A Dumbbell In A Home Gym

When "Have A Neat Summer" Just Won't Do.

Okay, so the Week of Avoiding Harry Potter Spoilage is over. I'm finished with "Deathly Hallows." Man, can you believe Harry killed Hermione and Ron and ran off with Snape? I totally didn't see that one coming.

But I laughed and cried and am very sorry the series is over. 2007 is really turning into the year of endings: "The Sopranos," "Harry Potter," my company's time in DC; I almost hate to ask what's next.

Last weekend, my mother, who's been cleaning out her house in preparation for a move, came over with all my old school yearbooks in tow. I went to the same private school from fifth grade to twelfth grade, so I had a pretty big pile to examine.

In the 1983 yearbook, here's what one of my classmates thought to scrawl for her "farewell" message to me:

"Hi Nicole! Just a reminder -- you'd be a knockout if you lost a few pounds!"

Nice, huh? "Have a great summer, fatass!"

The funny thing is that this girl really wasn't a terrible person. She carpooled with me. We had sleepovers and stuff. She was my friend. And I vaguely remember that her mother was pretty awful; I know my own mom was utterly appalled by that woman, though I don't recall the specific offenses. My classmate probably repeated what she'd been hearing about herself for years.

It's weird, though. What on earth would possess someone to write that?

Okay, I'm being too nice. This was my initial reaction upon reading that after all this time:

"What kind of a weird-ass pathetic total LOSER would you have to be to write something like that in someone's GODDAMN YEARBOOK? Idiot."

Ahem.

And this was from ninth grade, which means that I wasn't even all that fat yet; I didn't really blow up into Lane Bryant territory until my junior year. Which just goes to prove my bitter theory that endlessly nagging people about being overweight tends to bring on the exact opposite of what the nagger hopes to achieve.

And now that I think about it, this wasn't the only time this girl dropped hints -- always carefully framed so that they weren't direct insults and I couldn't call her on them -- that I wasn't quite as pretty as I thought I was and maybe I should stop being so stuck up. Weird. I liked her, and I thought she liked me, but if my memory serves, she sure did have Issues with my looks.

And I *was* pretty back then (so there!), but I sure as heck didn't think so at the time. Maybe if my friend had known about all the shit I was getting from my family about my weight and how no man would ever want me as long as I was fat, she might have cut me a break.

I don't know. And it doesn't matter now. But man, I hated high school. I sure wasn't sorry to see that come to an end.

The Shape Cover I'd Love To See.

Shape Magazine Declares July 'Let Yourself Go' Month.

I love the Onion.

And I needed a good laugh this week because apparently I pulled something in my right hip in the pool last weekend, due to some aquatic jumping-around and me forgetting that I'm no longer eight and made of Silly Putty. I'm 38 and much more breakable. So I've been hobbling around all week with a gimpy hip, which makes me feel very old and cranky and like I'll yell at you kids to get off my lawn if you come visit. Ugh.

I've been trying to baby it and stay off it as much as possible and it seemed to be responding, but I went for a long lunchtime walk today out of sheer spite. Up yours, sore hip. It was too nice outside after days of suffocating heat, and I was sick to death of just sitting around. But the walk just made everything really hurt all over again.

Sigh.

To mitigate the boredom from the forced inactivity, I've started playing around with my eating. This week I've really increased my protein and tried to whittle down the carbs I take in.

I've been resistant to low-carbing for a long time. The reason why is both simple and rather petty: during one of my abortive dieting attempts in the 90s I participated on a dieting message board that was invaded by a squadron of low-carbers so militant, quarrelsome, and obnoxious that the board degenerated into World War Three. And I thought "Good lord, those people need to eat a damn donut and shut up already" and figured that if that's what low-carbing did for you, you could count me right out, thanks.

Ten years is probably enough time for me to get over it, already. And I've been pleased by my feelings of satiety this week; as I've been unable to do any real exercise, at least I've been able to cut down the food intake a bit. I'm certainly not going to give up my morning whole-wheat bagel before I have to, though.

And with that, happy weekend, all. I may be scarce online next week because as I said before, I'll be hiding from the Harry Potter Spoiler Brigade. Can't believe the last book is almost here.

This Entry Brought To You By The Number Two.

This entry marks both my 200th post in "A Dumbbell In A Home Gym" and the second anniversary of the blog itself.

I'm not a size 2 yet, but my weight doesn't start with a 2 anymore, so I'd say it's a fair trade.

So I bought that size 6 sundress thinking that it would be the perfect item to wear on a summer day when the heat and humidity were so thick that you could scrape them off your skin with a butter knife.

(But let's be honest -- even if the thing had been made out of hay, barbed wire, and bubble gum, I'd still have bought it for the size tag alone.)

Well, this weekend brought on two of those summer days; high heat, high humidity. I took the dress out of the closet with some trepidation, wondering if it would be one of those infuriating outfits that looked okay in the store but like hell at home. Or if it just plain wouldn't fit at all. Maybe the extreme cold that day (hard to believe now!) had addled my brain cells, and I'd hallucinated the whole thing.

But no; it looked fine. My husband seemed to like it a lot, which is funny; when I showed it to him originally he said "That's a ... *different* look for you," which I figured was his polite way of saying "Ew." Maybe he just meant "It isn't black? You bought a dress with colors? Whoa."

I'd forgotten how cleavagey it is, though, if I'd ever noticed to begin with.

But I wore it around all weekend. The tag didn't magically change sizes; the dress was about as comfortable as I'd hoped, and if it weren't for that cleavage business I'd probably have worn it to work today. It's that hot out.

I also spent the weekend perusing the Shape Ultimate Body Book. I know that hardcore weight and fitness junkies tend to wrinkle their muscular noses at anything involving Shape, but the book has a lot of good pointers for assessing your goals and getting yourself back on track if you've been in a slump. Whatever helps at this point, right?

Notes from a Sunday Morning Bike Ride.

The weekend mornings have been a bit too chilly for a swim at the community pool. But "too cool to swim" generally translates to "perfect weather for a bike ride," so it all works out.

Random observations: If you're on the trail and you hear something crashing through the woods so loudly that it sounds like King Kong is coming for you ... it's a squirrel. They make amazing, ungodly amounts of racket.

If you hear absolutely nothing and just happen to turn your head and realize that you're looking into another pair of eyes ... it's a deer. Even when they've been spooked by a human and they're bounding away for deer life (har!), they're so quiet.

And what I observed last year is still true: The deer don't like pedestrians and will skedaddle if they see you approach on foot, but they don't seem all that bothered by people on bikes. They'll still skitter off if you draw too close to them, but they'll stop running to observe you and your bike from a safe distance. I like to imagine that they're thinking "Huh, there's another one of those creatures with the funny-looking round legs."

Okay, so I'm entering Week 3 of Project "Back on Track". Regular damn workouts, accompanied by significantly restrained and mindful eating.

My weight has responded by soaring. As if I were eating entire extra-large Pizza Hut Triple Heart-Attack Cheese-Stuffed Cheese Crust Pizza With Extra Cheese specials for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I'm clueless.

My measurements have not changed appreciably (and have actually shrunk a bit around the hips) and my clothes still fit, so I'm not despondent. But it's really unpleasant to step on the scale expecting to see the mid-60s and instead see the damn seventies, and goddamn unfair when I know I've been pretty diligent.

And it's really hard not to mutter "Well, the hell with *this* -- I'm gonna go eat a piece of cake."

Hmph. Stupid scale.