Once again, a fluffy girl is CRUSHED by the metric system!

Good evening!

Before I get started, the contest for the best title for my new book about my work life has been extended one week.  THIS FRIDAY I will post the five titles I like best.  Author of the winning title will receive free copies of all my published writing  (having a computer or an e-reading device is sort of a must.)

Now then, as you all know I wear a step counter on my shoe.  I've been measuring the number of steps I walk each day for probably the last 7 or 8 years.  Not that it's done me a lot of good in the weight loss department, but I am able to tell you how many steps I take on an average day at Great America  (22477)  how many I take in the office on any given day when I take a walk at lunch time  (6482)  and how many I take on a normal day at church when I'm teaching Sunday School  (3644.  I pace a lot when I teach.)

The other thing I thought I had down to a science is how many of my steps equals a mile.  (between 2300 and 2400, depends on the counter.)  This I have been as certain of as my own name for a long time.

Which is why, for the last several weeks, I've been really excited to see that while my actual steps seem to have slacked a bit, my actual distance has increased, almost doubled!  Sure, I was only taking about 5000 steps at work...but I was covering nearly 4 miles, when up until recently, I'd have to do close to 10000 steps, (My daily goal) to reach a distance of 5 miles.

I attributed this to different things:  I had a longer stride, (due to the massive muscles I was now suddenly forming in my legs)  I had finally, FINALLY found the $5 step counter that ACTUALLY WAS CORRECT, and I'd been walking all these miles all along.   I was just that awesome and the step counter gods had decided to finally reward my loyalty by giving me a bigger distance number.

So imagine my complete sense of defeat when I took a closer look at that distance on Friday and saw the letters KM behind my distance number.

It's not that I wouldn't...but since I live in the US
I don't think I could...just finding a pole that
length would be impossible!

My step counter was, and is, stuck in the kilometer setting.

I'm not well versed in metrics, but I know that KM is a smaller unit of measure than MILE.  (I grew up in a decade when Americans didn't think metrics or computers would really last...so I was only exposed to metrics a few times in my formal schooling...and I think I was sick both those days.)

This of course means only one thing:  I did not deserve the ice cream bars I ate each night, as I cheered myself by saying  "I may not have hit 10000 steps today, but I walked 7 miles, and that has to count for something!"

I guess the moral of this story is, as many of mine tend to be:  Don't get fat.  It just makes more work for you later on.  Like then you will have to know the metric system!

Car windows are see through...no matter how much I'd like to believe they aren't.

Blame it on the tofu.

I've always tried to be careful about what I do when I'm in the car because I know people can see me when I'm driving.  (Well, except when a Rick Springfield song comes on, then I'm not responsible for how I look or sound to the outside world.)  However, yesterday I completely forgot my own rule about behaving myself when on the road.  And I blame tofu.

See, for the past two weeks Hubby and Peaches have been slowly but surely turning me into a vegetarian.  Playing on my lack of desire to cook, Peaches picks out a recipe and Hubby cooks it.  And it's delicious.  Thursday night they made something involving fried polenta and a mushroom ragu.  I have no idea what I was eating, all I know is it was yummy and would have been great with a steak.

But after two weeks' worth of vegetarian meals and two weeks' worth of lunches involving peanut butter and jelly  (because I'm also too lazy to shop for deli meats apparently) I realized that I was exhausted at work NOT because I stay up all hours of the night watching crap TV with the kids or waiting for Skippy to come home from where ever he's been  (and wait for a blog on that tomorrow.)  but because I have not had any MEAT.

So yesterday, after a hearty lunch of grocery store sushi, I was STARVING for some MEAT.  Hubby picked me up from work and told me we had to stop at this cute little grocery store on the way home to pick up a few things for a dinner he and Peaches were planning.  Something called Sesame Tofu with Mung Bean Pasta.

I don't hear STEAK or CHICKEN in that title.

