And I will walk 500, um, I mean, 2 miles….

Do you ever look at your Facebook memories? Several years ago I made lots of posts about my walking habits…
“2 miles done on a really hot day!”
“I’ve walked so much I need new sneakers!”
“It was really windy during my 2 mile walk today”

I used to walk 2+ miles every day. One year my goal was to walk 1,000 miles, but I only made it to something like 925 miles. A year or two back, when I was at my heaviest, and we were all confined because of Covid, I tried to get back into walking. But I found I could barely make it to the corner before my back was on fire and I was out of breath.

The CORNER.

That’s like 400 steps from my driveway.

Yesterday I saw some post about how beneficial it can be to walk at least 2 miles a day. When I go to the gym, I really only walk a mile. Mainly because it’s boring as fuck to walk staring down at my TINY phone screen watching “I Love Lucy” episodes. No dis to Lucy, but walking on a treadmill can get stale pretty fast.

So I decided to get out and walk my old 2 mile route just to see what it was like. And you know what? I LOVED IT! My shitty Spotify playlist somehow never went to ads and played songs I was really jazzed to hear. Today was a bit rougher because shitty Spotify decided to play most of the songs I had heard yesterday. Not only did I hear a shit-ton of ads, but eventually I used up my forwarding privileges. Sigh.

Aside from suffering through the torture of free Spotify, I thought about all the advantages I am enjoying with 100 pounds off my frame. I can do those two miles again. Every day. I CAN DO IT. I can get back to my old habit of walking 2+ miles day after day, wearing out sneakers, and maybe getting to a respectable total by the end of the year. And we’ll see if it takes any more pounds off my keister. I used to complain that it didn’t in the past, but maybe it will now.

I’m willing to find out!

The Christmas Wish Answered

During Christmas morning for the past umpteen years or so, I always had the same depressing thought. Another year had gone by without me having any success in losing weight. I’d be sitting there in my 3X pajamas, mug of tea in hand, waiting to open some ginormous sweater my husband had bought me (that would sit in the back of my closet all year long), and I’d think, “maybe by next Christmas I’ll be thinner.”

January would come, and I’d join Weight Watchers and begin a regimen of walking. Hell, one year I walked almost 1,000 miles and went through two pairs of sneakers in the process. I’d try all year long, maybe switching to Atkins, or Keto. I’d break out my old Jane Fonda tapes, dust off my step. And yet, another Christmas would arrive, and I’d once again be sitting in my still very large sweatpants, mug of tea in hand with that cloud of complete and utter failure hanging over my head. I’m still really fat.

Last Christmas, I was a thinner than the one before, but I was still pretty fat. My husband had bought me a really nice (and really expensive) jacket from The Black Dog – it was the largest Men’s size they sold, but it was still too tight, so we had to return it. That cloud of failure crept back into my Christmas morning.

This year as I sat there, mug of tea in hand, I realized that I finally did it. I was 100 lbs lighter. I was in XL pajamas instead of 3X, and now I wish we had kept that Black Dog jacket from the Christmas before. I would have rocked that mother this winter.

I still have a lot of work to do. My Christmas present this year was a gym membership as opposed to a giant, lumpy sweater. My goal is to start using some weights, and not just the treadmill, so maybe by this summer, my arms and thighs won’t be so hideously flabby and make putting on my bathing suit a tad more enjoyable. Don’t get me wrong – putting one on last summer was mind-blowing after the amount of weight I’d lost. And now that I can actually get up from off the floor, I may try to start some sit-ups as well.

Who knows how I’ll look by next Christmas?

My Sweet 16….at 58

I’ve lost a lot of weight over the past year. How much? Over 100 pounds. So, all of my old clothes are way too baggy. Like, even the clothes that I had stored in a box called “maybe someday” are too big on me.

My daughter wanted to go to Old Navy yesterday, so I figured, “Let me try on some jeans.” I tried on an 18, which fit, but were a bit loose in the thighs. They were also button fly jeans, which I did not want. I also tried on an XXL pair of slacks and I was SWIMMING in them. Good sign.

