A scary look into the future?

My parents are travel agents. Meaning, they're never home. They're always out and about, taking people on fabulous trips while most of the time, I'm left home to sulk.

Okay, not sulk really, but because my grandmother (who lives with my parents) is 83 and really not able to stay home alone, Mr. CCC and I "move in" to my parents house while they're gone.

We're there to keep watch over the house, the pets and of course, my grandmother. This week has been a difficult one, but one that's been eye-opening as well.

A few days ago, my grandmother woke up complaining of a pain in her neck and back. We figured she'd just slept on her neck funny and that a day of medicine and rest would get her back to normal.

Yesterday, when I asked how she was feeling, she said much better. I figured the issue was past until this morning...when my grandmother woke up screaming and crying because she could not move.

Mr. CCC and I packed her up and took her to the doctor. Just as I was getting ready to leave though, she tells me to grab all her medicines from her nightstand so she could show the doctor what she was taking.

I was more than a little surprised at what I found when I went back inside for her medicine--there were bottles and bottles and bottles. Grabbed 'em, put 'em in a bag and headed out.

When the doctor finally saw her and asked what she was taking, I produced the aforementioned "little" bag. As he looked at them, he explained to me what they were all for.

One for her cholesterol. One for her high blood pressure. Another for arthritis. Another for controlling or doing something with her blood sugar levels.

My head was spinning.

I know my grandma is older. And I understand our bodies start to fail us but as I watched in sadness while the doctor poked and prodded at my grandmother to try and find a solution for her pain, I couldn't help but wonder how different my grandma's life would be if she'd lost weight.

She's been overweight as long as I've been alive. For a good chunk of my life, she smoked. (Fortunately, she gave that up about 10 or 12 years ago...). But doctors have been on her for ages to lose weight. All of her weight (like that of most overweight Cuban women) is centered right on her midsection, something I know makes the weight even more damaging.

Even scarier? I was there when the doctors weighed my grandmother. She weighs less than I do. (She's also about six inches shorter...but when I checked our BMIs, hers is lower.)

It was sobering. But I know there's hope.

A year ago, when I started this journey, I weighed 30 pounds more than I do today. My BMI was at 41. It's at 36 now...still not good, but obviously, progress. And this week, when I went to the doctor and was weighed, I got the inevitable, "You need to lose weight" lecture. (I cut her some slack because it was my first visit--and the lecture stopped when I told her I'd lost 30 pounds and was continuing to work on things).

The other thing that stopped my doctor in her tracks? She took my blood pressure and said, "You exercise, don't you?" to which I responded that I did...and she smiled and said, "I knew it...because your blood pressure is perfect and there's no way someone at your weight should have that blood pressure...unless they're excercising. Keep at it and next year, I can't wait to see your weight."

It was a good moment for me but I had no idea that two days later, I'd be sitting in another doctor's office with a glimpse into my future if I don't "keep at it."

So many times, I get frustrated about my weight because I don't look good. Because I can't buy the clothes I want. Because it's about vanity.

I got another reminder today that there's a lot more at stake.

If she's fat...I'm doomed!

Okay, have to admit...

Despite the fact I own one of her CDs, I'm no Britney Spears fan.

I don't think she can sing (the aforementioned CD was purchased many many moons ago while I was quite possibly, intoxicated). I think her tramped-out image is cliche. Her career is in the toilet and her personal life ain't doing much better.


But today, I feel real, real bad for her.


Two days after her horrible performance at the VMA's a lot of people have a lot of mean things to say. Is the outfit a good choice? No. Was her "singing" worth the hype? No. She couldn't dance. She was clearly lip-synching but people can and have overlooked all of that.

What they can't seem to overlook is her body. In its review, the Associated Press wrote Brit-Brit's performance failures included, "The paunch in place of Spears' once-taut belly."

Perez Hilton, a man who looks like he's never met an order of fries he didn't love, called it a "beer belly."

Uh, wait a second. That. That up there...over there...that flat, yet curvy stomach has a "paunch." It's a beer belly?

Hey AP--wanna see a paunch? I can show you a paunch. Britney? She ain't got one to show. Perez, you want to know about beer bellies, take a look at yourself in the mirror. (Or click here...)

To call Britney's body--one that most women, including myself would kill to have--"paunchy" or fat is just proof of how unhealthy our society's outlook on bodies is.