Wandering around this really trendy, pricey grocery store looking for vegetarian items  (I knew we were in trouble because the only tofu they had was ORGANIC tofu.)  I smelled something that made my mouth water beyond control.

Chicken.  Cooked, breaded, fried chicken.  The grocery store's claim to fame was its chicken and I didn't have to walk past the deli counter too often to decide I was going to buy some.  I WAS GOING TO EAT SOME MEAT.  So I grabbed a number and waited to be called.  I had them bag up two legs and a thigh...you know, because Hubby also looked hungry.

We weren't even in the car when I tore into the first piece.  It was so good, all juicy and hot.  The skin...and when did I last have chicken skin?...was crispy and perfectly seasoned.  I didn't care that my fingers glistened with the delectable juices...I was eating MEAT.

As I was gnawing the last bit of sweet bird flesh from the bone, Peaches sent a text that she wasn't going to be home for dinner because she was going to a friend's house.

Well, vegetarian delights postponed to tomorrow.

Gleefully, I dove in for the second piece.  There's nothing more glorious, I think, than the feel of a perfectly cooked chicken leg in your hands.

I beheaded two of my wives
far less egregious sins
than the ones Sarah committed
against good manners.

"Did you want this other piece?"  I asked Hubby, who was driving and trying really hard not to laugh out loud at the site of his wife eating a chicken leg like Henry VIII in the middle of a drunken feast.   

"No, "  he said, "You go ahead.  Then you've had dinner and I'll finish the leftovers from last night."

Hey, warmed over polenta for you...more chicken for me.

With all the regal manners of a convict I tossed the leg bone into the bag and drew out the third piece of chicken.  It was then, as my starvation was starting to slake, that I became aware of my surroundings. 

This is what I looked like in my mind.

We were at a stoplight.  I was in a sort of reclining position, my gut hanging into my lap.  Looking down I realized that, as it typically happens with me, my chest was acting as a shelf, holding up bits of skin and meat that had fallen from my mouth onto myself.  The people in the car stopped next to us were staring at me and laughing.

"What are you looking at?"  I shouted through the skin, bits of chicken spattering with my words, "I'm hungry!  My family is trying to turn me into a vegetarian and I need meat!"

I think the kid in the back seat was scared then.  I'm almost positive the mother, at the wheel, comforted the child by saying something like, "Oh I'm sure that big lady is going back to the group home where she lives honey.  She won't get you.  But remember Timmy...healthy diet and exercise is key to avoiding that poor woman's fate."



This is a bit closer to what the rest of the world saw.



I slumped lower in my seat and gnawed on the bone until it was bare, then licked my fingers clean.  Only then did I, with great daintiness, pick the bits of chicken off my shirt and eat that as well so that by the time we arrived home, I was full and happy...if somewhat greasy.

As we got out of the car, Hubby didn't comment much on the grease marks that dotted my shirt.  All he said was this:

"So this would be blog worthy, right?"

Is this really something we need to spend time contemplating?

Good morning my friends!

I'm in the midst of a really busy week in my real life, so I do apologize for not being around much.  I promise you, the quality of this blog will increase after this next weekend!

Last night I was watching "The Biggest Loser."  I love that show.  It's inspirational to see really heavy people work hard and lose weight while picking up eating and cooking tips along the way.  There's a bit of game play, especially this season, but for the most part it's about the steps a larger person must take to lose weight and get healthy.  I love Allison, the hostess, who has been on TV her entire life in the soap "Days of our Lives."  She went through a weight loss nightmare of her own when she was younger.  It was very public, and very harsh, so I know every time she opens her mouth, she's been in almost the same place the contestants have been.  Plus, she gets to be the DEVIL on the show.  She's sort of the ring master when it comes to challenges and weigh ins.  Last night she said, "This isn't a prison, you get to leave whenever you want to."


Yep, I love the show.  I especially enjoy watching the show while snacking, generally on something buttery or chocolate filled.

