I have great friends. One of them has a little boy who’s starting Kindergarten this year. She’s a very loving, very smart woman. Like me, she has strong viewpoints and no compunction about sharing them.

Which is why I feel completely comfortable calling her out when she makes stupid decisions. We haven’t had a serious difference in opinion since she decided NOT to get her son vaccinated (GAH! This still infuriates me!), but I feel I must protest when she starts making noise about how relieved she is that the school she’s sending him to has a vegetarian option on the menu.

WHAT? Excuse me? I have zero problems with people who make the decision (as adults) to forgo meat, or those who choose to be vegans. Yay personal choice! Yay freedom! And I do realize that it’s natural for parents to pass their beliefs and preferences on to their kids. Duh. But while I wouldn’t interfere with someone’s choice to become a vegetarian, I don’t think their children should be subjected to that same lifestyle – at least, not until they become old enough to decide for themselves, and by that I mean 18 + years.

There are alternatives, of course. I realize a lot people find tofu a good nutritional choice. Nevermind that tofu is basically coagulated soy milk, it gets the job done. But in places like Montana, especially rural Montana, those options are far more difficult to come by. What then? I just don’t think following a strict vegetarian diet is the healthiest choice for a small, growing body.

YES, I went there. Not that her parenting decisions are any of my business. I don’t even have kids of my own, and perhaps that means I should just shut my hole. But rest assured: if I ever DO have mini-mes, they’ll know what steak tastes like (and reap the nutritional benefits).

Note: While I believe including beef, chicken, and fish in a diet is better than going without, I recognize that a lot of people eat too much meat – which isn’t good either.

Just in case I haven’t yet pissed off everyone in the world, I’ll add that I wrote this while enjoying hotdogs for dinner. That would be pig AND cow parts. Yummy.

I have new gym shoes! They came in the mail today, and I went to test them immediately. My old pair sucked – it’s a real bitch to run when your arches are cramping. I’m thrilled to be able to say the new (cheap! on sale!) pair are loaded with cushiony goodness, as well as appealing to my vanity by being cute. Yay!

Meanwhile, in the past week I discovered I was selling myself short, fitness-wise. I’ve been setting limits for myself – 45 lbs, 10 minutes, etc. And I’ve been meeting them, but not bothering to even try and surpass them.

Until I found myself reaching my self-imposed limit on the treadmill, and thinking, I’m not tired – maybe I should keep going? And so I did. And it sounds ridiculous and obvious, and HELLO AMBER HERE’S YOUR DARWIN AWARD, but REALLY. I went for longer than I thought I could. And sure, I was dripping puddles of sweat and gasping for air, but I did it.

After that earth-shattering revelation (oh, bite me), I decided it’s high time to kick my own ass. So I have been. I’ve been running harder and longer, and lifting heavier weights. There were a couple days I beat my alarm until I was positive it was broken and thought about not going at all, but I made myself go. And now I’m going every day.

More than once I’ve been on the treadmill (I have a deeply ingrained hatred of running, so much that I sometimes have to pretend I’m being chased by scary monsters to keep going) and my strength – okay, mostly my strength of WILL – has started flagging, and I find myself considering giving up. But I found something better than monsters to motivate my increasingly less-jiggly ass.

Now I just think of Demi Moore – GI Jane, anyone? I remember that movie, especially the part where she was fighting for scraps out of a barrel in the rain – and STILL managed to hang upside down and execute perfect situps. If GI Jane can be half-starved and still kick ass, I can probably run more and lift more on my diet, which is less of a diet and more of an all-you-can-eat buffet.

When I’m running and watching the clock, I want to die after about four minutes. I think of quitting. I think of GI Jane and keep going. After about seven minutes I’m resigned to my fate, unhappily. After about ten minutes I realize my body isn’t going to collapse, and I want to finish – I’m going to finish. It’s satisfying to know it. This is corny, but when I hit the fifteen minute mark I feel a thrill, a heady sense of triumph. I’ve finished. I ran flat out, for 15 whole minutes, on an incline – AFTER torturing myself on the elliptical for 20 minutes.

I know some people might roll their eyes at 15 minutes, might scoff and call my sense of accomplishment undeserved. But I’ve never done it before. Ever. Until now.

Every year in the beginning of June little old men and ladies, or those with health insurance, congregate in the elementary school gymnasium at the table with the free food for the health fair.

I went for the blood drawing and the accompanying tests. The results will be mailed to me in two to three weeks, and even though I realize it isn’t the sort of test I can pass or fail, I’m really worried I’m going to get a sheet of paper with a giant F in the middle. I was told once before by my doctor that my cholesterol is “very bad” for my age – in fact, he predicted daily medication will be necessary by the time I hit my forties. GREAT.

The best part about this health fair nonsense is that while testing costs $45, my insurance company will reimburse me for all of it. Basically, I’d be an idiot not to take advantage. And I’m no idiot (well, not most of the time).