We sit here wringing our hands about the increases in eating disorders. We complain that fashion models are nothing more than hangers with flesh, but then when a woman who has had two children in less than two years struts out in a bikini with a curve or two and no six-pack we call her "fat."

Hypocritical much?

Worse is that the more I've read up on this, the more I'm coming across people justifying their mean words about her body by saying, "Well she didn't look like that before!" or "It's her job to look good."

Can we take a step back in time to "before"--when Britney was running around in school-girl outfits and covering herself with a snake...back when all of the people criticizing her NOW said she was too thin then and that it was impossible for the average woman to look like that.

Now Britney's heavier than she was and she's still getting grief?

Sad, sad world we live in.

Criticize her performance. Say she was drunk and that she looked out of it. Talk about how she can't sing. I'll agree with you wholeheartedly.

But please...don't call Britney Spears fat. She's far from it.

And if she is fat, then well, maybe I should throw in the towel. Because it's going to take a ridiculous amount of self-control and exercise for me to look like that.

She's got breasts. She's got curves. She's still got the rockin' body.

What the hell is wrong with us if we can't see that?

Utterly confused!!!

You know how we all have those weeks--the weeks where we stay on our weight loss plans, exercise like mad, follow all the guidelines we're supposed to and when we go weigh in nothing happens?

This wasn't one of those weeks. Actually, I had the OPPOSITE kind of week...heck, opposite kind of TWO weeks.

I'm still trying to navigate and master my new schedule and I must confess--there have been more than a few meals eaten in my car this week. If you can read between the lines, you know "eating in my car" means eating from a drive-thru. Think McDonald's. BK. Wendy's. Panda Express. You're rolling your eyes at me. I don't blame you!

I really do go out of my way to try and make the best choices I can, even when it's fast food. Mushroom chicken at Panda Express with steamed rice. Grilled chicken breasts from Pollo Tropical. But there was an order of nachos from Taco Bell thrown in there. And a cheeseburger too.

To make matters worse, I have not been working out as much as I did before school started. Instead of my 4-5 weekly workouts (plus pilates), I'm lucky if I'm getting in there three times. And this week, I was so sick on Wednesday morning because of a medicine I'm (temporarily) taking that I could barely drag myself out of bed--no pilates for me this week.

Yet in a weird stroke of "I really don't know how to explain it," I went to my WW meeting on Saturday--after missing last week's meeting--and get this...I LOST 3.6 POUNDS!

Baffling isn't even the half of it.

I'm at a complete loss for an explanation. By all accounts, it hasn't been my "best" two weeks. There have been weeks where I've spent countless hours in the gym, have tracked every meal, have stayed within my points and I've gained ounces...or haven't lost at all. (Remember the six week plateau?)

Then I have two weeks like this--hectic eating on the run, bare-bones workouts and I lose almost four pounds? Seriously...WTF? What the heck is my body doing?

I don't have any answers other than maybe I have been doing more than I give myself credit for. But honestly, I really don't know.

Part of me is almost terrified--that maybe this weight loss was a delayed reaction to what I've been doing all summer and that when I go back to the scale next week, my "naughty" two weeks are going to catch up with me. And then part of me thinks, "Well, it wasn't pretty or ideal, but you DID stick to your points. So maybe your body just needed a shock."

I don't have any answers. I really don't. Maybe you can help.

Here are a few of the things I've done over the past two weeks...I'll dare you to tell me if any of them sound like "the right things to do to lose weight."

*Eaten from a fast food restaurant multiple times in one day (although I didn't go over my points)

*Worked out much less than in previous weeks

*On each of the past Fridays, only had two meals. (Fridays are the nights I get home super late--past 1 a.m., so what I do is have a nice breakfast, exercise, and then eat a late, filling lunch around 4, 5 p.m....then by the time I get home at 1 a.m., I'm too exhausted to eat)

*Blew through all--if not most--of my flex points on the weekend (My new count starts on Saturdays)

*Journaled every bite, regardless of whether I went over my points or not.

*Went over my points a few days. Period. Over my daily points with no flex points to use

So there's some good there (the journaling) and some bad (only eating two meals on Fridays?) Do you think all this behavior is going to catch up with me next week?

I don't know why, but I do...

