47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part 11: The Rest of June
One poor correspondent – too, too hard to find
Well, it’s about time. I know, I know. I haven’t updated since July. Full disclosure, I’m typing this on Labor Day. The whole summer has come and gone. Sorry. I am so sorry to all of you who have become invested, and are following along and awaiting news. I have come to realize that I have actually embarked on two projects, not just one. I have to lose weight… and write about it. Obviously, I have slipped a bit in the writing department. So, you must be worried that I have abandoned the weight-loss part as well, or that I’ve let myself drink and smoke weed again. Especially when the last weigh-in I left you with was my first backslide. I had actually gained a pound. GAINED! So, let’s check in, shall we? Guess what?
Monday June, 15
Week Fifteen weigh-in (drum roll)…
216 lbs. (Down 29 lbs. 18 to go)
Holy Crap! I gave back another pound – another hard-fought, hard-earned pound. I was not happy, especially because I really watched the intake this week. I was really mad at myself for having to report a gain in the last blog. “Never again”, I said with a British accent to make it a pun.
I don’t like to make excuses, but I really feel I was the victim of my Monday (day after the weekend) weigh-in. This was the second weekend of “Fellowship”, our wonderful Lord of the Rings musical. The delightful Chris Tallman filled in for Brian Bradley, and wanted to celebrate with the cast after Sunday’s show. Mexican food – the night before my weigh-in. Dammit. Oh well. What are going to do? There will be gatherings. There will be friends and special occasions. Not everyone in the world is on my weigh-in schedule. That is so okay. We have to live.
I just knew I had to buckle down in the coming week – even though I was still not on the best exercise regime. The thing making it hard right now was the show schedule. I was exhausting myself doing five shows a week (Thurs, - Sun.), so I didn’t like to workout on show days. Monday I would recoup. That left me only Tuesday and Wednesday for the gym. Well, that would have to be enough for now.
Monday June, 22
Week Sixteen weigh-in (drum roll)…
211 lbs. (Down 34 lbs. 13 to go)
Yes! That’s more like it. I knew last week’s number was falsely elevated. Ha! We’re back on track. What was once a distant, seemingly unreachable goal line now doesn’t feel all that far away at all.
Wasted to Waisted
What about the booze? What about the marijuana? Haven’t touched any – even at our opening night toast. “No Champagne, thank you. I’ll raise my glass of Diet Coke”.
While Michelle visited on that opening weekend, she was my happy audience at home as well, for an impromptu fashion show. I went deep into the closet and started pulling out the stuff I thought I may be getting close to fitting into again. One of the few perks of being acutely single is the luxury of becoming a pack rat. I’ve never had to make room in a closet for anyone else, so tons of the old crap is still there. Occasionally, I suppose I’ve had to let things go, so I wouldn’t be hauled off to prison by the fashion police – so you won’t find the bright gold parachute pants from 1991, or the red jeans. That’s right, I said “red jeans” – only recently disposed of, by the way.
But there was a lot of timeless stuff, like a blue button-down shirt, or a pair of chinos that I had out grown. I was pulling out old sport jackets…and they were buttoning. Holy shit! Size large shirts were fitting. Holy shit! I actually pinched myself into a pair of jeans with a 36 inch waist. When this project started, I was barely fitting into my 40s. Holy shit. Michelle says, I must’ve said “holy shit” thirty times. I still have that pile of clothes I intend to fit into, sitting on the floor next to the closet. But it’s getting smaller, as a few items are already in rotation. The vintage blue tuxedo jacket that I’m wearing in my old “cigarette-in-the-ear” head shot fits again. Hello, old friend.
Look, I got very sedentary and had a pretty bad relationship with food, so I’m certainly not blaming booze and weed for my weight gain. But I have to give them their props as contributing factors. Blamewise? I blame my addictive personality. I blame my weakness for bad habit forming. I blame myself for getting to a place where I didn’t just feel I wanted a drink or a toke – but that I needed one.
Will I ever have drink a again? Oh, of course. I was never a drunk and I’m sure I never will be one. I fully intend to become an occasional social drinker again once I’ve hit my goal weight. But the “3 and 4 drinks most nights” days are gone. The drinking by myself to “take the edge off” days are gone. Will I ever get high again? Oh, of course. Everything works on a “now and then” basis. Have pizza, have ice cream, let loose, let go once in a while. But I have to let these times be cheats, treats - rewards for the predominantly good behavior.
Monday June, 29
Week Seventeen weigh-in (drum roll)…
211 lbs. (Down 34 lbs. 13 to go)
So we’re holding at 211. Not a bad June. The pounds are shedding more slowly now, but I’m okay with that, because it feels real and forevery. I hope losing these last 13 doesn’t take too long. With my luck, as soon as I finish, red jeans will be back in style.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project - Part 10
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part 10: Weeks Thirteen and Fourteen
Obese Wan Kenobi: Use the fork, Luke
Thirteen weeks is three months - one quarter of a year. At this point it truly feels as I have made a commitment, a sincere investment of time and energy. This isn’t a fad, a two-week cleansing flush, or a toe dipped in the weight-loss waters. This is becoming a life-style change. Thank God. Did you ever see my old life-style? Sheesh! And…most nutrition and fitness specialists will tell you, “The best way to keep it off is not by dieting – but by making a life-style change”.
Monday June, 1
Week Thirteen weigh-in (drum roll)…
214 lbs. (Down 31 lbs. 16 to go)
YES! I’m down over 30 pounds. I’m doing cartwheels - in my mind, of course. I’m a 47 year-old Jew.
The How and the Weigh
Many friends have been asking me about the specifics. What exactly am I doing from day to day to see my results? So, maybe this is a good time to look under the hood of this experiment and see how it’s working.
The first changes I made, I have been as up-front and honest about as I know how. I gave up my vices, my bad and profoundly unhealthy habits - well most of them, anyway. I still molest pandas. Oh, those sweet, sweet pandas. But the real vices went away. I stopped smoking weed and I stopped drinking. – cold turkey. I didn’t taper off, I stopped. Not a drop of alcohol has passed my lips in over three months. And, except for April, 20 – the pot holiday, I have not gotten high, either. These are things I was probably doing 4-5 nights a week – now, not at all. The surprise to me, three months in, is that even the inclination has gone away – especially for booze. I’m not drinking and I don’t even want to. I don’t miss alcohol in the slightest. (BTW, three months ago, I would have typed “shlightest”, hic.)
These changes alone have made a huge impact for me. I know it. The weed gave me the munchies (that’s part of its job), and I munched a ton of calories. I’m just really learning now how many freaking calories there are in booze. If we’re paying attention to our calories at all, most of us scrutinize what we eat far more than what we drink. It’s like drinking doesn’t really count. Well, guess what? It does. A glass of Red Wine is around 80 calories. One of those sweet martini drinks – around 150. Yipe.
