Why I will never be a weight-loss program spokesperson

Have you ever seen somebody walking by with their arms so loaded by things so random you just know there has to be a story?

Mine started a few weeks ago.

With the exception of five pounds or so which goes and comes back like carrier pigeons, the weight I’ve put on over the years put its roots down around the same time I did.  So when my gym issued a weight loss challenge,  I ignored it. Lamont, on the other hand, can lose twice that much simply by drinking an extra cup of water. The grand prize? $10,000. He was in.

I told Lamont that I would support his efforts even if it meant a temporary change to my diet. Then we went on vacation. My problem pounds? I think they requested a permit to build an extension on their home in my hips. At the same time, I received a notice that my company’s wellness program would be visiting the office in September for the quarterly weigh-ins used to calculate insurance premiums. Things just got real.

Lamont had an idea. We’d both go on a cleanse for two weeks as means of jump-starting our efforts. He brought home meal supplements and read through the recommended diet plan.

  1. No refined sugar
  2. No complex carbs
  3. No dairy or soy
  4. No peanuts
  5. No alcohol
  6. No coffee

Basically, if I enjoy it, it is off the menu. But I knew it was only going to be for two weeks. I’d given up half of those things (twice) for nine months, surely I could handle going without for a couple of weeks.

The first week wasn’t too terrible. I drank a meal supplement shake in the morning, managed not to tear co-workers’ heads off due to lack of caffeine and ate salad after salad. By the end of the week, I was down two and a half pounds. Huzzah. Then came the weekend. Lamont asked me what I would like for breakfast.

“Bacon and eggs!”

“We can’t have eggs.”

“What do you mean, we can’t have eggs?!”

“It’s at the top of the list of the things we can’t have.”

“That’s not what you told me.”

“Oh, and next week we have to have two meal supplement shakes a day instead of one.”

Somehow or another he managed to survive the weekend. So did our children. Between those two miracles (three, if you count each individual spared separately) and my continuing self-sacrifice, I expect to hear from the pope any day now regarding my eventual canonization.

Although I hadn’t cheated on the diet (and had even exercised), I noticed one of my pigeon pounds found its way back Monday morning. Grumble, grumble, grumble. “Fine. Two shakes.” I grabbed the container of powdered mix and a large mixing bottle. Let’s do this thing.

By Tuesday’s lunch, my stomach wasn’t rumbling, it was roaring. At this point, I didn’t care how the calories were delivered, I just wanted something, and I wanted it now. I started pouring my “lunch” into its cup, but in my impatience, the powder escaped its container, covering my file cabinet and coating the floor. Ack! My Precioussss.

Images of bugs crawling behind my files scrolled through my head as I leaned across the file cabinet while scooping up the mess. I remembered there was a vacuum somewhere in the office and went to the storage closet. There, at the back of the room was an industrial shop vac. Its hose spanned a full foot taller than me and the vac would require two hands to carry. If the size wasn’t enough challenge, I would have to get it from the closet to my office while wearing heels.

So there I was, a light powder coating my shirt and a crazed look about my eye, lugging a shop vac twice my size down the hallway like some coked-up Quasimodo while muttering about nearly twisting my ankle. Before and AfterOf course, this was the moment co-workers decided to pass by. They took one look at me and scurried on their way. The pigeons left again and now I am waiting on the memo announcing future random drug screening, but at least that future might include eggs.

To those of you who continue to sacrifice day in and day out in pursuit of your goals, cheers!

Editors note: after publication Lamont advised me that I could eat as many complex carbs as I wanted. I am to avoid refined carbs. I feel so unrestricted!

Coffee and Karma

Three am.

I was wide awake. I just couldn’t seem to find a comfortable enough position to sleep more than ten minutes at a time. I tossed and turned. Nothing seemed to work. Time passed during the wee hours of Saturday morning in fits and spurts. After hours which felt like years, I felt the bed shift as hubby got up for a pre-dawn run. Morning people… grumble, grumble…

Slightly after dawn, (I can’t tell you the specific time as the clock and I were no longer speaking, but it was early) I heard the sound of Kiddo moving around in his room across the hall. It didn’t matter if that I hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep. Morning could no longer be denied. I exited the bedroom with a single mission in mind. Find coffee now.