Last night the contestants were separated into four teams from their previous two. This is important I guess because not everyone got the trainer they wanted or the teammate they wanted or the color t-shirt they wanted.  (Personally, I would look like DEATH if I had to wear the green T-shirts.  It's a really strong shade of green.)  They have two new trainers this season, Kara and...I think he's called Brett.  (Frankly, I just call him "the pretty trainer.")

For those of you not familiar with the show, the two trainers for the last however many seasons have been Bob and Jillian.  Jillian is a tough drill sergeant sort of person, all business, tough as nails.  She could possibly kill someone if given the chance.  Bob is a bit gentler, using a bit more humor and a lighter touch.  Brett and Kara are far more...existential.

Which is a disturbing direction the show has been taking of late.  Suddenly, the trainers are also psychologists.  I realize that being fat is far more complicated than just a person eating a lot and not moving.  I have a ton of reasons why I gained weight and I use all of them as excuses when I'm trolling for a snack at 10 PM.

But last night, the analysis of the contestants made me laugh so hard I almost blew Vernor's through my nose.  (And if you are familiar with Vernor's ginger ale, you know that blowing it through your nose is very painful.)

Brett, the pretty trainer, had his three team mates go to a quiet place by themselves, and stare out at the mountains in the distance and contemplate on what brought them there.

Basically, Brett, the pretty trainer, had given them the equivalent of a TIME OUT.  (Go to your space and be quiet for a period of time that is appropriate for someone your age.)

The visual of this unintentionally hilarious.

First of all, they weren't by themselves.  The team mates stood about four feet from each other, looking away from each other.  Second, how much contemplation did it take to realize you are on The Biggest Loser because you are FAT?  They don't put skinny people who eat healthy balanced diets on the show.  They put big fat gigantors who subsist on a diet of pizza and chips on the show.  How did you get to this place?  You ate your body weight in crap and got fat!

Which brings me to the point of today's blog.  I'm a heavy person, so I'm pretty sure I can say this.  If you are fat, there might be underlying reasons why you eat, but here's the real deal:

YOU ARE FAT BECAUSE YOU EAT TOO MUCH AND YOU DON'T PRY YOUR BUTT OFF THE COUCH.

If I were a trainer on "the Biggest Loser,"  I would spend a lot less time contemplating and a lot more time working out.    As a fat person I will be really honest with you.  It's not a secret why I'm heavy.  I know, you know it, KRAM at Gold's Gym not only knows it, but he gives me all manner of grief about it.  I'm heavy, like most people are heavy, because we shove endless waves of food down our pie holes and because exercise hurts.  I'm currently losing weight because I'm shoving smaller waves of food down my pie hole and exercise doesn't hurt quite as much as it did a month ago.

The Good: Bob, The Bad, Allison, who plays the DEVIL on Biggest Loser just to mess with the contestants, and the ONE WHO WOULD FLOG YOU WITH YOUR OWN ARM if she were allowed, Jillian

There are the strangest moments in "The Biggest Loser"   It's these odd, scripted moments between a trainer, usually Jillian, which is why it feels so odd because having her be quiet and, you know, NICE, is weird, and a contestant. This is when the contestant opens up about why they are fat.  Then Jillian gives advice like, "You are worthy.  You have to feel that."   or "You can't get well until you get real about yourself." 

I haven't brought this up much with the trainers at Gold's, mostly because they are generally working with people who are serious enough about fitness to pay them for their services.  Me, I just do the drive by training, like, "Hey, how ya doin'?  I'm great....should I be running at a 5 mph speed or faster?  OK, thanks!"   "Hey, I've been on the elliptical for 6 minutes and I can't feel my elbows anymore...should I take a break maybe?"  

Anyway, I haven't brought it up much, but I will say with my few meetings with KRAM, I'm thinking that real life trainers aren't all that interested in the issues you bring to the table.  I'm guessing that the following points would elicit the following answers from pretty much any trainer at Gold's.