That said...I was DAMN HAPPY to see some progress on the scale. Again, after six weeks of waffling with the same pound, to kick that number behind for good was incredibly powerful for me!

Only...now what?

Lost and Found

Bet you thought I was exaggerating, didn't you?

You thought, "Oh CCC! You're not nearly as busy as you think! You'll find time to exercise! You'll keep eating right. You'll stay on track. You're just psyching yourself out..."

My worst fears about time management concerns came crashing down over the past few days. But the good thing is, somehow, I am still stumbling through.

Has my eating been perfect since I last posted? Nope. Has it been disastrous? Nope. Am I still finding my way through a new schedule that has me stumbling home past midnight a couple times a week? You bet!

After coming home from work Friday night (err, morning) at 2, when the alarm clock rang at 9 a.m. for my WW meeting, I hit snooze. When it rang again at 10 so Mr. CCC and I could get ourselves together to head down to Miami to watch my beloved Hurricanes play, I hit snooze again. The lack of sleep caught up with me. (But fear not--Mr. CCC drives like a bat out of hell and we made it on time to the game, whew ;)

But it wasn't just my lack of sleep that wreaked havoc on my life over the past week...last Sunday when Mr. CCC and I went to my mother's for dinner I left my WW books and journals sitting in her living room. Yipes! The old me would have tried to "measure in my head" and probably would have failed...but thank heavens for online tools--I looked up all the point values for everything I ate and logged everything in the notes section of my planner.

Woo hoo for baby steps.

I got a reward of sorts today at the doctor's office--according to their scale, I'm down a pound. I was pretty excited about that, though I'm trying to contain my excitement...that's not my regular scale and who knows how calibrated it is, but either way, it felt good to know that despite the challenges I've faced in the past week and a half, my weight loss efforts haven't gone to hell in a handbasket.

I'm a few days away from being back on the scale officially, and I'm doing whatever I can whenever I can to keep myself on track...planning meals, journaling, squeezing in workouts whenever possible (including Labor Day!)

But I have to admit--I hate the lack of structure. I'm definitely flying by the seat of my pants here and the control freak in me isn't happy.

Just. Have. To. Keep. Plugging.

Breaking through...

The good news: After five weeks stuck at the same weight, something finally happened.

You read it right--I lost weight! Not a huge amount, but I was so relieved to see I was down 1.2 that it didn't bother me (much). Was I hoping for more? Sure. Was I just thrilled something happened? You bet. Do I know this is something of a minor miracle considering I've been dealing with my period the past week? Absolutely.

The bad news? I now get to eat less food. My loss moved me into a new (lower) point category. I'm a little nervous about it, but I'm just going to have to find a way to make it work. Unfortunately, I didn't start the week off well. My sister-in-law hosted a housewarming party last night in her new gorgeous home and I uh, overindulged. (I can't be the only one that needs vodka to get through an evening with my in-laws, can I?). But the flex points have been counte and dedcuted and on we go...

But the fact I've lost a point isn't coming at a great time. All summer I've been dreading the return of the school year. Though I'm not a teacher and I don't have kids, my life becomes completely insane once the school year starts because of my job. At least twice a week now, I'll be coming home past 11 p.m. I'll be out of the office, out of my house, out of my comfort zone on those nights. Finding time to workout is going to be more challenging, so I'm going to have to capitalize on whatever time I do have.

Since starting this journey, I've been working out every night after work. This was perfect for me in a couple of ways--the first being Mr. CCC works late pretty often. Going to the gym after work was a good way for me to pass the time 'til he got home and it kept me out of the house (and the kitchen!) until dinner time. And let me tell you right now--I am not a morning person. The idea of waking up early to go exercise gives me the shakes. Plus, on the occasions I did that, I found myself insanely hungry the rest of the day. I'd be out of points well before dinner time. So evening workouts were perfection.

Only problem is that now that school's back, I'm going to be working late myself. So I'm going to have to find ways to make morning workouts--work. That means going to bed earlier, having dinner earlier, packing healthy snacks for during the day and planning my meals better. It's going to be a challenge, but I'm determined to make it work. I have to.

I know I can't be the only one who's got to work out in the morning...how have you made it work for you? I could use the advice and the inspiration so tell, tell!

I know what word rhymes with "stuck"...

...and it's the word I screamed (internally!!!) while standing on the scale last week.

