When Skinny Cows Laugh . . .

All right boys and gals -- as my most recent posts have been somewhat 'health and fitness' focused, I thought I'd keep the topic front and center a little longer.

Prior to taking the full plunge toward my best life (thanks Oprah!), I was tracking my eating patterns and food choices. My titan trainer, Meghan, asked me to do this and show her each week. It was a little scary to revisit my snack and meal choices each and everyday. Slowly a few themes started to come to light. First, I'm not a breakfast person. I know. I know. It's the most important meal of the day. Not sure why I never really got into eating breakfast. Maybe it has something to do with my love of sleep. Given the choice between repeated whacks at the snooze button to grab just 15 more minutes of sleep and, well say, a toasted English muffin, I pick the snoozing almost each and every time. I'm more of a skip the breakfast and grab a latte on the way to work kinda gal. Naughty, I know.

A much more diabolical problem, however, lurked in the dark corners of my food journal. It seems I have a cheese obsession. I loves me some fermented and aged dairy. Can't get enough. Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing and I've been challenged to curtail my cheese intake. Luckily I've found a great option to help curb my cravings. Laughing Cow light cheese wedges are THE BEST. Creamy, tangy, and cheese-a-riffic. Grab a couple wedges (just 1.5 Weight Watchers points), a few Reduced Fat Triscuits and you've got yourself a tasty and satisfying treat. And, NO, this is not a paid endorsement.



Continuing on the dairy theme, who doesn't need a little ice cream fix every now and then? Although my typical food sabotage tends to come in the form of fried, crunchy and salty badness, I occasionally have a sweet tooth. When these moments strike, I recommend stocking up your freezer with some Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches. One sandwich is 2 points and you will be hard pressed to distinguish the Skinny Cow from a full fat ice cream treat. Seriously. They are amazing.



Laughing Cow, Skinny Cow . . . lots of cow brands out there. I will stalk the grocery store aisles to find the next cow related items. Perhaps "giddy cow," "bony cow," "emaciated cow?" What about, "I Don't Want To Look Like a Cow?" Who's going to come out with that one?

And, on a related note, if you haven't visited the web site Hungry Girl, you might want to check it out. Great place to find other 'better for you' foods, the latest buzz on low-fat, light products, recipes, etc. Very informative.



Here's a comprehensive list of Hungry Girl's own favorite foods. Enjoy!

No More Trying

It's been about a week since my "Bob" post where I was all gung ho and motivated to embrace the year of hope and change. Things have been going well thus far. I've been sticking to the healthy plan. As of today, I've dropped about 3lbs. Not overwhelming progress, but at least it's something. Right?

When it comes to getting healthy, the operative word, for me, seems to be "trying." I keep trying. I try to get my 8 glasses of water in each day. I try to avoid food temptations. I try to eat more vegetables and fruits. I try to get in more activity. I try to make each workout a little harder than the time before. I try not to eat the bag of chips or the ice cream or the cake. Instead, I try to eat the oranges, the yogurt and the carrot sticks. I try. I try. I try.

Confession time: I absolutely HATE the word "trying."

Trying implies a desire to do something. It signifies attempt but not success, full completion or mastery. That sucks. Instead of merely trying, my goal is complete and instant accomplishment which, I realize, is quite foolish. When it comes to this game of living my best life, there will always and forever be "trying." The books, tv shows, podcasts and magazines all tell me it is about the journey and not the destination. In other words, it never ends. Health is a lifestyle one subscribes too for the long haul. It requires constant vigilance and self-monitoring. Tracking, counting, watching, running, lifting, biking, weighing, obsessing. Trying.

Frankly, right now, I am daunted by all of it. Today was a low day. I felt like a shut in all alone in my diet misery. Buried under a pile of work, most of the morning and afternoon was an exercise in trying (there's that damn word again) to claw my way up and out. Sure, I hope for this process to get easier as I begin to form habits. Ideally, I'd like exercise to become a routinized occurance. But, I'm a realist and just know I will always be plagued by stress or boredom which, for me, ignites a desire to eat a pound of smoked gouda, a bag of Doritos or hit the nearest drive-thru. I'm an emotional eater. A fierce longing for comfort foods courses through my veins. Maybe I didn't get enough love growing up. Maybe I swallowed (literally) my pain, loneliness or fears. Maybe my taste buds are hard wired to the pleasure center in my brain causing a chain reaction of endorphins and I'm like a heroin junky continually searching to reclaim that first "high?" I don't know what it is.

My pledge is to deal with the reality, break old patterns and try (dammit, that word again) to forge new coping mechanisms.

Maybe I need to eliminate the word "try" from my vocabulary. No more trying.

From now on, this is about doing, living, embracing my carb junky voodoo chemical brain and loving me enough to keep it in check. Doing is hard work people.

Viva la hope and change!

Ode To Winter

It's cold. Damn cold.

Bitter, bitter, bitter

Snow falling. Nature's blanket covers the promise of Spring.

Sounds of life float frozen above the earth.

Hushed quiet . . . strangled by ice and frost and fear of exposure.

Warmth is a whisper trying to croak, choke, break free.

Do you hear it?

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

. . . .

Nope. Only cold. Damn cold.

Fuck. It's winter.

Bob Harper Fan

Some days, I just love my job! I experienced such a day last week when Bob Harper visited the Mills. For those of you who are not familiar, Bob is the adorable trainer from NBC's "The Biggest Loser." I'm not talking about Jillian. Nope. She's the hard core, drill sergeant, meanie trainer. Bob is the kind, in touch with his spiritual side, motivatingly sweet trainer. Plus, he's a super duper hottie.



