Pennermag.com

My Best Shot

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Today was the first weigh in.  Officially, I’m at 178.6 lbs.

Now that I’ve stepped off the scale, I’d like to weigh in on some of the issues of today.

First, let’s talk about emotional eating triggers.  Saturday morning, there I was starving to death, when I decided to check the mail.  As expected I received another rejection letter from a job I interviewed for a few weeks ago.

The job was as a pro se law clerk — summarily handling (really disposing of) the habeas petitions of various state and federal prisoners.  Federal judges are far too busy with real cases to bother with these.

The interviewer was a recently appointed Magistrate Judge who was born in 1943 — I knew from reading her bio, there was trouble.  You know how those white baby boomers can condescend.

But, she’d brought me in for a job interview, so I thought — well maybe, there’s a chance.

Instead I was subjected to a twenty minute harangue about my lack of qualifications.  I barely got a word in edgewise.

Angry Magistrate:  So, you worked for yourself right out of law school?  I can’t imagine you would have received any training that way.  Did you handle any real cases?

Me (trying to sneak in a word in):  Yes, I was mentored.  I handled hundreds of cases, many appeals, etc. . .

Angry Magistrate:  I see that you’ve only been doing contract work since you’ve been in California.  Those aren’t real jobs are they?  You’re just a glorified paralegal.

Me (lying through my teeth):  Well that’s not entirely true.  We work as teams of attorneys on significant litigation.

Angry Magistrate:  You know we do some really sophisticated, difficult, mind blowing work here.  The only person qualified enough for this job is myself, and perhaps, Justice John Roberts.  There are no civil service protections in this job — if you couldn’t cut the mustard, I’d fire you within the first month.

Me (to myself):  Nothing like talking about being fired during a job interview.

Angry Magistrate:  Well, I’m just not that impressed with you.  I’m going to re-run the ad in the Daily Journal and see who else shakes out.  I’m going on vacation for two weeks.  Don’t call me.  We’ll call you.

Me (trying not to trip while being pushed out the door):  But I’d make a great employee.  I’d love to have an opportunity to show you what I can do. 

But, I don’t think she heard — it was hard making my voice carry from the elevator.

And then I have Ms. Dietitian asking why I would want to eat.  Because, Your Thinness, after a day like that, a large platter of bulgogi with a side of dol sot bi bim bab looks wonderful.

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I always thought I’d feel the same, but I think I’m getting old.

I can see it in Adam — especially the rapid acceleration of grey hair.  I only have one grey hair, by the way — and I vainly tweeze it.

But now I think getting old is more about a loose assortment of ailments catching up with you.

This morning, I walked up to the Mulholland fire road (an uphill trek), and planned to run back down down to my street  to keep my heart rate up.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t sustain the run.  Why?  Well I bruised my lower back when I fell folding a sheet a few weeks ago. 

Don’t ask.

I’ve always been a bit of a klutz and I couldn’t see the large, purple exercise ball under my feet while I was folding a billowing queen size sheet in front of the open balcony window — and down I went.  It wasn’t a graceful fall.

So my lower back has been aching, and the pain sometimes radiates down my legs.  My prognosis — fine — just let it heal.

Then I purchased Adam some sculpting clay last week so he could make a bust (of whom, I don’t know). 

We were in the car today and I was asking him why he hasn’t started his project.  It turns out that the repetitive motion of typing and checking his e-mail all day has injured his hand.

Needless to say, he’s been hiding this from me because I’ve been nagging him to see the doctor — it’s a crisis and we do have that oh-so-uncomprehensive crisis care health insurance.  But he’s been putting it off.

If this is getting old, I don’t want any of it.  I want to get hurt, shake it off, and start the next day fresh without calling my doctor and doubling up on the pain medication.

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Ok, not quite starving, but I’m a little hungry.  Things were going rather well, I thought.  Until yoga.

Miss Dietitian has recommended that we get in about three hundred calories worth of exercise every day.  No problem, I thought.  I’ll go hiking up to Mulholland from the house, I’ll walk a mile at the Sherman Oaks park, and I’ll go to yoga.

Yesterday, I did my jaunt at the park.  No problem.

Today, I decided to get those kinks out with yoga. 

I wasn’t ready. 

Yoga had never been so hard.  The downward facing dog was killing me.  I got a little light-headed with bridge and wheel (though I was never good at those in gymnastics either), and when all was said and done after an hour and a half — I was starving to death.

Ok, not starving, but hungrier than I wanted to be.  I got home, had a shake, and was still hungry.  Had a lot of water, and was still vaguely hungry.

I’ve had all my shakes/meals for the day . . . and I’m okay . . . right now.

But it’s barely eight o’clock, and I’m out of activities for the day.

Normally, after exhausting job postings and networking, I spend my day sourcing fresh ingredients and preparing food.  A recent article in one of my cooking magazines mentioned that fifty or sixty years ago, a woman (c’mon you know it was a woman) spent about two to four hours preparing family meals and most of that was spent on dinner.

Adam expressed shock — he couldn’t imagine spending that much time on meals.  I, could, of course, because I did.

I made breakfast from scratch be it muffins, pancakes or crepes with fresh fruit filling.  Admittedly with food processors and blenders, that does go fast.  Then for dinner, we’ve always had a full meal, with fresh vegetables, or meat that had to be de-boned or prepared just so.  And we’re not even going to mention the fact that I make bread from scratch most weeks.

My routine has been to do all the food prep while watching Oprah, then start cooking about an hour before Adam comes home.  Not to mention decanting wine, and possibly preparing some kind of fruit dessert from scratch.

So, without all that food shopping at the farmer’s market, and whatever specialty store I was visiting that day, I have A LOT of time on my hands.

Not to say there aren’t some home improvement projects I could actually finish.  So today, I attempted to finish a change in light switches — though I ran out of three-way light switches before I was done.   I’m six short, can you believe it?  Do Americans need to be able to turn off every light from every room without walking more than a few feet?  But I digress . . . .

I also read a book, and walked the dogs, and played around on the computer.

Now tomorrow, that’s another story.  Hopefully, I wont be too hungry or too bored.

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Ok, today is day one.

Last night we had our first meeting and gathered up our food and shakes.  Ms. Dietitian suggested we get in a good last supper. 

I chose an Ultimo Burrito from Baja Fresh.  Now, I must digress for a moment.  When I called to place my order, the cashier wanted to know if I desired curbside pick-up.

Curbside pick-up?  I saw ads for this at California Pizza Kitchen the last time I had one of those barbecue chicken salads.  How lazy can Americans get.  Drive through it not enough?  I decided to park and walk the ten feet inside the store.  The kicker.  You have to call the restaurant from your cell phone from the curb so they can come outside and meet you — so for those of us without a cell phone, who knows?  But if you have to compete with McDonald’s . . . .

Anyway, had my first shake this morning.  Chose vanilla.  Not having food choice is lovely.  Many, many protein shakes may be harder.  I’m not a ’shake’ person, but it seems like I’ll have to be.

If I’m diligent and exercise as well as eat only program foods — the average weight loss is fifty pounds.  Maybe at the end, I’ll feel more like myself.

Last night’s weigh in 182.6.  Oh, and I’ve finally kicked the caffeine habit (I hope).  This is the first morning in a week of no caffeine that I haven’t woken up with a splitting headache.

Adam wants me to put up a pic for a before and after comparison.  I haven’t taken more than a few pictures of myself in the last ten years, but if you’d like to see a before, I suggest you click here.

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