Back in the day, who cares what we weigh?

More wistful thoughts about days gone by and those lean bodies we used to own and take for granted. So I thought I'd share this fun picture I recently unearthed of me with my wonderful high school pal, Ann ... circa 1971. Apparently we were in a surfer themed Homecoming Parade, although neither one of us can recall this. (These bewildering blank moments will happen to you too someday, young readers.) See the really pretty girl on the left with the terrific smile and the legs that go forever? Yeah that's not me.

Weeeee, it's been a busy week with some kitchen remodeling, landscape design and our precious 12 year old lab, Angel, in for surgery. Not much time for blogging but not much to report anyway. Our weight loss progress has really slooooowed down the past couple of weeks. We've got the plateau blues, when your body hunkers down and says, "dude, are you serious about this thing?" And we say, "hell yes, why is that even a question?" And your body says, "meh, just not feelin' it." And we hurl f-bombs at the scale all week.

So between Mike and me this week? Just 4 stinkin' sticks of butter, i.e. 1/2 lb. each. Phtt. At least we're going in the right direction, so we'll take it. But wait! Look at the Meltdown Meter! We've now tipped the scales past the halfway point ... 65 sticks melted and 63 sticks to go! OK, feeling better now.

Oh, and I lied before when I said I felt all empowered and whatever when I ordered that salad entree in a restaurant back in August. Because we had to eat dinner out several nights this week as our kitchen was inoperable and, well ... let's just say my entrees were not even remotely green. Sorry, dear ol' college roommate Katie, who offered sage advice about checking out the restaurant menu online beforehand, thereby pre-planning the healthiest choice. I have disgraced you.

You think that might have something to do with my nary-a-pound weight loss? Naaaaaah.

The Tortoise and the Hare

In honor of our buttery blog, I ate buttery things last weekend. Yeah.

I can explain.

Labor Day was also Mike's birthday and so we went over to daughter Elizabeth's fancy new digs and had a wonderful dinner party. Yep, that's the b-day boy with our gorgeous Elizabeth pictured above. We prepared a healthy menu of baked salmon, tossed green salad, 3 low-cal deli salads and dinner rolls. Now, the salmon marinade did have some butter in it (okay, some brown sugar too) but Mike, being positively militant about the diet (not a carb speck, not a micro-gram of fat, not a granule of sugar, heaven forbid!), was prepared a separate boring, bland piece of grilled salmon. Did I have the marinaded salmon? Yes. Did Mike have a buttered roll? No. Did I? Yes. Did Mike have a beer? Did I? No and no.

Wait. That's not all. I'm coming clean here. I asked Mike if he would like a birthday carrot cake, his fav, and suggested that maybe he could just have a harmless teensy sliver on this special occasion. But no. I explained that his other guests might like some dessert. (Whaat! I said other guests!) Too bad, no carrot cake. So I decided to make some of those little individual pocket pies, apple and cherry, for the other guests, you know. I'd bought a cute pocket pie press awhile back and kind of wanted to try it out. Shut UP! They are so hard to make! Half of them fell apart (and semi resembled cow patties) but our guests actually seemed to like them. Did I have one? HELL yes, after spending 3 hours on those expletive, expletive little suckers. Busted! Giddy and guilty all at once, as the photo below illustrates. Oh, did I mention that I make my own pie crust from butter? Yeah.


So I had a free day, alright? Mike and I are the tortoise and the hare. He'll certainly make it to the finish line first due to his (disgusting) self control, but I will get there eventually at my own glacial pace. I need to do this peu 'a peu, like French women do. Little by little. I can't go cold turkey like Mike, but more power to him! I have to approach this in ways that will help me to gradually adopt healthy eating habits I can live with and stick with, otherwise all that deprivation will surely make me fall off the wagon. But go figure ... despite my buttery meal, I lost almost 3 lbs. this week, my most successful week so far! Hmmph! I rest my case.

Have I justified my cheatin' enough for you???

So here's the current score:
The Tortoise - 6 lbs. lost, or 24 sticks of butter
The Hare - 7 lbs. lost, or 28 sticks of butter

That was then and this is now. Unfortunately.

Despite the fact that we see ourselves as forever young in our delusional little brains, it just ain't so. Our once resilient bodies and our fast running metabolisms have changed drastically and to us, it seems like overnight. Who's the cute dude to the left? Mr. Melter of 64 sticks of butter, at a pretty good clip, I might add. Yep, that's Mike at UC Berkeley, circa 1978. That was then.

And this is now. We don't look like we used to and we can't eat like we used to. It's hard to accept. Where's the magic bullet that can make this whole shift in metabolism easier?

Ice cream, french fries, cheeseburgers, beer and more ... once devoured without a care in the world or one ounce gained, are now off limits. Well, for the most part. And the bod ... well, gone are the blond locks (the shag) and the mini skirt legs. Long gone. Now I wonder what's up with these road maps on my legs and this dry, dry, dry fire hazard of a haystack on my head? And the baggy knees? I need a knee lift, fercrissake.