As for my health in general, I want to do a triathlon. Obviously I’m in no shape for that sort of physical exertion, and much training will be needed, but I hope to be ready by next summer. I love riding my bike and swimming, and while running could be safely listed as one of my least favorite things, it’s good for me. And I’m slowly getting better at it (very, very slowly).

I’ve decided to stop weighing myself. I’ve been hopping on the scale every morning, and if the number hasn’t dropped at least a little (my scale is digital), I feel bad. Not a good way to start the day. Instead I’m going to make a conscious effort to get in fighting shape for a triathlon. Instead of being 125 pounds, my goal is to be able to run for five miles without fantasizing about amputating my legs so I never have to do it again. Or, failing that, to run the same distance without falling over in a trembling, oxygen-sucking heap.

Have a great Wednesday! (And hey, have a steak).

1. Not biting my nails. I’ve been trying to quit for a couple of years months, but without success. Whenever I get stressed or bored or absent-minded, I start gnawing on them. It’s gross. I want pretty, polished nails. Nails I don’t have to be ashamed of on dates.

2. Eating less.

3. Staying away from people who are bad for me, or who treat me poorly. You might be thinking, “Duh!” but in all seriousness? Removing someone from your life, particularly if they’ve been part of it for years and years, is HARD.

4. Saving money. I want a nice, padded savings account so that if things go to hell financially I’ll be secure. Sadly I also want food and clothing and shelter. Stupid bills. Stupid insurance premiums (which just went up, by the way). I’m making plans to quit eating out so much and to quit randomly buying stuff (namely books) from Amazon – that should help a lot.

5. Having enough discipline to sit down and stay focused on writing my damn book. I need to quit with all the distractions and just make myself do it.

It’s possible (even probable) that I’ve been backsliding a bit with this whole dieting lifestyle change thing.

It’s been a LOUSY couple of weeks, and after a few initial days of not eating at all  (you know it’s bad when I’m willing to put the fork down), I started reacting to stress the way I always do, which is to say that I’ve been eating anything edible that also happens to be within reach.

I’m still working out regularly (thank god, since gym time helps with the tension/anxiety a lot better than the cheesy fries do), but I’ve gained back a couple of pesky pounds anyway.

Of course I intend to annihilate them as soon as possible, but I keep thinking that maybe my weight loss goals are unrealistic. I weigh 145 pounds, and with the added bulk of my hair I can claim 5’3 as my height. That sounds heavy, but my goal – 125 pounds? That sounds…impossible. I’m not a tiny girl. I have the shoulders and ribcage of a football player (thank you, mother, she said sarcastically). I think I’d look like one of those bobble-head dolls at 125.

Besides (and my sister is going to have a thought bubble that says “Wuss!” when she reads this), twenty pounds seems daunting. Whereas, 10 pounds? I might be able to DO ten pounds – and still have boobs leftover!

Or maybe I should give this whole weight loss pursuit a good forgetting about. I’ve been overweight since I was fifteen, sometimes a lot and sometimes a little, but always chubby. Maybe I should make peace with it and devote my time and energy to something that isn’t about vanity.

Something like…

Yeah, okay. Maybe I’ll just shut up and go get my butt on the elliptical where it belongs.

It’s been a little over a week since I started the diet pills and the cleanse. I’ve lost three nearly insignificant pounds, most of which I suspect is water weight because of the cleanse and has nothing to do with the diet pills.

The diet pills would have been an unforgivable waste of my valuable and limited cash supply, except for one thing: they really DO decrease my appetite. Seriously. I think I’ve mentioned my deep and unwavering love of food (usually the junk kind) before, but amazingly enough I haven’t been nearly as prone to gorge on pizza and ice cream. Well, except today I made a pizza for lunch (it doesn’t count as a black mark on my diet because once a month pizza is necessary, okay?), but believe it or not I only ate two pieces before feeling full and satisfied.

I’ve continued working out regularly. I’ve even added abdominal exercises – which I think proves the extent of my dedication since I consider doing situps to be about as much fun as getting kicked repeatedly in the gut – and while I look more toned and everything appears to be tighter and higher, the number on the scale hasn’t changed much.

As for my eating habits, they’re improving (today’s pizza not withstanding). I’ve been sticking with what’s healthy and eating smaller portions.

I’m proud of myself despite my dirty, lying scale. I’ve been consistent with my changes and I can SEE the difference (especially in my butt, which looks fabulous by the way and I thought of posting a photo but then I figured I don’t have that many readers as it is, and do I really want to scare away the loyalists? NO!) and that’s good enough for now. (Okay, I lied, I probably WOULD post a butt photo but I don’t have anyone around to take one just now).

Have a great week!

You know those people who, despite having a little extra junk in the trunk or what have you, frown upon dietary aids such as pills and Slim Fast and even Jenny Craig? Because GOD KNOWS all a person really needs is common sense, the proper amount of exercise, and a reasonable diet combined with strength of will! I AM that person. Or I was, until last Friday.