As far as the eating goes, so many friends and well-wishers have offered wonderful advice, some of which I have taken to heart. Many of these tips can be found under the “comments” section of my posts on facebook. Fist of all, I’m not doing any one diet. I’m not on The South Beach, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, The Zone, Atkins, Nutri-System, The Macro-biotic Diet, The Cookie Diet, blah, blah, blah. That being said, I’m certainly making choices that are reflected in many of these, perhaps none more so than The Zone.
1. I’m trying to eat smaller portioned meals. Eat more often throughout the day (no more than 3 hours or so without a small snack). Someone used the analogy of a furnace that clicked with me. You don’t want to stuff a furnace full of wood or coal and have a roaring fire – then nothing. You want to keep a slow, steady, consistent fire burning. So you add a little wood or shovel of coal on a regular basis. Our body is the furnace. Food is the coal. I get that.
2. I’m trying to avoid white flour. So, I’ll have a wrap instead of a sandwich (less bread). I try not to have cookies, cake, pretzels – this kind of stuff.
3. I’m trying to avoid refined sugars. So I’ve been keeping fruit in the house – grapes, apples, cherries, oranges. Is this a good idea? I don’t know. It just feels like, if I’m getting my carbs from natural sugars (a bunch of grapes instead of a Snickers bar), my body should metabolize it more easily. A typical afternoon snack for me, to bridge lunch and dinner, is an apple and some string cheese – or a bunch of grapes and a small scoop of tuna salad. This is giving me that nice “Zone” mix of carbs, protein and dietary fat.
4. I’ve been trying to avoid pasta, fast food and fried foods.
Notice I’ve been saying “trying to avoid” and not “no”, as in “no pasta” or “no fried foods”. Diets have absolutes, life-styles don’t. Guess what? You’re going to get invited to that Memorial Day barbeque. Someone’s going to bring cookies into work. You’re going to occasionally have pasta. So what? Just know that you can’t have it very often and you’ll be fine. But if you make something “forbidden fruit”, then it’s all you’re going to be thinking about - like I’m thinking about those sexy pandas.
5. Exercise. It’s no surprise to me that exercise is my 5th point and not my first. I am definitely doing more than I was before this project began, but I haven’t exactly become a gym rat. The well-enforced regime has escaped me. Also, during my weeks of performing in “Fellowship!” (5 shows a week) I get pretty achy by week’s end, and I am reluctant to push too hard at the gym for fear I’ll break. Still, I recognize exercise as a key component. The weeks I do more, I lose more.
Four Syllables
Look this isn’t rocket science. Someone broke the whole thing down for me into four syllables…”Eat less. Move more”. When you think about it, that’s really the whole enchilada (although I should probably steer clear of food metaphors). Eat less. Move more. There are countless books and articles written about this every year, segments on every morning show, an entire aisle at the Barnes and Noble – and it all can be reduced to four syllables. And hey, isn’t reduction the whole point?
Monday June, 8
Week Fourteen weigh-in (drum roll)…
215 lbs. (Down 30 lbs. 17 to go)
Oh no! This is the first week I have actually lost ground. I gained 1 pound! Damn! I curse choosing Monday for my weekly weigh-in. “Fellowship!” opened this weekend. Well, this is just what we were talking about. Life happens. I guess I better stop typing, get up and Move More.
Part 10: Weeks Thirteen and Fourteen
Obese Wan Kenobi: Use the fork, Luke
Thirteen weeks is three months - one quarter of a year. At this point it truly feels as I have made a commitment, a sincere investment of time and energy. This isn’t a fad, a two-week cleansing flush, or a toe dipped in the weight-loss waters. This is becoming a life-style change. Thank God. Did you ever see my old life-style? Sheesh! And…most nutrition and fitness specialists will tell you, “The best way to keep it off is not by dieting – but by making a life-style change”.
Monday June, 1
Week Thirteen weigh-in (drum roll)…
214 lbs. (Down 31 lbs. 16 to go)
YES! I’m down over 30 pounds. I’m doing cartwheels - in my mind, of course. I’m a 47 year-old Jew.
The How and the Weigh
Many friends have been asking me about the specifics. What exactly am I doing from day to day to see my results? So, maybe this is a good time to look under the hood of this experiment and see how it’s working.
The first changes I made, I have been as up-front and honest about as I know how. I gave up my vices, my bad and profoundly unhealthy habits - well most of them, anyway. I still molest pandas. Oh, those sweet, sweet pandas. But the real vices went away. I stopped smoking weed and I stopped drinking. – cold turkey. I didn’t taper off, I stopped. Not a drop of alcohol has passed my lips in over three months. And, except for April, 20 – the pot holiday, I have not gotten high, either. These are things I was probably doing 4-5 nights a week – now, not at all. The surprise to me, three months in, is that even the inclination has gone away – especially for booze. I’m not drinking and I don’t even want to. I don’t miss alcohol in the slightest. (BTW, three months ago, I would have typed “shlightest”, hic.)
These changes alone have made a huge impact for me. I know it. The weed gave me the munchies (that’s part of its job), and I munched a ton of calories. I’m just really learning now how many freaking calories there are in booze. If we’re paying attention to our calories at all, most of us scrutinize what we eat far more than what we drink. It’s like drinking doesn’t really count. Well, guess what? It does. A glass of Red Wine is around 80 calories. One of those sweet martini drinks – around 150. Yipe.
As far as the eating goes, so many friends and well-wishers have offered wonderful advice, some of which I have taken to heart. Many of these tips can be found under the “comments” section of my posts on facebook. Fist of all, I’m not doing any one diet. I’m not on The South Beach, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, The Zone, Atkins, Nutri-System, The Macro-biotic Diet, The Cookie Diet, blah, blah, blah. That being said, I’m certainly making choices that are reflected in many of these, perhaps none more so than The Zone.
1. I’m trying to eat smaller portioned meals. Eat more often throughout the day (no more than 3 hours or so without a small snack). Someone used the analogy of a furnace that clicked with me. You don’t want to stuff a furnace full of wood or coal and have a roaring fire – then nothing. You want to keep a slow, steady, consistent fire burning. So you add a little wood or shovel of coal on a regular basis. Our body is the furnace. Food is the coal. I get that.
2. I’m trying to avoid white flour. So, I’ll have a wrap instead of a sandwich (less bread). I try not to have cookies, cake, pretzels – this kind of stuff.
3. I’m trying to avoid refined sugars. So I’ve been keeping fruit in the house – grapes, apples, cherries, oranges. Is this a good idea? I don’t know. It just feels like, if I’m getting my carbs from natural sugars (a bunch of grapes instead of a Snickers bar), my body should metabolize it more easily. A typical afternoon snack for me, to bridge lunch and dinner, is an apple and some string cheese – or a bunch of grapes and a small scoop of tuna salad. This is giving me that nice “Zone” mix of carbs, protein and dietary fat.