1) Self esteem?  Yeah, you know what's going to give you huge self esteem?  GET YOUR BUTT MOVING!

2)  Issues?  You know when you're not focused on your issues?  WHEN YOUR BUTT IS MOVING SO FAST AND SO HARD THAT YOU CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING BUT THE PAIN IN YOUR BUTT.

3)  Don't feel worthy of some blessing you've received?  GET YOUR BUTT IN GEAR AND DO SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL WORTHY!

4)  Why can't you control your late night eating?  BECAUSE YOU AREN'T MOVING YOUR BUTT ENOUGH DURING THE DAY!

At least, that's what I would say, if I were a trainer...you know, on the Biggest Loser or something.

By the way, as for my own weight loss journey  (and are we tired of THAT phrase now?)  I've reached a special number.  I lost five pounds after giving up the anti inflammatory meds for my hands.  They weren't doing much for me except making me retain a lot of water.  I'm down five pounds, I'm two pounds away from a 20 pounds weight loss mark since November 1, and my BMI went down 8 points in the last two weeks.  My body fat percentage is still gross, but it's UNDER 45% for the first time in a long time.  (And it dropped something like 5 points in the last two weeks.)  I've managed to run almost three minutes in a row, missing it by only  a few seconds.  I know I kid, but if it weren't for Gold's, and the constant nagging...I mean, encouragement, of the people there, I would not have this progress.  Also, I would not have this blog, because what's more funny than reading about my less than graceful attempts at physical fitness.  (Which reminds me...I keep running into a very beautiful, young, fit lady from our church at Gold's.  I have to share that with you in a later post.)

I'm not where I want to be, but I'm in better shape than where I was!

The worst thing a child can do is lie...the worst thing a fat person can do is lie to a personal trainer.

Good morning!

I've always told my kids that the worst thing a child can do is lie, because it hurts the relationship they have with the person they lie to.  Of course, that dedication to honesty doesn't always spill over into adults' relationships.  Face it, we lie to each other every day.  And on that happy note, I give you this:

Yesterday I enjoyed my personal training session that was included in my fee for joining Gold's 12 Week Body Challenge.  I got to meet with KRAM, the same personal trainer who got me restarted on my membership.  I discovered two things about personal trainers.

1)  They believe you're telling them the truth when you tell them what you weigh.

2)  The worst thing in the world is to lie about your weight to your personal trainer.

And I learned something about myself:

1)  I lie about my weight, even when I think I'm telling the truth.

Here's how this got started.  Back in August I met with KRAM and we did the whole, "Where do you want to be, what are your goals" bit that personal trainers are supposed to do.  He asked me my weight.  I gave him a number.  It wasn't completely a lie because at some point in my life I weighed that, obviously, because I had to pass that number to reach the number I was currently at.

And it never occurred to me that he would ever ask me the question again, since I haven't sold enough copies of Dream in Color to pay for actual personal training sessions.

So yesterday we sat down and I was very proud of the fact that I'd lost 16 pounds.  (Of course, I'd gained a couple back over last week, so I was actually at a -14 from my starting weight since, um, October.)  Then he showed me my stats from August...and I deflated.  According to HIS stats I'd only lost two pounds. 

So instead of just letting it go, I informed him that I'd lied about my real weight, that I'd lost as much as 16 pounds, and that I had done it pretty much on my own, thank you, and I'd done it since I got serious back in October.

Kram was not impressed.  Apparently lying to a personal trainer is pretty bad.  He gave me a stern look.  (I think it was a stern look. He's such a good guy, it's hard to believe he'd ever get really angry.  Of course, he isn't a parent...yet.  His wife is expecting, and I'm sure once that blessing enters his life, he'll learn the joys of explosive, uncontrollable shouting brought on by sleep deprivation and never having the answer to every why question that little bundle will ask.  But I digress.)  Anyway, he whipped open my chart.  (He KEPT A CHART ON ME?)  And said, "are you still 5'5"?

