged potato chips.  Instead, I'll be on a boat someday, just me and my bikini...oh, and perhaps my grateful husband, too!

Wicked Horrible Lie!

"You don't have to be beautiful/To be understood/You don't have to be rich and famous/To be good/You just gotta give more more more/Than you ever have before."  Madonna, "Dance Tonight"

You know, I've drank the Kool-Aid, along with I'm sure millions of other people across America!  I honestly thought this hackneyed old saw was true, and the most recent time I had it rolled out TO me was by a dear friend at the Mahopac-Mahopac Falls Volunteer Fire Department picnic.  I mean, I've polished this old chestnut up to other people myself, in my day.  Nodded my head when I heard someone tell it to someone else in m presence.  And it's all a wicked, horrible lie!  [Gasp!]

Muscle is really NOT heavier than fat! 

So, you're like, WTF, but bear with me here:  Everyone says, "Oh, you can't work out with weights when you're first engaging in weight loss because you'll just bulk up and get all fat.  The scale will lie to you because of all of that bulk; your weight will go up."  LIES, ALL LIES!

Do a search on the Internet on this issue.  Go ahead, do it.  I'll wait here.  [Elevator music for approximately five minutes]  Oh, you're back?  See!!!  There's a plethora of web sites and Internet articles that actually denude this myth!  A pound of muscle weighs exactly the same as a pound of fat.  There is no difference in weight...but there IS a difference in terms of what you'll look like if you are more muscular than fat.  According to One More Bite, a web site dedicated to weight loss, a woman weighing 150 pounds with 19% fat will look much smaller (and be much healthier) than a woman weighing 150 pounds with 35% fat.  There's a great (but kinda yucky) graphic which illustrates what a pound of fat looks like as compared to a pound of muscle.  It tells the story right then and there. "Simply seeing how much you weigh isn't that helpful," the article concludes.

So all of those people who have put off working out with weights because they think they have to keep wrestling some number on the scale are just fooling themselves.  Like I did.  Now I'm going to incorporate a great deal more exercises involving weights into my daily routine.  I'd rather look trim and be more healthy, and perhaps (someday!) fit back into those size 8 jeans.  Size 12 looks so gigantic next to my beloved old denim.  I've done the side by side comparison and blown through a box of Kleenex while bawling my eyes out in grief.  But that's OK.  I'm a 12, not a 14 or 16 or worse, like I'm sure I was at 203 pounds giving birth to my son.  I will return to a size that's normal for me.  I'm sure there are folks out there who wouldn't mind being a size 12 because they're, say, a size 22 right now.  I feel for them, but the bottom line is, most of America needs to get smaller, and abstaining from anaerobic exercise (workouts with weights, y'all) isn't going to help you.  It's going to hinder you.  Pick up that iron and start PUMPING!  Even if you're just starting out with one pound weights, which they DO sell, start somewhere and build from there!

Workout Bimbo-lettes Must Die

"Oh my god you guys/I totally had more than 300 calories/That was so not sexy, no/Good one, can I borrow that?/I WILL BE SKINNY"  --Pink, "Stupid Girls"

You know, as I'm working out to The Firm's Lower Body Sculpt I DVD, I'm thinking, these women in the video are kidding me, right?  One honestly appears to have fake boobs, which just are staring me in the face as me and my real boobs sweat and suffer.  The ringleader who's calling the shots for this workout is perky and blond...wait, they're ALL perky and blond!!!!  And the Ringleader says in this little girl voice, "That's why we call it the Fanny Lifter; it really works out your fanny!"

WTF?

I mean, really?  We have to use words like "fanny"?  I don't think I've heard that phrase since a parental unit said they were going to spank my fanny, and I think I was four years old at the time. 

The Firm has some really great videos (NO this is not a promotional plug) but honestly, I wish to almighty God they'd have thought up some other, more adult moniker when divining the name "Fanny Lifter" for their workout step, which is a two-piece deal that comes apart when they don't want you to climb a full two feet in the air while doing aerobics.  Otherwise, you often will climb up and down the complete two feet dozens of times (I'm sure burning fat like a mother) and often while hauling weights up there with you. 

Oh, it's fun in a bucket. 

However, the system does promise that you will see visible results in 10 days.  (Or your money back).  Of course, like most lazy Americans, I purchased my system years ago when the thing was new, and used it perhaps twice.  Duh.  Oh, and if you think I'm somehow more intelligent than you, here's proof that while they come boatloads dumber, I'm no Rhodes Scholar:  a year or so later, I bought The Firm's Transfirmer system and used it once!  OMG, someone save me from myself.  (I warn you, however, I do not have a basement filled with Ginsu Knives, Mighty Putty and a cavalcade of Ron Popeil products--"set it and forget it" anyone?)