4. I’ve been trying to avoid pasta, fast food and fried foods.
Notice I’ve been saying “trying to avoid” and not “no”, as in “no pasta” or “no fried foods”. Diets have absolutes, life-styles don’t. Guess what? You’re going to get invited to that Memorial Day barbeque. Someone’s going to bring cookies into work. You’re going to occasionally have pasta. So what? Just know that you can’t have it very often and you’ll be fine. But if you make something “forbidden fruit”, then it’s all you’re going to be thinking about - like I’m thinking about those sexy pandas.
5. Exercise. It’s no surprise to me that exercise is my 5th point and not my first. I am definitely doing more than I was before this project began, but I haven’t exactly become a gym rat. The well-enforced regime has escaped me. Also, during my weeks of performing in “Fellowship!” (5 shows a week) I get pretty achy by week’s end, and I am reluctant to push too hard at the gym for fear I’ll break. Still, I recognize exercise as a key component. The weeks I do more, I lose more.
Four Syllables
Look this isn’t rocket science. Someone broke the whole thing down for me into four syllables…”Eat less. Move more”. When you think about it, that’s really the whole enchilada (although I should probably steer clear of food metaphors). Eat less. Move more. There are countless books and articles written about this every year, segments on every morning show, an entire aisle at the Barnes and Noble – and it all can be reduced to four syllables. And hey, isn’t reduction the whole point?
Monday June, 8
Week Fourteen weigh-in (drum roll)…
215 lbs. (Down 30 lbs. 17 to go)
Oh no! This is the first week I have actually lost ground. I gained 1 pound! Damn! I curse choosing Monday for my weekly weigh-in. “Fellowship!” opened this weekend. Well, this is just what we were talking about. Life happens. I guess I better stop typing, get up and Move More.
Monday, June 15, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part Nine
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part 9: Weeks Eleven and Twelve
That was thin, this is now
I’m sure you’re chomping at the bit, so let’s start with the update.
Monday May, 18
Week Eleven weigh-in (drum roll)…
217 lbs. (Down 28 lbs. 19 to go)
Awesome. I’m down 28 pounds. And I’m feeling great about myself. Aren’t I the best? I wish my arms were longer, because I could just pat myself on the back all day. Ah, “Pride”, the deadly sin. Reality Check!
A huge fan of the old Comedy Warehouse in Orlando posted some vintage photos and videos on Facebook. There I am circa 1994, weighing about 185. That is a pretty thin Steve. I started this project at 245. Sixty pounds heavier. Sixty pounds! That’s a Chenoweth. Here I am so proud of my 28 pound loss – and it isn’t even half way to the old me. Oh, crap. Admittedly, I’m not shooting for 185, but I sure feel a lot less far down the road. Huff, puff. Man, I had let myself go.
The Hill – Get over it!
Which brings me to the “mid-life Crisis” part of the project. Mid-life sucks. We all hit a period, somewhere between the ages of around 37 – 50, when we measure the reality of our life against our dreams. And let’s face it; unless you’re Brad Pitt boning Angelina Jolie in your multi-millionaire money marriage mansion, your dreams are probably kicking your life’s ass. Life goes from being about possibilities to being about limitations. We get tied to responsibilities, jobs, spouses, children, aging parents. There tends to be less time for self, for pursuing, for creating.
I can’t tell you how many people I know who are struggling to some degree right now. There are suddenly money stresses. Jobs are going away. Kids are reaching college age. There are health issues cropping up. I have them. Hemorrhoid? How did I get a hemorrhoid? Those belong to 80 year-old men named Morris. I’ve talked some friends off the proverbial ledge, and have had the same done for me. There is the sudden realization of a down-hill slope. We will not be getting younger, healthier, or prettier. As I said, “Mid-life sucks.”
For many of us, minor depressions set in. We aren’t completely happy, which translates into “not happy with ourselves”. So, we don’t treat ourselves well. We eat poorly. We don’t exercise, and a few years later we’re sixty pounds heavier and in the worse shape of our lives – my life.
Then, hopefully, there’s a wake-up call. I got mine. There’s plenty of life ahead, and tons to do and accomplish. I see so many people – post mid-life crisis, really enjoying life. They move toward maturity with a calm peace and joy. They revel in their children, cherish their relationships, savor their retirements. It’s as if they’ve embraced the idea that “This don’t last forever, people”. Let’s have a blast while we can. My dad was really living that way when the cancer came. He deserved a few more years, but I am so glad that he didn’t slave away and never reap. If he were here right now, he would tell you that the best time of his life was his sixties. Take that, whining mid-lifers.
No Gain - Pain
I’m still not exercising as much or as well as I should. We’ve been in full rehearsal for the Fellowship of the Ring musical. And man, do I ache. I guess it’s to be expected. There’s a lot of running around, and you move your body, and hold it in ways that you aren’t used to. Joint pain. My ankles and my knees are killing me. So, I find myself resting up during my down time, rather than going to the gym.
I think I have a little bone chip in the knee. I went down on it, and it felt as though I had set my knee down on a tack. Youch! (Bought knee pads since). Great, I stopped smoking joints and now my joints are smoking me. Wocka Wocka!
Thankfully though, I have discovered Balboa Park. Discovered, HA! I’ve lived here for a decade and finally visited the biggest park in the valley. It’s just lovely, and I’ve taken to walk/running the long trail around the golf course. It’s a little over 4 miles. I have the iPod make a genius playlist and off I go. I love it. When my right knee stops throbbing I am so there.
Monday May, 25
Week Twelve weigh-in (drum roll)…
216 lbs. (Down 29 lbs. 18 to go)
Screw it. I’m patting myself on the back, anyway.
Part 9: Weeks Eleven and Twelve
That was thin, this is now
I’m sure you’re chomping at the bit, so let’s start with the update.
Monday May, 18
Week Eleven weigh-in (drum roll)…
217 lbs. (Down 28 lbs. 19 to go)
Awesome. I’m down 28 pounds. And I’m feeling great about myself. Aren’t I the best? I wish my arms were longer, because I could just pat myself on the back all day. Ah, “Pride”, the deadly sin. Reality Check!
A huge fan of the old Comedy Warehouse in Orlando posted some vintage photos and videos on Facebook. There I am circa 1994, weighing about 185. That is a pretty thin Steve. I started this project at 245. Sixty pounds heavier. Sixty pounds! That’s a Chenoweth. Here I am so proud of my 28 pound loss – and it isn’t even half way to the old me. Oh, crap. Admittedly, I’m not shooting for 185, but I sure feel a lot less far down the road. Huff, puff. Man, I had let myself go.
The Hill – Get over it!