I went back out on the sales floor and got a pair of 18 zipper jeans, and for shits and giggles, grabbed a pair of size 16 jeans. The size 18 felt great, but like before, were a bit too loose in the thighs. So. I tried on the size 16. I hiked them up to my hips…so far, so good. I buttoned them up, and OMG…..they fit! They were snug in the waist, but they fit! Problem was, they were the kind of jeans that had rips in them. At 58 I’m not really comfy with that fashion trend. So, back out on the sales floor I went in search of normal size 16 jeans.

Now, there are some of you out there that may be thinking, “size 16? what a load!” But this morning I went through my closet and threw out a shit ton of pants…3x pants. Size 24 pants. Size 22 pants. Size 20 pants. I kept one pair of sized 18 shorts just to see how they fit next summer. So this size 16? It feels fucking MARVELOUS.

Buh-Bye, Guy

A year or so ago, while watching yet another episode of “Guy’s Grocery Games,” I wondered if Guy Fieri was a MAGAt. I don’t know why the thought crept across my brain, but it did. I do remember Googling it, and coming up with no concrete evidence, I continued to enjoy his shows.

All that ended a few weeks back, when a photo of Guy surfaced warmly greeting that vomitous pig, donald trump. Right then and there, all shows relating, regarding, and hosted by Guy Fieri have been banned from my TV.

I cannot and will not support the career of ANYONE who supports trump. To greet him in this manner suggests that what he has done to this country is A-OK with you. That raping women is just fine ‘n dandy. That attempting to steal American’s votes floats your MAGA boat. That staging and inciting an insurrection and sending your crowd of filthy supporters to ransack the Capitol is just another day in paradise.

Fuck that. And you know what? I don’t really miss the chubby little douchebag. It sucks that Food Network’s programming is 33% Fieri, but when the Mayor of MAGAtown is on the air, I’ll gladly find something on Netflix, or Hulu, or Starz, or HBO to watch.

When it comes to trump, I don’t fuck around. He’s too dangerous to our democracy, and should NEVER be greeted warmly, or with any respect. He’s earned NONE OF IT.

So, fuck off, Fieri….buh bye, Guy.

My Cooking Has Simmered Down

In the past year my body has gone through some dynamic changes. Last spring my endocrinologist suggested I start taking Ozempic to help lower my A1C. I started on a 1 mg dose, and for the first month or so I was dog tired. Something as routine as doing the grocery shopping would wipe me out. Soon, I got used to it and returned to somewhat of a normalcy.

Right off the bat I could tell my eating habits were changing. Whereas in the past, I could eat a sandwich, now I could barely finish half. I shared everything with my one daughter when we went out to eat. After six months (and another trip to my endocrinologist), I had lost 15 pounds. Sure this was good, but I kind of felt like a failure because so many people had been so successful losing weight on Ozempic, and here I lost only 15 pounds in 6 months. So, he upped my dosage to 2mg per injection.

As of this morning, I am down a full 80 pounds. How can this be, you ask? I have zero appetite. None. My stomach always seems to be tight as a fist. Eventually my body will say, “Hey, I’m hungry!” So I’ll begin to fix something only to realize while cooking it, that I really don’t want to eat it. I’ll have 3 or 4 bites, and put the rest in Tupperware.

I never cook anymore. It’s just not worth it. My biggest culinary excursion will be a pot of soup, because I can always eat soup, and then I have something easy to heat up over the next few days. Therefore, dinner has become a “fend for yourself” affair. I’m happy with a hard boiled egg or a cup of broth. I have a feeling my days of making a meatloaf and mashed potatoes are gone for now.

And it’s not even my appetite, my entire taste for food has changed. I used to love eggs, and now I can barely stomach them. Each and every day I’d have a minimum of 4 cups of tea. Now I usually have 5 sips of my first cup and throw the rest down the drain. I was a champion wine guzzler but will now hold the same glass of wine for hours. A bottle lasts me a week.

Going out to eat is a royal pain because I refuse to waste money on a plate of food I’m just not going to eat. Last week we went to a Texas Roadhouse, and while hubby feasted on the steak and shrimp platter, I waded my way through a bowl of chili that I couldn’t finish. I should’ve just ordered the cup….

