Clearly, there is something wrong with my diet. Namely, that I am not on one. Other people seem to be doing all kinds of healthy and active things. They are walking and running and taking something called “Zumba” which sounds more like a reggae band than an exercise movement .
This is all quite inspiring and I want on that bandwagon too. Particularly if that bandwagon has an escalator and no heavy lifting is actually required.
Me, my fitness regime consists more of “I didn’t eat a cookie.” I’m all about NOT doing something. For me, I can pass up one cookie every six days or so and then get all ticked off that I haven’t lost more weight. I tend to believe that each cookie equals six pounds. Funny how that DOES SEEM to be how it works if the cookie is going the other way — straight to my hips. Stupid cookie.
The thing is, I have recently found out that my perception that every last bite I eat goes directly to my hips is not, in fact, so far fetched. Apparently, I have the metabolic rate of a rock. Go figure. Full-figure to be precise.
I love doctors. I do. If you are sick there is just no better person than a doctor. I am pro-medicine all the way. Except when it comes to weight issues and then they seem to all go so old-school as to be nearly pioneer.
You say: “Well it appears that I have an issue which means I don’t burn calories like other people.” They say: “Well you’ll just have to diet MORE and exercise HARDER. Perhaps you could take up running? To China.”
Now, if you have virtually anything ELSE wrong with you they are full of medical remedies. You have a weight issue, however, and the solution is all on you. I hate that. Think about it, if I were all that good at taking care of me I wouldn’t need the doctor in the first place, now would I?
About a year ago I started suspecting something was wrong when all my pants shrunk — seemingly overnight. I may be bad at fitness but I’m pretty good at laundry so I sought medical advice.
Thus I embarked on what I call the “year of total fitness.” Except that it was six months but “year” sounds better, doesn’t it? For six months I literally subsisted on about 1100 calories a day and exercised for up to an hour daily. In all that time I think I lost half a pound.
This is when my regular doctor scratched her head and sent me to a specialist. He is the wise soul who learned that I was hypoglycemic and had a metabolism so low as to be almost non-existent. Then he told me to exercise and eat right. Really? For this I paid a boatload out of pocket?
Now I ask you, what can a NORMAL person who does not make a living in a gym do beyond four miles a day and 1100 calories. (1100 calories, for the uninitiated in calorie counting, is like a cup of soup, carrot and glass of milk. It’s nothing. It’s air).
So then the doctor who is costing me an arm and a leg, but sadly, not an extra chin, offered this advice: “Find something you enjoy and do that!” Oh sweet naivete of the medical establishment.
I am not going to “find something I enjoy” because I am not a fan of the outdoors. I don’t wax rhapsodic over every tree and squirrel. I enjoy nature most when I am viewing it through a window. Preferably while seated in a chair.
I tried walking with friends but honestly, there is virtually NO ONE I can talk to for an hour a day every day without them wanting to throw one of us into a ditch.
I hate exercise equipment. We have an entire home gym but again, I’d rather be poked in the eye with a hot stick than be on a treadmill. I’m always praying the thing will malfunction and fling me off just so I’ll have a reason to stop.
Leave it to me to embark on a healthier diet during the holiday season when even the food pyramid is apparently revamped to include chocolates and pie. If only complaining burned more calories — I’d be stick thin! Meanwhile, how do you get fit if you don’t so much “feel the burn” as hate exercise with a passion that burns?
(Kymberly Foster Seabolt loves pie. She welcomes comments c/o firstname.lastname@example.org; P.O. Box 38, Salem, Ohio 44460; or www.KymberlyFosterSeabolt.com.)