this is why i’m fat

day eighteen: time for a p.s.a.

Posted on by thedingismything

My sexy AF husband cooked dinner for us last night. So I got to take a day off from cooking. It was glorious. Better yet, he made the most deeelish pot of chili. See?

chili

Since that leaves me with no new kitchen adventures to report on, I’m going to take this opportunity to address an issue that’s been on my mind for a while now. I hate to bring the mood down, but it’s time for some serious talk.

Serious trash talk.

OK, OK, maybe that’s too harsh. Just consider the following a Public Service Announcement. If you belong to a gym, or take fitness classes, or belong to a running group of some kind, you’re gonna feel me on this one.

There are a few people at the gym who you just don’t want to be. They are the ones who get side-eyed by everyone else who is giving 110 percent and putting every last drop of energy into it. Even trainers and coaches hate them. If you think you’re one of them, just stop and don’t.

First, and realllly the most annoying, is the Wooo Girl. There you are, not five minutes into your workout, sweating your ass off and hating life. And there she is, having the time of her goddam life. You’re grimacing. She’s smiling like she goin’ to Disneyland. You’re grunting. And every 30 seconds, she yells “WOOOOOOOO!”

If only it were legal to punch people straight in the face.

This isn’t a high school football game, and you’re not the quarterback’s cheerleader girlfriend, bitch. Quit being so peppy. Do you hear anyone around you cheering along? NO, ya don’t. Now STFU and work harder, because clearly you’re not pushing yourself hard enough. If you were, you’d be as miserable and quiet as the rest of us.

The male counterpart of the Wooo Girl is The Grunter. He’s sweating his balls off a foot away from you, and all you hear is a throaty grunt during every rep. Bicep curls: “Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh, uhhh.”

And he’s only using the 20 lb. weights.

Hey, buddy: If we wanted to know what you sound like when you’re having sex, we’d sleep with you. You’re at the gym. In public. There could be children around, for Christ’s sake. Knock it off.

Finally, we’ve got Up in Da Club Girl. You know the one. She’s easy to spot. It’s 5:30 am and she’s wearing a crop top and lip gloss. You deserve a medal for brushing your teeth before you left the house, and her hair looks like a Pinterest ponytail win.

Look, if you’re hitting up 24-Hour Fitness after work, then great. Do your thing. Wear them booty shorts. Hint: Bros love it when you ask them to help you with your form. Go get ’em.  But if you’re dragging your ass out of bed at the crack of dawn to work out next to women wearing sweatpants and T-shirts and active wear made from moisture-wicking material that serves a purpose, please pleaseplease PLEASE wear a shirt long enough to hide your underboob. I don’t care how good you look, and guess what: NOBODY ELSE DOES EITHER. We are all here to accomplish one task: To look as good as you do, you little hussy. And newsflash: Even if I did look as good as you, I wouldn’t wear that kind of thing to a 5:30 am bootcamp that has literally three dudes in it and they’re all married. Seeing you dressed like that is not motivating; it’s not giving us aspirations and hopes and dreams. It’s making 50 women old enough to be your mother (or much older sister) hate your guts.

Oh, man.

I can’t tell you guys how GREAT it feels to finally get that off my chest. PHEW! It’s like this massive weight has been lifted.

Thanks for listening, guys. I promise I’ll go back to being funny tomorrow.

Note: This is a re-post from the Tumblr version of this blog. It originally ran on April 14, 2016.

‘biggest loser’ weight gain? duh.

Posted on by thedingismything

Everyone I know is buzzing about the New York Times article that came out over the weekend discussing the “Biggest Loser” contestants and how they gain weight back after the competition is over. To be honest, it was about as shocking to me as Melisandre bringing Jon Snow back to life.

Ooops. Spoiler alert?

The contestants’ weight gain isn’t news, and shouldn’t be wowing everyone as much as it is. After season one of the show, I read a magazine article talking about the second-place runner up and what he went through to try to win the show. In the days leading up to the finale, he had done all the tricks that body builders and fighters do to cut weight. Dehydrate. Starve. Sweat. Guess what? The man gained back 35 pounds in the first week after the weigh-in. You know why?

Because he returned to a normal lifestyle, but his metabolism did not.

The real news of this article, and what ought to be the biggest takeaway, is the discovery that the drastic (and in my opinion, violent) weight loss that the contestants undergo during the six or seven months on the show plummets their resting metabolic rate and levels of leptin, the hormone that controls hunger. When the show was over, their RMR (the level of energy and calories your body would burn if you did nothing but rest all day err day) was burning hundreds of calories less than people their size ought to. And they were hungry all the freaking time.