The changes over the past year have been mind blowing. I’m not sure what will happen to me once I go off this medication. Maybe by then my stomach will have shrunk so much that I still won’t be able to eat like I used to. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

MV or Bust

In February my sister said our family is planning a trip to Martha’s Vineyard this summer. This is our family vacation spot, having spent countless summers at various rental homes over the course of my 58 years here on earth. We are not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, but back then, the Vineyard wasn’t the posh (and expensive) vacation destination it is now. A friend of my father’s had invited him up there when he was in his 20s and he fell in love with the place. Thus, our family vacation spot was chosen.

These days we stay with our cousins who own a house up there. However, we learned that their daughter, also our cousin, was dying of cancer, and as a family we felt that bombarding her house probably wasn’t a good idea this year. This left us looking for a rental, which makes going to the Vineyard a more expensive vacation than I am accustomed to. Add to this that I just had some very expensive dental surgery done (which I have to pay off). So, I made the decision not to go.

This began to torture me. The thought of my sisters and nieces (not to mention by brand new great niece) soaking in that glorious Vineyard atmosphere, while I’m stuck in Palmyra, Virginia was eating me alive. How in the world was I going to survive the week they would be up there, with Facebook and Instagram posts mocking me every day.

Then I got the news that my cousin with cancer had passed away. My father had introduced the Vineyard to these cousins who embraced it just like our family had. My cousin had spent summers living and working on the island, and now she was gone. I’m no spring chicken, and after talking it over with my husband, we decided I should go with my family, regardless of the cost. Who knows how many chances I’ll have to relax on Martha’s Vineyard with my family in the future?

I called my sister to see if there was still room in the house they rented, and as luck would have it, there is one bed left. Also, it turns out they rented a house right in the heart of Edgartown, which for me was a game-changer. The other house we used to stay at was about a 20 minute walk to town. This house? I’m lucky if it’s 5. It will be so easy to just leave the house and wander into town if you’re bored, or want some sun, or forgot to pick something up.

If you read my last post, you’ll know that I’ll have to work while I’m up there, but in all honesty, who cares. I can bang out a bunch of ads each morning, check for corrections in the afternoon, and bask in the sun the rest of the time. I’m just not going to worry about it. I want to enjoy my family, while we are still all around to enjoy each other.

My Time Off Obstacle

I work as a graphic designer at a local weekly newspaper. I am the only designer that builds ads, and puts the paper together at press time. There is an art director who designs all the edit, but for all intents and purposes, I am the only person who does what I do. There is no back up designer.

Years ago there were two of us. But the Covid outbreak, and lack of advertisers, forced our employer to cut the other designer. To be honest, even now that things have somewhat gone back to normal, there is really only enough work for one person, and I am very happy to be that one person.

I really love my job. The only requirement is that I get my work done, and that the paper goes to the printer every Tuesday. I’m not chained to my desk for hours on end, I can work from home 100% of the time if I want, and if I need time off for a doctor’s appointment, or even a trip to the store, nobody really cares. As long as my work gets done, that’s all that matters.

The one downfall? I can’t really take a traditional vacation. If I go to the beach for a week, I have to work. If I decide to head up to New York City for a few days mid-week, I have to work. There is no getting around that fact that Monday – Friday, 52 weeks a year, I have to work.

While it might sound totally sucky to some of you, It hasn’t been so bad. Last year when we went up to NYC to see Billy Joel I brought my daughter’s laptop and logged into my work computer every morning and every afternoon for an hour or so to take care of any ads that needed building. Other than that my time was my own.

Most of the time I can’t even afford to go on vacation. Hotels have become so expensive even someplace as crappy as Virginia Beach is out of my price range unless I go off season and mid-week. Where I would have to work. But like I said, it’s not that bad.

My plan this year is to opt for weekend trips anywhere. And I plan on spending a lot of time at our community lake beach and pool – I pay enough in dues for them…I might as well abuse them. At least I’ll get a tan!

I’m very grateful to be employed, doing something I love. If I have to give up a traditional vacation in the process, that’s fine with me.

Boo on You, Hulu!

Sigh.

