There are many, many message boards and groups at WeightWatchers online, but one in particular has put its finger on the problem: It is a group of short gals who "only" have 20-25 pounds to lose.
Not only is it harder for short people to lose weight, but the less you have to lose the harder it gets also. The WW program (it is excellent, let's face it) has a number of ways to allow the obese to manage their weight loss program without getting sideswiped by terrible cravings: You are allowed a number of food points per week that you can chose to use for desserts or whatever your weakness happens to be, and you can also use your exercise points in exchange for food. This is fantastic if you are a million pounds overweight, but if you are only a little overweight, use those points and you'll wind up fatter than when you began! I know, I used them last week and gained back half of what I lost.
Meanwhile, TootSweet is swiftly becoming the smartest dog on the planet. Perhaps I exaggerate slightly, but not much. We have a training session this afternoon, and he has already learned to turn right and left on command, stop, sit, stay, heel...The trainer is proud of him, and it is fun to have a long walk with an obedient dog and a trainer who can discuss any topic under the sun (he's from Mexico City, where mental agility is necessary for survival).
I am off to find danged batteries for my camera, some that will actually work. And tomorrow, horror of horrors, my training team gets its picture taken, and I'm supposed to be there. It's ridiculous, all I have managed to do is buy my running shirts, on the outside hope they will work magic and make me run like the wind. Only a tornado would accomplish that particular feat, and then only if it manages to engulf me...
lunes, 30 de abril de 2012
lunes, 23 de abril de 2012
Nature strikes back
First of all, to my astonishment, I've lost weight this week, much more than I would have thought. At least is serves as motivation to keep on.
On Saturday we went to the quinta and stayed overnight. Sunday morning, in the cool of the front porch under a lazy ceiling fan, I began to wax poetic in my mind about Nature. The sky was a washed, water-color blue, clouds of butterflies (pale green, yellow, orange, white) jostled with hummingbirds around flowering shrubs and the rose bush, high in the air hawks glided gracefully, dipping and soaring, and the horses grazed calmly in a far field.
As if it weren't reality aplenty that there were enough cattle ticks around to supply a major feed lot, and when the wind was right the eau de steers knocked us off our feet, as I sat there ignoring these minor inconveniences, a dove suddenly came whipping under the porch roof and tried to land on my head. Discovering at the very last minute that the landing place was a living creature, in a frenzied flurry of wings and feathers that caught in my hair, it took off again.
That was all it took to break up the moment of poesy, by dang! My main concern was whether it had pooped on my head. That it hadn't seemed almost miraculous. (I have a long history of being pooped on by birds...) It also confirmed my opinion that doves are unbelievably dumb and it is amazing there are so many of them. They are the last birds to get out of the way on a road or highway and the only ones my cats caught often enough so as to supply themselves with a complete meat diet. Every other kind of bird in our yard seemed to know exactly where the cats were hiding out, except for the doves. The starlings would even flutter around scolding the cats, sounding warnings, or occasionally divebombing them, but doves don't seem to speak starling.
No poetry, but poetic justice, I suppose, considering that I fed my dog braised dove breasts the other day.
On Saturday we went to the quinta and stayed overnight. Sunday morning, in the cool of the front porch under a lazy ceiling fan, I began to wax poetic in my mind about Nature. The sky was a washed, water-color blue, clouds of butterflies (pale green, yellow, orange, white) jostled with hummingbirds around flowering shrubs and the rose bush, high in the air hawks glided gracefully, dipping and soaring, and the horses grazed calmly in a far field.
As if it weren't reality aplenty that there were enough cattle ticks around to supply a major feed lot, and when the wind was right the eau de steers knocked us off our feet, as I sat there ignoring these minor inconveniences, a dove suddenly came whipping under the porch roof and tried to land on my head. Discovering at the very last minute that the landing place was a living creature, in a frenzied flurry of wings and feathers that caught in my hair, it took off again.
That was all it took to break up the moment of poesy, by dang! My main concern was whether it had pooped on my head. That it hadn't seemed almost miraculous. (I have a long history of being pooped on by birds...) It also confirmed my opinion that doves are unbelievably dumb and it is amazing there are so many of them. They are the last birds to get out of the way on a road or highway and the only ones my cats caught often enough so as to supply themselves with a complete meat diet. Every other kind of bird in our yard seemed to know exactly where the cats were hiding out, except for the doves. The starlings would even flutter around scolding the cats, sounding warnings, or occasionally divebombing them, but doves don't seem to speak starling.
No poetry, but poetic justice, I suppose, considering that I fed my dog braised dove breasts the other day.
miércoles, 18 de abril de 2012
Dog Days
The hour set for dog training couldn't be better for our purposes: There are what seem like hundreds of people up and down the running path, and plenty of pooches. TootSweet did quite well, in fact, not once actually trying to pull off in another direction, although it cost him quite an effort. There are some really good tricks this guy is teaching me, too, on how to calm the dog down; now if only he will get in his order of collars, I'll be able to take Toots with me in the morning without dislocating my right elbow.