Do you have any idea how much that sucks? That would be like, if you and your friends ordered a pizza to share, and everyone gets one slice and feels fine because they didn’t overeat, but then you’re over there unbuttoning your pants and digging in your purse for some Pepto.

That would be like, if you went to the gym with your bestie to hit the treadmills and she sets hers at incline level 2 and walks about 3 miles per hour, while you’ve got yours cranked all the way up to 15 and you’re running a solid 6 mph and sweating like a pig, and then after an hour she’s blasted 350 calories and you only burned 85.

That would be like, if you and your friends went out for drinks and everyone else orders another round except for you because you got wasted halfway through your light beer and now you’re passed out on the table and everyone’s drawing the word “lightweight” on your forehead and taking selfies with you while you drool.

That one might be a stretch, but you get the picture.

Simply put, it just plain sucks.

The show’s doctor, in the article, says he wasn’t surprised to see the RMRs drop, but acknowledged that he didn’t expect to see them drop as much as they did. What he says next is a real kick in the pants: “Maintaining weight loss is difficult … which is why he tells contestants that they should exercise at least nine hours a week and monitor their diets to keep the weight off.”

NINE HOURS A WEEK?

Who the f*ck has the kind of lifestyle that gives them the freedom to work out NINE HOURS each and every week?? I mean it. Really. I want to meet this person so I can find out where I went wrong in my life.

That is more than an hour each day of exercise. That’s more than 90 minutes a day if you’re even thinking about taking a rest day.

You might be thinking that doesn’t sound so bad. Let’s really take a minute to break that down. We’re not talking about 90 minutes a day running on a treadmill. We’re not talking about 90 minutes a day of Bikram yoga. We’re not talking about that Zumba class you take three nights a week. We’re talking 90 continuous minutes of high intensity cardio and strength training.

I go to a morning bootcamp about four to five times a week. The class time is from 5:30 a.m. to 6:15 a.m. We show up; there are stragglers; we do a short warm-up; then we receive instruction for each of the exercises in that day’s circuit. By the time we begin class, it’s 5:45 a.m. On our best days, we clock a solid 30 minutes of exercise.

Working out at a high level of intensity for a solid 90 minutes? Woof.

The average Joe or Jane isn’t going to have a lifestyle that provides them an opportunity to do this. We all work. Some of us have a commute. Some have kids. Some have two jobs. Pets. People to care for other than themselves. Houses to maintain. We need time to cook. Meal prep, dammit. So much meal prep.

What’s that? Time to relax? Have fun? HAHAHAHA shut up, stupid.

Unless you have a career that enables you to afford to pay for a chef, a nanny, a gardener, a housekeeper, a personal assistant, and likely, a personal trainer, exercising nine hours a week is a pretty unrealistic goal to maintain for a long period of time, let alone, forever.

It’s no wonder to me that the contestants on “Biggest Loser” struggle so much after the show is over. Their bodies freaked out trying to adapt to the demand of seven hours a day of exercise. That’s right – while on the show, they exercise SEVEN hours a day. F*ck that. Then, once their bodies get used to that abuse, it all stops! Their bodies are exhausted and trying to figure out what the hell is happening. Even worse is the mental state that’s got to go along with that.

This morning I heard one of the contestants interviewed on TV, and he was talking about the shame he felt gaining weight back. You know how ashamed you feel around your friends when you’ve gained weight? Try to think about how much shame you’d feel when the entire country is looking, he said.

Holy sh*t. Can we all group hug and tell this guy everything is going to be OK?

Look. I get it. More than anyone might know. For a while there, a good five years or so ago, I got into pretty good shape. I didn’t have a whole lot going on in my life, so it was my priority. I had the time and the focus. I felt great. I wanted other people to feel just as great. So, I became a personal trainer. I got certified. I had clients. I made some good money on the side. I got more clients. But, I still had my day job. I started having less time to work out on my own. Less time for meal prep. Less time to have a life.

I gained the weight back. A lot of it. I wasn’t in good shape anymore. I had a hard time telling clients what to do when, obviously, I wasn’t doing it either. So, I quit.

The level of shame I felt – and still feel – is huge. I once was the trainer and now I’m the trainee. I once was close to having rock solid abs and now I’m fighting the spare tire.