Back in the day, most of us sailed through the 70s on zero exercise, (gyms hadn't been invented yet, am I right people?) all-nighters involving kegs of beer, followed by late night runs to Jack in the Box. Fast forward to midlife: now those late night runs are to the bathroom, the beer is replaced by Metamucil and the all-nighters are, up-all-night-waiting-for-kids-to-pull-safely-into-the-driveway, preferably not having spent the evening behaving as we did at their age. Are you with me?

Recently Mike had his annual physical and he talked to his doctor about controlling his cholesterol. Because of side effects Mike can't take statin drugs to lower it, so he asked the question, "then how can you control it?" Doc's answer: You control very simply with a healthy diet and consistent exercise. (Doc actually recommends a Mediterranean diet.) So that's IT? Diet and exercise? Well, we already know that, right? Magic bullet, please. Hmm, you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that the magic bullet is Acceptance with a capital A. That we finally, finally Accept the fact that we must, must control our health with good diet and consistent exercise. "But we don't wanna," we all wail. I know, but this is now.

No, we're not the beer swilling college kids we once were. We can't pound drinks, give in to late night munchies, or do any number of things we used to do. Aww man, who wants to go back there anyway? That was then. Let's move forward. Are you with me?

But hell, all this talk makes me wanna get a JITB Super Taco. Just kidding. Sorta.

Lost and Found

Okay, apparently on Thursday night I gained 2 lbs. while I was sleeping! What is that about? I'd lost 2 lbs. throughout week, which is good, but when I stepped onto the scale Friday morning there it was again, despite all efforts to stick with the plan. The good news? It's gone again. Lost and found ... and lost again. All is well.

Mike is doing great, btw, and lost almost 3 lbs. last week. (Lest you think this blog is all about me. No, no.) He's sticking with his salads, avoiding the ever-present donuts at work, and eating his Japanese Natto, a sticky, gooey fermented soybean concoction he seems to enjoy, oddly enough. But we'll feature Natto in another blog entry. Now, back to me.

So on Friday I was put to the restaurant test. I went out to lunch with friends Barb & Debbie to celebrate Debbie's birthday at Sandra Bullock's wonderful little place called Bess Bistro. This is where I fought my first battle with the menu. I went in armed with the idea that I would order a salad, which is quite unlike me. Salad is a nice side dish but does not qualify as an entree, in my opinion. A hamburger is an entree. Hey, I'm just sayin' ....

So I study the various salads on the left hand side of the menu and I think the Chopped Cobb Salad seems acceptable. Bacon, avocado, bleu cheese ... not too diet-y. But my eye wanders to the right hand side of the menu where the real entrees reside. Just looking, just looking. "Hmm," I say nonchalantly, "an interesting selection." Crepes, a panini, and oh dear ... a Bess Burger. But no, the salad it is and I close the menu.

We chat and wait for the waiter but soon I find that my menu is open again. And there are those crepes again, a fancy chicken pot pie, and oh my .. even a gourmet grilled cheese. But no, the salad. That's what I'll have and the menu closes and I slide it away. Moments later, again with the menu! The girls are talking and I'm nodding and responding but what I'm really thinking is ... holy crap, this menu is sparring with me!

And as a little side note here, it may have been at this point when, much to my surprise, I burp right in the middle of a sentence, as if it were a syllable in a word. It just escapes without warning, like ... "I should have a salad but the hambur-BURP-ger sounds heavenly." I think I finish the sentence hoping the ladies don't notice, but no. We have a good giggle over it.

Finally the waiter appears and I still don't have any idea what's going to come out of my mouth when it's my turn to order.

"And for you, ma'am?"
"I'll have the Cobb Salad," I blurt.
This is a tiny victory.

Over the years I've lost control and have fed my lumberjack appetite and teenager cravings. Dining out always means I "treat" myself to tacos, burgers, big juicy steaks and loaded baked potatoes. Especially since we moved out to the country 4 years ago, miles away from restaurants, going into town to eat is like a big deal. (Wooo-hooo, Paw ... hitch up the team, we're a-goin' ta town fer fancy vittles!) But this first week of the butter plan, and particularly my first dining out experience has shown me that the hamburper doesn't have to call the shots. I can do that. Yep, it's just a tiny victory but I felt oddly empowered with those few words, so foreign to my tongue: "I'll have the salad." Now that I have this win under my belt, maybe next time I'll be able to skip the menu battle altogether.

I may have lost power and control over the years, but I think I might, just might be on the brink of (burp)... finding it again.

Swamp Water; Yucky & Yummy

Day 3 and we're 10 sticks lighter! Not bad for starters. Hey, we'll take it!

