A Dumbbell In A Home Gym

Gobble Gobble. (Or: Holiday Coping Strategies.)

And just like that, it's That Time of the Year again. Is it really Thanksgiving already? (In the US, yes.) Good lord. I'm still mentally back at the end of October.

I don't generally fear the holidays; I've managed to navigate my way through the last two seasons without any longterm damage, and I see no reason why I can't do it again this year. In the absence of any actual news to write about, I figured I'd talk about what I do to keep from going completely off the rails during the various parties and family dinners and pies and nogs and roast beasts that tend to turn up at this time of year.

First and foremost: Although it isn't always easy, I make every effort to keep up with my regular exercise and to incorporate even more walking to offset the eating. Instead of sitting around in a turkey coma, I try to go outside for a brief after-dinner walk on Thanksgiving. I actually enjoy being out and about at this time of year, which seems to make me a freak among people who hate cold weather and Christmas shopping; it's not a hardship for me to walk around looking at decorations and drinking in the autumn air. Even a few extra laps around the mall during shopping helps.

The holidays bring some of my favorite treats, things like Starbucks eggnog lattes and Trader Joe's Peppermint Bark white chocolate bars. (Man ... those things just shouldn't be allowed. Even my not-a-big-chocolate-fan husband loves them.) I treat myself to one per week while they're available. And to keep myself from getting cute, the allotment doesn't carry over; if I don't have one this week, I don't get to have two next week. One per week, period. I really like doing things this way; the good things become treats to be anticipated and savored, rather than something to beat myself up over after I've overindulged. (Back in my mindless days, it wasn't totally unheard of for me to have two grande eggnog lattes in a day. According to the Starbucks site, that's a cool 960 calories on top of whatever my daily caloric intake was at the time. Yeouch.)

I also have a survival strategy for holiday parties that feature lots and lots of decadent food: I look through everything that's being offered and pick out three things that look appealing. And the choices don't have to be the least-fattening stuff; I do try for balance, but I refuse to completely deprive myself. If I want more food when I'm finished (or if something I picked looked better than it tastes), I can go back and take something else; usually, though, I'm satisfied after the first round. And if the chips and salsa or pizza or homemade cookies start calling my name too loudly, I just leave the room.

And if there's turkey or chicken available, I tend to pile it on (without gravy; I'll save that for mashed potatoes). It's filling, it sticks with me for a while, and it makes me far less likely to cram in a second helping of pumpkin pie.

For those of you who want extra incentive to stay on track, the Lean Plate Club has kicked off its annual Lean Plate Club Challenge. This one is pretty straightforward: Simply maintain your weight between now and January 1. If you can do that, they reason, you're ahead of the game, as over the holiday season many people put on a few pounds that never come off.

There's nothing particularly earth-shattering about any of their advice, but the site updates every Tuesday and it can give you a goal to shoot for if you like that kind of motivation. The LPC also gave me one of my favorite coping tips for when I'm in the kitchen cooking and start feeling tempted to take fingerfuls of this and tastes of that; I put together a plate of baby carrots and grape tomatoes and pick at those instead. It satisfies my grazing urge and helps me get in my veggies at the same time.

Hope these are helpful; if anyone's got any other tips to share, feel free to do so in the comments.

Baby, It's ... Spew.

So over on Big Fat Deal, I read about the Baby Food Diet, the latest thing celebrities are into. I don't think the idea is that new, really; I have a vivid memory of a skinny, pretty blonde girl at my high school eating baby food for lunch, and me looking at her with a mixture of envy and intense disgust.

Eating baby food? YUCK YUCK YUCK. I really don't understand these people. I'm sure that's partly why they're all size zeroes and I'm fighting to stay in a size 12; somehow, I can live with that.

Now, I admit that I am not an expert on baby foods, but we keep a stash of jars in the cupboard for my elderly diabetic kitty; there are times when he refuses his canned Hill's Science Chunks 'n' Parts and baby food is the only thing he'll condescend to eat. And he absolutely has to eat, so Gerber's it is.

And my husband and I both hate giving it to him because when you unscrew the jar and the first blast of Turkey Mush or Chewed-up Chicken hits your nose, it smells exactly like the stuff that comes out of the other end of the baby. No wonder babies cry all the time; I would too if I had to eat that.

I haven't tried the superfancy expensive Organic Shade-Grown Carrot brand that the article was touting (and why do I suspect that the company that manufactures this stuff probably paid Marie Claire to write the article in the first place? "How to market baby food to people who don't have babies ... oh, yeah -- the celebrities all eat it!"). Maybe that's because if I wanted carrots, I'd just eat some carrots. That's what my teeth are for.

