Calories? and exercising?

its been a while since i last posted so i will quickly bring you up to date with my progress and lack thereof.

weekends are this horrible pit of food. i have all this time and all this food to spend it with. last weekend was no exception and the delicious food flowed in abundance. actually it wasn't really that great of a selection. i simply ate all that was in site. sunday evening, after a particularly odious day of food consumption, i decided to step on a scale. i took a deep breath as i noted how far the dial jumped. of the fifty pounds i had lost....fifteen came back. at first i tried to play it off as a comliment to myself, imagining that the fat was so unhappy to be gone from me that it had to return. then i realized something must be done!

moday evening i did a little research and by this i of course do mean googling and binging. i found a website that created a personal calorie plan for you. i punched in my age, weight, height and activity level. after it calculated my daily calorie allotment, i saw that there were more options available. it would formulate a plan for maintenance, weight loss or extreme weight loss. i selected extreme because i always overdo all things. once i had been thoroughly depressed by the shockingly low allotment i saw yet another option called calorie staggering. i selected this as well. it made a new plan where i could have a different number of calories every day. it seemed nice. until tuesday. tuesday, i all but fasted. i was hungry all day. the small meals made me almost weep but i didn't have the strength. then wednesday was a feast from start to finish.

you must understand i do exaggerate. tuesday was not all so bad and wednesday did in fact become my new favorite day of the week. this calorie staggering seems to be legitimate so i will give it the fair chance it is due.

in addition to this, i have started my "alp training." this is when i will not repeat the seventh grade and be the fattest kid at camp who huffed and puffed at the back. i WILL be fit enough to hike an Alp when i am in germany this winter! i have started a "training program" which translates to building up endurance by walking more and more every day. it has gone fairly well and my shinsplints are not actually killing me.

exercise...oh dear.

i learned in biology that Michael Phelps has a huge advantage over other swimmers. one reason is his body type. he has short legs and a very long torso along with long arms. i am built much the same way. Michael Phelps also produces less lactic acid or something like that so he doesn't get sore or tired from exercise to the extent normal people do. seeing as we are practically the same and whatnot, i thought maybe i might be able to endure large quantities of hardcore physical exertion and be none the worse for wear. how little i knew. how little i knew.

i had spent an entire four days celebrating my birthday. thursday with family, friday with one group of friends, saturday with yet another and then sunday by treating myself to a day of enjoyment. naturally, all of these festivities involved copious amounts of food. so as monday rolled around, i felt compelled to eat right and do a bit of exercise to appease the gods of guilt.

i began by plugging into my new iPod and briskly walking through the woods behind my house. after the first couple hills, i was starting to feel the burn in my legs but it was miniscule and my breathing was only somewhat ragged. at the bottom of a particularly vile hill, having gained considerable momentum, i proceeded to break into a brisk jog. i was forced to use one hand to hold up my now falling sweatpants as i puffed up the next hill. it wasn't so bad. i was breathing heavy but it wasnt that atrocious. i tuned into Matt Costa who was singing me into distraction. after only a short spurt of my jogging, i began to feel the effects. it wasn't killing me just yet. but still. i had to stop ahead at a creek that impeded my flight path. so i began to slow down, when i stopped at the creek a bus hit me.

i was dead. i could barely step across the creek. my breath was trying to murder me for being so viciously cruel. my legs wobbled and wept bitterly, trying to guilt trip me for what i'd done to them. my heart was trying to burst my eardrums and my organs were commencing a riot. i tremulously started walking again, only half the man i once was. the fast paced music seemed to mock my weakness and insufficient pace. i finished out the time i had set ( a tragically short amount which i am unwilling disclose) and crashed on the sofa in a heap of sweat and tears. a shell of the person i started out as.