So, I figure now that I'm fat and not simply just interested in being fit, I'll haul out the workout systems and use them.  What a concept!?!  Is there anything sitting in your house that you bought and paid for ages ago that you haven't used?  Perhaps it's time to whip that stuff out and have a freakin' Renaissance with it.  It's YOURS after all!  

But while I think that the whole stupid workout bimbo-lette thing is lame, and the name of the step I'm using lamer still, I have to say this much.  It works!  In LESS than 10 days, people are noticing that my stomach is getting flatter.  And while no one's saying anything about my fanny, looking in the mirror I realize that perhaps my posterior no longer is so huge that it deserves its own web site.  Amen.

It Makes Me Wanna Cry

"You don't know how to play the game/You cheat/You lie/You make me wanna cry."  --10 CC, "Cry"

Now THERE'S a blast from the past!

And there's the exact words that perfectly describe how I feel, at times, in this whole weight loss struggle.  I definitely feel like I don't know how to play the game.  My mother joined Jenny Craig and in 2 months she dropped a whopping FIVE dress sizes.  Yeah, not bad, right?  I just don't have the $100 plus dollars a week to pay for such a privilege!  We had to scrape up money just to have me return to Tae Kwan Do...and that doesn't start until September.  And trust me, it's cheaper than Jenny, by far.  But apparently, Jenny works, so I won't slam it unduly.  My mother is ecstatic being a goddamn size four! 

And I'm crying my eyes out because after trimming off a little weight, I can just now fit into the size 12 clothes that my mother was wearing when she started Jenny Craig.  Oh, yes, before that who knows what size I was, especially at the height of my struggles just after I'd birthed my son (and just before that point in time, I weighed a whopping 203 pounds).  Now, I'm mindful that other people may read this blog and think:  Jesus, I WISH I was a size 12.  There are others that are thinking, Size 12?  Put her in a dairy farm with the other cows.  But you know, the weight loss struggle is all a relative thing.  There are people who want to drop that last ten pounds, which I hear is killer...yeah, let me have that problem, in the meantime.  There are also people who feel my pain but in a smaller ratio:  i.e., they're now a size 8 and want to be back down to a size 2.  Me, I'd love to just return to my lifelong size 8, sometimes size 6 depending on the cut.  I have a closet of clothes that I can't wear (which has now been moved to the guest room, faithfully awaiting my return).  I've now gained a closet of clothes from my mother...and lest you think that means caftans and mu-mus, thank goodness, my mother works at the GAP, so although the clothes may be on the bigger size (for what I'm used to), they FIT and they're current in style!  I just have to go to the mall to get some tops (she gave me a few dresses and, like, 50 thousand pairs of jeans and pants).  At least I'll look better in those threads, because constantly dressing in the same few pairs of sweatpants/tees or sweatshirts/tees...well, it just doesn't fly anymore.

Anorexia Nervosa Mannequin

You know, folks, normally I give you a song quote at the opening of my blog...well, today, I'm quoting an entire song.  Download it and listen to it; it's certainly perky!  But it makes a wonderful point in terms of getting TOO obsessed with working out and looking perfect.  And it just encapsulates the way I feel today!  If you know of anyone who's crazy-focused on their bodies, you may just want to forward them to today's post.  Or play the music in the background when they're over.  Or, well, just stage a full-scale intervention!

The song is "Pride" by the late, great Robert Palmer.  RIP!!!

You want her attention
Well you'll have to wait
She's in the gymnasium
Reducing weight

In shorts of a leotard
Despite her age
The girl's gonna exercise
Her life away

Sister don't you jog it all away
Sister don't you run it all off
Sister don't you jog it all away
Sister don't you rough it all up

What an idea of fun
To get it on the run
I don't know what you do
What has come over you?

The style in the discotheque
Is cheap and nice
Please tell Ms Fonda
To reduce her price

Anorexia nervosa mannequin
All this physicality
Will wear you thin

Hey Olivia Newton-John
What you say?
Hey Olivia Newton-John
What you say?

She used to yield like flesh
Now it's all muscle
She used to yield like flesh
Now it's all muscle

I don't know why you do
What has come over you
What an idea of fun
To get it on the run

Roller skates and vitamins and diet plans
Academic discipline will ruin your hands
We used to ride tandem and have lots of fun
But bicycles for exercise are made for one

Give Up Beer?

