Friday, October 29, 2010

Who's Got Two Thumbs and Ten Extra Pounds?

What with all the Marie Claire brouhaha this week (just Google "Marie Claire hates fat people" or similar if you want to see it), and my recent doctor's appointment, weight has been on my mind lately.

Yesterday, I asked my adorable Yoda-esque doctor to shove me onto that scale.

Please note that, due to a history of disordered eating, I only weigh myself at the doctor's office. (Also, please note that, due to a history of disordered eating, any icky troll comments will not be deleted, instead, my cadre of commenters will issue a verbal beatdown, the likes of which has not been seen since, "You're no Jack Kennedy." I prefer to let trolls show themselves for their true gruesome nature, vs. just quietly deleting them.)

The results were not surprising, but they were pretty damn scary. I am at the very tippy-top of a healthy BMI range, and 16 pounds more than I was at my physical last June. Ideally, I should weigh about 10 pounds less than the current total. I'm usually a little underweight, and I have never been anywhere near overweight.

I could blame any number of factors:

1. Thyroid and/or metabolism issues. Which, yes, I'm being tested for.
2. Those delicious breakfast Sunny Sandwiches at my deli. Canadian bacon, egg, and tomato mayonnaise on a kaiser roll? Yes, please!
3. My Italian-American fiance's preferred meal of pizza with a side of pizza, and sharing a home with all those carbalicious habits. On average, women who live with a male partner weigh more, because they start eating bigger portions of heavier food. (So sorry Brando, it's not you, it's not me, blame science!)
4. Copious indoor time brought about by Snowpocalypse, followed by Snowmageddon, followed by the new frontier of stretch pants in public.
5. The evils of the fast food industry. Never mind that I never actually eat fast food.
6. Stress! Of which I generally have plenty.
7. The chronic sinus infection that has sapped my energy and made me less active on weekends.

Or, instead of casting blame, I can start making some changes. Due to my medical history, diets are right out. And I don't run unless something is chasing me. And I sure as hell am not turning my wedding into an excuse for a weight-related anxiety freefall. (The second you turn your FB status into "Engaged," you get a bunch of ads exhorting you to lose weight for your wedding. One even cut to the chase and just said, "Hey! Fat bride!" Don't believe me? A bing search of "bridal weight loss program" turned up 2,890,000 results.)

Instead, I'm walking home from work (about an hour), swapping those Sunny sandwiches for an apple with peanut butter, and swapping my beers for vodka and soda with lime. The good doctor Yoda recommends I lose 1-2 pounds per month by making small changes.

I'll admit this is partially about health, and mostly about vanity. I miss my cuter clothes with non-elastic waistbands. And I don't think there's anything particularly wrong with saying that. Looking good leads to feeling good. If I didn't care at all about how I looked, wouldn't that be worse?

In the comments, tell me about your favorite small changes for a healthier life. Or just kick a little encouragement my way.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Random Updates, the "I'm Still Here" Edition

Wow. "See you in September," went straight to, "I haven't seen you since September!"

My life has centered around work, which I don't talk about for ethics/common sense reasons, and wedding planning, which is excruciatingly dull to anyone who is NOT planning a wedding. My colors are black and white with red and yellow accents, the flowers will be Gerbera daisies, and the menu will be....HEY! Come back here!

See my point?

Also, my fiance moved in with me a few months back, which has provided a lot of entertainment. He's borne witness to the hoarder machinations of Marvellous. Also, the blasting boiler heat in our building has meant sleeping with the windows open, which leads to a lot of local color. Like the dude vomiting/coughing/violently ejecting his lungs below us, or the couple arguing, or the lady honking...and honking...and screaming out her car pick someone up for church. Because nothing says "Jesus" quite like, "Get your butt down here!"

Most importantly, a great mystery has been solved. Have you ever wondered, "What happens when two people who buy disaster-ready, bulk quantities of toilet paper move in together?" Easy. They buy shelves, display their collection with pride, and dub it: The Tush Mahal.