Well, sure.  I'm mean, I'm not going to lie about my HEIGHT!  How would that benefit me?

Oh wait, the whole height, weight ratio.  Yeah, I've probably lied about my height before.  But seriously, I'm not that tall.  It's not like I can tell him I'm 5'10" and get away with it.  (Of course, the Wii is different...)

I'm OUT OF CONTROL with this lying!

Once we had all my stats back in line, which involved a weigh in, awesome.  He got me going on some cardio.

Now, we all know that I like to sit down on the recumbent elliptical in Cardio Cinema and pedal for about half an hour. 

Kram had other ideas.

First of all, it was the bright lights of the big room for me.  Second, there's NO SITTING in personal training!  Third,

YOU WILL GET ON THE STAIR MACHINE!

I've walked past that stair machine a bunch of times...and I've always thought it would look far better in a closet someplace because that puppy is scary looking, given my childhood experience with escalators.  (Another story for another day my friends.)

But KRAM was having none of my whining and on the stairs I went.  I'm proud to say I didn't fall off.  And I didn't beg for mercy.  At least not out loud.

After a solid work out, he sat me down and informed me how many calories I get to have each day, how much fat, how many carbs.  To quote one of my favorite movies, "Gladiator"

This is a pleasant fiction, is it not?



(On a side note, I'm starting to think "Gladiator" quotes are going to pop up more as I go through this body challenge.  Who knew there were so many training focused quotes from that movie?)

I told you that stair machine would kill!  No one is strong enough to beat the stair machine!

But seriously,  I got a lot out of that session, including a snack!  KRAM shared a mini rice cake with me.  Now how can I be angry at someone who shares snack food with me?  Okay, so I was on the elliptical in Cardio cinema  (mostly because he guilted me into it, I really wanted to go home and just sit in a hot shower while eating a bucket of chicken.)  killing a few minutes before I had to pick up Peaches.  And okay, so I didn't have a water bottle handy.  And yes, I did get a bit of rice cake caught in my throat.  But still, if someone shares food with me, I'm sort of like a hound dog.  Share food, and I'll follow you for life.  Even a mini rice cake!

BUT, Gold's giveth and Gold's taketh away.  I had such a positive experience last night and a good work out.  I got to work this morning, feeling all good about myself.  And there was an email from Gold's.  I opened it, and what do you know?  Apparently Gold's thinks I'm six months younger than I am!  They must, because it had my stats from my measurements on Saturday and everything else, including a waist measurement that still makes me laugh, was right.  So I'm six months younger!  And, in spite of what the email claimed, there was no picture!  SCORE!

And while I was still feeling good about myself...a second email from Gold's.  Oh I'm still 6 months younger according to them...but the before picture is ALL ME.

The thing about having a picture taken is, you can think you know what you look like, but face it, you don't know what you look like until you actually see yourself.  I'm thinking I'll just send the picture in to "Biggest Loser" and throw myself on the mercy of Bob and Jillian.

On a serious note, my friends, if you have the means, I truly suggest you try personal training.  I look at Dee all the time and her results are undeniable!  (She's horrified by her before picture as well, but at least she doesn't look like someone who needs to be cut out of their house and taken to Brookhaven clinic for the super obese!)  If you have access to a gym, join it. If you can meet with a trainer, do it.  And if you live in the Waukesha area, head over to Gold's and ask for Mark V.  When I win the $75K from this body challenge, I'm putting a big chunk of it in his back pocket for more training sessions.  And if I'm willing to share winnings I have no reasonable shot at getting  with him, you should be spending ACTUAL cash on him...you won't regret it.  Well, okay, you may not love the pain he puts you through, but you will see results!


If you do, tell him Sarah sent ya.  (Yes, I'm hoping I get a couple free sessions for referring people to him!  PITY SESSIONS!)

The answer to every question anyone asks me.

Good afternoon!