We passed a woman jogging who shouted a salutation to the trainer and said she couldn't wait until her dog looked as obedient as the Tooter. With a rather cynical laugh, the trainer told me it would be a warm day in Hades when that finally happened; the woman has an Italian greyhound fueled by atomic energy, and it ricochets off the walls of her home. He said the dog can be trained but it will take a long and determined effort plus a massive amount of regular exercise (no wonder the woman is running, she's got to get in shape for the dog).
On this morning's very short walk/run for me, sans the dog, it again looked like rush hour in Seattle. Either I'm going to have to get out there earlier, God knows how, or later when in the summertime I'll pass out from the heat and wind up hospitalized. Waking up very early is not an issue, but people with fibromyalgia get up in the morning as if rising from a particularly severe train wreck in which they have fully participated by being hit by runaway derailed cars. I don't even know what shape I'm in until after my cup of coffee, when my senses manage to fire up a bit and let me know which parts ache, which parts are okay, and which parts are probably missing. I figure that in order to hit the park around five-thirty at the latest, I will have to have my caffeine infusion around 4:45.
Somehow I've got to manage it or the summer is going to be a total loss. The Tooters also needs to avoid the worst of the heat, and the more people on the running path, the greater the amount of information you overhear that you really don't want to hear at all. This morning, for example, a couple of old codgers about my age trotted past me as one mentioned that he has varicose veins of the nose. I wasn't feeling particularly good this morning anyway because yesterday I had a migraine and had to dose myself with a strong medication, but the overheard remark ended my desire to keep on. I felt slightly sick, because in my altered mental state (thanks to the medication), I imagined some kind of nasal hemorrhoids.
I went home then, but perhaps that was a mistake. I should have continued on, hoping that some other grotesque physical ailment would be revealed in random conversation, something that, by God, would put me off my feed. Because ever since I've been on WW, no matter how delicious the recipes (and they are), each day I get hungrier and hungrier. That would be fine if I were losing weight, by dang, but as it is, I am nearing the point of cramming every single one of the points allowed each day into one meal. But stay tuned.
We passed a woman jogging who shouted a salutation to the trainer and said she couldn't wait until her dog looked as obedient as the Tooter. With a rather cynical laugh, the trainer told me it would be a warm day in Hades when that finally happened; the woman has an Italian greyhound fueled by atomic energy, and it ricochets off the walls of her home. He said the dog can be trained but it will take a long and determined effort plus a massive amount of regular exercise (no wonder the woman is running, she's got to get in shape for the dog).
On this morning's very short walk/run for me, sans the dog, it again looked like rush hour in Seattle. Either I'm going to have to get out there earlier, God knows how, or later when in the summertime I'll pass out from the heat and wind up hospitalized. Waking up very early is not an issue, but people with fibromyalgia get up in the morning as if rising from a particularly severe train wreck in which they have fully participated by being hit by runaway derailed cars. I don't even know what shape I'm in until after my cup of coffee, when my senses manage to fire up a bit and let me know which parts ache, which parts are okay, and which parts are probably missing. I figure that in order to hit the park around five-thirty at the latest, I will have to have my caffeine infusion around 4:45.
Somehow I've got to manage it or the summer is going to be a total loss. The Tooters also needs to avoid the worst of the heat, and the more people on the running path, the greater the amount of information you overhear that you really don't want to hear at all. This morning, for example, a couple of old codgers about my age trotted past me as one mentioned that he has varicose veins of the nose. I wasn't feeling particularly good this morning anyway because yesterday I had a migraine and had to dose myself with a strong medication, but the overheard remark ended my desire to keep on. I felt slightly sick, because in my altered mental state (thanks to the medication), I imagined some kind of nasal hemorrhoids.
I went home then, but perhaps that was a mistake. I should have continued on, hoping that some other grotesque physical ailment would be revealed in random conversation, something that, by God, would put me off my feed. Because ever since I've been on WW, no matter how delicious the recipes (and they are), each day I get hungrier and hungrier. That would be fine if I were losing weight, by dang, but as it is, I am nearing the point of cramming every single one of the points allowed each day into one meal. But stay tuned.
lunes, 16 de abril de 2012
WW, but not II
A funny thing happened to me on the way to a WeightWatchers message board. As I meandered through the topics being discussed, there was a lone soul who had done a baddie by bringing up politics. The ground rules ask you to avoid controversial topics "such as politics" as being inappropriate, as if people with political ideas didn't get fat. Anyway, there are dog lovers who are fat, fat riders (that's where I am), fat cat lovers, knitters, you name it, a group for every interest.