Which brings me to the “mid-life Crisis” part of the project. Mid-life sucks. We all hit a period, somewhere between the ages of around 37 – 50, when we measure the reality of our life against our dreams. And let’s face it; unless you’re Brad Pitt boning Angelina Jolie in your multi-millionaire money marriage mansion, your dreams are probably kicking your life’s ass. Life goes from being about possibilities to being about limitations. We get tied to responsibilities, jobs, spouses, children, aging parents. There tends to be less time for self, for pursuing, for creating.
I can’t tell you how many people I know who are struggling to some degree right now. There are suddenly money stresses. Jobs are going away. Kids are reaching college age. There are health issues cropping up. I have them. Hemorrhoid? How did I get a hemorrhoid? Those belong to 80 year-old men named Morris. I’ve talked some friends off the proverbial ledge, and have had the same done for me. There is the sudden realization of a down-hill slope. We will not be getting younger, healthier, or prettier. As I said, “Mid-life sucks.”
For many of us, minor depressions set in. We aren’t completely happy, which translates into “not happy with ourselves”. So, we don’t treat ourselves well. We eat poorly. We don’t exercise, and a few years later we’re sixty pounds heavier and in the worse shape of our lives – my life.
Then, hopefully, there’s a wake-up call. I got mine. There’s plenty of life ahead, and tons to do and accomplish. I see so many people – post mid-life crisis, really enjoying life. They move toward maturity with a calm peace and joy. They revel in their children, cherish their relationships, savor their retirements. It’s as if they’ve embraced the idea that “This don’t last forever, people”. Let’s have a blast while we can. My dad was really living that way when the cancer came. He deserved a few more years, but I am so glad that he didn’t slave away and never reap. If he were here right now, he would tell you that the best time of his life was his sixties. Take that, whining mid-lifers.
No Gain - Pain
I’m still not exercising as much or as well as I should. We’ve been in full rehearsal for the Fellowship of the Ring musical. And man, do I ache. I guess it’s to be expected. There’s a lot of running around, and you move your body, and hold it in ways that you aren’t used to. Joint pain. My ankles and my knees are killing me. So, I find myself resting up during my down time, rather than going to the gym.
I think I have a little bone chip in the knee. I went down on it, and it felt as though I had set my knee down on a tack. Youch! (Bought knee pads since). Great, I stopped smoking joints and now my joints are smoking me. Wocka Wocka!
Thankfully though, I have discovered Balboa Park. Discovered, HA! I’ve lived here for a decade and finally visited the biggest park in the valley. It’s just lovely, and I’ve taken to walk/running the long trail around the golf course. It’s a little over 4 miles. I have the iPod make a genius playlist and off I go. I love it. When my right knee stops throbbing I am so there.
Monday May, 25
Week Twelve weigh-in (drum roll)…
216 lbs. (Down 29 lbs. 18 to go)
Screw it. I’m patting myself on the back, anyway.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
47 at Forty-seven - The Mid-life Crisis Diet Project Part 8
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part 8: Weeks Nine and Ten
Have Gut…Will Travel
This challenge has been amazing and life-changing. I’m already down 25 pounds on my way to the goal of 47. I’m getting compliments and encouragement from every corner. And...despite my April 20th day of idiocy (see part 7), I have been focused and steadfast. I’m on a roll. What could stop me now? Uh oh, TRAVEL!
I went to New York City for a week: and if there is an easy way to stay on a diet while traveling, I sure as heck don’t know it. For that matter, I’m not sure I want to know it. Travel equals vacation, good times, and a break from routine. If you’re going someplace new, you want to try new foods – the cool local stuff. If you’re heading somewhere familiar, as I was, then there’s stuff you’re already craving that you can only get there. Feed me, NYC. Don’t worry. I didn’t go nuts, or anything. I just allowed myself to enjoy.
First of all, the stars lined up perfectly for this trip. Michelle told me she had a gig in NYC with her singing group. Hmm, could I meet her? Then, my dear friend Greg offered me work at the Tribeca Film Festival Street Fair – hooray, trip paid for. At the same time, this was the week my brother and sister in-law were expecting their baby girl – their first child. Sure enough, Ellison Jane Purnick was born the day before I got to NYC. She was born with Down Syndrome, but otherwise healthy. This was a surprise diagnosis that had been missed in earlier tests, so I was even more elated that I could be there in person, to lend my love and support and share in their joy. Ellison is beautiful and will be surprising and delighting us for years and years to come.
That being said…their place was insanely filled with food. It felt like every friend, relative and business colleague sent a basket, tray or chaffing dish full of something delicious. Remember, I’m a free-lance actor. Our favorite two words in the English language are, “free food” (though, on set it’s, “that’s lunch”). So I spent hours either holding my new niece, or a plate of lasagna.
At the street fair I had a lunch of New York pizza. Man, I love New York pizza. I grew up on the New Jersey side of the Hudson, about a 12 minute drive from the George Washington Bridge. So yes, I’m a Jersey Boy. But with that kind of proximity to the greatest city in the world, I’ve always taken the liberty of considering myself a New Yorker too. And even if you don’t think New York is the greatest city in the world…food-wise, sorry it just is. Why? One word…immigration. For about a century, if you immigrated to America, you came to New York (Castle Garden then Ellis Island) – and brought your cuisine with you. Everything came to NYC. Everything competed. Everything got better.
While there, I felt like getting my Jew on. Michelle graciously accompanied me to Katz’ Deli on the Lower East Side for the best pastrami sandwich in town. Michelle – “I don’t really like pastrami, but let me taste yours.” (She tastes it) “What am I talking about? That’s delicious.” We also stopped at Yona Schimmel for knishes. And I got some of my home town Jersey bagels. Wow, just typing all that made me feel jewier than I have in years. Oy, I have such a pain, you wouldn’t want to know from it.
So, Monday, May 4
Week Nine weigh-in (drum roll)…
IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. I was on vacation in New York eating pastrami. Good thing I wasn’t near my scale. I think my weight would have gone up.
The other difficult part of the travel equation – besides eating, is you don’t exercise. You’re away from your gym, or your park, or weekly volleyball game, or whatever makes you move.
So I guess my point is…Travel 1 – Diet 0. And that’s okay.
Lord of the Ring Dings
As soon as I returned home, the healthy life-style did as well. Part of the incentive to lose weight right now, is that I’m in a show. About five years ago, friends and I mounted a show called Fellowship! The musical parody of The Fellowship of the Ring. I play Bilbo and Boromir and some other tinier parts. We won “Musical of the Year” back then. Now we are re-mounting it five years later. It’s a terrific show – one of the favorite things I have done in the last several years. Come see it. But obviously, I did not want this to be an older, slower, fatter, version of the last production. No one wants to see Bilbo Saggins, or Boromir’s middle girth. Hello, is this thing on? I probably weighed somewhere in the mid 220s last time. So when I tipped the scales at 245 – that would not do at all.
