The Sun News Skinny

Losing perspective

That's the way I feel since I last checked in, like I've lost my focus. So much has happened in the last few weeks. I don't know about you - but when everything is out of control, my eating usually goes with it.

Despite living at the beach, I don't get a lot of visitors, so the fact that I had people here on vacation opened the door to dining at a lot of great places in a short span of time. Somewhere in there, we made a lot of changes here at work. Even if you think change is good, it's still change, and it throws a routine out of whack. Once my routine was shot, I predictably got sick and let things go way too long because I wouldn't slow down long enough to get well.

I did not, however, give up those weigh-ins. While I find them completely unpredictable right now - I was up 3 pounds a week ago (when it should've been 10), and I was down 2 pounds this week (and have no idea how that happened) - I'm still thinking about what I'm eating. I guess even though I'm not getting it right all the time, I'm getting it right just enough to see me through this rough patch so I can pick up the pace (hopefully in a day or two).

So close I can almost taste it

Step right up and fill in your cliche here: I can see the light at the end of the tunnel; the end is almost  near; all's well that ends well, etc.

Folks, you just may be witness to a modern miracle: I'm only 10 pounds away from reaching my goal of 140 pounds, something I haven't seen since the bangs-and-braces days of middle school.

I'm a competitive person, mostly just with myself, and I refuse to let anything, even a bachelorette party this weekend, get in between me and my more-reachable-than-ever goal.

What about you? What's your goal?

In for the long haul

We started a new 10-week session of Weight Watchers at work this week, and I didn't hesitate to write my check. Even though my deadlines sometimes get in the way of making a lot of meetings, I actually look forward to the official weigh-in and time with our leader, whether it's to confess or celebrate!

I have to admit I've been succumbing to stress recently. While I eat a lot of carrots for snacks and stick to well-portioned lunches, my weakness is the dinner hour, which for me has been getting later and later. Most of the time, I eat healthy, but the urge for comfort food is strong.

All in the family

The women in my family have a long history with chocolate, ya'll.

We don't so much keep green, leafy stuff in the vegetable crisper. If you wandered into my late grandmother's house, and opened the bottom left refrigerator drawer, you knew you were in for a handful of mini Kit Kats, Reese's Cups and Three Musketeers. My mom's house? Same thing. My sister's house? You got it. My house? Like clockwork. We even managed to nudge my brother's wife into following along.

What about you? What eating quirks or rituals did you inherit from your kinfolk?

Testing the system

I really put the system to the test last week. Or rather Market Common put me to the test.

I had several occasions to eat out and, coincidentally, all of them landed me at the new eating establishments on the former Air Force base. Some outings were for business, some pleasure, but they all came at the same time. My willpower was in jeopardy.

The rules of weight-loss etiquette

"Well, look at you! You're just wasting away!" said my childhood best friend before she swooped in for a hug this weekend at a friend's bridal shower.

I grimaced, shot her a look, and replied, "I'm pretty sure that's scientifically impossible for me, but thanks anyway."

"Oh, I didn't mean anything bad by that," she quickly said.

What, my fair readers, do folks actually mean when they say these awkward intended-as-compliments-but-sound-horrific things?

Reaching a milestone ... almost

After finally ditching my pesky cold, I can now report on my last two weigh-ins. When last you heard from me, I wasn't at all hopeful about stepping on the scales that day, and yet I lost 2.8 pounds for that week. This past Tuesday, I lost another pound.

I still marvel that when I compare some weeks that had similar challenges (or maybe no challenges) for me, one will result in a gain and another a loss. It could all boil down to how much water I drink the morning of weigh in or too much salt in my supper the night before. No matter, the lesson is that no matter what the scale says, I need to stick to the program and persevere - eventually, I'll get the results I seek.

For the record, I'm .2 of a pound away from a total loss of 10 pounds. I didn't realize how happy I'd be reaching (almost) the 10-pound mark, but it is a milestone in my mind ... enough of a loss for me to feel the difference and for others to notice. And that's with no exercise (no, I'm ashamed to say, I haven't fulfilled my gym promise yet) and a foot-long hot dog thrown in the mix (I attend baseball games, too).

