The Battle of the Bulge

A few months ago I went to the doctor for a physical.  I put as much thought and preparation into this appointment as I did for a family vacation.  Just like for our vacations, a couple of weeks beforehand, I started going through my wardrobe to find the perfect outfit.  I was positive that the right clothing choice would start this visit off on the right foot.

My nemesis

The perfect clothing items were not chosen for design, color, fit, or which accessories could be worn with them. No, function far outweighed form for this visit.  This was important and I knew I had to make a strong impression.

When the day of my appointment arrived, I dressed with great attention to detail.  My appearance had been carefully planned down to the most finite detail.

As the nurse called me back, I went through the checklist in my head to make sure I hadn't missed anything:

Lightest weight clothing - check.
Remove all undergarments - check.
No unnecessary use of hair products or makeup - check.
All rings and necklaces removed - check.
Bathroom - check.
Slip off shoes - check.
No food or water consumed since the night before - check.

And with all of the items on my list checked off, I stepped on
the doctor's scale.............. and had lost precisely 1 pound since last year. 

"I did it!" I exclaimed.

With a raised eyebrow, the nurse led me to an exam room while I thanked everyone who helped me achieve this great and wondrous accomplishment.  My victory speech was so poignant, it was worthy of an Academy Award.

I was sitting on the doctor's examining table when she came in.  I held my breath as she perused the vital statistics the nurse had written down.  Anxiously I waited for the pat on the back and exclamations of a job well done.

She looked up from the paperwork, "Last year we discussed your weight and why it's important for you to lose 15 pounds."

I smiled broadly as I replied "Yes!  And look! I lost 1 pound!"

With a look of disapproval she said "Last year you wore sweats.  This year you have on a bikini.  The only thing you lost was some cotton fiber.  Have you been exercising?".

"Does walking to the refrigerator and pantry count? I have walked through the grocery store!" I offered.

"The refrigerator and pantry only count if you didn't get anything out to eat.  How many days a week did you walk through the grocery store?  Was it a grocery 'super store' or a 7-eleven?" she replied.

She knew me too well.  "Does walking to get the newspaper count?" I questioned.
"Is it in your driveway?", she asked.
"Yes." I replied.
"No." she said.

"I have to take the dog out several times a day." I offered.
"Do you take the dog for a walk or just open the back door to the house and let it out?", she queried.

"Hmmm...... I thought about swimming laps at the natatorium." I said.
"How many laps did you swim?" she asked.

"Ummm........ what about chewing?  Chewing uses muscles so shouldn't that count as exercise?" I replied.

The doctor handed me a packet of information on calorie counting, a list of websites for reduced calorie recipes, a food pyramid chart, and another chart which listed how many calories are burned doing different forms of exercise.

"Pick from the activities and do it 5 days a week. You need to lose 15 real pounds by your next yearly physical." she ordered.

After looking at the list of exercises and the short list of edible foods on the diet, maybe for my next physical I'll cut my hair short and see if that will help me lose some real pounds.

Written by Christie Bielss

Marketing Gone Amok!

All I've heard lately are people talking about calories, fat grams, trans fat, saturated fat, unsaturated fat, cholesterol, sodium, and carbohydrates. Healthy this and healthy that, portion control this and portion control that.  It's gotten to the point where when someone starts talking healthy eating, I hear blah, blah, blah. 

 

But, with all of this new more intense focus on food, I've also noticed a decided shift in the way food companies are advertising their products, and enough so that it has captured my attention and I'm actually listening again.  Advertisers no longer show just a steaming mound of mashed potatoes with a delectably lush pat of butter melting down the sides.  No sir they don't. 

Now the companies have taken their advertising to a whole new level to meet the consumer's evolving health awareness.  Instead of just hooking you with that ever so appealing mound of steaming hot mashed potatoes, they now sink their hooks in deep with the new added kicker "and 1 serving is only 80 calories!". 

Wow!  I love mashed potatoes and to be able to eat them and only consume 80 calories would leave room in my daily caloric count for dessert!  And jump for joy! The very next commercial after the potatoes was for spray whipped topping.

The commercial displayed a big bowl full of beautifully juicy red strawberries with a big mound of whipped topping.  The announcer said "....don't feel guilty..... because with just 15 calories it's the perfect compliment to your workout."

Oh thank you sweet Lord!  I won't be killing all the effects of my workout and I can enjoy a delightful reward.  And look at that mound of scrumptious savoriness they say I can have for only 15 calories!!!  Woo Hoo!