Shows are work. I need to be able to move, change costumes, dance a bit, and support myself vocally for five shows a week. And, I’ll admit it; part of this new-found resolve is vanity. People are coming to see me. I will be on display. Vanity is a powerful motivator. Vanity, not health is why I quit smoking. I didn’t like the way my voice was sounding the last time we did this show. So I set down the cigarettes. I’m not ashamed of this vanity, either. I’m damn glad it showed up. Vanity tells me I haven’t given up…on myself, on looking good, on the promise of romance, on life.
Monday May, 11
Week Ten weigh-in (drum roll)…
218 lbs. (Down 27 lbs. 20 to go)
Wow. Travel be damned. That’s still some great forward motion. Two pounds in two weeks. See what can happen when you change your bad hobbits?
Part 8: Weeks Nine and Ten
Have Gut…Will Travel
This challenge has been amazing and life-changing. I’m already down 25 pounds on my way to the goal of 47. I’m getting compliments and encouragement from every corner. And...despite my April 20th day of idiocy (see part 7), I have been focused and steadfast. I’m on a roll. What could stop me now? Uh oh, TRAVEL!
I went to New York City for a week: and if there is an easy way to stay on a diet while traveling, I sure as heck don’t know it. For that matter, I’m not sure I want to know it. Travel equals vacation, good times, and a break from routine. If you’re going someplace new, you want to try new foods – the cool local stuff. If you’re heading somewhere familiar, as I was, then there’s stuff you’re already craving that you can only get there. Feed me, NYC. Don’t worry. I didn’t go nuts, or anything. I just allowed myself to enjoy.
First of all, the stars lined up perfectly for this trip. Michelle told me she had a gig in NYC with her singing group. Hmm, could I meet her? Then, my dear friend Greg offered me work at the Tribeca Film Festival Street Fair – hooray, trip paid for. At the same time, this was the week my brother and sister in-law were expecting their baby girl – their first child. Sure enough, Ellison Jane Purnick was born the day before I got to NYC. She was born with Down Syndrome, but otherwise healthy. This was a surprise diagnosis that had been missed in earlier tests, so I was even more elated that I could be there in person, to lend my love and support and share in their joy. Ellison is beautiful and will be surprising and delighting us for years and years to come.
That being said…their place was insanely filled with food. It felt like every friend, relative and business colleague sent a basket, tray or chaffing dish full of something delicious. Remember, I’m a free-lance actor. Our favorite two words in the English language are, “free food” (though, on set it’s, “that’s lunch”). So I spent hours either holding my new niece, or a plate of lasagna.
At the street fair I had a lunch of New York pizza. Man, I love New York pizza. I grew up on the New Jersey side of the Hudson, about a 12 minute drive from the George Washington Bridge. So yes, I’m a Jersey Boy. But with that kind of proximity to the greatest city in the world, I’ve always taken the liberty of considering myself a New Yorker too. And even if you don’t think New York is the greatest city in the world…food-wise, sorry it just is. Why? One word…immigration. For about a century, if you immigrated to America, you came to New York (Castle Garden then Ellis Island) – and brought your cuisine with you. Everything came to NYC. Everything competed. Everything got better.
While there, I felt like getting my Jew on. Michelle graciously accompanied me to Katz’ Deli on the Lower East Side for the best pastrami sandwich in town. Michelle – “I don’t really like pastrami, but let me taste yours.” (She tastes it) “What am I talking about? That’s delicious.” We also stopped at Yona Schimmel for knishes. And I got some of my home town Jersey bagels. Wow, just typing all that made me feel jewier than I have in years. Oy, I have such a pain, you wouldn’t want to know from it.
So, Monday, May 4
Week Nine weigh-in (drum roll)…
IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. I was on vacation in New York eating pastrami. Good thing I wasn’t near my scale. I think my weight would have gone up.
The other difficult part of the travel equation – besides eating, is you don’t exercise. You’re away from your gym, or your park, or weekly volleyball game, or whatever makes you move.
So I guess my point is…Travel 1 – Diet 0. And that’s okay.
Lord of the Ring Dings
As soon as I returned home, the healthy life-style did as well. Part of the incentive to lose weight right now, is that I’m in a show. About five years ago, friends and I mounted a show called Fellowship! The musical parody of The Fellowship of the Ring. I play Bilbo and Boromir and some other tinier parts. We won “Musical of the Year” back then. Now we are re-mounting it five years later. It’s a terrific show – one of the favorite things I have done in the last several years. Come see it. But obviously, I did not want this to be an older, slower, fatter, version of the last production. No one wants to see Bilbo Saggins, or Boromir’s middle girth. Hello, is this thing on? I probably weighed somewhere in the mid 220s last time. So when I tipped the scales at 245 – that would not do at all.
Shows are work. I need to be able to move, change costumes, dance a bit, and support myself vocally for five shows a week. And, I’ll admit it; part of this new-found resolve is vanity. People are coming to see me. I will be on display. Vanity is a powerful motivator. Vanity, not health is why I quit smoking. I didn’t like the way my voice was sounding the last time we did this show. So I set down the cigarettes. I’m not ashamed of this vanity, either. I’m damn glad it showed up. Vanity tells me I haven’t given up…on myself, on looking good, on the promise of romance, on life.
Monday May, 11
Week Ten weigh-in (drum roll)…
218 lbs. (Down 27 lbs. 20 to go)
Wow. Travel be damned. That’s still some great forward motion. Two pounds in two weeks. See what can happen when you change your bad hobbits?
Monday, May 18, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part 7
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part 7: Weeks Seven and Eight
What Was I? High?
Sorry. I know I haven’t blogged in a while. Like the butcher who backed into his meat-grinder, I got a little behind in my work. (rimshot). Or maybe I just needed to re-boot some brain cells. As I announced in the last installment, on this journey to lose 47 pounds, I gave myself a little reward milestone along the way. No booze – no marijuana is part of the promise of this diet, but if I was down over 20 pounds by April 20th, (4-20, the stoner holiday), I would allow myself a day off. A day-long smoke-out. A High Holiday. So, on Monday morning, 4-20 I got on the scale…
Week Seven weigh-in (drum roll)…
221 lbs. (Down 24 lbs. 23 to go)
Ha! That’s pretty damn good. Over half-way to my goal. Bring me my bong.
I spent the morning shopping for snacks. Since I was getting ready for a high day (and so were my guests), I bought out the store. I had already asked a few of my fellow celebrants if they had a favored munchie. This was a smart move, as it steered me to a few things I wouldn’t have necessarily purchased. Jen – fruit roll-ups. Susan – watermelon. I also got fresh strawberries and pineapple. Tortilla chips, Fritos, cheese, crackers, twizzlers, kosher salami, my poor-man’s trail mix (lightly salted roasted peanuts, semi-sweet chocolate chips, golden raisins)…a bunch more I’m forgetting, oh and of course, Teddy Grahams. I also had two boxes of Matzah left from Passover, (with butter - don’t laugh, it was gone in minutes).