Next week is the last of our current Weight Watchers program, but I'm actually looking forward to continuing and seeing what else I can accomplish. Who could've predicted that?

First time for everything

I crossed two first-time experiences off my list this weekend:

1) I finally saw "The Never Ending Story." Yes, you read that right. We're talking about the movie that was made in 1984. Don't ask me how I managed to have a childhood without seeing it.

2) I read my first copy of Shape magazine from cover to cover. My college roommate (Hi, Alison!) loved that thing, but I always thought it was just for health nuts and exercise/sports medicine majors (no offense, Alison).

It turns out the mag isn't just for fitness buffs; you can actually be a somewhat normal person (and I use that description loosely) and pick up helpful tips for the kitchen, the gym and the closet.

Yup, there's style pointers in Shape. How can you not love a publication that both tells you how to get better abs and better shoes? 

Play Ball !!!!

Like my fellow blogger I love going to ballgames. Tonight my son is treating me to a Pelicans game in one of the suites. I am almost positive that they won't have a nice pre-package meal of grilled chicken and 10 lbs. of broccoli for 5 points. However, they will have all kinds of my favorite things both edible and drinkable. Even with all of that I wouldn't mind sneaking in a foot long chili dog. To top it all off we weigh in tomorrow at our weekly WW meeting at work.

Here is my plan. Have a good time. Yep, that's it. That is my plan. Not too complicated. I have done well so far to the tune of about 20lbs missing and this is something I need to do for the rest of my life. This is where the balance thing comes into play for me in relation to being "on or off" a diet. So I plan to go out and have fun even though the scale will not like it tomorrow. Batter up.

Meat is back on the menu

Going into week No.8 of the deflabbing process, I was confronted by an insurmountable obstacle.

Two words: Stella Doro.

I don't care about their dry biscuit-thingies or their sugar-iced biscotti. But the sole reason I don't weigh 500 pounds is because you can't find their fudge cookies in South Carolina. That is, until this week.

Several packages of cookie contraband leaped into my shopping cart and made it home, miraculously still unopened. Of course, four cookies would translate to a 19-pound gain or at least 8 inches of new belly fat -- which doesn't seem fair or even mathematically possible -- but it is.  So I placed them in an opaque wrapper on a high shelf and went to the mall to distract myself. But I wasn't in a good mood.

So I'm tromping through the mall with the scent of fudge cookies still wafting through my brain when when some kiosk guy -- who would look like an accountant except for his 3 foot-long dreadlocks -- gets in my path and offers me a nail lotion sample that isn't even chocolate-flavored.

"No thanks," I snort, attempting to mope in peace. But he has been trained by great sales gurus to ask one last foolproof question.

"Can I ask you something?" he calls as I march away.

Good Jan whispers: Be Nice. He has a horrible job and can't afford a haircut.

Bad Jan whispers: Fresh prey. Have at it.

"OK, what?" I ask.

"Do you always wear your nails that short?" This powerful question is supposed to make me want his product and counsel more than I want those cookies. But Bad Jan didn't like the question. 

What genius decided that a woman's worth is measured by fingernail length? Do long nails indicate higher IQ? Do short nails get me a discount on mammograms? How does a personal decision that there are better ways to spend one's alloted time on earth than breathing acetone in a nail salon so that some idiot you've never met will be impressed by nails that will never touch him (unless they're going for his eyes) concern you?

I believe that was a run-on sentence, but I didn't write it. Bad Jan did. 

"Are you implying that these hands do not meet your expectations?" she asked him. "These hands type more than 100 words a minute, scour toilet bowls, feed hamsters, sculpt masterpieces and paint pine cones? Have you ever tried digging clay out of a French manicure? Have you?"

He slowly backed away with his sample tray, mortally wounded, as we Jans stalked off victoriously. Cookies may not be on my diet, but raw meat is perfectly fine.