I ran out and bought the whipped topping and the strawberries.  I sprayed that whipped topping just like I'd seen on tv and as I was lowering the can to clean off the nozzle, I noticed the nutrition label and was instantly dismayed.  The commercial showed this big mound of lushness and the announcer said it only had 15 calories, but the can said the serving size for those 15 calories was 2 measly, miserly tablespoons.  2 flipping tablespoons?!!  I don't think it is even humanly possible to spray out only 2 tablespoons. 

So, in an effort to protect all of mankind from such false advertising, I offered myself up as a guinea pig to see just how much I was using on average.  Remember, I did this with the pure motive to help all of you who are watching your diet and not because I wanted to eat an entire can of whipped topping...... although it was decidedly delicious!

The photo at the top of this post is 2 tablespoons (and heaping tablespoons at that) of the spray whipped topping.  The photo below that is what I guessed to be the equivalent of what they sprayed in the commercial (although due to inability to get an actual scale and the camera distortion, the scale may be grossly off from my point of view and they may have sprayed a much smaller amount). 

I measured that mound out and it was 13 tablespoons which equates to 97.5 calories..... that's a whole lot more than 15.

Going back to those mashed potatoes, those were only 80 calories per serving, right?  Not so fast.  I checked the serving size (1/3 cup) and wouldn't you know those 80 calories were only for the potato flakes.  That's right, you can have the potato flakes for 80 calories but if you'd like them actually mixed with milk, butter, salt, and water (they taste closer to real potatoes that way) as the package directions state, then those calories jump up to 150.

Between just these 2 food items, my daily calorie intake was just blown by 152 calories.  That didn't seem that bad, I thought.  After all, it wasn't like I'd blown it by 1,000 calories.

Then I decided to look up what it would take for me to burn those extra calories off.  55 minutes of having my arm dislocated from it's socket.......er...... I mean walking the dog.... or I could go play bumper carts with the old farts at Walmart for an hour and 15 minutes, or I could go swim laps freestyle at a moderate pace for 20 minutes straight. 

All of those options really make those marketing wizards look like demons in my eyes.  I don't want to have to exercise extra just for some whipped cream and boxed mashed potatoes.  Heck, I don't really want to exercise at all.

Yes, it's irritating that marketing guru's have run amok using these methods to sell products, but I guess that's the nature of the beast of free enterprise.  Consumer vs. Marketing.  So, once again that age old phrase proves itself correct "if it looks too good to be true, it probably is".

So there you have it, my first expose'.  I feel so John Stossel-y.

by: Christie Bielss

Where's Waldo.....uhh... the Redhead?

Have you been wondering where this crazy redhead went?   Maybe you figured I was off to a tropical locale?   I wish, but since I'm one of those redheads that can get a sunburn by laying out at night during a full moon phase, a tropical locale is unlikely.

Maybe you thought I'd run out of topics to discuss?  I'm a redhead.  It's a rare day indeed when I run out of topics to blather about.

Maybe I've gone shopping........ with my Mother? This idea is much more plausible as my Mother can shop for days on end and walk the legs off a billy goat when shopping for the perfect outfit or pair of shoes........... or, heaven forbid, both.  But no, I haven't been shopping.

The reality:  It's nothing that exciting.  I've just been under the weather.

Being born a stubborn redhead, I refused to acknowledge that my body was not functioning normally.  I put off my symptoms as being several things such as:  peri-menopausal with body temperatures fluctuating between being hot enough to produce molten lava, to being so cold I donned my goose-down puffer coat with a warm fuzzy scarf, mittens, and ski hat in 90+ degree weather......... and both within 20 minutes of each other.  If it wasn't peri-menopausal symptoms, then I told myself I was just not eating right, wasn't getting enough sleep, or maybe eating something that may have been just a touch "off".  And, being a Mom whose kids were in the final weeks of school before summer break, I really did not have the time, or luxury, to be sick.  There were class functions, grade promotion ceremonies, award ceremonies, parent/teacher conferences, field trips, and on, and on.

My symptoms had been going on for quite some time but I chose to ignore them.  At the nagging of my best friend, I called the doctor and made an appointment to see what the problem was.  While my BFF is not a redhead, I'm pretty sure she carries the redheaded gene for persistence.  Our phone conversations started with "Hi! ........ Have you made a doctor's appointment yet?", or "How are you feeling?..........When is your doctor's appointment?".  We'd be talking about food, exercise, and losing weight, and she'd use it as an opening to ask "Yeah, when's your doctor's appointment again?".  She was getting just feisty enough that I knew she was about to pull out the big guns. Rather than having her call and sick my Mother on me, or get the "you're a mother to young children who need you to be around to raise them" lecture (for the 10,000th time), I gave in and made the appointment.

