Blurgh

Weight: on the south side of 165 (hopefully not due to stomach virus)
Times exercised this week: 0
Times got off the couch yesterday: 2
People apathetic about dieting: 1 (me)

Argh. I hate being sick. I have no energy to work out, and being ill compels me to eat irresponsible things like ice cream and bread. Tomorrow is another day, right?

If food is a crutch, then call me Tiny Tim...

Weight: 165 (But I can see a difference, so...)
Weight loss in first week: 1.4ish. Right on track!
Calories so far today: 843
Girl Scout cookies bought: 0
Girls Scouts I've wanted to shake in my head: 3
Pants I wear regularly that are starting to get saggy: 2 (victory!)
Food mistakes committed today: 0 (so far)
Packs of peanut butter M&Ms I could have bought but didn't: 1 (a new personal best for me!)
Days until I look at least 30% more like Charlize Theron: 124.

Oh my gosh, I had no idea it was Girl Scout cookie time. Once upon a time, I was the kid in the sash hocking delicious, nutritionally derelict cookie abominations to friends, family, neighbors, and unsuspecting strangers.
Now, I am the stranger who tries not to make eye contact with the whippersnappers and attempts to sneak in while they're trying to entice others to the dark side. It helps that I never keep cash on me, and I would love to help them win merit badges and camping trips and whatever else they work towards, but I'm working towards a merit badge in not looking like a manatee, so... not today, little Suzie. Not today.
It's kinda sad that all I think about is food. Since starting this new project, I think less about brownies and more about chicken soup.... so that's good. And I think that, ultimately, I'll save quite a bit of money from this venture, as I now avoid places where I know I'll find something divine that I'll want to stuff my face with. Walmart, your days of luring me with low, low prices are numbered!
Am cooking soup- it's currently just water, garlic and chicken, but it already smells mouthwatering. I've been so hungry lately, though, that even my crappy cooking tastes like a tower of ganache-dipped cream puffs. Desperation can be a powerful tool (just go to any bar on ladies' night and you'll see.)
I didn't exercise today (and probably won't later... I'm tired and headachy and for heaven's sake, it's Sunday and who does anything but nap on Sunday?), and I kinda hate myself for it. I should be happy that even after dinner, my calorie count will be way under my goal for the day. Howevers, I now see every day that I don't go go the extra mile to burn more as a day that won't end in a pound loss, and therefore failure. I'm too hard on myself! I think it'll be easier to be less hard on myself when my jean size is in the single digits, though.
I'm so boring today. No more words.

Rethinking the Treat System...

Weight- 165 (holla) (not strictly true. Weight was taken before glurging on nachos with friends last night. I think I laughed off the extra calories, though)
Calories consumed today- who knows... 900ish?
Minutes spent despairing over money spent on groceries- 42
Things that I bought at the grocery store that I will eventually regret- 0 (That's what I'm talking about!)
Naps taken instead of jogs- 1 (um, deserved)
Days until B-Day- 125