12:30PM I loaded the Brandy Bong - that’s where the liquid is ½ water, ½ brandy for a sweeter draw. I took a huge toke and turned on Cheech and Chong’s “Up in Smoke”. I couldn’t think of a better choice to start the day. Within minutes I was giggling and feeling really high. Then higher. Then higher still. Damn, this was really strong stuff. Was it just that I hadn’t smoked in weeks? No, this was heavy duty bud. Gulp.
About an hour later the first guest came, and like the good host my momma raised, I didn’t let him smoke alone. Within minutes he was insanely high and could barely communicate. Fine with zombie me. And so it went for the next few hours. I would get stupidly baked, then just be coming back into my body, when someone new would stop in. Let me join you. Puff…stupor…forage…regulate…lather…rinse…repeat. Late afternoon (close to 4:20PM) quite a few folks stopped in close together. I kid you not; the back room had a thick cloud of smoke hanging low and obscuring the ceiling. You didn’t need a pipe; you could walk in and take a drag off the room. No lie. I had to walk outside for air. This is smoggy, Southern California in the middle of a heat wave, and it was so much more comfortable outside. “What am I doing? I’m not a 20 year-old frat boy.” I’m thinking that now. At the time I was thinking, “Um, wait. What?”
The way too much food I had purchased was all but gone by 5:30PM. I ordered Pizzas. Thanks for walking with me to pick them up, whomever you were. So many amazing friends attended, or so I hear. A dear old improv friend I haven’t seen in at least a decade came by. He told me about his life, and I told him, “Um, wait. What?” The party was epic. 12 hours, 25 guests, 8PM Lebowski viewing. Nirvana.
Looking back on it though, I’m of two minds. Part of me feels like it was fabulous, harmless, debauchery. Hooray for us. I’d love to do it again next year (though, perhaps with some milder stuff). The other part of me worries that this is just arrested development, and that I should grow up already. Screw it. I’m listening to the first guy.
The High Price
The next day I felt like crap – the next two, actually. In my best Danny Glover, “I’m getting too old for this stuff”. And…when I got on the scale the next morning, it was 4 pounds up. Are you kidding me? 4 pounds! I hadn’t intended to full-on binge, but I guess I did anyway. Now I’m looking forward to a week of hard dieting, just so I don’t backslide. Dumbbass.
But here is the hardest thing I had to contend with the day after. There was still quite a bit of weed in the house. I took the bulk over to a friend. But there was still a freshly packed pipe, and mostly packed bong – just sitting there – calling me. “Steve. Yoo hoo.” I had opened the door a crack. There was a little hole in the dike. All day long, and especially in the evening, I had angel and devil shoulders. The devil would say, “Go on, just finish off what’s already been packed. How is one more night gonna kill you?” The angel said, “No, you made deal. You gave yourself one day. That one day is over. A deal is a deal. You need to be true to your word.” And…for some unknown reason these two little guys looked and sounded like Fred Flintstone.
I am proud to say that the angel won out. I didn’t touch the stuff after 4-20. After that first day, that test, not wanting it became easy again. I still have a bit of it in the house, but I don’t go near it – just like the chocolate in the candy bowl I keep out for guests, or the liquor in the liquor cabinet. It’s there for folks who stop in, and maybe for me again someday, but not until I reach my goal. Final answser.
The binge weight came off fairly quickly. And I am oh so proud to report that I did not backslide. Monday morning April, 27…
Week Eight weigh-in (drum roll)…
220 lbs. (Down 25 lbs. 22 to go)
I’m back on track, feeling good…but I never did find out how that Cheech and Chong movie ends.
Part 7: Weeks Seven and Eight
What Was I? High?
Sorry. I know I haven’t blogged in a while. Like the butcher who backed into his meat-grinder, I got a little behind in my work. (rimshot). Or maybe I just needed to re-boot some brain cells. As I announced in the last installment, on this journey to lose 47 pounds, I gave myself a little reward milestone along the way. No booze – no marijuana is part of the promise of this diet, but if I was down over 20 pounds by April 20th, (4-20, the stoner holiday), I would allow myself a day off. A day-long smoke-out. A High Holiday. So, on Monday morning, 4-20 I got on the scale…
Week Seven weigh-in (drum roll)…
221 lbs. (Down 24 lbs. 23 to go)
Ha! That’s pretty damn good. Over half-way to my goal. Bring me my bong.
I spent the morning shopping for snacks. Since I was getting ready for a high day (and so were my guests), I bought out the store. I had already asked a few of my fellow celebrants if they had a favored munchie. This was a smart move, as it steered me to a few things I wouldn’t have necessarily purchased. Jen – fruit roll-ups. Susan – watermelon. I also got fresh strawberries and pineapple. Tortilla chips, Fritos, cheese, crackers, twizzlers, kosher salami, my poor-man’s trail mix (lightly salted roasted peanuts, semi-sweet chocolate chips, golden raisins)…a bunch more I’m forgetting, oh and of course, Teddy Grahams. I also had two boxes of Matzah left from Passover, (with butter - don’t laugh, it was gone in minutes).
12:30PM I loaded the Brandy Bong - that’s where the liquid is ½ water, ½ brandy for a sweeter draw. I took a huge toke and turned on Cheech and Chong’s “Up in Smoke”. I couldn’t think of a better choice to start the day. Within minutes I was giggling and feeling really high. Then higher. Then higher still. Damn, this was really strong stuff. Was it just that I hadn’t smoked in weeks? No, this was heavy duty bud. Gulp.
About an hour later the first guest came, and like the good host my momma raised, I didn’t let him smoke alone. Within minutes he was insanely high and could barely communicate. Fine with zombie me. And so it went for the next few hours. I would get stupidly baked, then just be coming back into my body, when someone new would stop in. Let me join you. Puff…stupor…forage…regulate…lather…rinse…repeat. Late afternoon (close to 4:20PM) quite a few folks stopped in close together. I kid you not; the back room had a thick cloud of smoke hanging low and obscuring the ceiling. You didn’t need a pipe; you could walk in and take a drag off the room. No lie. I had to walk outside for air. This is smoggy, Southern California in the middle of a heat wave, and it was so much more comfortable outside. “What am I doing? I’m not a 20 year-old frat boy.” I’m thinking that now. At the time I was thinking, “Um, wait. What?”
The way too much food I had purchased was all but gone by 5:30PM. I ordered Pizzas. Thanks for walking with me to pick them up, whomever you were. So many amazing friends attended, or so I hear. A dear old improv friend I haven’t seen in at least a decade came by. He told me about his life, and I told him, “Um, wait. What?” The party was epic. 12 hours, 25 guests, 8PM Lebowski viewing. Nirvana.