At my physician's office, the nurse called me back and with "the look", promptly handed me a clear Dixie cup and pointed me to the restroom.  My doctor's nurse is kind of like a Chihuahua - she's small but mighty.  You do not fuss with her.  I obediantly entered the restroom.  "Oh!  You have got to be kidding me!", I said as soon as she flicked on the light.  The toilet was so tiny and low to the ground it looked like a toddler's potty training chair.  With a firm "Go", the nurse closed the restroom door. 

The doctor diagnosed me with a kidney infection, prescribed an antibiotic and firmly instructed me to drink lots of water and sent me on my way.  Off to the pharmacy I went and picked up my prescription, happily thinking I'd be good to go in a day or so.

Within 2 days things were getting worse, so off to the Urologist I went.  He did some labs and determined I did not have a kidney infection.  The Urologist immediately started going over an action plan as to what tests he felt were needed.  I sat in the room as he told me I needed a CT scan because I could have a kidney stone or a tumor.  The horror stories of friends passing kidney stones immediately flashed through my mind with lightning speed.  As I was mulling this information over, the doctor went on to say that he felt a bladder scope would also be necessary if the CT scan came back negative.  As he got out his diagram of the human body and started to describe what was involved, I wasn't sure whether to pass out or hit the door at a full run.  He must've noticed how I was sizing him up to see whether I could run over him like a defensive tackle to get out the door, because he quickly switched gears and said that we'd just take it one test at a time.

I scheduled the CT scan, little realizing that it would be conducted at a urology CT scan center whose clientele base consisted almost entirely of elderly men.  When I walked up to the receptionist, she asked "Name?" and I gave her mine.  She smiled and said "No, I need the patient's name.".  With a deep sigh, an uncontrolled eye roll, and a great deal of embarrassment, I said that I was the patient.  With quickly diverted eyes, and an "Oh!" she quickly checked me in.

The Radiologist's report came back with lightning speed and it was determined I do indeed have a pretty nasty infection.  Well, thank goodness for that because that meant there was no need for that bladder scope and I didn't have to "pass" the greatly feared kidney stone.

I thought this would be the lesser of the evils and it would be a breeze when I was put on a liquid diet for 2 days.  Famous last words. By the end of those first 2 days, I was so hungry I could?
a) gnaw the bark off a tree
b) eat the tail end out of a skunk
c) think road kill looked like a gourmet feast
d) all of the above

The answer was "d) all of the above".

I am doing much better now and while I have graduated to a soft food diet and am getting enough food to satisfy my hunger, the physical urge to sink my teeth into something firm and chew has become quite strong.  Our dog must have noticed me staring at her chew bones because she has started hiding them from me.  On the bright side, I've lost 13 pounds with the dietary changes........ just in time for swimsuit season........... 

So, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and hold on tight because the The Redhead Sez is back!

by: Christie Bielss

A Student of Change

While scrolling through Twitter updates, I saw a quote that said "Become a student of change".  Why?  For the most part, I don't really like change. Ok, so there are many different kinds of change and some of them are awesome, like the inventions of electricity, automobiles, air conditioning, and indoor plumbing.

Doesn't it seem a bit arbitrary to say that we should all drop everything to become students of change?  What change are they talking about?  Small changes, moderate changes, or big changes?  You've also got your lifestyle changes, emotional changes, pychological changes, dietary changes, and physical activity changes.  As well as societal changes, growth changes, changes of habit, and changes to habitat.  Or how about job changes, housing changes, familial status changes, income changes, and the least favorite: health changes.  

While I don't like the word "change" in general, I do appreciate and like some changes that happen regularly.  The daily application of deoderant would probably be at the top of my "like" list.  At the top of my "appreciate" list would be your daily application of deoderant.  I've been around people who I wished had made this change.  I'd be very happy if they became a student of this change.

Another good change I discovered was after I'd taken an airplane flight.  I arrived at my destination, but my luggage did not.  It took a full 2 days for my luggage to arrive.  I was never so thankful to be able to change clothes as I was that day.  Now that was a good kind of change.

I was pleasantly surprised by a recent change.  We were driving to an event and got lost due to our GPS navigating us to Arizona, and we only needed to go to the neighboring town.  My husband actually stopped and asked for directions .  Now that was a change I could live with.

I guess I'll concede that not all change is bad.  After all, if not for change, we'd all still be living in dark caves, grunting and dragging our knuckles, while trying to figure out how to start a fire.

by: Christie Bielss

Swimming Malfunctions

Recently I decided to take my doctor's advice and try swimming to get some low-impact exercise.  To be honest, I resisted the idea of swimming because it required the purchase of one major stumbling block - a swimsuit.

I loathe shopping for swimsuits.  To me, all store fitting rooms have trick mirrors which make me look like the fat lady from the circus.  I look 2 feet shorter, 6 feet wider, 30 years older, and with the horrid lighting in the fitting rooms, I can almost see a beard.  