Okay, I gave into my curiosity once last year. We bought a jar of banana custard baby food for our kitty who was dying of cancer and simply wouldn't eat; because he was sometimes drawn to lick up non-food things like my moisturizer, I reasoned that maybe if we got him some food that didn't smell like his usual food he'd eat it, or whatever I was telling myself in order to keep denying the hell out of reality. The kitty wouldn't eat it, of course, and I doubt he would have even if he'd been healthy. But I thought to myself "Hmmm. Banana custard, eh? I like bananas ... I like custard ... how bad could it be?"

The answer is "So horribly foul that I thought the top of my head was going to blow off." It was like eating banana-flavored Elmer's Glue. Remember that scene in "Big" when Tom Hanks tries caviar and then actually wipes his tongue off with a napkin? It was like that. I do think that shortly after that, the sick kitty consented to eat some actual cat food. I bet he didn't want me sticking that under his nose again. "Okay, okay ... I'll eat, already. Damn."

I don't deny that it could have value as a quick snack, or if you're ill and it's the only thing you can eat. But as a meal replacement? I'm relieved to know that there really are things I won't do to be thin.

Addendadadannum ...

... or whatever fancy Latin phrase means "Ooops, I just got new information that changes things a bit."

Anyhow, I owe Au Bon Pain an apology about the last entry. I went to their restaurant in Pentagon City Mall today and found that their Jamaican Black Bean Soup is both low fat and lower in sodium than their usual offerings. Hurray! I don't know what makes this soup Jamaican, exactly, but it was tasty. And I did not miss the 600 milligrams of salt in the least. Well done, ABP.

Addendadaded yet again, 8/26: Okay, I looked through the soup menu on ABP's site and see that they actually have plenty of reduced sodium soup options. I don't know where my head was stuck the first time I reviewed the menu, but it obviously wasn't stuck anywhere good. Sheesh.

Ooops.

I, uh, really didn’t mean to walk away from my blog for a week. It just kinda worked out that way. Sorry ‘bout that.

This past week was hellishly hot and humid, a preview of the summer to come. Every afternoon I’d step outside into heat and humidity that a newscaster from my childhood memorably described as “like a giant dog breathing on you.” And I’d think “Oh, right -- that’s why I always dreaded the onset of warmer weather!” Even when I got inside the air conditioned office or house I’d feel like I was wearing a bodysuit of humidity funk. Yecch. I thought that maybe carrying around a lot less extra poundage might make a difference in my heat tolerance. Nope.

Needless to say, this sapped a lot of my energy and my drive to work out. This wasn’t a banner week and there wasn’t much to write about; my eating actually wasn’t bad (the one good thing about heat and humidity is that it tends to take away my appetite), but some nights I was too drained from the heat to even think about moving. I made a couple of tries at writing entries, but they all came out flatter than day-old beer.

It’s supposed to be back in the mid-70s and marginally less humid for most of this week, so I’m hoping I’ll be able to get back on the workout stick.

God, sometimes it seems like I’ve started off every damn week in 2006 saying that. “This week I’ll get back on track.” “Okay, maybe this week.” “Okay, this week for sure. Really.” “No, really. I mean it this time. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

Sigh.

Oh well. On to some positive stuff: Can I tell you how much I rocked on the bike today? I can? Oh good. I’m conquering hills (small ones, admittedly) that I couldn’t manage in the past. I stayed on the bike and rocked all the hills from our parking lot down to a fairly distant point on our favorite branch of the trail. The weakness I experienced a few weeks ago seems to be a thing of the past, thank goodness.

And my newest and neatest trick?

As of today I can officially bend down, yoink my bottle of Gatorade and water out of the bottle cage, drink from it, and put it back without having to stop the bike (or run into a tree). I mean, it helps if I’m on a relatively flat and straight part of the trail. It also helps if there’s nobody else around so I can wibble-wobble without having to worry about being taken out by one of the Lance Armstrong wannabes who occasionally blast up and down that trail and have little patience with slow and clumsy cyclists who like to gawk at deer.

But darn it, I can do it. I did it several times and only came close to wiping out about two or three times. Or maybe four. It’s progress. Really.

In other news, my husband and I went back to our favorite sushi place. And yet again, the chef treated us to two little California rolls. I was a good sport and ate one. My husband, who’s a vegetarian of the no-meat-no-poultry-no-fish-no-kidding type, was an even better sport and ate the other one so I wouldn’t keep being stuck with all the fish.

I decided that I actually kinda liked the taste of the smoked salmon. Why not? I like smoked cheeses and meats. I’m still not fond of the crabmeat in those rolls; something about it triggers my “yurk!” anti-seafood revulsion.

So, if the chef treats us about eight more times, then according to what I read I should be completely over this fish aversion. We’ll see.

