So, my mother came to visit and with her came armful after armful of candy and baked goods. I abstained like the good Jenny Craig client I am, but eventually, sugar won out. I was worn down by my mother’s incessant badgering.
“Did you try the pumpkin scone?”
“Can you have bagels and cream cheese on Jenny Craig?”
“What do you mean you can’t have nachos on Jenny Craig. Now that’s just silly!”
“Can’t you cancel your weigh in for this week? Let’s go shopping!”
My mother is a saboteur.
It is something I have come to understand about her over the years and it is a bitter pill to swallow. Also, when she is away from my father, she likes to “cheat” as they say. He is pretty careful about monitoring what she eats and despite the impressive stash of low carb bars she has hidden all over the house (which are not effective when eaten in bulk), he still manages to keep a watchful eye on her sugar and fat intake. Of course, once my mother is away from my father, all bets are off. I will find her jamming scones and hotdogs into her mouth as fast as she can. It is no use talking to her. We have tried begging, pleading, insisting-but to no avail. She is overweight and will most likely stay that way because she absolutely has no interest in diet or exercise. The thread of relevance here is that when she is in town she brings a wide array of fatty foods into my house and tries to take me down. I think it is an unconscious thing but still…
Today, despite my best efforts, I did not work out. I am cramming for my dissertation defense (sounds like a murder trial) and I spent a beautiful 80-degree Saturday inside a medical library. Yee-haw. Sometimes you have to give up a sunny day for the greater good. As a reward for my efforts, I got a huge amount done and as a bonus I got to use words and phrases like “symptomology,” “clinician administered measures,” and “subscale analyses” about a thousand times. Even so, I got it done. As a protective measure I took a walk all around the park near the Haight Ashbury section of San Francisco and was careful to watch what I ate. I stayed glued to the Jenny Craig plan!
October 20, 2006
It is so hot in SF today! I’m dying. The stifling heat in my room makes it hard to concentrate on my writing. Or perhaps it is because I went to Jenny Craig this morning to get weighed and I gained 1.4 pounds. I’m so frustrated! It doesn’t help that the JC counselor that I have is suspiciously silent whenever I gain weight. I already feel ashamed and like a loser for going up instead of down, but could you try to be supportive?? It’s not like I’m not giving my all.
About four days ago, I threw out my back somehow and have been hobbling about ever since. Forget exercise, I am having serious trouble even sleeping. I told my counselor that I haven’t been able to get to the gym more than once this week and I suspect this has something to do with it-well, that and my best friend’s birthday last Saturday which ended with a $315.00 restaurant bill and many empty plates. The melted Brie was almost worth my dietary fall from grace. Almost. But now I’m a little mad. I mean, ok I understand I fell off the wagon for one meal. But we’re talking one meal here! I have stuck to the diet every other day this week. Do I deserve to gain 1.5 pounds from one meal and a lack of exercise for four days? It seems unfair and metabolically impossible. But apparently, it is far from impossible. How as I going to make it on maintenance?
The impulse to shop has left me a broken woman, literally. I was walking around a very cute part of town and happened to stop by a shoe store which sells cute and very pricey footwear. On this particular day (a day that will go down in history as the day I found the perfect boot, a day that will become something of a holiday for me) I found and purchased the perfect boot for a very cheap price. Yea for me. But somehow my body decided to punish me for my whimsical and somewhat careless attitude toward money by sending stabbing pain through my leg. Yes, I am drawing a correlation between these two completely unrelated events. I just barely hobbled back to the car. Since this incident two days ago I have been racked with pain in my upper thigh, lower back. It’s weird. But worse, it is interrupting my daily exercise routine. Hell, it’s ruining my time with my son, social get togethers and errands like a simple outing to the grocery store. I weighed myself yesterday and it seems to be ruining my diet as well. If I can’t burn off the calories I eat, I may not be able to maintain my weight even if I stick to the JC meals.
October 12, 2006
I just read a blog about a child’s birthday party from hell and it made me want to run outside and kiss the lefty-super liberal, weirdo lovin, artsy, “I’m an engineer and a trapeze artist” San Francisco ground I live on (and in). God, people live in weird states! The horrible birthday party experience reminded me that I have not blogged about my child’s very first external birthday party experience. It was also Mommy’s first children’s birthday party and potluck o’ tasty fattening foods. I can blame only part of my willpower on the fact that I was so nervous I was literally shaking. The rest of my willpower came from chasing Noah around trying to get him to play nice with other kids. So, I guess it kinda wasn’t willpower at all. But there was a lot of food around and a cake and I abstained! Ok, more truthfully, I held back a bit! I only had 2 chips and a bite of the birthday boy’s cake because Noah didn’t want it. He doesn’t like sugar. I know, he’s not my child. I think someone pulled the old switcheroo in the hospital. Personally, I like to pour sugar directly from the bag into my mouth. How could he not get that from me?? I am currently involved with a very cute man who pours M & M’s directly from the bag into his mouth. I’m talking about the jumbo bag. You think some of that would have rubbed off on Noah.
