What I Would Tell My 20-Year-Old Self

I would tell my 20-year-old self a lot of things about a lot of stuff, but this is what I would tell her about weight:

Dear Me, at Age 20:

You are not fat.  You are not even remotely fat.

Talking about your weight incessantly is boring. No one wants to hear it.

Complaining about your weight incessantly is boring. No one wants to hear it.

Complaining about your weight around people who actually are overweight is inconsiderate and rude.

Talking about how fat you are may be seen by others as fishing for compliments, which is also rude.

You are beautiful and strong.  Don’t contradict me.  You are. 

Your body type may not be the desired “magazine perfect” type but its sturdiness and strength will serve you well.

Please don’t ever avoid a fun outdoor activity because you think you are too overweight to be seen by others.  You’re not.

You will gain weight in the future.

There are worse things than gaining weight.  Much worse.

Life goes on, even if you gain weight.

You can even be happy at a higher weight.  Imagine that! 

I know you cannot truly hear this at this point in your life, but you will waste many, many hours worrying about your weight that could be spent on other, more productive things.  I wish you wouldn’t, but I know you will.

Much love,

You, in 30 years.

Anhedonia

I'm exhausted after working from 7:00 to 5:30 and doing one of my hard exercise tapes.  Didn't get the best night's sleep either. 

A dissatisfaction and restlessness consumes me.  I keep searching for cars on line.  (My beautiful brown Buick was sold!) Because I can't afford a car, I'm doing stupid things like buying stuff I don't need.  A costly Coach purse that I don't even like.  Lamps for the house.  Downloading non-free books to my Nook (Seriously, as far as I can tell the only free books available are self-published teenage vampire romance novel series. Or teenage werewolf romance novel series.  NOT KIDDING.)  I must stop this useless buying.  "Less than a car payment!"  I tell myself as justification as I swipe the credit card or fill up an on-line shopping bag with items.

I have no idea what is bothering me, but I just don't seem to be satisfied with what I have.  My house is old and has an awkward layout and the neighborhood is going rental with cars parked all over.  I owe more than it's worth, so I'm not moving any time soon. Nor should I want to, because the location is great and its proximity to work, my daughter's school, and basic services allows us to not even HAVE a car, or not have two cars, if we didn't want to.

Must be satisfied with what I have.  Probably having my daughter in a private school isn't helping much because she has little friends who have very well-off parents and I get exposed to all this wealth that I wouldn't otherwise see.  But that's only a tiny part of what is going on. Who knows . . . just ridiculous First-World angst, I suppose

Still in detox, avoiding the sugar and white flour. My husband made the best dinner.  He does something with italian dressing and parmesan cheese and chicken that is heavenly.  It was so good.  I just wish I could drag my tired bones back to the kitchen to clean it up. 

Coming up next time:  what I would tell my lovely 20-year-old self about weight and diet, if I could.

Raging Fire, but Not in Me

A raging wildfire in the Gila Wilderness has cast a pall of smoke over the town, and the air smells like a campfire. Temperatures are in the high 90's.  Work was just a bear today.  Mentally exhausting.

On  the eating front, not much to report.  Still in detox phase.  Managed to stay off the sweets and white flour stuff yesterday, however, while out at the home team baseball game, the "its okay to eat" version of the Voice started telling me that having good ball game food was fine.  Eat the massive pretzel!  Have a big Snickers bar!  It's too hard to try to eat well and lose weight, anyway. 

Somehow I perservered, having only a small serving of raisins before bed.  However, I'm still not restricting portions or calories or what I eat, except for avoiding the sweets and white flour.  Which for me, is very difficult.

Again, I'm not expecting to do this quicky, for a number of reasons.  Moderation!  Just read a memoir about a woman who vacillated between anorexia and terrible binges, and used laxatives (eu!) to purge.  The suffering and obsession she endured were terrible to read about.  I overeat and have a sweets addiction, but it's never been to the point of the things she described.  Plus, I've never been a purger.  I always, for some reason, had this annoying moralistic view that if I was going to eat it, I should bear the consequences.  Plus, making yourself gag or using ipecac or other emetic is really, really unpleasant.