A month ago I joined a gym, and (pat on back) I’ve gone every single day to workout. I usually spend 30+ minutes on the treadmill, which requires that I watch something. I can’t just stare at the wall, and the TV is directly above the treadmills, so it’s near to impossible to watch anything on them long term.

The first few days I turned on my Sirius app and listened to Howard Stern, which was okay, but I wanted something more. So, I downloaded the Hulu app on my phone and began watching Top Chef. Season 5 to be exact. Carla, Fabio, Stefan and the gang accompanied me on over 30 miles of walking.

Saturday I finished season 5, so Sunday I moved onto Season 6. Both the Voltaggio brothers, bitchy Jen, and my fave Kevin Gillespie…I WAS SO EXCITED! Fast forward to this morning. I change the TV from Fox News to anything else (it’s something I must do) climbed on my treadmill and logged into Hulu.

Hmmmm, Top Chef wasn’t among my recently watched shows. So, I did a search.

Overnight, the dickheads at Hulu moved Top Chef to one of their “premium” shows…one where you need to have their Live TV subscription to enjoy. Ok. I watched an episode of Alone instead. When I got home I looked into what is required in upgrading to the live TV package.

SIXTY NINE FUCKING DOLLARS A MONTH! Seriously? SERIOUSLY? What a bunch of mother fuckers to pull a switch over night and fuck up my whole workout routine.

My job today is to come up with a variety of alternate viewing options to fill the gaping hole that Top Chef is going to leave in my morning workout routine.

Hulu, you’re lucky you have Handmaid’s Tale or I’d be cancelling your sorry ass.

I Bag to Differ

Just recently I started using reusable shopping bags when I go grocery shopping, mainly because my local community started charging for disposable plastic bags. I usually kept bags in my car, but they were in my trunk, and who remembers to look there before heading in to the store? So, I started keeping them piled in my front seat so I can quickly grab them as I head out of my car.

Let me tell you, now that I’ve switched, I’ll never go back! For me it’s not so much an environmental thing…that’s just an added bonus. It’s just that you can fit so much MORE in the reusable bags! My usual grocery haul would yeild 7 or 8 of those flimsy throw away bags. But with the reusable ones? I’m lucky if I use two…three at the most. Yes, the bags are slightly heavier, but I’d much rather lug two semi-heavy bags in the house that 5 lighter ones. AND it’s better for the environment!

My new goal is to find fun reusable bags!

The Power of Memory

Today while I was in the shower, I was thinking about Wayland, Massachusetts.

As a child, my mom had a best friend who lived 3 houses down the street from ours. Her name was Dorothy Lotosky, but we called her Aunt Dorothy. I spent lots of time in that house, eating rye toast with Breakstone’s unsalted whipped butter while mom and Aunt Dorothy drank coffee and chatted. I still have a scar on my face from her beagle Merry biting me on my cheek.

Aunt Dorothy moved to Wayland, Mass at some point in my childhood, and it would be a vacation destination for my family. Every time we travel to Martha’s Vineyard we pass exits for Wayland, and I always think of the times we spent up there.

I learned how to do embroidery at her house. It was a Holly Hobby sampler, and I remember I managed to embroider the sampler to my pants leg. I also remember a family who live across the street from her. We were up there one week in winter and a storm blew in that left a substantial amount of snow in the area, and we built an impressive igloo/snow fort in their yard. I also fell in love with bikes with a banana seat while up there. It’s funny the ridiculous shit you remember.

My shower memory today was of a lake that I remember being around the corner and down the street from her house. So, I decided to Google map it. Turns out there are a shit load of lakes in the Wayland area. But looking at the map, Lake Cochituate rang a bell in the depths of my memory, so I zoomed in on the map, and actually worked my way back to Aunt Dorothy’s house.

It’s crazy stupid the dopey things you remember. Below is a really bad photo that we took during one of our vacations up there. Below that is a Google Maps screenshot of the house now.

How fucked up is that? The memory, paired with Google maps is pretty cool. I spent a lot of weeks of vacation at that house, where my mom got to unwind with her friend, and we got to play, and swim, and sew samplers to our pants.