Cooking?

being a fatty means that i love to eat. loving to eat has sparked a passion for cooking. being the people person that i am, i love to cook for crowds. the other night, we were having a few friends in and i was making a very simple chicken recipe for the occasion. i am convinced that if i fail to have a meltdown and panic in the middle of food preparation, the food wil turn out wretched.

to give a bit of background on culinary meltdowns, they are not funny. many people have this illusion (created by Amy Adams in the movie Julie and Julia) and seem to think that meltdowns are comical and even cute. the image of Julie Powell lying on the floor of her teeny kitchen after she has this cute little pout over her un-trussable chicken is quite the opposite of how i melt down.

let me paint a scenario for you: the recipe calls for a nonstick skillet, which i do not have. instead, i use a little oil and a stainless steel pan. should be fine. seeing as i am this culinary genius, i left the flame on as high as possible. when the pan proceeded to erupt in a bunch of pops, i began to panic. i was shouting incoherently at all who were in the kitchen. i lunged toward the rainstorm of hot grease with the tongs in hand. as i reached the tongs out to turn the stove down, (kep in mind i am a very large man, six foot four and WELL over 200 punds) flailing frantically, the grease attacked me and popped a good two feet and hit me squarely in the face. i began screaming expletives and jumping about in a manner ill fitting someone of my height age and girth.

this was not cute, nor was it comical. it was serious.

just......stuff.

i realize that as of yet, all my posts have been quite negative. this is not because my life is merely one tragic failure day after day. i do have good days where i stay within my calorie limits and blah blah blah. those things are no fun to read about. i mean, what would i say? well. i stayed within my calorie limits, the end. it's far more satisfying to have a hearty chuckle about a comically portrayed failure than to politely smile because someone had a boringly good day.

well as i am sure you can guess by the aforementioned theme of failure, this blog will be no different. since we last spoke i have indeed succumbed to the alluring curves of the couch on more than one occasion. rather than exercise, i sit on the couch watching Betty White and rue McLanahan do their magic as they dance across the set of Golden Girls and then i mozy on over to the computer and put on my favorite music and tell you people about all the times i have fallen down on this cruel path that is weightloss. so as Fiona Apple belts out a song about her mechanical prowess, i tell you that i did in fact just eat half a pack of lunch meat. (it is delicious plain or with honey mustard)

it is a shameful thing to look down at the table and realize that in the process of making a sandwich, you've eaten enough ingredients for about four sandwiches. you know how it goes, i lay out the slices of bread, get out the turkey, eat a slice as i lay the slices down on the bread and turn to the lettuce, lay it on the sandwich, and oh, whats this? turkey! another 2 slices. then i put some cheese on ...hello turkey! and as i put all the ingredients away, i might as well snag a couple slices of that delicious, succulent breast meat. before i realize whats come over me, i have to run to the store for more lunch meat.

and of course, another debacle.

This morning, after a delightfully appropriate breakfast, i packed myself and equally appropriate lunch. i did in fact forget that during class today, we were presenting our projects and some of said projects included food. i planned to lightly snack on all of the offerings and cut back at lunch or dinner. unfortunately i looked up and through the door came the most incredible thing. it was a bay-watch moment she walks in and her hair blows back and a heavenly light emanates radiantly from the pan she carries. all traces of willpower died with my dignity as i began to devour chicken wings one after another in a way that would make a Neanderthal blush. i remember looking down at a pan full of wing sauce and a plate full of crumbs and feeling this burn in my chest as the hot sauce burned a hole through my digestive tract. as i surveyed the debris and took in the damages, i wondered what i had become.

needless to say that the wings were merely the beginning and from there i made my mark on other student's dishes. when lunch time came, i felt obliged to give my turkey and hummus wrap to others who were fortunately endowed with higher metabolic rates.

now supper time is here and i still feel as if i should be floated at the Macy's parade. my pilates mat is eying me from its closet. i can feel the angry stare it burns into my belly. i know i should retrieve it and get my stretch on . but the couch is being more seductive. the pilate mat is the guilt tripping mother that says, if you neglect me, think what will happen! how dare you! after all i've done!? the couch is the alluring woman that calls out in a sexy smooth voice. remember last time you laid on me? how soft i am? take me! you see my fat man's dilemma.