Looking back on it though, I’m of two minds. Part of me feels like it was fabulous, harmless, debauchery. Hooray for us. I’d love to do it again next year (though, perhaps with some milder stuff). The other part of me worries that this is just arrested development, and that I should grow up already. Screw it. I’m listening to the first guy.
The High Price
The next day I felt like crap – the next two, actually. In my best Danny Glover, “I’m getting too old for this stuff”. And…when I got on the scale the next morning, it was 4 pounds up. Are you kidding me? 4 pounds! I hadn’t intended to full-on binge, but I guess I did anyway. Now I’m looking forward to a week of hard dieting, just so I don’t backslide. Dumbbass.
But here is the hardest thing I had to contend with the day after. There was still quite a bit of weed in the house. I took the bulk over to a friend. But there was still a freshly packed pipe, and mostly packed bong – just sitting there – calling me. “Steve. Yoo hoo.” I had opened the door a crack. There was a little hole in the dike. All day long, and especially in the evening, I had angel and devil shoulders. The devil would say, “Go on, just finish off what’s already been packed. How is one more night gonna kill you?” The angel said, “No, you made deal. You gave yourself one day. That one day is over. A deal is a deal. You need to be true to your word.” And…for some unknown reason these two little guys looked and sounded like Fred Flintstone.
I am proud to say that the angel won out. I didn’t touch the stuff after 4-20. After that first day, that test, not wanting it became easy again. I still have a bit of it in the house, but I don’t go near it – just like the chocolate in the candy bowl I keep out for guests, or the liquor in the liquor cabinet. It’s there for folks who stop in, and maybe for me again someday, but not until I reach my goal. Final answser.
The binge weight came off fairly quickly. And I am oh so proud to report that I did not backslide. Monday morning April, 27…
Week Eight weigh-in (drum roll)…
220 lbs. (Down 25 lbs. 22 to go)
I’m back on track, feeling good…but I never did find out how that Cheech and Chong movie ends.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part: 6
Part: 6 Weeks Five & Six
Gym Friends and Gym Neighbors
It began on March 2nd – this public project to lose 47 pounds (an f-ton of weight) at forty-seven years of age. What was I thinking? Since then I have been weighing-in every Monday morning. So here’s where we are as of April 6.
Week Five weigh-in (drum roll)…
226 lbs. (Down 19 lbs. 28 to go)
Okay, that’s more like it. 4 pounds this week, this is still really working. I’ve decided to keep running my 3.5 miles despite my groin pull. Work through the pain. Man up.
This, I must confess, has been the only real struggle for me. Quitting weed – easy. Quitting booze – easy. Changing my eating habits hasn’t been as difficult as I worried it might be. Luckily for me, all of these things were about bad habits – not addictions. I know that isn’t the case for everyone, so I mean it when I “luckily for me”. The piece I haven’t yet fully put into place is the exercise regime. This still eludes me.
My neighbor Jeff took me up the steep walk at Fryman Canyon this week (which kicked my ass), and consistently offers to go for runs. Holly McB., Matt L. and Kevin B. have offered themselves up as exercise partners. I need to avail myself of these generous offers. I know exercise is one of the most important components to this whole project; I just haven’t made it a priority yet. So far I’ve been doing it here and there, when I can.
New goal – get habitual about my exercise. Set schedules and stick to them. Who’s up for a jog around Balboa Park? Call me.
You Can’t See Dick
Ha! Actually, I can. I have to suck in my gut, but still. If I stand up straight, look down, suck it in – hard…there he is, Orville Red-and-Tender (Yep, that’s still his name). He’s a little smaller than I remember, but that’s him. I could pick him out of a “Line-up”, but I sincerely hope it’ll never come to that.
Sure, I’ve told you my face has gotten thinner, and I have more energy…yeah, yeah. Of all the ways to register my progress…this, THIS! Sniff. Give me a moment, will ya? I feel like John James Audubon just having spotted the rarest of species – the miniature Jew pecker. Eureka!
Rewards and Re-Wardrobes
They have been taunting me, calling to me from deep in the closet. “Hey Chubbo, you’ll never wear us again”. My Nat Nast jeans. The good jeans – the ones that almost make it seem like I have an ass. I tried to pinch myself into them a few times early on. I quickly realized these jeans were a 20 pound milestone goal. Once I lost 20, I would try again. Well guess what, M-er F-ers?
Week Six weigh-in (drum roll)…
223 lbs. (Down 22 lbs. 25 to go)
The jeans fit pretty damn well. I still have a bit of Dunlop’s Disease (when your belly done lops over your belt), so I don’t tuck in the shirt. Not yet. But I will. I will, M-er T-ers.
I made another secret bargain with myself. If I lost more than 20 pounds by April, 20 (4/20), I would celebrate the HOLIDAY. Wait, what holiday, you ask?
For those you not “in the know” – 4/20 is code for smoking weed…and April 20th, 4/20 (pronounced four-twenty) is National Pot Smokers Day (unofficially, of course). This is basically Stoner Christmas. There are several myths as to why 4/20. One – apparently an urban legend is that a 4-20 was the police code for marijuana use. “We have a 4-20 in progress.” The most widely held belief is that 4/20 was student code for “smoke time” at some California High Schools in the seventies. It was the time of day 4:20PM, when detention got out, and the toking could commence. Whatever. Now, it’s the High Holiday.
AND…my reward for being such a good boy, is to give myself, on 4/20 a happy blaze-a-thon.
Open Invitation: to my local happy friends. I will be hosting an all-day open house. 12 to 12. Monday April 20th. You must come by. I have many RSVPs already. Lemme know.
As for the diet, there are no calories in weed, and I don’t intend to binge. I imagine I may go slightly off diet – but I truly intend to keep the ingesting in check and just enjoy my high. Still no booze for me, though. Booze is completely off the table until the goal is reached
For those of you worried that this will re-ignite a habit, don’t. Any weed left over will leave the house. The diet project will resume. God will be in his heaven. After I quit smoking cigarettes, I allowed myself our big New Years Eve party every year as my “cheat night”. Then, the next day I was a non-smoker again. No problem. And, I repeat, nicotine is addictive, weed is not. Happy High Holidays!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part:5
Part: 5 Obsession Sets In &Week Four
Slowing Weigh Down
Week Four weigh-in (drum roll)…
230 lbs. (Down 15 lbs. 32 to go)
So, I got off to a great start, with 12 pounds in the first two weeks. But the next two weeks – only 3 pounds. Damn. My body is regulating. “Oh, we’re only taking in a thousand calories a day – when we used to take in a MILLION! I’ll slow our metabolism, then.” The body wises up. Millions of years of evolution have encoded us. We go into “famine mode”. We don’t slow up quite as much as bears or other hibernators do; but we do slow nonetheless. Our bodies don’t understand “diet”, that’s a relatively new concept. Our bodies understand “starvation”, and act accordingly.