I'd put my eating problem in the moderate range.  Not a raging fire of anorexia or bulimia or dangerous binges, just glowing embers, or maybe a votive candle, of background noise. 

Soldiering on!

The Original Post(s)

I went to my other, neglected blog on Weather Underground (weather web site) and found my original "get it back" pst and thought I'd copy it here.  Interesting that it was almost exactly a year ago!

Here is the original "Get it Back" post of June 2011:

I'm trying to get back in shape after a period of illness-induced sedentariness. Unfortunately, I gained a lot of weight during this sedentary time (couldn't exercise but I sure could EAT) so I'm having to not only deal with lack of fitness but also many additional fleshy pounds.

Just got back from climbing "A" Mountain, doing it the long way for the first time in months. I felt fine, mostly. Maybe there is hope. However, when my dad the Mysterious Septuagenarian asks if I want to go backpacking and I tell him no because I've lost fitness and strength, his response is so simple as to be absurd. What he says is:

"GET IT BACK!"

If only it were that easy. But I'm trying. Today will be vegetables and whole grains and more exercise in addition to the hour-plus I've already done.

So, to all of you out there struggling with gaining weight and losing the level of fitness that you once had, I offer the following advice:

"GET IT BACK!"

 

And here is the follow up "DIET" post:

 

After the Mysterious Septuagenarian read the last blog entry (June 4, 2011) about his sage advice to “get it back!” when I told him I had recently lost fitness, he called me to inquire about my current weight and fitness status. I told him I was exercising a lot but my weight was still elevated because I had not improved my eating habits. So he gave me more advice, which was:

“DIET!”

And not just diet, but

“DIET NOW!”

“DIET TODAY!”

So in addition to the simple, easy-to-follow advice of “Get it back!” “I have the additional REALLY easy to follow advice of
“DIET! NOW! TODAY!”

Gosh dern it, if it were that easy, I probably wouldn’t be needing to do it NOW, would I?

Minor Victories

I'm in my beginning "detox" phase.  This is where I don't eat any of my serious trigger foods (anything sweet, chocolate, or large amounts of white flour) but I don't worry about reducing portions yet.  I have done this for two days.  I have also avoided snacking right before bed.  For two days.

May sound like not much, but for me it's huge.  I call this period my detox.  As I settle in, I will begin to be able to reduce portions and establish more "normal" eating patterns. Or at least that's the plan.  I've had several detox periods that were interrupted for whatever reason, and it always takes months to get back to where I can start detox again.

Using food as a drug is pretty ingrained for me.  Even when I managed to eat well for almost a year and got to a good weight, it was still on my mind all the time. 

I eat if I'm sad, mad, happy, bored or if I feel deprived.  Like if I didn't get a Buick.  (I saw a 2009 LaCrosse yesterday almost exactly like the one I was going to get, and it was like a knife in my heart.  I actually felt a pang.  And to make it worse, the lady driving it looked mean.).  I eat to celebrate, to soothe myself, to relax.  To reward.  You name the emotion/event/day of the freakin' week, and I could find a reason to eat to cope or acknowledge the event.

Now that I realize that my pattern is ingrained and I will probably always have to cope with it, it makes it a little easier.  It's not like a switch will flip and I'll stop having an unhelathy relationship with food.

Have you ever noticed that you never see an overweight very old person?

I was looking at my bookshelves to see all the diet and eating books I own.  It is truly stunning.  I will not credit the authors here (though I should), I'm just listing titles:

What to Eat
Half-Assed, a weight loss memoir
Passing for Thin
The Pink Ribbon Diet
Shrink Yourself
The Slow Down Diet
Designated Fat Girl
The Fat Girl's Guide to Life
Compulsive Overeater
Food, the Good Girl's Drug
Secrets of a Former Fat Girl
The Sugar Addict's Total Recovery Plan
Life is Hard, Food is Easy
The Soution for Permanent Weight Loss
Daily Meditations for Overeaters
The South Beach Diet
The Woman Doctor's Diet for Women
The End of Overeating
The China Study

This isn't all of them, but you get the idea.
Ouch.