“I don’t mind stealing bread/From the mouths of decadence/But I can’t feed on the powerless/When my cup’s already overfilled***I’m going hungry”  Temple of the Dog, “Hunger Strike”

 

By the way, my i Pod is a veritable collection of randomness, that’s all I can say in terms of these musical selections I choose to start most of my blog entries with.  I guess that's what happens when you're a DJ...your tastes become broad and eclectic, of necessity.

Could a man give up beer if he had to, to survive?  I mean, I know quite a few firefighters who, if they had to give up beer, would die first.  My husband, who used to drink a case of beer a night, doesn't even have a beer a week anymore, unless he attends a parade or a firematic function, but that is, unfortunately, becoming rare.  As a result of not ingesting beer so much, though, my husband has dropped from over 300 pounds to about 250 pounds.  He just has to drop 20 to 30 more pounds, and he'll be at his goal weight.  Like me, I guess.  Except I don't drink beer, so what's my shortcut?

Giving up soda this past March, and never going back, not even a drop, carved only 5 pounds off my frame.  And that was BEFORE I started this blog by far, so you can't even say that accounted for any of my current weight loss, which is stalled at five pounds. 

I know that I have to keep away from the Coffee Coolattas from Dunkin' Donuts.  Yep, I've been cheating every now and again with them.  Mind you, it's not every day, and when I do cheat, it's once per day, not the TWICE a day I was up to when I was at my worst.  And last night I had a big, fat piece of yellow cake with vanilla frosting. 

The interesting thing is, I felt sick after eating the piece of cake.  Overall, my sweet intake has been down for so long that eating that thing made my insides queasy.  It's like weaning yourself from whole milk to 2%, then 1%, then down to skim, and then ultimately going to no-fat milk, which I've done myself.  After you've been drinking the no-fat milk for, say, a month, try drinking the whole milk again.  Tastes like you're swallowing liquid cheese, right? 

What you may have to do in order to convince yourself to switch over to water throughout the day, which I've been doing MOST of the time until now, is this:  think calories.  Yes, realize that a Coffee Cooltta, which is packed with fat and sugar, is at least 350 calories!  Some more popular coffee drinks go to a whopping 750 calories per serving...like the Starbucks Venti Double Chocolate Chip Frappucino!  That drink alone has 28 grams of fat, with 16 of those grams being saturated fat.  I mean, honestly, does that drink come with a free side of angioplasty!?!

So the take-home message of today is look out for the liquids you ingest every day.  It's not the calories alone that matter...it's also the straight-up fat you're packing onto your body and your arteries.  It's not just a matter of losing weight for me...it's a matter of being healthier, so I can live longer!  How about you?  What can you give up, just liquid-wise, that would help you in your quest?

Positive Outlook

"I'm a driver, I'm a winner.  Things are gonna change. I can feel it."  Beck, "Loser" (sound bite mixed in from the movie "Kill the Moonlight"). 

I gotta keep my positive outlook.  Without it, I can't do anything.  Quite frankly, without it, no one can do anything...either at all or well.

I haven't worked out with weights in the past two days.  I HAVE done at least 30 minutes of aerobics a day, but without the weights, I'm not going to get cut.  I'll not ever morph this middle-aged body into "Miss Baywatch" (see prior post). 

So I have to drum up the energy to drive myself upstairs, drive myself through 62 grueling minutes of weights mixed with cardio in The Firm's dominatrix-driven DVD that's in my DVD player right now.  God, I hate it.  But without keeping my eye on the prize, without being determined to achieve change, all I will be is a loser (in terms of weight loss and/or getting a great body mass index).  I weigh the same as I've weighed for the past week...164 pounds.  Now, mind you, it's better than 169 pounds, when I started this blog.  And it's nice to not be backsliding.  But let's face it, as much as "no pain no gain" sucks, it's a truism.  I don't want to be a loser, Baby.  Beck notwithstanding, I don't want being a loser to kill me.  And being fat and out of shape will do that.  Weight loss and exercise, done properly, won't!

The Trouble With the MVFD/MFVFD Picnic

My husband and I were stoked to bring little baby Steven to his very first MVFD/MFVFD picnic.  We both grew up "firehouse" and have been members of fire departments since our youth.  Steve is an ex-chief of Mahopac Volunteer Fire Department.  I grew up with Mahopac Falls Volunteer Fire Department members, doing truck checks and racking hose on and off until I graduated law school, moved into Carmel Fire Department's district and joined there.  I ultimately became a desk officer there until Steve and I moved wayyyy far out of their district.  Steve still fights the good fight to be an active member at MVFD.  I can't even think of doing anything firematically until my son's in grade school...where would I put him if there was a fire and I had to ride a truck?

