I don't really want to write about my progress with the whole 40 under 40 thing, I want to write about Schrödinger's cat, but I am going to save that for my next post because, let's face it, I don't seem to be overflowing with ideas here. Although that is not technically true--I have a lot of ideas for blog posts, but not so much time/motivation/wherewithal to actually write about them. So consider this a teaser: stay tuned for a fascinating discussion of Schrödinger's cat!
Meanwhile, on the subject of my large and aging tukas, it is of course still aging, but it is just a little less large. I have lost five pounds in the two weeks since I started my little 40 by 40 campaign, and I am quite pleased with myself about that. I'm even more pleased that five pounds apparently translates into three inches off my waist, which translates into my big girl pants being 85% less like a device that was designed by sadists to cut me in half at the waist. I am even a little sad about the fact that my size 14 black Ann Taylor Loft cords will soon be too big for me. But just a little. I'm also somewhat embarassed and mortified to realize just how much my size 14 pants in general have been way too tight in the waist even though they do fit fine everywhere else. It's the gut, you see. I am an apple, not a pear. But soon I shall be a legume! My fondest daydream right now invlolves being able to wear jeans with a regular straight, semi-fitted shirt without looking like I am smuggling tire tubes into the country. No belly-concealing pleat, no baby-doll swing tops, just a plain old tee. Think of it!
Here is a fun observation about telling people you've lost five pounds in two weeks: they first look like you are about to reveal the secret of the universe as they ask you how you are doing it, and then they look very disappointed when you say "counting calories." Like, they are really hoping to hear "I am eating a box of donuts every morning and then taking this magical pill that has the side effect of making your skin radiate from within." I say that to head off any possibility of that very disappointment striking you, right now, as I tell you that what I'm doing is eating less and exercising more. Who knew? I'm using the fatsecret app on my ipad to track every single thing that I eat, which is not that hard since I am pretty much a three squares a day kind of girl, and to log any exercise I get during the day, including, some days, "standing" and "sitting," and then it tells me that I have a beautiful calorie deficit for the day of 743 calories or whatever (that is about my average) and I gain tremendous satisfaction from seeing all those little down arrows stacked up on top of each other for the week. When I weigh in on Sundays, it plots my weight loss in a clever little downward sloping green line. My other high tech, super-secret strategy involves setting my fork down and taking a drink of water between bites of food at dinner, since 14 years of mothering have trained me to eat dinner like it might be the last chance I will ever have to ingest food.
The only exercise I'm doing so far is walking, and last week I didn't even do that. I'm tempetd to say it was because I'm just so busy with the four kids and the working and the masters classes because you sweet schmucks will totally buy that, but in fact I spend a good amount of time playing on my ipad and reading books because I am essentially a lazy sack. So yesterday I weighed and was just very slightly disappointed that I only lost 2.2 pounds and not 3, so I put on my bootylicious new yoga pants and strapped my Phone onto my arm with a Florence + The Machine station playing on Pandora and walked 3.5 miles. My goal was just to do 2, but I was enjoying the music and the gorgeous fall weather so much that I went off the grid and just kept walking. I discovered that I prefer not to have a route mapped out in advance, which of course makes perfect sense if you know me, and I tackled every hill I came to and generally had myself a little adventure. It was nice, kicking up leaves and singing embarrasingly loud as I trucked along, thinking about Schrödinger's cat.