The Mills is a sponsor of this season's Pound for Pound Challenge and Bob arrived to promote the program and the promotion, offer up a little motivating commentary and spread a little cute trainer sunshine.

[Quick aside: Pound for Pound Challenge is a contest where viewers go online and pledge to lose a certain amount of weight. At the end of the season, the actual weight loss is recorded. For every pound lost, the Mills will help donate a pound of food to nationwide food banks. Pretty cool, eh?]

I love me some Bob. He was very uplifting, seems completely genuine in his desire to help people improve their lives and, did I mention, ADORABLE! Moved to action, I hopped online and pledged some pounds. The new year is upon me and, much like Obama, I have declared 2009 the year of hope and change. Oprah's got her 'Best Life Week,' Weight Watchers has their Momentum Plan, the airwaves are filled to the brim with health food and fitness advertising. My gym is overcrowded. So many have pounced on the resolution bandwagon.

As much as I would like to pour my usual cynicism all over this post, I cannot. I'm right there with it. I signed up, got the heart rate monitor for Christmas, started tracking my food points, TIVO'ed the week of Oprah shows so Dr. Oz, Bob Greene, and Suzi Orman could tell me how to get healthy, drop the fat and save my money. I threw out my Reese's Peanut Butter cups, bought a huge bag of lettuce, a pound of blackberries and Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches (2 point yumminess)! I met with my trainer on Thursday and she made me hurt with a brand new program. BTW, I hate the following exercises: V sit ups, Russian Twists, and Arnold Presses

Ladies and gents, it's ON!

P.S. Bob, if you are out there and you are reading this, rock on with your rock hard abs and keep up the inspiration.

Broken Down and Disrepaired

Ya know when you buy a new home and things are all shiny and bright with that look and feel of newness? Even though your house may be several years old, it still projects that glow of fresh, "I'm a new home owner" sparkle in your eyes? Then a few years go by and slowly crap starts to fail, things break, paint chips and you are just crossing your fingers and holding your breathe praying nothing else goes wrong causing you to dig deep in your wallet and fork over major bucks . . .

Sigh.

Such is the journey of home ownership.

I bought my little place back in the Fall of 2003 when home values were strong and interest rates were low. Ahhh, the good old days. How I miss them. For the most part, I've truly enjoyed my casa. Over the years, I've been able to make some upgrades and improvements. Put in a hard wood floor in the kitchen and dining area, painted, bought some new kitchen appliances, etc. Life was good. Well, as of late I've come to the conclusion that stuff is breaking down in a hurry. Mind you, my house is not that old. It was built in 1991. However, if you ask my father (who is a stickler for old world craftsmanship and the like), he would promptly tell you "they just don't make things like they used to."

Translation = shit is breaking down.

One of the first things I noticed was my front door leaking cold air. Now Minnesota tends to get a tad nippy in the winter so this became a problem. I could literally see daylight through the crack between my door and the doorframe. Since the thermostat was downstairs, this meant frigid air blew in causing the temperature to drop on the first floor, igniting the furnace on an almost continual basis, making the upstairs incredibly hot and jacking up the $$ on my gas bill. BAD. After several calls, emails, faxes to my townhome association, they finally sent some jack rabbits over to give my door a once over. The solution, it seemed, was weather stripping. Ah haaa. Another week later, the jack rabbits came back and put said weather stripping in. It sealed up the door nicely. Success!!!

Not so much.

The stripping is thick and freezing temps have caused it to stiffen making the door difficult to shut. This, in turn, causes challenges when trying to lock the door and turn the dead bolt. And now I have a door handle problem. WTF!?! I'm crabby.

Next you have the somewhat new refrigerator. A complete end to ice cube production occurred recently. The fridge, it seems, decided to go on strike. There were warning signs. A low, periodic thumping sound heralded an impending doom. Did we heed the warning? Nope. We just kept on with our lives taking for granted an endless supply of perfectly shaped, crystalized nuggets of icy goodness. Suddenly our teas, sodas and juices were sans cube. Sad, sad, day.

Mr. Oz got on the intertubes to get a repair guy over el pronto. One week and $365 later we, once again, have ice cubes. Apparently a little widget-ma-gidget broke in the motor so, ahh, there ya go. Bam. Cube Catastrophe.

Could it get any worse, you ask? Well, let me tell ya. A few months back the washing machine stopped working. A fresh load had been started, the wash cycle was complete, the draining was commencing when, kaplooeee, done. My clothes were left sitting in a soupy bath of yucky laundry water. No drainage people. No drainage. After investigating the apparatus -- let it be known I have absolutely no mechanical prowess whatsoever -- we picked up the bat phone and called in the repair crew. Much like the ice machine, the culprit was a plastic doo-hickey sensor thingy.

Are you seeing a pattern? Not only does crap break, but there also appears to be a commonality in that all problems, in some way, revolve around plastic parts and pieces. Weather stripping = plastic. Refrigerator widget-ma-gidget = plastic. Washing machine doo-hickey sensor thingy = plastic.

Plastic MUST BE ABOLISHED!!! It is evil. It wears out. It cracks, peels, succumbs to blight, pressure and locusts. When experts told me to stop drinking from those plastic water bottles, I should have instantly known that ALL plastic was devil's spawn hell bent on my destruction.

What is next? Will my plastic shampoo bottle fall and crack my bathtub? Will the plastic contact lenses I wear adhere to my eyeballs, scratch my corneas and cause blindness? When will the madness stop????

The U.N. inspectors were looking in the wrong place for those weapons of mass destruction. They should have visited my house and removed ALL the plastic. Plastic, I curse you.