October 11, 2006
After breaking down and begging my doctor for drugs for my migraine, I found relief in a full dose of painkillers taken three times a day for a full 24 hours. With no make-up, dirty hair, and looking (I’m sure) like I had suffered some kind of emotional trauma, I encountered my pharmaceutical arch nemesis at the pick up window. Let’s call her Martha.
Martha and I had a relatively civil relationship until I had the audacity to move out of town for a while and not tell her. For this she called me a word that I’m not sure can be repeated in a blog. Before that I never knew Martha and I were such good friends. As far as I was concerned our relationship was restricted to strictly “Hi” and “Bye.” I didn’t even know the woman’s last name. For God’s sake, you ring up my prescriptions, gum and other assorted sundries maybe once a week. For this I’m supposed to give you my forwarding address? Break the news slowly over the course of many weeks? Discuss the sorted details of my messy divorce? Uh, no. The final straw for Martha came when I had the misfortune to run into her on one of her surly days. I asked her if she was okay. I said it seemed like she was having a bad day. Martha never spoke to me again. All niceties about my son-gone. Pleasantries were forgotten. Not as much as a hello. In fact, almost every time I have approached the pick up window in the last 6 months, Martha has loudly proclaimed she was taking a break and called out “help at pharmacy window two!” as she walked away, laying down the this window closed sign with a smack. If it were the eighties, we might have had a break dancing show down in the aisle between the maxi pads and the hair care products.
October 9, 2006
I blame a four day migraine for my absence on the page this week. And of course for breaking my Jenny Craig diet. Just last week I was loudly professing my low weight of, what was it, 130 pounds? I danced, I sang, I bought new work out clothes. THE kiss of death. It is akin to tattooing your lovers name on your arm. Disaster is certain to follow. But I am already predisposed to be superstitious this way.
The migraine hit with less of a bang and more of a slow torturous building of pressure. It grew and spread to new areas of my brain. I wore the obligatory dark sunglasses, which made me look ever so “after school special.” You know the ones: "When Daddy Beats Up Mommy" or "It’s Not Ok To Hit." I’m sure my super dark shades and my less than forthcoming attitude led people to ponder if I had an abusive boyfriend. I tried taking Advil, Bayer and Tylenol by the handful. Safe. Since I had run out of migraine medicine eons ago, I concocted my own special blend of aspirin, acetaminophen, caffeine, and anti-inflammatory drugs, that I like to call, “stop the pain or die trying”. My friends find this horrifying and yes, yes, I have been chastised vehemently and been pelted with names of very competent neurologists.
October 3, 2006
In a fit of sheer nervous energy last night, I organized all my bras by color AND style, then matched them with their corresponding underwear.
I have had a restless night of sleep as well. I tossed and turned, woke up several times troubled by strange dreams and went back to sleep again. All day I have been thinking about the fragility of life and how easily it can be disrupted. NPR played an interview with a war correspondent who lost his hand throwing a grenade out of his HUM-V. Then there was today’s news on the treadmill about a guy who took little Amish girls hostage in a school and then shot half of them. This only served to reinforce my point; the fragility of human life.
October 1, 2006
Today I tried on lingerie. Yes, actually tried it on in the store. I didn’t buy it and run home and try it on in my closet. I actually did the store, dressing room lighting and all, and I didn’t throw up or run out crying. This must be a good sign. I’m not saying everything is perfect. My body does not respond to exercise and diet the way it used to. My skin isn’t as elastic in my thirties as it used to be in my twenties and (sniff) my teens. Those tough to tone areas under the arms and lower hips are even tougher to tone . I have realized one important factor, however. Weight loss affects the look of cellulite more than all the weight baring exercise on the planet Earth. I don’t pretend to be an expert and have heard many different theories from total nonprofessionals. All I can say is being toned is great, but the lower the number on the scale the better I look. I will elaborate with a vivid and somewhat gross illustration. It is as if someone wrung out my legs like so much wet laundry. I like to imagine someone is wringing out my fat cells. Everything is just as it was but shrunken.
September 30, 2006
First of all the Jenny Craig chicken sandwich lunch is surprisingly good. Second, the fat free yogurt I opened today was flavorless. I don’t mean that in a sarcastic way. I mean it had no flavor added to the cup. I had been looking forward to the cherry vanilla Dannon yogurt all day (as much as anyone can look forward to diet food) and as soon as I opened it I realized something was amiss. The usually bright and artificial purple color that greeted me when I peeled off the foil (you know, “Hey we’re calling this cherry vanilla so it should be a crazy color of cherries. Yea!”) was suspiciously lacking. I tried a spoonful and what do you know, absolutely plain. It had little flecks of cherry in it too which mad me just hopeful enough to try again. I was so disappointed.