I bet you know the word I was thinking of, don't you? Well, let's rule out some possibilities. It wasn't duck...or truck...or puck...or schmuck. Figured it out yet?

Okay, imagine your reaction after five days of relentless workouts, passing up treats and realizing you've only lost half a pound (after two straight weeks of gaining!) You wouldn't be happy, would you? Neither was I.

Sure, the weigher was all chipper and happy and "Yay! You lost half a pound!" but it took all my self control not to utter the word-that-rhymes-with-stuck while standing in her presence.

After two weeks of gaining and all the work I'd put in earlier that week, I was so upset. More upset when I realized over the past four weigh-ins--four weeks of dieting--all I've managed to lose was nothing. Exactly nothing. I weigh today, exactly what I weighed July 21.

While I can honestly say I'm not sure what happened with my last weigh-in (where I gained 4 ounces despite eating well and exercising), I know I was lucky to have some, any kind of downward progress this past week. Why? Because in the two days after Dobie's death, as I posted, I was a nutritional black hole.

If you were fried, covered in cheese or barbeque sauce, drizzled with chocolate or soaked in vodka, I was going to eat you. I didn't care what I put in my body. But less than 72 hours after losing my boy, I knew that the food wasn't helping me in any way and I got back together.

Two pilates classes in one week. Cardio and weights every other day. Not going over my points (Or telling myself I hadn't). And all I could muster was a half-pound loss? Gotta admit, it was disappointing.

But it was also eye-opening.

And it made me realize...while I can exercise my brains out, if I'm still taking in food that I have no business eating, exercise isn't going to make any difference. And maybe that's something I wasn't being honest with myself about while I've been stuck. Have I really, really counted every bite? Have I really, really measured everything out? Have I really, really journaled every day?

Or am I just coasting along, counting on my exercise to undo that bite of chocolate cake I had at my boss' birthday? Or am I figuring that because my muscles still ache from pilates it's okay to steal a few fries off Mr. CCC's plate?

Since that weigh-in on Saturday, I've tried to make sure I do keep track of everything. I'm writing down every bite before I even swallow. And if I go over my points for the day, I flip to the page in my journal where I mark off flex points and there they go.

To make this work, I need to be real. I need to be honest. I need to be as on top of my eating as I am on top of my exercise. Simple as that. I can't tell myself that because I don't weigh what I did when I started this journey that I've got a handle on this eating thing. Because I don't.

Maybe that's what's happening. Maybe I've just gotten comfortable. Or maybe I really am stuck on a plateau. I can't be 100% sure yet. I think this weekend will give me more of an idea. Here's to hoping there's not something more serious going on.

Face to face with the reality...

From the moment I was a little girl, I've had an unhealthy mental image of what the ideal woman should look like.

Of course, I didn't realize it was an unhealthy image until I got older, but when I was 6, 7, 8 years old, few women in the world to me, were prettier than the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders.

Are you cringing yet? The 29-year old me is. But the little girl I used to be just saw pretty faces, big smiles and shimmery outfits. Who wouldn't be fascinated?

I first encountered the Dolphins cheerleaders because of my mom. Prior to opening her own business, she worked in sales in a male-dominated industry. This meant part of her job often involved entertaining clients. She took her female clients to spas to discuss business. Her male clients often got tickets to Miami Dolphins games. Her company used to set up quite the pre-game tailgate and since she was a single mom hard-pressed to find a sitter, I'd get to go down to the Orange Bowl with her and her coworkers to help.

It was hard work, but when you're 7 and your parents are in the middle of a divorce, a Sunday afternoon at the Orange Bowl with all that yummy food and a football to toss around was bliss. And inevitably, someone would always prefer to stay at the tailgate party, giving my mom and I their tickets and into the game we'd go. (No wonder I fell in love with football...)

To make their tailgate even better, the company would often pay the Dolphins to have the cheerleaders make appearances at the tailgate parties. So hours before the game kicked off, those women would show up with their shimmery pom-pons and their shiny white boots. In my mind, they were glamorous. Even as a kid, I knew there was something about them...after all, why would all the cute sons of my mom's clients rush off from playing football with me to pose for pictures with those glamazons?

Is it any wonder that when I was young, if you asked me what I wanted to be my answer was "cheerleader"?

But as I got older, I realized there was more to aspire to than being a professional pretty dancer. Soon the answer to the "What do you want to be when you grow up?" question went from "cheerleader" to "pediatrician." (My mother, understably, was relieved.)