Last Friday I ordered diet pills (and a cleanse). I caved. I gave up my credit card number with my head hanging. I started reading the reviews online, most of which were success stories, and I thought to myself, hey, if it works for them…why shouldn’t it work for me? I wasn’t being impulsive, not really. I’ve been sub-consciously considering this for a while now, more so lately because I have a goal weight that I want to reach in a certain amount of time, and I could use a boost.

I am now in possession of a big ass bottle of diet pills. Before you go tsk tsking me, I don’t expect a miracle. I’ve been exercising regularly, and I’ve made a truly sorry and pathetic decent attempt to change my eating habits. I’m hoping the pills will aid my weight loss, but to be honest I don’t expect them to work at all – all they really are is caffeine, right?

Have any of you ever taken anything? Did it help, or not?

They were right.

I’ve been working out steadily for a little over a month. I go to the gym at least every other day, sometimes every day. I aerobicize! I spend so much time on the godforsaken elliptical I may as well build a shrine to the damn thing. I lift weights in an acceptably girly fashion – lest I grow too many muscles (HA! as if I’m in danger of that happening) and end up looking like a scary body-builder type. I jump rope. I walk. I do housework. I admit to occasionally having hopped.

Those people with much less stomach fat than me, the ones who claim that diet is crucial, maybe even more important than exercise?…they were right. And I hate them.

I worked my butt off (without making any drastic changes to my diet), and I lost exactly FOUR rotten pounds. 4! That’s less than five! That’s a LOT less than 25, which is my eventual goal. I gave up junk food, mostly, and tried to cut back on pasta (some days were more successful than others). And I look pretty much the same. As it turns out, I can’t eat like an adolescent boy (don’t you think god should’ve created all metabolisms equally?) and expect results. SUCK.

I guess this means I have to change my diet. Goodbye pecan caramel rolls, hello hummus.

Okay, clearly healthy eating has become a central theme in my life. I want to be fit and strong. I want to shave a couple of points from my BMI, so that I fall within the appropriate range (I’m 5’3, and currently 26.6). I’d really enjoy looking hot in my bikini come summertime, and possibly swaggering around to a song that makes me feel way cooler than I actually am.

That said, I need more fiber in my diet. You would think fruits and veggies on a daily basis, coupled with a supplement, would be enough to provide me with adequate fiber levels. Your thinking would be wrong. Apparently my body is fiber-resistant or something.

In my search for fiber-rich foods, I stumbled across quinoa (pronounced keen-wah, which – seriously? pssh.  i was walking around thinking it was pronounced like it sounds, kwin-oh-ah. hooked on phonics worked for me!). Anyway, while I’ve never had it, I understand it’s comparable to couscous, which I love. I found a couple of tasty looking recipes to try, hopefully with my guinea pig sister. Here they are: Quinoa, Corn, & Tomato Salad with Chive-Infused Oil & Quinoa Tabbouleh.

Truthfully I have no idea what tabbouleh is, but it looks completely delicious. I love to try new recipes! And…now I’m hungry.

People are flawed and sometimes selfish. People make mistakes, and sometimes they have affairs. Take Rielle Hunter and John Edwards for example. It’s really no one’s business, right? So they had an affair. I try not to be too judgmental (and frequently fail), particularly when something doesn’t directly concern me.

HOWEVER.

Did everyone read the article (complete with photos) in GQ magazine? I have zero sympathy for Rielle Hunter. She claims that when she saw the photos she “cried for two hours” and found them “repulsive.” What the hell did she expect? She TOOK HER PANTS OFF. She tried to say she trusted the photographer and “went with the flow”. She also said she expected the photos to be “tasteful” and above the neck. Oh yeah? Then why did you take your bottoms off, Rielle? And you can’t tell me you honestly expected bottomless shots to be tasteful. Period.

I also found it ridiculous that she tried to say she just genuinely wanted to help John Edwards “change the world” and that’s why she was so interested in him. She also claims she didn’t come on to him, and that she had no ideas in that direction because she knew he was married. Yet her first words to him were “You’re so hot.” Uh huh. Where I come from, that’s a come-on. And most business negotiations and professional meetings do not start with those kind of statements. Unless I’m doing it wrong?

If GQ was aiming for tawdry and tasteless, they hit the mark.

Another thing that’s bugging me: this woman who’s trying to be the fattest woman alive, to break a record? Donna Simpson, isn’t it? She weighs 600 pounds – not because of any medical condition (although her weight has caused multiple health problems and considerably shortened her life span), but because she WANTS to weigh one thousand pounds (half a ton). So she eats and eats and EATS and doesn’t exercise – at all. In fact, she claims she tries to move as little as possible.

She has kids. In fact, she broke a record and ended up being the largest woman to ever give birth at 500 + pounds. What kind of example does she thinks she’s setting for them?

Oh, wait, she thinks she’s healthy. MY ASS. Forgive me, but anyone deliberately aiming for a half a ton is NOT a healthy individual. She’s putting her life – and therefore her children’s lives – at risk. She needs to find another goal for her life.

Okay. I think that about covers recent news topics that have angered me.

HAPPY SAINT PATRICK’S DAY!