Anyhow, I digress.  At one point, while I was staring into my walk-in closet to select my outfit for the picnic, my husband advised me that it was going to be 90 degrees. 

"Oh, Jesus!"  I put my head in my hands.

"What?"  Steve asked. 

"It's a friggin' fat person's nightmare!  Don't you get it?"  I wailed.  "I can't hide my fat body in long sleeves and long pants...I can't wear black because I'll roast, and I actually have to put this body in a bathing suit.  Good God, does anything fit me that's NOT sweatpants or maternity clothes?"

Dressing little Steve was easy.  After all, he has folds of fat, but people adore that in a baby.  People look at him and coo, declaring, "Look at those thighs!  I just want to eat them!"

Now, people, please, no one says that when they look at my goddamn drumsticks.  Trust me. 

I ended up wearing black, because I was going to vomit anytime I saw myself in anything white...you could see through it, see the rolls, see the slovenliness, the slothfulness of my flesh.  I did find a bathing suit that worked, but it was a bikini...I'm a Libra, we don't DO one pieces, thank you very much.  Someday I'll reclaim my old body, and quite frankly, the bikinis in my drawer will be getting some serious mileage.

The only shorts I had that didn't cut off my circulation were sweat shorts, so there I was, huffing and puffing like I'd run a marathon the first five minutes at the picnic because I was wearing black thick material.  But they were still shorts, and the top was short sleeved.  I had my hair slicked back and in a bun.  Well, why not, you say?  After all, it's 90 degrees and muggy out.  Your hair'd only be the functional equivalent of white girl afro if you don't do that.  True.  But when you're fat, your cheeks stand out like chipmunk jowls without a fringe of nicely trimmed hair to camouflage it all.  

The nicest thing I could say about my body that day was that I had a pedicure and facial waxing the day before.  Halle-friggin-lujiah, my dogs weren't barking and I wouldn't tickle Steve with a fu manchu if we made out.  Oh, I'm frightfully yummy, with my fat wiggling and jiggling like a Jell-O rodeo.

The only nice things I can say about the day is this:  I ate three ears of corn, one spare rib (trimming away fat) and a handful of Goldfish, drinking nothing but water and...OK...most of a can of Bud Light Lime.  (It tasted like it was brewed downwind of a lime factory).  I did hit the pool (refreshing!) and spent most of my time in the water, where my pendulously porcine figure was obscured by the water and dozens of bodies churning the surface all around me...and, of course, my family and I enjoyed all our friends!  Baby Steven amazed everyone with his swimming, kicking and paddling around (while he was being held by someone, of course)...he just took to the water like a fearless little fish, though.  He loved all the kids, big and small.  And at one point, I found my inspiration for the next leg of my fitness journey.

Miss Baywatch.

Oh, yes, I think you could ask any firefighter there, married or single, young or old...he saw her that day.  Young, nubile, blond, tan, with a bright red bikini and a whistle dangling strategically about her decolletage.  You couldn't pinch an inch on her--not that I'm sure we couldn't get a gaggle of guys willing to try.  Her body was PERFECT.  I'm not even kidding.  She had cut arms, a tight high rump and an abdomen that sported a six-pack.  Her hips had that hourglass curve that mine used to have.  I actually do believe that I used to look very much like her...minus the blond hair, red bikini and whistle. 

"What are you looking at?" my girlfriend Mandy asked me, neck-deep in pool water next to me.  Big Steve and little Steve came drifting by, little Steve paddling furiously, barely able to see above the floppy brim of his protective bucket hat. 

"Her!"  If I pointed any more intensely, I may as well have morphed into an Irish Setter.

"Oh, God!"  Mandy moaned.  "Why?"

"I want her body!" I exclaimed.

Two guys behind me dropped their conversation abruptly.

"Not like that!" I told them.  They groaned and returned reluctantly to their discussion.  I turned to Mandy.  "I want to look like that...you know, minus the blond hair."

"Stacey, she's sixteen, or something like that.  She's a kid." 

"I don't care.  I want that look...I want to be cut...I want to be healthy and fit." 

And you know what?  I bet I can get there! I will focus on that image as I work out, sweating, stinging, swearing until I've finally melted away the last of the Jell-O Rodeo from my frame, in much the same way a pregnant woman chooses a focus object when she's in labor. 