Immediately Kiddo’s door swung open. “Mom! Mom! I need help!”

“With what?” I asked, although it probably sounded more along the lines of “gah! wha?”

“With my museum. Can you help me build it?”

Available on Amazon
Yup – This pretty much sums up my mornings. Too bad the kids are still learning to read. (Mug available on Amazon – Click to link)

I rubbed my eyes. It didn’t help the view. His LEGOs had turned the floor into a land field, and there, at the other side, was a partially built construction about the size of two loaves of bread. It would take hours to complete his ‘vision’. Run, my body urged me. Run, while there is still time. “Sorry kid, Mommy needs her coffee.”

I made my way downstairs. Kiddo followed. “I’m starving. Cereal please!”

At least he was trying to be polite. “Here you go,” I said, pouring him a bowl. Or did I say bah!?

“Then can you help me with the museum?”

“Mommy needs some time to wake up.” Darn you coffee pot, why are you still empty?

Thump. It was a sound that meant LT was not only up, but jettisoning toys from his bed. I could go upstairs and collect him at once or spend the rest of the day attempting to coordinate a clean-up process with a stubborn three-year-old. It was my decision.

“Milk!” LT greeted me while flinging another animal friend.

Sigh… I  carried him downstairs, placing him near his brother.

“Movie please!” they demanded in stereo. My tummy grumbled, the coffee pot remained dry, and the kids were on a fast track for early naps.

Ding. Ding. My phone chimed. You’ve got to be kidding! Who in the world is texting me at this hour?

“Am bringing home a bagel for you.” The unsolicited text was from the hubby extraordinaire and savior of offspring.

No act of kindness no matter how small is ever wasted – Aesop

I love that man every day, but some days even more so than others. Fortified, Kiddo and I completed his museum. It only took two hours. A new record! Huzzah.

Fast forward a couple of days. I saw another message from the hubby. Someone had placed a handwritten note on his windshield. “You’ve been RAK’d,” it said. Beneath the note lay twenty dollars. There were no strings attached and no name on the note. It was exactly what it said it was. a RAK, also known as a Random Act of Kindness.

Carry out a random act of kindness, with no expectation of reward, safe in the knowledge that one day someone might do the same for you – Princess Diana of Wales

Out of all the cars in the parking lot that morning, some individual had chosen to be generous with my family. We will never be able to pay that person back, so I guess we have no choice. We will have to pay it forward.

Thank you, note-leaver, whoever you are. I hope that your kindness is returned as swiftly as was my hubby’s.

Easy Random Acts of Kindness
background image courtesy of unsplash

Caution: Training in process

I know my hubby loves me, but I am beginning to suspect he may also be trying to kill me.

Lamont got it into his head that he would like to run at least one marathon in each of the fifty states before he dies. He’s already run a few, but still has a long way to go (in quantity and in kms). Unfortunately after breaking his toe earlier this year, an event triggered by a freak increase in the corner of our kitchen island’s gravitational pull (and definitely not clumsiness on his part), he fell out of the running habit. He decided that in order to get back into shape, this time he would hire a personal trainer.

Lamont prides himself on treating our whole marriage thingy as an equal partnership, and wanted me to have the same opportunity to improve as he did, so he took it upon himself to hire a personal trainer for me as well. Oh, joy! Sometimes I have to wish he were a little more selfish.,

Medieval torture rack
Medieval rack or equipment only found at a premium gym? Both will cost an arm and a leg. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My previous experiences with personal trainers haven’t exactly been fantastic, so the day of my appointment I waited a tad nervously in the gym’s lobby. Minutes ticked by without any sign of my torturer trainer. Was he a no-show? FANTASTIC! It was like being given a get out of jail free card. (I still get ice cream for showing up – right?) I started gathering my things to bolt out of there.

As I was making my escape plans, I heard a man say. “You must be Allie.” My heart sank. Must I?