so close.....so close.

oh dear dear dear. every day its the same. i apportion myself a delicious and appropriate amount of food for breakfast and i stick with it. i apportion myself an appropriate amount of food for lunch and i stick with it. then supper hits and i just give up. it seems that there is this wretched curse attached to evenings. the food is there, waiting and it will probably go bad or maybe someone else will eat it if i don't. and then of course there's always the thought of "oh i am still a young thing, i can bounce off the calories in some youthful and enjoyable activity that any common young person does. like working out or playing tennis or swimming, you know, i can get healthy tomorrow, of course its too late tonight because lost is about to come on, but tomorrow is a fresh start. so as long as ive gone over on the calorie limit, i may as well make it another fat tuesday.

you see the tragic spiral we fatty's plummet into. of course there are simple solutions. for instance, i consider all fruits and vegetables my little freebies. i can eat them with reckless abandon and not have to record the calorie intake. this trick works for a bit. i sneak into the kitchen, slide out a long crunchy stalk of celery and feel so sneaky and naughty as i savor every flavorless bite. i am able to feel reckless in these moments because, i am eating a whole celery stalk and not recording the calories! what a rebellious way to trick yourself! then, when the pantry has been purged of pineapple and grapes, the freezer beckons seductively. i look around to make sure no vegetables are in sight. i feel a guilty quiver of delight in my stomach. i suppress my hurried breaths as i inch toward the freezer. it's seductive powers are unparalleled. i feel almost dirty as i pull back the door and i try my best to block the thoughts of my infidelity to the veggies. then, as i lift the spoon to my mouth, i think to myself, "oh this is so much more satisfying than fruit!"after a disappointingly short pleasure trip, the ice cream is gone too. and i am left, once a gain, alone. and fat.

Diet Debacle #1

well. the thing that seems to be the most effective for my weight loss is counting calories. it works perfectly. when i stay within my limit. here is a typical day for you. i had three poached eggs for breakfast with two slices of buttered toast and a cup of hot tea. sounds extravagant but it was all well within my breakfast limit of 5oo calories. so the morning meal went swimmingly. i proceeded to lunch. i had a full can of vegetable orzo soup, a turkey, neufchatel and hummus wrap and a cup f blueberries. all very delicious and perfectly within my limits. i consumed a small snack when i got home, forgetting entirely what it was. first mistake.

i then had some busy errands to run and returned home a few hours later utterly famished. my relative was over for their birthday celebration and a proper feast was prepared; it's the fitting thing to do. having don e so stellarly all day, i took small portions of roast beef and gravy and mashed potatoes and 2 light rolls. it was gone before i knew i'd tasted it. that was the downward spiral into the abyss. i stopped counting how many rolls i had after number six and stopped eating mashed potatoes and gravy only after i realized i had made a particularly noticable hole in the amounts of both.

later on that night, while partaking of one of my favorite activities, couch potato-ing, i got the non marijuana munchies. they come frequently to those of us who fall into the diet debacle category. usually, when the urge hits i get the celery and carrot sticks out or frantically chug numerous glasses of water to stave of the cravings. not this time.

as Monica and Chandler made their last funny comments before the commercial, i darted into the kitchen to retrieve my snack. upon opening the refrigerator, i saw the veggies and some water bottles. but, for some reason the tub of cake icing found its way into my hand. along with a spoon. after half the icing was gone i needed something salty to take away the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and pretzels were the cure. as Rachel yelled at Ross and left the room and Martha Kaufman and David Krane had their names flash across the television screen, i heaved a depressed sigh and crinkled up the poor plastic bag. it never saw me coming. now the pretzels were dead. so was my little drive to diet.