So yeah, I get it. I feel for these guys. But I’m not shocked or surprised. Now that it’s out in the open, those who still think the “Biggest Loser” is a standard for weight loss to which they should hold themselves will hopefully see the light. There is something to be said for setting smaller, attainable goals for a successful weight loss journey. That’s real reality.

whole30: day three.

Posted on by thedingismything

Today was hard.

Not because I was hungry, or felt like I couldn’t eat anything. Today was hard because it was the first really stressful day I’ve had while on Whole 30. It made me realize just how much I actually stress eat.

Typically on a day like today, after a looong day at work when I was juggling a dozen projects at once, I would reach for a big ol’ bag of chips or ask The Husband if we could go hit up a happy hour somewhere. At the very least we’d open a bottle of wine or go pick up some Menchie’s.

Mmmmmmmmmenchie’s. I miss you so very much.

We hosted a breakfast meeting at our office today, and I had to help set up the food. Coffee, juice, fruit and a tray of bagels and pastries and muffins. Oh my.

Setting it out was no problem; I had just gotten to work and I wasn’t emotionaly drained yet. But by lunch, it was a different story.

The meeting was over and the room had cleared out. I poked my head in the empty room and saw there were still some pastries left on the tray. Ordinarily I would bring the tray downstairs and set it in the office kitchen for everyone to help themselves. Not today. I couldn’t go near it. I knew the temptation was too much. If I came within smelling distance of that sugary buttery carbohydrate goodness, I would have taken a bite.

Instead, I ran from the room and distracted myself until it was time to heat up my lunch. (Thank you, leftover meatballs.) Then I instructed someone else to adios the baked goods so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. Crisis averted.

The one thing that really prevented me from diving face-first into a cinnamon roll-induced shame was the realization that I wasn’t even hungry. But I so desperately wanted to stuff my face. How often do I eat when I’m not hungry??? Apparently, more than I realize.

I’m happy to say the day wasn’t a total wash. By the time I got through traffic and made it home, The Husband had made an amazing dinner for us.

Ladies, let me tell you something. There are few things hotter than a man who knows his way around a kitchen. No wonder I’m emotionally attached to food.

But look at this! Who wouldn’t fall for a guy who makes something look as good as this.

That’s a little Whole 30 chicken cacciatore, which was as delicious as it was easy to make. The Husband said on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being getting take-out, this recipe is a 3.5. Not too shabby!

P.S. The cute wittle face peeking up in that photo is my cat Boots. He’s a rascal.

Note: This is a re-post from the Tumblr version of this blog. It originally ran on March 31, 2016.

nacho cheese and glory.

Posted on by thedingismything

The greatest thing ever happened to me at lunch today. It was glorious. Unquestionably, a crowning moment for what’s been arguably a rough week. (And it’s only Tuesday….)

First I have to explain that, like so many others, my relationship with food and money is highly driven by emotion. To celebrate good news or a happy occasion, I like to go out and drop a good chunk of money on a delicious meal. On the other hand, when I feel like shit, I tend to decide that I’m not worthy of the price of a healthy meal, so I go out and get whatever cheap ass garbage I can shame-eat in my car over a 30-minute lunch.

Like today.

I made a conscious decision that I deserved a lunch that cost no more than $5, since I didn’t leave myself enough time to pack a healthy lunch at home this morning. So for the first time in a year, at least, I drove through Del Taco. For $4 on the button, I got two chicken soft tacos and nachos. The chicken soft tacos at least had some protein (just as much fat, too, unfortunately). The nachos were because nachos.

I could have spent $7 and gone to Subway for a sandwich with much fewer calories and half the fat. I could have gone to the market and put together a salad at the salad bar for about the same price. But around 11:45 am today I was too busy hating myself for every imaginable reason to think logically about the situation.

So there I was, sitting in my car. Just me and my Del Taco. I was just about to put the last perfect chip, smothered with a giant glob of heavenly (although now somewhat tepid) artificial cheese in my mouth. And then, it happened.

All in one second’s time, gust of wind blew through my lowered car window, sending my unruly hair into further frenzy and planting a section of it firmly in the nacho cheese. This, as it my hand is in the process of delivering the crunchy cheesey hairy vessel into my waiting open mouth.

But wait – it gets better.

The momentum of the situation was unstoppable. My brain processed and accepted that I was about to spend the rest of the day with sticky nacho cheese hair, just as I looked up and made direct eye contact with a jogger running along the sidewalk toward my car.

A really pretty, perfectly fit jogger.

Crunch.

The moral of the story, kids, is that just when you think you’re at your lowest and things couldn’t get any worse, go eat a salad.