And finally, I’ve jumped on the MySpace bandwagon. I don’t know why. Is it anything more than one big pickup joint? I’ve had the account for more than a year because I needed it to comment on someone else’s blog. But now I’ve started actually using the space. I figure it can be a spot for my non-weight-loss observations. I still have very little idea how everything works over there, but check me out if you happen to be on there.

Boot Lust.

Before I start in with the mindless babble, a recommendation: Wegmans' Spicy Red Lentil Chili. I bought a cup of this in their cafe one night when I was exhausted and drained and in need of a good refueling before grocery shopping, and oh my God -- it was the absolute perfect food at the perfect time. I went to their site to try to find nutrition information and found the recipe, which made my vegetarian husband very happy indeed. It's a little labor intensive, but still quite doable on a work night. Yes, the sodium count is eye-popping, but I've been experimenting with various combinations of water and broth to bring it down to saner levels (and that teaspoon of salt in the recipe just isn't necessary at all). It makes the house smell amazing and is wonderful on a chilly, snowy night like tonight. Serve it with some crusty wheat bread and a salad. Yum.

Anyhow, on to my current preoccupation: Boots. This season I have been seriously craving some sexy black boots. I am choosing to blame this obsession on the film "Serenity," in which the character River Tam kicks all kinds of ass while wearing a long dress and some very cool boots. (Of course, River's mental elevator doesn't exactly go all the way to the top floor, so you can decide whether or not I should really be taking my fashion cues from her.)

There's one small problem with my boot lust: I do not have Summer Glau's long, slender dancer's legs. Not even close. My legs are short and stocky and I have Big Huge Honking Monster Calves. Naturally, my calves shrunk several inches this year along with the rest of me, but they're still big. Really big. I suspect they always will be.

And normally I don't mind; in fact, my calves are generally one of my favorite body parts because they're the one place above all where I can really feel the results of all my hard work this year. Part of my post-bike ride ritual is to hop in the shower and slather myself with Lush products. Whenever I shave my legs I end up giving my calves a good groping to feel all the muscles that pop out after a bike ride or a jog. I've got muscles on top of muscles down there. They're awesome.

But they also make my Boot Lust a big problem. Most dressy black boots are too small for my calves; I can't get them zipped up. Even the ones that are supposed to be "plus" are often an inch too small.

Because I can be amazingly stubborn and pigheaded, I bought a pair from the Naturalizer site anyhow. I loved how they looked and figured that even if I couldn't get them zipped up over my monster hams this year, I'd have them for next year.

Turns out they're mid-calf; they're not like the ones that cover the calf and go almost up to the knee and are completely out of the question for me. They're still a little too tight, but if I yank and pull and yank and curse a lot and give myself finger calluses, I can get the zipper pulled all the way up.

Which is what I've been doing, because I'm stubborn and pigheaded and I want to be wearing cool boots, dammit. The tight part at the top isn't very attractive but it doesn't cut off my circulation, and when I'm wearing a long skirt or pants you can't see the tops of my boots anyhow. They're also remarkably comfortable to walk in, and that was a good thing tonight because I ended up having an unscheduled walk home.

See? Instead of hating my calves and wishing they'd go away, I'm appreciating their good qualities and trying to work with them. It's progress. Really.

Whoa.

Dear Panera:

I really like your food. It's tasty, and it's a decently-priced option for a quick lunch. But I have a question.

Boy, do I.

According to the nutritional information on your site, your Classic Cafe salad consists of:

Mixed field greens and romaine lettuce topped with vine-ripened tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions, and our balsamic vinaigrette.

Sounds good. Sounds nutritious. More to the point, it sounds like it ought to be reasonably low-calorie, doesn't it? I mean, it's just vegetables. It doesn't come with nuts, meat, cheese, or any other major calorie bombs. Yes, obviously the dressing could be an issue, but since you tend not to drown your salads, it shouldn't add that much. That's why I ordered a half-portion of it to go with my half a sandwich today.

So how in the blue hell did you manage to make the full portion of that simple salad 400 calories, with 37 grams of fat? 37, for chrissakes -- a Quarter Pounder with cheese from McDonalds has 25 grams of fat. What on earth do you do -- dump an entire bottle of salad dressing on every plateful?

I feel very sorry for people who order this thinking it must be low calorie because after all, it's "just" a salad. I realize that you make the nutritional information widely available and it's up to me to stay on top of it, but man. It's depressing that I can't even take something like a simple side salad for granted.

Sign me "Dressing on the Side, Thanks."

Dear Dress Barn:

Do you think you could consider changing your name? I realize you cater to all women and not just the plus-sized, but there's something about being a fat girl carrying a bag labeled "Dress Barn" that makes me feel like a walking punchline.

Sign me "Hoping She Won't Even Have to Worry About This By This Time Next Year."