Ahhh, I love the taste of swamp water in the morning.
Odwalla Superfood, that is. That thick, olive green, really icky looking juice that we call swamp water around here. It actually tastes apple-y and yummy and is so good for you. Lots of fruits and veggies in there ... apple, peach, mango, strawberry, wheat grass, even artichoke. Like salad in a glass, and most handy for those of us who don't eat a lot of rabbit food. Although, I speak for myself because Mike is really good about eating salads, even 2 a day now. Yeah-no-thanks.

So because I know it's not too smart to drink coffee for 2 hours before having breakfast (as has been my practice), and because I know that eating something right away (no, not a Krispy Kreme) will jump-start your metabolism and make it work faster for the rest of the day, I'm now drinking about 4 or 5 ounces of swamp water (that's about 65-80 calories) right off the bat. Then a cup of coffee while I noodle around for awhile before eating some real breakfast, like eggs. I'm just not that hungry when I get up, but now I like knowing that my metabolism is happily humming along because I took 30 seconds to toss back some swamp water first thing. Tip: drink it on the rocks ... it cuts the murky sludginess.

Many thanks to the supportive friends who have already emailed and posted encouraging comments ... even several neighbors who honked and woo-hooed me when I was on my walk last night! (It's 103 degrees here, non-Austin people. Must walk at night when it's only 90.) But ain't it just amazing how this fancy internet thing works, spreading the word like wildfire that we are crazily putting our pudgy selves and buttery plan online ... "before" pictures and all, gasp??? It generates a great support system! So thank you, and please keep following us as we meltdown!

If my hunch is correct, this blog will be the key ingredient to successfully melting off our 128 sticks of butter, because it raises the stakes and makes us committed to the plan. And by committed, I mean insane.

Meltdown: Day One

This is the story of a couple of pudgy mid-lifers, both about 16 pounds overweight and relatively out of shape ... who are about to melt 128 sticks of butter off of those inflated bodies. Meet my husband Mike and moi, Michelle. We are native Californians, transplanted to Austin, Texas 12 years ago, where we quickly learned that the state entree, chicken fried steak, was worthy of a search for the best in town. The rest is history.

Increasingly frustrated with countless failed attempts over the past few years to not only take the weight off, but worse, to watch the pounds pile on and on ... we've decided to have another serious go at it but THIS time, we're making ourselves publicly accountable (and most likely, regrettably humiliated) by blogging about it. Sort of like turning up the heat. Which will hopefully melt the butter.

Coincidentally, Mike and I both need to lose 16 lbs. to get to an ideal weight. Reality check: that being an ideal weight for this age, not that of our 25 year old, long-gone bodies. So we're thinking maybe this is the perfect time for both of us to get on board, support each other, eat the same, and yep ... add a dash of competition to get to the finish line. And stay there.

And you may be thinking ...hey, 16 lbs. doesn't sound like a lot to lose, what's the big deal? Just do it. After all, there are so many people who have so admirably lost loads more ...75, 100, 150 lbs. even! I can't imagine the courage and determination it must take to lose a tremendous amount of weight and my hat goes off to these folks. I wish I knew why it's been so hard to lose this weight, but I don't. What I do know is that at some point along the way this mere 16 lbs. has somehow morphed me from fairly-normal-looking-lady to linebacker.

It's got to go.

So ... 16 lbs. to lose = 64 sticks of butter. Or, 32 lbs. collectively = 128 sticks of butter. Imagine strapping on 64 sticks of butter. You got your duct tape and you got your 64 sticks and you start taping. Where would they go? Me, I got 39 sticks around the belly, 20 on the linebacker shoulders and neck, 2 on each cheek and one under the chin.

We all know that "diet" is a 4 letter word, meaning "temporary eating plan." I-stay-on-the-diet-until-I-reach-my-goal-and-then-I-can-chow-down sort of thing. Fuhgeddaboutit. Our weight loss plan will not be specifically Weight Watchers, South Beach or Atkins plan (all great ones, for sure) but of the Common Sense variety. Not just your basic cheeseburger + bread pudding = regret. But stuff we already know works and have continually chosen to ignore. Stuff tailored specifically to Mike and me with a little wiggle room so that we don't give up due to absolute deprivation and frustration. Oh, and that exercise part too. Mmmph.

128 sticks of melted butter deadline? December 31, 2009.

I'll be posting our progress every few days along with silly photos and smart-alecky remarks. I hope you'll follow us as we begin our meltdown ... be our cheerleaders, share your insights and maybe even find our journey somewhat useful to your own. Because it's not just about the 128 sticks of butter. It's about this transition that all mid-lifers are faced with; that confusing place between young and old. Suddenly there's the extra girth, the double chin, the blond gone gray, and we're reeling from the shock that we're no longer our young familiar selves. Acceptance of aging is important but it's also a slippery slope. Butter makes it even more slippery. Let's figure it out, people.