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bras & weight loss
I have, through no particular effort of my own, lost somewhere between 20-25 pounds in the past year. Mostly it’s just that I’ve been eating less. Not well, certainly, just less. Not exercising more, either. Just eating less. Basically for the first time in my life I’ve been stress not-eating instead of stress eating.
Anyway, so I’ve lost a fair amount of weight, and my bras have not been fitting well at all.
So a week or two ago I bought new bras, and people suddenly started saying, “Wow, you’ve lost so much weight!” Which, well, yes, that’s true, but since it didn’t all drop off at once, it’s clear that what they’re actually reacting to is the fact that my boobs are a lot higher than they were before, and the overall effect that has.
I thought that was pretty funny. :)
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Dear Sugar,
You’ve probably noticed by now that I’m not coming around as much anymore.
I’d like to say it’s not you, it’s me, but the truth is it’s you. I find you irresistible, and the only way I can deal with that is by walking away from you entirely. You don’t make it easy, either, with your ice creams and cakes and chocolates all easily available and tempting. But you, in all your delicious forms, make me fat, and I’m tired of it.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s much easier to snuggle in your sweet arms and be fat. On the other hand, I’m sick of only buying one or two pairs of jeans at a time and then wearing them to shreds because I’m sure I’ll manage to lose the weight this time so there’s no point in spending money on more. I have eight pairs of pants in the closet, Sugar, and they’d all fit me if it weren’t for you. One pair is purple. How can you possibly think you can compete with purple pants?
Probably because most of the time you can. Most of the time you do. In fact, most of the time you bitch-slap the pants and send them running to the closet and crying for Mommy.
That’s really not very nice behavior, Sugar. Is it any wonder I want to see somebody else?
Well, now that I’ve brought it up, I suppose I’ll admit to it. I *have* been seeing someone else. His name is Swimming, and he’s much more open-minded than you are. I mean, sure, he makes me work a lot harder for the reward, but he’s more adventuresome. In fact, for me to see Swimming at all I have to spend plenty of quality time with his pal Walking, and neither of *them* mind if I spend time with their friend Pilates, too. Most days I hang out with at least two of them, and know what? They all fit into my pants better than you do. So where does that leave you, Sugar? What have you done for me, besides give me heart palpitations and an upset stomach when I over-indulge in you?
You played hardball, too. Right after I decided to stop seeing you, you sent your nasty friend Head Cold to break my will. I’ll have you know it didn’t work. Maybe it didn’t work because mostly I had no appetite, but regardless, you failed. It’s been two and a half weeks now, and I’m not missing you quite as much. I know I’ll never stop loving you, but trust me, babe. It’s better this way.
-Me
miles to Minas Tirith: 299
ytd km swum: 43.7 -
stick this in your pipe and smoke it
I had a dream this morning that I joined a weight loss group here in Longford. It had line dancing and Simon Cowell.
Simon judged the group. There was some guy who who wasn’t fat, and Simon told him he didn’t need to lose weight but he thought he should put on a little more muscle, after poking the guy in the belly. :) And he was horrified by the line dancing. Both by the idea and the execution, which was dreadful. (It was line dancing of the sort you’d get if a weight loss group leader suddenly said, “Hey, I know! Let’s do some line dancing! Everybody in the first row go together!” Except by the time we got to the third row people were in themed costumes. o.o They still couldn’t dance, though.)
What a bizarre dream.
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blblglaaaaggh.
I think I can write today, but man, my little brain is feeling pretty spongy right now. I have to convince myself to go do my Pilates. I’d been planning to swim today, but I’m more than half afraid that if I do I’ll lose the afternoon’s writing to unconsciousness, despite the word wars. I don’t know. We’ll see. God on a stick, though. I’m just…blblbaaaaggh. *stares around mindlessly*
Today is International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Wretch Day, and I’d had a very vague hope of writing something new for it, but the words “bahahahahahahaha” come to mind. I suspect the best I can do is point you at my writing page, particularly if you missed the series of short stories I wrote last fall. I’ll look on Nook, but mostly what’s there are opening scenes and chapters or sequences from books I intend to write, rather than any complete bits of fiction.
I am going to try very hard to stay away from sweets over the next 7 days. The truth is that I may very well not last through today, much less a week, because I’m giving writing pretty much everything in my soul right now, and I might just flat out not have anything left to lend to the deceptively simple concept of “just don’t eat any sweets”.
Okay. Exercise, and then food, and then work. She said encouragingly, and gently, to herself.
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experiment
I appear to be running an experiment in weight loss. It’s a very good experiment, because it proves out, conclusively, every time. It goes something like this:
If I don’t eat sweets, and do exercise, for a week, I lose about a pound and a half in that time. If I do eat sweets and don’t exercise, I gain about a pound and a half (if I haven’t been exercising for quite a while, I just gradually gain weight, not at that excessive of a rate).
It works *every time*.
Knowing this–and I *do* know it–it should be easy to lose weight. All I have to do is exercise, which I like, and not eat sweets, which I love.
Somehow this is much, much harder than it says on the packaging.