Oddly enough, however, considering the ground rules, there are groups of people who profess every kind of crackpot religious opinion, and talk about boring! Not to mention, of course, controversial, but somehow these possessors of THE truth haven't caught on to that. The big question is, how come agnostics and atheists also loose weight?? Is it a trick of the devil? Does God make these rabid Christians fat to put them to the test? And will I get kicked out of WW if I ask some of these questions on the religious message boards? Let's try it and see...
Meanwhile back at the proverbial ranch, our dog training course begins this evening at seven. I can't take the dog with me in the morning until I get my new collar, which the trainer will probably get on Tuesday. One of my grand-daughters is interested in watching the training; she is an animal lover par excellence.
The house is unbearable; there are people working on three doors and two bathrooms, pounding and drilling and painting and installing and getting stuff dusty and dirty. We are having spinach quiche for lunch today, complete with gruyere cheese, but the stress alone around here will prevent me from gaining weight.
And for the dad-gummed record, after being hungry all week, I only lost a small portion of a pound!!
Oddly enough, however, considering the ground rules, there are groups of people who profess every kind of crackpot religious opinion, and talk about boring! Not to mention, of course, controversial, but somehow these possessors of THE truth haven't caught on to that. The big question is, how come agnostics and atheists also loose weight?? Is it a trick of the devil? Does God make these rabid Christians fat to put them to the test? And will I get kicked out of WW if I ask some of these questions on the religious message boards? Let's try it and see...
Meanwhile back at the proverbial ranch, our dog training course begins this evening at seven. I can't take the dog with me in the morning until I get my new collar, which the trainer will probably get on Tuesday. One of my grand-daughters is interested in watching the training; she is an animal lover par excellence.
The house is unbearable; there are people working on three doors and two bathrooms, pounding and drilling and painting and installing and getting stuff dusty and dirty. We are having spinach quiche for lunch today, complete with gruyere cheese, but the stress alone around here will prevent me from gaining weight.
And for the dad-gummed record, after being hungry all week, I only lost a small portion of a pound!!
viernes, 13 de abril de 2012
The "intense" dog...
Having mulled it over, somehow I think "intense" is dog-trainer code for "You are dumber than your dog"....
This morning's run...
It is just as I suspected. Taking the dog with me to walk/run is double the work, even walking, than it would be on my own. After a 1K warm-up, I ran 2K almost without effort, then walked the remaining 2K so I won't be so sore tomorrow. I sweated just as much as when I take the dog for a measly 3K walk. On the WeightWatchers activity tracker, I think I'll give myself double the points for a dog-assisted run. (A dog-impeded run?)
Today's WW recipe, also from the vegetarian section, is a kind of delicious Greek sandwich usually made with philo dough. I think I've made myself clear on philo dough. It is the Greek answer to the Spanish Inquisition. This recipe, though, is made with none other than giant burrito-sized flour tortillas. If these recipes get any easier, they'll cook themselves, and so far, there have been rave reviews.
Today the trainer reports back on the TootSweet schedule. This definitely is going to be fun.
Today's WW recipe, also from the vegetarian section, is a kind of delicious Greek sandwich usually made with philo dough. I think I've made myself clear on philo dough. It is the Greek answer to the Spanish Inquisition. This recipe, though, is made with none other than giant burrito-sized flour tortillas. If these recipes get any easier, they'll cook themselves, and so far, there have been rave reviews.
Today the trainer reports back on the TootSweet schedule. This definitely is going to be fun.
The Trainer
The very day I contacted the trainer, he had time to come to the house and check out my nutty poodle. We took him to the park and walked for about an hour. The trainer changed his collar, and that was the breakthrough I wanted.
The trainer is a guy about 50, a professional of animal behavior, who specializes in dogs, cats, and ferrets. He said Toots was highly trainable but very "intense". We are going to schedule 15 sessions plus a new collar. Meantime, I took the Toots to the quinta with me yesterday when I went to deal with my other animal problem, Gitano, who behaved like a gentleman and galloped with the correct lead for once. The Toots spent the whole time a full blower tearing around the quinta from one end to the other until I thought he would drop, so today he gets a rest. I don't, however, so off I go to the park. More later.
The trainer is a guy about 50, a professional of animal behavior, who specializes in dogs, cats, and ferrets. He said Toots was highly trainable but very "intense". We are going to schedule 15 sessions plus a new collar. Meantime, I took the Toots to the quinta with me yesterday when I went to deal with my other animal problem, Gitano, who behaved like a gentleman and galloped with the correct lead for once. The Toots spent the whole time a full blower tearing around the quinta from one end to the other until I thought he would drop, so today he gets a rest. I don't, however, so off I go to the park. More later.
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