Wednesday, February 16, 2011


FYI, TMI, and WTFC (who the flip cares): The scale read 139.6 this morning. I *know* it will be up 1.8 pounds tomorrow because of today's carb-up. Not 1.6 pounds, not 2.0 pounds, but 1.8 pounds. My body is predictable in its unpredictability.

With back-to-normal eating on Friday and Saturday, these 1.8 pounds will be gone by Sunday.

I haven't had my body fat tested, and I probably won't have time before I go, so I can't say for sure that I hit my other goal of 14% body fat. I'm at least as "cut" as in the photo at the right, and it sure feels like I'm as lean as I want to be. And in the end, that's what matters.

I believe I will treat myself to a dancing carrot. Oh, wait, I can't do dancing carrots on this site.

As you were.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

food network, anyone?

Even though I seem to be spending plenty of time online commenting on fitness-related sites, I've been terrible about feeding the blog. I've decided to repost, sometimes with elaborations, comments I've made on these sites, in hopes of continuing the dialogue. This comment was sparked by a very thoughtful post by the incomparable Charlotte Hilton Anderson on how fat has become a worse epithet than promiscuity.

I'm always struck by the number of people -- usually but not exclusively women -- who watch the Food Network while they are climbing the stairs to nowhere or whatever their particular cardio poison of choice happens to be. Is it because it's more acceptable to be seen watching food porn than sex porn? (Not that the latter is on standard daytime TV, but soaps and Law and Order: Special Victims Unit certainly are.) Do we get a charge, in true Puritanical fashion, out of the self-righteousness of exercising while we watch others eat cake, consistent with our Puritanical national heritage? Are we all mental masochists who like torturing ourselves with reminders of what we have given up for the cause of fitness or, perhaps, thinness? Or, are we trying to remind ourselves of what we ate yesterday and want to burn off?

Or is it just that Paula Deen (who my young son calls the "buddah lady," not to be confused with the Buddha lady) rocks?