Pepe wasn’t anything like I expected. He wasn’t some muscle-bound giant. Instead, he was thin and my height (poor man). We hit it off immediately (vertically challenged people of the world unite!) I explained up front that I hate sit-ups with a passion and he admitted he did too. We worked on my core for thirty minutes without a single crunch. At the end, he offered a follow-up session free of charge. Sure. Why not? I had a good time. It wasn’t like he was asking me to sign a contract or anything. I could still stop at any time (and this, kids, is why personal trainers are like drug dealers, only they offer a different kind of high)

The second time, when Pepe came around the desk I was actually excited to see him. What were we going to work on today? He directed me to one of those aerobic step platforms and handed me a kettlebell. This looked like it was going to take some grace or at least some coordination. Clearly Pepe has not visited my blog before. “Ummmm…yeah…er…Pepe, I believe you may have little more confidence in my abilities than I do.”

“Don’t look at the step. Don’t look at the weight. Just look up and jump. You’ll be surprised at how your body naturally follows a straight line.”

Somehow, not only did I not throw the weight into the face of a passerby, I actually managed to land on the platform without breaking it or my leg. More than thirty times. I know. I am as equally shocked as you are.

When I woke up the next morning, I realized that I must have left vertebrae on the gym floor because my back? It wasn’t bending. I have discovered that it is remarkably difficult to write creatively when you are moving like Frankenstein’s monster, but I still think there was a lesson worth sharing. Yes, we all have weights holding us down or disrupting our sense of balance, but when we keep our heads up, we are more likely to land on our feet.

(Oh – but lift with your legs and not your back)

Oh the places you’ll go…

Child's drawing of an airplane
We all live in a green aeroplane, a green aeroplane, a green aeroplane…

I found myself once again jammed elbow to elbow with strangers several thousand feet in the air as our airplane rocked like a cork upon the water. So began yet another glamorous business trip, this time to America’s heartland. I guess that when I told my boss earlier this year that “I’m not the biggest fan of business travel,” he heard “I haven’t traveled enough.” Clearly, frequent flyers are exposed over time to something mixed in the recirculated air.

Upon arrival, I took one step out of the sliding doors and was nearly knocked down. I can deal with humidity. To call the air that met me outside the airport “humid” is like saying a tsunami is wet. Accurate yes, but the word just doesn’t do it justice. (According to Google translate, in Zulu, wall of water is translated as Udonga amanzi which for some reason feels more appropriate.)

A van, probably white when factory new but was now more ecru, pulled up. I assumed it was the hotel shuttle, however, wasn’t entirely sure as the logo was beginning to peel from the vehicle’s side. The driver came around to help stow my bags. “You’re the only one today, so feel free to sit up front if you’d like,” he said. Eager to get my lungs out of the oppressive air, I jumped in.

As we turned down unfamiliar streets it occurred to me that I had willingly hopped into the kind of van one might see in a movie’s kidnapping scene. I glanced at my driver. The cuff of his long sleeved shirt was rolled down, exposing a large tattoo. The look didn’t exactly boost my confidence.

Oh, I can hear my mom now as she reads this…

A couple of stop lights later I arrived at the hotel safe and in one piece (see mom – no need to worry about me at all!) There were only a couple of cars in the parking lot. Either I was arriving well ahead of check-in, or most people were staying at home after the holiday weekend. It reminded me of the empty hotel from The Shining (if I saw a pair of creepy twins, I was out of there).

I was told my room was ready. My room was ready. The room across from me? Not so much. Large fans whirled in the hallways while a radio blasted classic rock from the other room. The door was wide open and I could see that it was in the process of being refurbished from top to bottom. I decided I’d rather not know what kind of hi-jinks must have taken place on that side of the hall.

Between the fumes and the easy jams, I decided to vacate my room while the workers finished for the day. I decided to try out the gym (see mom – I do occasionally make healthy choices). One of the footplates on the elliptical machine had given out, the backrest on the stationary bike was set to permanent recline and the treadmill sounded like a chainsaw (the ‘art’ in this ‘state of the art’ facility was still in the surrealist period). Perhaps I should run outside. Rain began to pelt the windows. Perhaps not. I was motivated to work off some holiday excess, but not that motivated.