Weekend of Reckoning

There will never be enough food for me.  I can say, "this is the last bag of M and Ms".  "This is the last Baskin Robbins ice cream cone."  "Just one more treat before I diet."

But it's never enough, and there will always be a good reason to eat "just one more" <insert sugary junk food item here> before I <go on a diet, start eating well, stop using food as an emotional crutch, whatever>

So, this is the weekend of reckoning.  Three day weekend, no job deadlines looming.  Nothing terrible happening.  No reason that I cannot take this weekend to start to detox from sugar and white flour.

So I'm going to.

Fortunately, exercise isn't a problem for me.  I don't mind exercising.  In fact, I've already exercised today.  I climbed "A" Mountain with my husband and six year old daughter (her first time making it up unassisted!)

I think today is the day.

Wish me luck.  I really want to do this. 

The Voice

It’s always there.  Always.  A constant, low-level judging Voice in my head assessing my body.  I wish I could make it go away, but it’s ingrained.

From my childhood, when I watched my mom diet and gripe about her weight (She wasn’t fat.  Of course.), to the age of 11, when I was first introduced to that 1972 literary gem “Cellulite:  Those Lumps, Bumps and Bulges you Couldn’t Lose Before”, by Nicole Ronsard, a book that introduced the concept and special name for ripply fat to the American psyche, to teenager-hood where the popular girls were always thin, everyone thought they were fat and drinking a pink can of Tab instead of a regular Coke was seen as a badge of honor, the pathway in my brain that constantly thinks about body has been worn deeper and deeper and deeper until it has become a permanent part of my day to day internal life. 

The Voice has changed focus over the years.  From the coy criticism of the teenage years (you should lose 5 pounds!)  to the despair of pregnancy weight gain (not to mention postpartum anguish at the strangely loose belly skin) to the late 20’s exercise and fat gram obsession.  I went to Weight Watchers when I weighed 125.  Good grief!   The ladies behind me in line at the weigh-in actually asked why I was there!     

I could go on and on, but I won’t.  I think about the times I refused to go swimming or out to eat because I was “fat”.  Silly girl!

And I could write an entire post (and probably will) about the constant, invidious comparisons that women’s minds make between their and other women’s bodies  “Butt Mind” is the wonderful term that writer Anne Lamott uses to define this awful but automatic comparison Voice that occurs all the time.  “Is her butt bigger than mine?”  is the best way to sum up Butt Mind, unless its “Is my butt bigger than hers?”

Well, even though now I am actually fat, the Voice continues.  But now its different.  Yes, the body judgment is always there, but in a different form.  It’s more like, yes, you’re fat but it’s okay.  You’re almost 50.  The only way you can lose weight at this age is via major dietary restriction.  Dieting makes your hair fall out (it really does!).   Just settle into obesity, into a nice easy middle age.  You don’t have to exercise hard.  You’re not in plus sizes yet.  Look at her, you don’t look as bad as she does!    Do you really want to go through the pain of eating less?

It’s a struggle.  The only way I can reliably lose weight and keep it off is through continuous dietary restriction, which creates an auxiliary Voice of its own.  “Can you eat that?  Won’t that start cravings?  Have you eaten too much already?” with a competing yet gentler Voice that says “Don’t be doctrinaire!”  “Listen to your body” “you really want it, eat it—life is short!”

I lost a significant amount of weight two years ago by cutting out white sugar and flour, and after-dinner snacking (except for a small amount of raisins right before bed).  It was a struggle, but I certainly enjoyed wearing my normal size six and eight clothes again (remember, I’m just short, not particularly tiny).  I got used to the restricted diet after a while, and kept it up for about 8 months until my birthday when my boss’s secretary (who I am terrified of) made me a birthday cake and then I was off to the races again.  It started slowly, a sweet here and there, “this is the last day I’m going to eat this and I’ll get back on track” Voice until I found myself back to eating large amounts of junk, which seems to be my default mode. 

The Voice is a constant companion.  It can be critical, judgmental, it can hold me to high standards or let me off the hook for not meeting them.  But it’s always there, and I bet there are other people, probably female, who also have the Voice.  I wish the Voice wasn’t there.   