I started getting good grades in school and got a little bit heavier. Inevitably, I was one of the outsiders looking in...the cheerleaders at my school were thin and pretty and popular. And some of them weren't all that nice. But I still wanted to be like them--be liked by them, so for two years, I was on the squad.

Eventually I gave up cheerleading, telling myself I wanted "more" than to just be on the sidelines. In reality, the cheerleaders intimidated me the older we got. I ran from my pompons and embraced my bat and ball. I was a softball player now. But the cheerleaders have always been those girls I've looked up to and thought had the 'perfect' lives. Like the head cheerleader who dated the quarterback of the football team (who I was secretly in love with). Or (again), the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders who could make a crowd of 70,000 (mostly) men go crazy with one toss of their head and one shake of their hips.

The older I got, the more critical my view of cheerleaders became. I viewed them as nothing but eye candy (especially the ones that did nothing but dance...I know quite a few cheerleaders do more than that and train and perform like athletes...I'm not talking about them). My bitterness only grew when while we were dating, Mr. CCC got a job with the Dolphins' marketing department.

Part of that job? Accompany the Dolphin cheerleaders to appearances throughout South Florida. While the cheerleaders would lure the fans (err, men!) in, Mr. CCC would try to sell them season tickets. I hated that he was around those cheerleaders in their skimpy outfits for hours at a time...it pulled at every self-esteem issue I had and I worried that one day, Mr. CCC would come home and tell me he was running off with one of them. And why wouldn't he want to? They were tall. Thin. Beautiful. Voluptuous.

I was not.

Yesterday in my Pilates class, I came face to face with my childhood goal/adult nemesis. There was a new student in class and as the rest of the chubsters and I sweat and groaned through the new moves our instructor demanded, the newbie flew through the routine with the kind of grace and precision you just don't see from newcomers to Pilates. She barely broke a sweat.

Our instructor must have noticed the fact so many people turned to look because she pointed out for the rest of us not to worry--that the new student was a dancer and had been training professionally for years. As I was leaving the studio, I overheard the chatter...the newbie was a Miami Dolphins cheerleader.

I glanced over and wasn't surprised--perfect body, perfect hair, perfect smile. For a moment, all I could think was, "Damn...I can work as hard as I just worked and I can cut back to eating absolutely nothing and I will never, in my wildest dreams, look like that." And part of me internally rolled my eyes---if she was so advanced and so flexible, why the heck was she strutting her stuff in a beginner class? I go to Pilates to escape my body issues. Not run into them head on.

It was rather depressing and took me right back into junior high mode--where the cheerleaders were the ones with the perfect lives and I was alone. But as I recounted the story, to a (very wise) friend, she told me I had to STOP thinking like that...and how we women are so hard on ourselves and overly critical of everything regarding our bodies. She had a point. For the first time since taking Pilates, I left the studio feeling down about myself...not proud of what I had just accomplished. And that bothered me.

That's my cross to bear, my issue to work through. I shouldn't be placing value on the person I am by the way I look. I shouldn't see a beautiful woman and roll my eyes, telling myself internally that she's automatically a bitch or that she's bound to be mean. I shouldn't look at a woman with a perfect figure and rationalize she has a perfect life. Because I don't know her. For all I know, she's lost her job, her husband, a child and is burning with pain inside.

For all the times we preach to our children and our friends about how looks don't matter, how often do we really believe that ourselves? I know I have issues. And I also know I need to find a way to stop that negative thinking.

Instead, I can (and should) look at that Dolphins Cheerleader and think, "Wow...I bet she has to work really hard to look that good." Because I'm sure she does. She's probably passed up cookies and cake her entire life. Or she spends six hours a day exercising. Is that something to be envious of? I don't think so. Would I want to skip some of the fabulous meals I've had in my life to be that thin? I don't know that I would. Am I willing to spend hours upon hours cooped up in a gym, instead of enjoying time with my family and friends? Nah.

But more power to those that do...that have to for their jobs. There's nothing to envy there...you have to just admire their self-control and their willpower. (Unless of course, you discover her dinners consist entirely of chocolate, wine and cheese and her exercise is limited to walking outside to get the mail. If that's the case, then yeah, I'm gonna be really, really jealous!)