I'm sitting here sucking down a Slim fast shake.  The can says the flavor is "Cappuccino Delight" which is pretty much the only flavor I can drink without dying.  I tell myself it's a really good coffee.  (Never mind that it makes my pee smell like, well, coffee.  Hence, at the Bradley house, we call it "Cappu pee no.") 

So I'm drinking this shake, which really isn't a shake, it's thick fluid that is supposed to serve as a whole meal, and I'm wondering why?  Why am I sitting at my desk drinking this stuff that makes me think of Starbucks every time I use the ladies room?

BECAUSE I'M FAT.

Then it hit me:  That is the answer to every question anyone has asked me ever in the last 13 years. 

Why are you drinking a slim fast shake?

Because I'm fat.

Why are you going to Gold's gym?

Because I'm fat.

Why don't you go to Gold's more often?

Because I'm fat.

Why don't you let people take pictures of you?

Because I'm fat.

Why are you wearing a step counter?
Because I'm fat.

Okay, those questions all make sense with that answer.  But let's take a look at other questions I get on a regular basis.

From Bossman:

Why didn't you take those packages to the Post Office?

My answer:  Because it was noon and I knew that the line at the post office was going to be brutal, so I decided to wait until tomorrow.

My real answer:  BECAUSE I'M FAT!

From my mother:  Why didn't you RSVP to your aunt's anniversary?

My answer:  Because I forgot to.

My real answer:  BECAUSE I'M FAT AND IT'S TOO MUCH TROUBLE TO GO LOOK UP HER PHONE NUMBER and give her a call.  Why can't she just get email like everyone else so I can just shoot her an email and be done with it?

(Okay, that was a bit longer, but I have family issues, so cut me some slack.)

Realizing that this is the answer to every question ever, well, it's sort of freeing.  And probably the reason I haven't made a really concerted effort to lose weight. 

From the choir director:  Why weren't you at practice last week?

My answer:  I wasn't feeling well.

My real answer:  BECAUSE I'M FAT AND I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE GETTING OFF THE COUCH!

Now, it is a myth that fat people are lazy.  Really.  Every fat person I know is just as busy as every skinny person I know.  The difference is what we do in our downtime.  My very skinny friend, I'll call her Marie  (she knows who she is) spends her downtime walking her dog, walking on the treadmill, and reading books on how to get healthier. 

I spend my downtime searching for episodes of "Wipeout"  on TV while glued to the couch and eating lovely salty snacks with dip.

I work hard, I volunteer all over the place, and I'm always on the go.  But ask me a question about why I do or don't do something, and I will bet you a Krispy Kreme donut that the real answer will come back to "I'M FAT."

Now, if you ask my mother or my boss, they'll have to agree with this.  Basically because, between the two of them, I'm reminded every day that yes, indeed, I am fat.  I was relating my hysterical attempt at Albert Haynesworths' fitness test the other day and Bossman said, "Oh, good, I was hoping you were still going to Gold's."

Not the point of the story, but thanks Bossman who doesn't offer a health care plan and therefore gets zero say in what I do and do not shove into my mouth, for reminding me that I need to exercise.

My mother is better.  She once offered me $300 to join a health club some years ago.  I took her money, put it toward removing unwanted hair  (Didn't finish the job, though, but that's another story for another day.)  and gained another 30 pounds.  Why?  BECAUSE I'm FAT!  And because, I'm revolting against her control.  Hey, she can deny my father food, but I'm a grown up woman.  My fat is a testament to my independance!

Hey, yes!  It's not fat...it's a banner of FREEDOM!

Sing it with me sisters of size!  WE'RE NOT FAT...WE'RE FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wow...who knew writing about how fat I am would be so freeing?  I feel great!  I'm going to go get myself a cheeseburger and some fries!

Why?

BECAUSE I'm FAT!

Now my friends, one other little note:  Happy Birthday to Kevin Tighe, the actor who played "Roy DeSoto" on my favorite of all time shows "Emergency."  Cheers to ya!