But its been there, for almost 40 years.  And it will take a lot to make it go away.

Riding my Bike

I live three miles from my work.  Except for a couple of blocks, literally the entire way is either on a designated, signed bike route or an actual, beautifully engineered and landscaped bike trail (technical term is multi-use path).  I live in a climate where rain is rare.  I have a nice-enough bike and I’m strong enough to make the ride. 

So do I ride my bike to work? 

No! 

Well, almost never.

And why might that be?

Because it’s so freaking impossible.

Given my job status, I’m expected to dress a certain way for work.  Which is fine, but I can’t exactly ride my bike in panty hose, heels and a pencil skirt.  Not to mention how sweaty I would get my nice blouse. 

I have a backpack that I wear to carry things when I ride, but I can’t exactly crunch the work clothes into it and expect them to be presentable by the time I got to work.

So I figured I would plan ahead.  Helpful hint:  I bought a clothing rack, with the intent of bringing clothes in to work and changing there when I rode my bike in!  Thirteen bucks at Home Depot. Easy assembly, and it rolls!  It even has a shelf for shoes!

But, trying to figure out what day I’m going to ride in and what outfit I’m going to wear and making sure I bring it to work ahead of time by automobile is sort of hard.

Helpful hint:  Have a special outfit you keep at work all the time just for those days you ride in! 

Well, okay, but what if I ride in more than one day in a particular week?  Or what if the outfit isn’t appropriate for the particular day/weather/event?  And the outfit does eventually need to be washed, which necessitates bringing it home and then back to work, via automobile. 

Not to mention I can only fit into two skirts right now, and having only one at home on a day I drive in or have to go to a different location than my office could prove problematic.

There is also the fact that I work at a remote location.  The municipal government is at City Hall, but as I work in an operations department, my office is in a small portable building over at the “yards” where all the operational functions are.  It’s less than a mile from City Hall, where I must frequently go to attend meetings or conduct official business, but it’s too far to reasonably walk, is not a pedestrian-friendly route, and when the weather is really hot, I’d be a sweaty, sunburned mess by the time I got to City Hall. 

Helpful hint:  get a ride to City Hall (or wherever) if you have to go to a meeting!

Well, sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn’t, depending on who is attending and what their other commitments are, and I’m not going to ask my secretary to use her personal vehicle as a taxi service for me.  And there aren’t any facilities at City Hall where I could change from bike riding clothes to work clothes and besides, how would I get the work clothes from my remote office to City Hall? 

Despite the lip service the city pays to bike facilities and bike racks and being a Bronze level bicycle friendly community and promoting all forms of multi-modal transportation, believe me, it would not be looked upon kindly if I walked into a meeting in a t-shirt and shorts, windblown and disheveled from riding a bike.  Even if I explained that I had been riding a bike, which is what you’re supposed to be doing.

Plus, there is the matter of getting paperwork from place to place, and my briefcase.

Tomorrow is a perfect example.  Great day to ride.  It's a Friday.  I can wear jeans.  Weather will be decent, a little windy, but not a deal killer.  I do have a City Hall meeting, but its just with other staff so I can get away with being a little disheveled, and a subordinate is going to the same meeting as me, so I can catch a ride with him.  But, oops, look at that! There has appeared on my calendar a 3 pm meeting with the City Manager, other senior level staff, and the folks from the Bicycle Coalition.  Can't show up a mess to a meeting with the City Manager . . .  and the bicycle people. 

So I can't ride my bike because I have a meeting with the bicycle group.  Who want to discuss opportunities for additional bicycle facilities in town. 

The irony.

I haven’t even mentioned the hair and makeup.  Helpful hint:  keep styling products, makeup and toiletries at work and fix up once you get to the office on your bike!

I actually have done this.  But trying to style sweaty, creased bike-helmet hair and applying makeup to a dried-sweaty face isn’t really optimal.  In fact, it’s kind of gross, and I’d say I probably have more tolerance than the average person for going around in a dried-sweaty, post-workout state.