Day 3:
Fun times with old college buddies last night. I served myself a carefully portioned plate of chips, meat, beans, etc. And then another one. And another one. I'm such a food whore. We got into an intense discussion regarding crock pots and chicken verde soup. I finally realized how ancient I was getting when a joyful reunion with friends turned into a discourse about black beans and the nutritional benefits of flax.
I feel, as always, resentful about the money I have to spend on necessary items... gas, groceries. I suppose if I stopped eating and walked everywhere, I'd lose the weight a hella lot faster. I would also probably be a little bit dead or a lotta bit post-Auschwitz.
I am proud to say that I managed to make it through my weekly grocery store assault with minimum casualties. What made it into my cart? Broccoli, black beans, salsa, gross protein crap. What made it into my cart only to be put back? The most delicious looking berry cobbler thing. I know I looked like a bipolar squirrel, hoarding for the winter and then suffering from buyer's remorse.... I would pick up the delectable-looking dessert, fondle it a bit, then put it back into the freezer. Later, passing the aisle, I would ninja back to the freezer case, take it back out, and put it in my cart, then meander away, whistling a merry tune and trying not to look guilty. But I felt guilty. So very guilty. So back to the frozen foods went I, and the berrylicious tart of sin would get shoved back into ice cold purgatory. Not possessing infinite self-control resources, and after a last desperate cycle of longing, retrieving and retracting, I left the store before the yum overrode the common sense.
Here's my issue... I'm like a golden retriever: I will be more than happy to retrieve any stick, perform any trick or accomplish any mundane task as long as there's a treat waiting for me on the other side. Where I get into trouble? Every day features tasks I find myself wanting to bribe my lazier side into accomplishing- laundry, dishes, aerobics, getting up in the morning, putting my shoes in the closet, filling my tank with gasoline, moving... and my treats generally involve food (especially cupcakes. Oh, YUM). One fairly common offender is the cheeseburger... there's nothing more glorious than surviving another week and then celebrating by sinking my teeth into a warm, rare, juicy cheeseburger topped with cheese and bacon, with a sizzling basket of freshly-cooked fries and some Red Robin campfire sauce to dip the whole obscene occasion in (I know that was grammatically inaccurate, but "into which to dip the whole obscene occasion" seemed cumbersome. Also, it always takes me 4+ tries to spell "occasion" correctly). 1600 calories later, I've treated myself into a half a pound of body fat. Mother Nature is an ice cold bitch, people, and I hope that wherever she is, she has morbid obesity, type 2 diabetes, and decaying teeth. And menstrual cramps... but that's not this story.
My new concept is to renovate my treat system for... future rather than immediate satisfaction. That cupcake is oh so very, very, very good, and sinking my teeth into the rich sweet frosting into the flavorful cake below (hopefully with a crunch of nuts or a burst of fruit or a decadent drizzle of chocolate ganache) is a sensation which transcends all human glory and...
NO! REWRITE! Ahem (needed a moment) the cupcake is good, but enough of them and I'm going to look like 50 pounds of christmas ham shoved into a 25 pound sack of lard. So, instead of tasty treats, I'm going to make looking hot in a pair of size 8 skinny jeans my new treat. (Isn't it sad that my thinness goal would be someone else's idea of morbid obesity? In print, size 8 doesn't look that fantastic. Oi.) From now on, I'm going to visualize being able to wear a short skirt without my thighs rubbing grotesquely together instead of nachos smothered in queso sauce. I'm going to picture a swimsuit season free of embarrassment, hip fat overhang and necessary cover-ups instead of stuffed crust pizza smothered in cheese and sausage.
And I'm pretty sure every time I institute this treat system, I'm going to be AS ANGRY AS I AM RIGHT NOW. A. that food is tasty, B. that eating it makes me feel like an orca, and C. that naturally skinny people seem to eat enough for four grown men and a buffalo and never gain so much as a bloated toe.
UGH. Well, off to eat some broccoli. And fantasize about finding whomever it was who discovered fat and beating them to death with a carrot stick.

20x30, Day 1

Now that we've waded through the impossibly long introduction, let's just jump right into day 1:

Days until the end of this goat rodeo of fat burnage- 127

Weight- 165

Calories- 1625

Minutes spent exercising- 65

Muscles that may never function normally again- anything south of the knees

Chances I'll wear heels tomorrow- <10%

Alcoholic beverages- 0 (but the night is young)

I'm tired of typing, so I'll make this quick. Stayed the course mostlyish today, but it's just day 1. I would have put my measurements and body fat %, but I can't find my frickin tape measure, and searching for it would involve moving my poor, sore calves.

So, more tomorrow. Happy day one!

20x30, ridiculously long and overstated intro...

I have a confession: I don’t like the way I look.

In a few short months, I will bid my twenties a… fond?
farewell, squeeze my eyes shut, and swan dive into the yawning abyss of my
third full decade on this soggy blue capsule that we call our home planet. My
life thus far has had its blessings, and its curses. There have been scary
times, and moments of joy. There have been nights of crippling loneliness, and
afternoons of rib-bruising snickers with loved ones. There have been moments
when I’ve contemplating harvesting my internal organs for money, and weeks
spent in luxurious splendor in some exotic, unpronounceable location. There’s
been humiliation, exhilaration, exasperation, perspiration, mitigation,
capitulation, and… well, utter confusion. There are times when I’ve looked
forward to the next moment, and moments when I’ve wanted to take a long drive
off a very short bridge. One thing always remained the same, however, whether
the ships had come in or had gone belly up and floundered like my dead goldfish
as it swirled down the toilet to an inauspicious burial at sea….