And then I remembered I had an old swimsuit which might still fit.  It wasn't the prettiest thing, and it was a 2 piece, but it had a little skirt that went down to my thighs and it covered all the same areas as a 1 piece swimsuit does.  I thought "Sweet!  No circus mirrors!".  I could almost hear the department store mirrors taunting me "You haven't seen the last of us!  Just wait and see!". 

The next day I headed out to our local swim center and discovered they were having a water aerobics class populated with elderly women.  Yay!, I thought.  I'm not the only overweight, grey-headed, out-of-shape person in the entire swim center and, with the median age in here, I'm the youngster. 

I had set a goal of trying to swim 5-6 laps.  It seemed achievable at the time, especially since I'd been a very good, strong swimmer in my younger days.  So what if that was nearly 30 years ago.  I was certain I couldn't be that out of shape. 

I stuck one foot in the water and gasped.  That water was downright cold but, determined not to be swayed from my goal, I sucked it up and jumped in.  I quickly found an open lane to swim in, which just so happened to be between two elderly gentlemen.  After saying hello and watching these old birds steadily swim laps as I warmed up, I decided to show them how good of a swimmer I was.  

Remembering  all of my swim team training from years ago, I pushed off the wall with great gusto .......... and proceeded to spend the next few minutes retrieving my swimsuit bottom from around my ankles.  With a lot of struggling I got my bottoms pulled up, which wasn't the easiest thing to do since the pool is 10+ feet deep and I had to tread water while trying to pull the darn thing up.   Definitely not my most shining moment.  

I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the incident.  The old guys were still swimming, the ladies were still aerobicising and, much to my relief, no one was laughing so hard they were drowning.  It appeared they all had missed my fiasco.

I started swimming as though nothing had happened and made it three-quarters of the way across the pool when all of a sudden I came across the most dreaded thing a person can encounter in a public swimming pool.......... a warm spot.  Oh dear heavens!  Considering the average age in the pool that day, I was a bit freaked out.  I pondered the possibilities of Depends making swim diapers while I made it the few remaining strokes to the pool wall.  As I was gasping for air, one of the gentleman next to me spoke and said "sure is nice to hit those heated water spots when you're getting close to the end, isn't it?".  Oh thank you Lord! Greatly relieved, I hadn't thought about the fact the pool could have a heater.  

After catching my breath, I pushed away from the wall, this time with one hand holding onto my swimsuit bottom.  Never thought about the fact that if one arm is against your side it will allows air bubbles into the top of the swimsuit.... giant air bubbles.

I was forced to surface from my glide due to the buoyancy of the top of my swimsuit.  This darned suit now had enough air in it to fill the Goodyear blimp and was  exposing enough skin that I may as well have just gone skinny-dipping.  I could almost hear those department store circus mirrors snickering at me for not having purchased a new swimsuit.  After releasing the air from my swimsuit top with a giant "swoosh" and putting the appropriate body parts back into the appropriate part of the suit, I finished the lap and decided not to push off the wall on the next lap.  

What I discovered as I started to try and swim was even more startling than the previous 2 swimsuit malfunctions.  The innocuous little skirt which hid my rather unsightly thighs, had taken on enough water at this point that the bottom half of me was sinking ever lower into the water.  This was causing enough pull and drag that I was now swimming at a steep angle and my head was sinking below the water line.  That little swatch of fabric around my thighs was like an anchor and quickly becoming the last step in my complete and total humiliation by possibly requiring me to be rescued by the 80 year old men swimming in the lanes next to me.  

Somehow I had to find the strength to out-swim the skirt's drag.  Out of pure self-preservation and redheaded determination, I made it to the end of the pool.  After spending 1.5 laps fighting swimsuit malfunctions, I decided that was enough exercise to equate to swimming 10 laps and left the swim center.

I returned to swim 2 days later with a new women's Speedo swimsuit.  Before returning, I had braved the darned old department store fitting room mirrors and even went so far as to cover their circus-like reflections with my clothes. After that swimming experience all I needed was a swimsuit that fit and was functional - no mirror required.

As I walked up to the pool, I was greeted by the same 2 older gentlemen who were there on my first swim.  One of the gentlemen teased "Looks like you've got a new swimsuit.  Does this mean you're going to actually swim a full 2 laps today?".  Oh, so you're a feisty old bird, eh?, I thought.  "Oh definitely!" I replied, "and this swimsuit should stay on while I'm swimming.".  Both men's jaws dropped and one of them muttered "Darn!  I knew I should've gotten the prescription swim goggles........".


by: Christie Bielss