Image from my actual expense report

I ventured downstairs to see what this fine establishment might have in the way of dining only to find a small mini-mart stocked with frozen meals instead of a restaurant. Sigh. I grabbed a dinner and returned to my room. Sometimes you just need to call it a night.

And unlike my last trip, I slept like I did back in the time before kids. It is amazing how a little extra rest helps your mood. The food might have been less than ideal, and the accommodations worthy of the term economy, but, I’m not really complaining. I’ve been on worse trips.

It comes down to the people I meet along the way, and all people this time were friendly. Especially my tattooed driver, who, in addition to being exceedingly polite was living in this city/fishbowl to be closer to aging relatives (and wasn’t scary at all). It was a good reminder not to judge based on appearance. I would have preferred to stay at home, but it was an experience. I may not get to travel like the rich and famous, but as I’ve said before, at least I get to keep my miles.

Breathe in and breathe out

We were swimming at a local pool featuring a pair of water slides which were accessible from a single tower. After watching a series of children enjoy the ride, I asked my eldest, “What do you think? Do you want to give it a try?”

“Do you think I can?”

Funny fish meme
Click images for attribution

Kiddo swims like a fish. By that I mean he can paddle quite effectively with his whole body underwater, but flops and flails about if he attempts to swim with his head above the surface. While delaying answering, I noticed that the pool depth at the slide area wasn’t any deeper than where we were. My eldest favors his father in personality, but even more so in appearance. No one will mistake him for one of Santa’s elves. Standing in the pool next to me, his head and shoulders were well above the water.

“Sure honey. When you get to the bottom, all you have to do is put your feet down.”

“I don’t know…” I could tell he was nervous about the slide’s height.

“I’ll go with you!” I said.

That was all the convincing it took. Splash. After struggling for a few moments to escape the water slide’s current, Kiddo took a breath, planted his feet, and smiled as he said, “let’s do it again!”

Kiddo saw his brother watching and asked, “Can LT go down the slide too?”

I try to limit my quasi-endangering of offspring to less than one child per day (most days). “LT has to learn how to swim first.” LT isn’t tall enough for the slide either, but it got the hubby and I thinking. It was probably time to enroll LT in swim class, and Kiddo could likely use a refresher as well.

The day of their first class, Kiddo went with his instructor to one end of the pool while his brother followed me to another. By coincidence, LT and his teacher share the same name, but rather than this endearing the teacher to LT, LT went the way of TV’s Highlander (“in the end, there can be only one!”) From the moment he stepped on the swim platform, it was clear he did not trust this person who dared assume his name. He began screaming as I tried to sneak away, “I scared! I scared!” and LT’s voice carries (so now you know what that sound was on Monday).

Stewie Griffin

I froze, looking at his instructor in alarm, but his teacher hadn’t flinched. I guess when you teach pre-schoolers you get used to stranger danger (now scratching off children’s swim coach from my list of career opportunities). He asked LT to put his face in the water and blow bubbles. LT could do that! Splash. Bubble. Bubble. Spit. Splash. “Okay, LT, try again. This time without getting the water in your mouth.”

LT was happy mimicking a drinking bird and forgot his fear until his instructor asked him to try something else. The screams resumed. We only made it through the class with our sanity intact by stopping and repeating the bubble/breathing exercise in between each new challenge (but where was the first place he wanted to go after class? Another pool).

This summer hasn’t just been trips to the pool or family vacations. I’ve also been querying. I enjoy being a member of the independent authors’ community, but the idea of becoming a hybrid author is appealing too. A cash advance or additional help in the form of a professional final edit and cover design would allow me a larger budget for promotion. I don’t mind reduced royalties provided it is with the right partner. I decided to test the waters by putting myself and this manuscript out there.

Pushing the send button on the first query was terrifying, but as time passed I found myself feeling rather zen about the whole process. I’ve published independently before and can do so again if that proves best for me and my work. I know I can choose not to move forward with them as easily as can with me. When the response arrived (which was very supportive, but a pass), I accepted it for what it was – a step in the process and a learning opportunity (que sera, sera). I took a breath and hit send on another query.

“A journey of one thousand miles must begin with a single step.” – Lao Tzu

“The first step is to just breathe.” – Bobby Umar