People, there was always a whole lot of food.

My parents always made sure we had plenty of nutritious food
to eat. One time, at a restaurant, when a young mother handed me a baby bottle
and asked me to put more coke in it (when I got back from getting her kid more
ranch for the chicken tenders and fries, thanks), I was suddenly filled with
warm, fuzzy gratitude to my parents for always making sure we had enough to
eat, and ensuring that what we were eating was nutritious. In fact, the times
we protested the food (because what 8 year old enjoys eating broccoli
casserole?) and refused to eat it… well, that’s when Mom got the steel in her
chin and the glinty hellcat look in her eye, and no matter how long the hunger
strike lasted, she never backed down. And we sat there at the table, until we
finally broke out of boredom or shame, and we ate our vegetables, and we went
on with our evening. And MAN, do I appreciate that now. I also appreciate that when
my parents pulled us out of public school, we were, from that moment forward,
compelled to make our own lunches. It wasn’t laziness on my parents’ part, oh
no… it was home economics class, and no one who has ever tasted anything my
brother has baked, sautéed or deconstructed could ever second guess that
decision.

As I got older, we travelled more and more, and our tastes
broadened. I was taught to appreciate steak, and pasta, and Cornish game hens,
and to at least try the foods I wouldn’t have ordered, given the choice
(although I never even tried with the haggis, I won’t lie to you). I was taught
to experiment, and to take risks, and to never order chicken nuggets when there
was something new to try. And, I was training horses at the time, so I could eat
every exciting bite and not reeeeally worry about the ramifications.
And then, there was college, and the dream was over.
Suddenly, there was no sleep, and there was MacDonalds, and
every morning meant a new opportunity to stuff myself with biscuits and gravy.
First there was one, then two, then three, and there was sweet tea at every
meal, and there was no time for exercise. Freshman 15? PLEASE. Try the freshman
45. And it didn’t end there.

By the time I was 24, I looked like the Stay Puft
Marshmallow Man, and eventually, I had enough and lost 60ish pounds. And then I
gained some of it back. Then I lost some… and gained it back. In the game of
fat, I was a loser and a winner.

And then, suddenly, I was 29. I was living a cycle of
glutiny and famine, of praise for inches lost and shame over back bulge. And
one day, it hit me...

I don’t like the way I look.

Why do I live with it? Why do I allow myself to fail,
knowing that I’ll subject myself to the same snide, self-degrading comments I
always snark when I feel fat? Why do I look at every window I pass, hoping I’ll
see a pudgy profile so I can make a horrible face, which I will also see? Why
do I ask loved ones if I look fat, hoping they’ll say yes so I can punish
myself even more?

Welp, the cycle ends here. I have 19 weeks until I turn 30,
and I want to make every last minute count, which is why today? I kick off
20x30… in which I attempt in my last, grasping moments of twentydom to shed 20
pounds of fat ass and stride triumphantly (and with thighs that don’t rub
together) into the next era of my life.
My rules for engagement:
1. No crash diets.
2. No substance assistance (pills, etc)
3. Exercise daily. BUT NO GYMS! (Sore subject.)
4. No pizza or cupcakes. Fight the true enemy.
5. No buying of clothes until the weight is lost.
6. Daily weigh-ins and blog updates.
7. Lose the traditional evening cocktail.
8. No whining about being hungry,
9. AND NO GIVING UP!

I’m sticking with the simplest diet on earth. One pound of
fat= 3600 calories. To lose one pound of fat, you have to burn 3,600 calories
that you don’t put back in. Easy, right? I’ll have to expend about 570ish extra
calories a day.

I believe in a woman’s right to choose… not to look like
Flossie the Heifer. And this is where you come in- because the only thing more
miserable than being on a diet is having to read about someone else’s
experiences while on one! Thanks for sharing this journey with me. I only hope
that one day, you can look at me and say, “Wow, Liz… you look like you lost a
toddler.” The journey is long… and I’m dragging you along with me. Because that
burns extra calories too.