I started Jenny Craig about 6 weeks ago, and as of my last weigh in I'm down almost 18 pounds. So it's obviously working. But I am impatient and would be happier if it was 25 pounds.
Yeah, I know, the weight didn't grab onto my ass that quickly and it's better to lose it slowly, but slow fucking sucks.
To start they have me on a 1500 calorie a day diet. The food is good, I have no complaints about that; there are a number of things I can't eat because of IBS and allergies, but there's enough that I can eat to keep it from getting too boring. At the halfway point (I think) they drop me to 1200, and at some point they wean me onto "real" food. That'll be the thing that trips me up because I hate cooking. I mean realllly hate it.
My cats hate this, though; the meals are so small there's nothing extra to let them have.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Here We Go Again...
I spend hours a day staring at the computer as I write. My world involves creating verbal bloat, and then excising the parts of that bloat which simply do not work.
The problem with such a life is that I spend it on my ass, which over time has expanded to the point where it's time to engage in some self-editing. I need to trim the excess and end up with something presentable. Something of which I can be proud.
Today I made a commitment to lose the weight and to get into shape. And like any good writer, I'm not relying solely on my wits for success; I coughed up the cash for nutritional counseling (via Jenny Craig; their food is a good jump start but they teach you to transition to healthy "real" food) and I joined a gym.
I am pushing 48 years old, and this is no longer a choice. I want to see 50 and beyond, and if I don't do something now, that won't happen.
I'm a writer; I'm currently in the editing stage of the first draft of my eighth book and while I'm at it, I'm going to edit myself. I'm trimming 25,000 words from a bloated manuscript and 90 pounds from myself.
Yeah, that sucks. I have 80-90 pounds to lose. I'm just far enough over 200 pounds to be mortified on my own behalf; my first goal, with that in mind, is to get below 200.
Onederland.
It's out there, somewhere. I've been there before and it was a decent place, and I'd like to go back again.
The problem with such a life is that I spend it on my ass, which over time has expanded to the point where it's time to engage in some self-editing. I need to trim the excess and end up with something presentable. Something of which I can be proud.
Today I made a commitment to lose the weight and to get into shape. And like any good writer, I'm not relying solely on my wits for success; I coughed up the cash for nutritional counseling (via Jenny Craig; their food is a good jump start but they teach you to transition to healthy "real" food) and I joined a gym.
I am pushing 48 years old, and this is no longer a choice. I want to see 50 and beyond, and if I don't do something now, that won't happen.
I'm a writer; I'm currently in the editing stage of the first draft of my eighth book and while I'm at it, I'm going to edit myself. I'm trimming 25,000 words from a bloated manuscript and 90 pounds from myself.
Yeah, that sucks. I have 80-90 pounds to lose. I'm just far enough over 200 pounds to be mortified on my own behalf; my first goal, with that in mind, is to get below 200.
Onederland.
It's out there, somewhere. I've been there before and it was a decent place, and I'd like to go back again.
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