And there is the matter of food.  I have to pack a lunch and put it in the pack, because there are no places to eat within easy walking or biking distance of my office.  I I forget to pack food, I'm stuck with nothing  to eat the rest of the day.

And of course, I have to get up and leave much earlier if I ride the bike. 

It takes so much thought, thinking ahead, planning, and just plain hassle to ride the bike to work.  And we’re not talking about a major commute.  This is three miles.  Minutes.  It takes more time to plan and get ready to ride than the ride itself takes.

I have actually done it though.  Mostly on Fridays, when I can get away with wearing jeans, and I just stuff a decent shirt in the backpack to change into once I get to work.

But, until my employer truly embraces the spectacle of their executive-level employees schlepping around in exercise wear at work, I don’t think my bike rides to work are going to be very frequent.  I’m sure others are faced with a similar dilemma, and that’s why they don’t ride their bikes to work either, even though they live similarly close to their place of employment.

It’s just so, so, so much easier to drive . . .

The New Normal

You hear a lot about the “new normal” after the devastating recession.  You know, job security is a thing of the past, no more using home equity as a savings account, “sure thing” investments are no longer sure things, etc.  The “new normal” can also refer to weight gain.  Over time, a weight that seemed unspeakable when one was younger becomes the “new normal”. 

For example, my goal weight, where I look and feel good, is around 138.  That is technically overweight for my height, but I can wear a size six at that weight and it just seems to work for me.  Ironically, though, after my second child was born 22 years ago, I weighed 135 at my postnatal visit and was horrified at the “20 pounds!!” I had to lose to get back where I was “supposed to be”.  Back then, at 27, my normal was 115.  (And yes, I thought I was “fat” at that weight.  Slap me.)

Right around the time husband and I got married back in 2004, my weight had crept up to 155 or so.  I was horrified. I had to buy a size 10 suit for my wedding!  Egad! I had never weighed so much.  138 had become my “normal” weight, the weight I aspired to. Unthinkable when I was in my 20’s.  Weigh over 130?  No way!  

Oh, to weigh 155 again . . .

Went clothes shopping this weekend and with barely a thought, I was snatching 14s and 16s off the racks and trying them on, not batting an eye if the 14 was too tight and I needed a 16.  But it hit me—181.8 should not be my new normal.  181.8 is obese.  I’m not comfortable.  I actually notice restriction in how well I can move. There is flesh against flesh.  I don’t look in mirrors any more.  The thighs rubbing together actually cause friction pain.  Which creates a vicious cycle, because when it’s uncomfortable to move, I move less, probably without even thinking about it, which makes me even fatter and more unwilling to move.

But how to achieve my goal?  Of 138-ish?

With 45-50 or so pounds to lose, it’s probably going to take a while.  A year, perhaps?   

At almost 50, nothing’s going to happen quickly, I’m afraid. 

This really sucks, because eating is one of my greatest pleasures and joys.  Especially zoning out with food and a book.  Heavenly . . . .

Went to a meeting a couple of nights ago after a two-year hiatus.  I used to be a part of an organization that helps people who have problems with overeating.  It helped for a while, then didn't.  I'm still not sure if this is the right approach for me to take, but as I'm still eating, it certainly can't hurt.

Did a Bar Method DVD tonight after work, but not one of the hard ones.  I'm tired.

I didn't get a Buick

I decided I wanted a Buick.  I love big boat-ish American cars.  I love their floaty ride and overall comfort.  The silence of the well-appointed cabin.  The good crash-test ratings. Yes, I like old-lady cars. And I’m not going to apologize for it, though I am often mocked for my preference.

Being close to turning 50, and wanting to treat myself, I decided I wanted a different car.  After months of research, I decided I liked the Buick LaCrosse.  New LaCrosses are way, way out of my price range, so I settled on ones in the 2008-2009 range.  They look good and provide the floaty-boaty ride and spacious interior I like so much. 