So all my wise friends and blog-followers are telling me, “One to two pounds a week is good and healthy weight-loss. Don’t be impatient.” I’m also hearing there will be weeks when almost nothing changes, and weeks when there is suddenly a big drop. Yeah, yeah, blah, blah.
A Watched Pot Belly…
I am impatient. I’ve gotten a couple of compliments – and compliments are like laughs…or potato chips…once you’ve had one, you want them all. Am I looking skinnier yet? Is it showing? Let me ask everybody I come in contact with. I’ve made a pile of clothes I can’t wear yet, but know I will…and I want to wear them next week. I weigh myself every day – and sometimes multiple times a day. Aaagh! That’s so dumb. I know I’m supposed to weigh-in only once a week. I know that. So I’ll see that I’m a pound higher this afternoon than I was this morning. Panic. Well, no shit Steve, you just had a Diet Coke. Chillax. Now I’m really mad at myself. I just used the word “Chillax”.
And I’m mad at myself because I put my weekly weigh-ins on Monday morning – the first thing after a weekend. Why didn’t I make it Friday morning at the end of a regimented work-week? Idiot. And believe me; I approach those weigh-ins like I’m Matthew Modine in Vision Quest before the big wrestling match. “Do it before you eat a spot of breakfast, Steve. First do some calisthenics, see if you can sweat out an ounce. Now try to make a number two. Now get completely naked. Now shave your body hair…and don’t forget the taint.”
My dad got like this during a diet. A phone conversation would go something like this:
STEVE: Hey Dad, haven’t talked to you in a couple of weeks. What’s new?
DAD: Well this morning I skipped breakfast. All I had for lunch was a half a cantaloupe with some cottage cheese. And for tonight I picked up some grilled salmon.
Intimate and riveting.
So, my new challenge, my secondary challenge, is to give my weight…well…less weight. This diet sadly, has become the thing I’m doing – the primary thing. I’m not sure that’s a good way to frame this weight-loss project. “Life” should be the thing I’m doing (whatever that means from day to day). And “healthier” should be the way I’m doing it. Good. Lesson learned, now I wonder if I lost any weight while typing this.
A Smattering of Hyperbole Regarding Your Female Parent’s Mass
This is as low-brow as it gets, but go ahead. Read them rapid-fire, OUT LOUD. I defy you not to laugh.
Your Momma’s so fat…the back of her neck looks like a pack of hotdogs.
Your Momma’s so fat…her cereal bowl has a lifeguard.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she sits around the house; she really sits AROUND the house.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she gets done having sex, she smokes a turkey.
Your Momma’s so fat…her high-school yearbook picture was aerial photography.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she jumped in the air, she got stuck.
Your Momma’s so fat…she has more chins than a Chinese phone book.
Your Momma’s so fat…she has a smaller fat woman orbiting her.
Your Momma’s so fat…she eats Wheat Thicks.
Your Momma’s so fat…for her baptism they had to rent out Sea World.
Your Momma’s so fat…she bleeds gravy.
Your Momma’s so fat…she needs a shoe horn to get into the bath tub.
Your Momma’s so fat…when I’m done fucking her and roll over, I’m still on her.
…
Slowing Weigh Down
Week Four weigh-in (drum roll)…
230 lbs. (Down 15 lbs. 32 to go)
So, I got off to a great start, with 12 pounds in the first two weeks. But the next two weeks – only 3 pounds. Damn. My body is regulating. “Oh, we’re only taking in a thousand calories a day – when we used to take in a MILLION! I’ll slow our metabolism, then.” The body wises up. Millions of years of evolution have encoded us. We go into “famine mode”. We don’t slow up quite as much as bears or other hibernators do; but we do slow nonetheless. Our bodies don’t understand “diet”, that’s a relatively new concept. Our bodies understand “starvation”, and act accordingly.
So all my wise friends and blog-followers are telling me, “One to two pounds a week is good and healthy weight-loss. Don’t be impatient.” I’m also hearing there will be weeks when almost nothing changes, and weeks when there is suddenly a big drop. Yeah, yeah, blah, blah.
A Watched Pot Belly…
I am impatient. I’ve gotten a couple of compliments – and compliments are like laughs…or potato chips…once you’ve had one, you want them all. Am I looking skinnier yet? Is it showing? Let me ask everybody I come in contact with. I’ve made a pile of clothes I can’t wear yet, but know I will…and I want to wear them next week. I weigh myself every day – and sometimes multiple times a day. Aaagh! That’s so dumb. I know I’m supposed to weigh-in only once a week. I know that. So I’ll see that I’m a pound higher this afternoon than I was this morning. Panic. Well, no shit Steve, you just had a Diet Coke. Chillax. Now I’m really mad at myself. I just used the word “Chillax”.
And I’m mad at myself because I put my weekly weigh-ins on Monday morning – the first thing after a weekend. Why didn’t I make it Friday morning at the end of a regimented work-week? Idiot. And believe me; I approach those weigh-ins like I’m Matthew Modine in Vision Quest before the big wrestling match. “Do it before you eat a spot of breakfast, Steve. First do some calisthenics, see if you can sweat out an ounce. Now try to make a number two. Now get completely naked. Now shave your body hair…and don’t forget the taint.”
My dad got like this during a diet. A phone conversation would go something like this:
STEVE: Hey Dad, haven’t talked to you in a couple of weeks. What’s new?
DAD: Well this morning I skipped breakfast. All I had for lunch was a half a cantaloupe with some cottage cheese. And for tonight I picked up some grilled salmon.
Intimate and riveting.
So, my new challenge, my secondary challenge, is to give my weight…well…less weight. This diet sadly, has become the thing I’m doing – the primary thing. I’m not sure that’s a good way to frame this weight-loss project. “Life” should be the thing I’m doing (whatever that means from day to day). And “healthier” should be the way I’m doing it. Good. Lesson learned, now I wonder if I lost any weight while typing this.
A Smattering of Hyperbole Regarding Your Female Parent’s Mass
This is as low-brow as it gets, but go ahead. Read them rapid-fire, OUT LOUD. I defy you not to laugh.
Your Momma’s so fat…the back of her neck looks like a pack of hotdogs.
Your Momma’s so fat…her cereal bowl has a lifeguard.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she sits around the house; she really sits AROUND the house.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she gets done having sex, she smokes a turkey.
Your Momma’s so fat…her high-school yearbook picture was aerial photography.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she jumped in the air, she got stuck.
Your Momma’s so fat…she has more chins than a Chinese phone book.
Your Momma’s so fat…she has a smaller fat woman orbiting her.
Your Momma’s so fat…she eats Wheat Thicks.
Your Momma’s so fat…for her baptism they had to rent out Sea World.
Your Momma’s so fat…she bleeds gravy.
Your Momma’s so fat…she needs a shoe horn to get into the bath tub.
Your Momma’s so fat…when I’m done fucking her and roll over, I’m still on her.
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