But instead of birthing another child, I'll be birthing a new, healthier, happier me.

Oh, and for those that missed a music reference today, you can insert in the background the title track from Hawaii Five-O.  ;)

An Odd Interlude, or the Lake Carmel VFD Parade

I'm still the same weight I was before:  I'm at 164.  That's OK.  I'm not pushing 170 anymore.  I'll lose more weight.

It's interesting how you will encounter life events that will test your new found resolve, and sometimes you'll pass with flying colors; other times you will not!  Take the Lake Carmel Volunteer Fire Department Parade this past Friday. 

OK, late in the game I decided to get involved with marching for Mahopac Volunteer Fire Department.  How late you ask?  Their last freakin' parade.  Well, I go with the quarter master to fit myself for a uniform.  Don't get upset, I tell myself, as we have to go up in size on the navy wool pants alone...twice!  Don't freak out, I warn myself, as we go up two sizes in jackets and still can't find a fit, because after that the jackets get way too big, like I'm some five year old dressing up in daddy's clothes for fun.  However, the jacket I'm left wearing for the day looks like the buttons are going to explode off of my chest. 

I check myself out in the mirror and cannot repress the thought:  Yuck, I'm goddamn rotund. 

As I descend the stairs to join the men, who are now piling into fire trucks and police vehicles, I try to shake off the emotions of disgust, regret and embarrassment.  My own husband, bastion of love and support that he normally is, says, "Hey, Stacey, that jacket is SCREAMING on you!"  No kidding, guy.

As we march through the streets of the Lake Carmel Fire Department district, I'm waiting to hear the parade marshal scold me, but he doesn't.  Thank God.  I mean, I marched for years with another department where I was a member.  But it had been nearly as many years since I'd marched in my last parade.  I did eventually fall into the groove, though, and found my arm swing matching the man in front of me, my strides stayed even, and I stayed in step. 

A few people asked me if I was all right as we neared the end of the parade.  Why?  I wasn't huffing and puffing.  I had sweat waterfalling off me in sheets.  We probably only marched for a mile, in terms of sheer distance, but it was all uphill, and when you march, your footfalls are very rapid (at least I feel they are).  It's a lot of work.  And there was a lot of stops and starts to the marching; while you mark time, your body is still working.  By the time we reached the bullpen at the end of the parade, I still wasn't breathing heavy, but I was soaked. 

Good, I thought.  That burned some calories right off me, on top of the hourlong cardio workout I did. 

In the bullpen there were the usual options--beer, water and hot dogs.  Lake Carmel Volunteer Fire Department made me exceedingly happy by offering Propel bottled water, too.  I guzzled down a bottle, hoping my electrolytes would rebalance before I passed out cold.  No beer for me, though.  And I resisted the hot dogs.  But by the time we got upstairs, I sat myself down in front of a table laden with bags of chips.  While I passed one test, I failed the next.  I shoveled down corn chips and ruffled potato chips.  I passed on the curly Cheetos, though, loudly complaining that they looked like anal probes.  (Classy dame that I am, of course).  I probably had about ten handfuls of chips, and that was my dinner.  Nutritious!  No wonder I haven't lost any more weight.  But that's OK.  I haven't gained a pound back, and I must say...when I look down at my tummy, which is starting to shrink (thank Jesus)...is that...no...definition?  Am I perhaps going to have tight abs someday, if I keep up the work?  Will the chiseled stomach erupt out from under the gooey skin that covers it currently?  Why, yes, yes it will!  That'll be better than any "A" I ever received on a test at school! 

Down Another Pound!

Are you kidding me?  164 pounds?  Oh, thank GOD I'm getting closer to the 160 mark.  If I could just get down to the 150s sometime soon...sadly, it's been a few years since I've been there! 

I did kind of veer off the eating plan for the Michael Thurmond program, by eating two cups of air popped popcorn.  But who cares?  Progress is progress!  Today, as much as it kills me, I will work out again for another hour.  There's no way in hell I'm going to tell you that I look forward to a workout.  I never have, even in years gone by, when I was younger and skinnier.  But while that may never change, I can say this much...finally, after several years' time, I look forward to looking at the scale in the morning! 

A good tip I can give out this morning, by the way, is to weigh yourself first thing in the morning, after you've hit the bathroom, and of course while you're au naturale.  Also, drink at least one full glass of water before doing anything else.  Why?  Two reasons:  you hydrate yourself after hours of not taking in any new fluids and your stomach is already on its way to being full.  But don't skip breakfast!  You need the fuel!