After much searching, I found one that was reasonably priced, a 2009, rich chocolate brown, 38K miles, heated leather seats, pretty much loaded (for its vintage) except missing a sunroof and parking sensors,  got financing at a really good rate, and was ready to buy it.  I had my insurance in place.  I had my oldest daughter to ride the 250 miles with me to the dealership where the Buick was waiting, just waiting, for me to come and get it.  I had the day off (it was a Friday) to make the long drive up, actually purchase the car, and drive all the way back. 

But I couldn’t do it. 

All I could think about was the payment.  I haven’t had a car payment in three years.  The payment was going to be around $370 a month, with 80 bucks extra a month for insurance, for a total of $450 a month coming out of the budget.  I knew it was going to hurt.

I was getting panicky.  I drove about 25 miles up the interstate to go get the car, and pulled off.  I called my husband.  I called my BFF.  I looked for signs.  None were forthcoming.  Husband said to get the car because I really wanted it.  And it was a good deal.  And he was tired of my new-car fever.  BFF said no, don’t get the car, there is nothing wrong with the one you have. 

I thought about the money, and how the 2009 Buick, except for a much more stylish front end/grille and nicer engine, and a few more little luxury items, was really not that much different in terms of appearance and amenities than my current, paid-for 2005 Ford Taurus.   

As we sat at the deserted interstate exit ramp, my daughter flipped a coin.  Three times in a row, it came up heads.  I had called tails.  This was not actually a good indicator because earlier, when my husband had flipped a coin for me, it came up tails, which I had called, three times in a row.  Yes, lets make large many thousands of dollar decisions based on coin flips.

I got back on the interstate and drove another 25 miles or so, and pulled off at a little town and stopped at a convenience store for beverages.  As a last resort, my daughter called her fiancé.  He said not to get it. He said buying a car should be a happy event, not one I felt panicky about.  If I had so many doubts, I shouldn’t get the car.

And this was from someone I was going to give my 2005 Taurus to!  Because my daughter and her fiance’s car is on its very last wobbly legs.

Good buy.  $16,500 car loan.  Big kid’s car dying.  My car is paid for.  My car only has 80,000 miles.  My car is paid for.  My car is paid for.  My car is paid for.  My car is actually my car, not the banks. 

Coke in hand, I got back in my car and drove to the interstate entrance ramps.  Left, I would go north and drive another 200 miles to get the Buick.  Right, I would go south, and back home.

I turned right.

I drove back home.  Well, to a restaurant where I had a mojito and some chips and guacamole, actually.  Then went for coffee with my BFF, then home.  In the same old 2005 Taurus I’ve had for almost six years. 

But then I felt sorry for myself because I couldn’t comfortably afford and thus wasn’t going to get a three-year-old used Buick that I wanted and used it as an excuse to eat.  All weekend long.  Probably added another .5 pound (at least!) to my lumbering frame.

Having a new (used) car isn’t going to keep me from eating, nor is it going to solve anything.  It would be an albatross sitting in my garage.  The excitement of researching and finding and test driving the car was a welcome distraction from the tedium of life.  But $450 a month would get tedious real quick, too.

But boy, did I ever want that Buick!  This is the Buick, the actual one I was going to get.

Get it Back!

My dad is 74 years old, has a perfect diet and exercises many hours a day.  He regularly goes on multi-day backpacks, has climbed most of the 14,000-foot peaks in the continental United States and lifts weights at the gym.  He is a machine.  He is physically perfect.  Pretty much. 

I am on the downhill slide to 50 (four and a half months to go) and suddenly find myself gaining weight at an alarming rate.  No, this didn't happen overnight but the speed at which the pounds are piling on has accelerated. 

Thirty years ago, I was one of those uber-annoying girls who weighed in the 105-110 pound range who moaned about being fat all the time.  Yes, I would slap me too if I could.  As I got older, I did gain some weight but it was always manageable, I ate well, I exercised a lot and was quite fit.  Still moaned about being fat, even when I weighed 120, or 125, or 117, or whatever the number happened to be.

Annoying . . .

Of course, I never dreamed I'd get fat in middle age.  I exercised!  I knew about nutrition!  I cared about how I looked!  My family is scornful of the overweight! 

Famous last words.

I'll explain more later about what (I think) happened, but I have found myself lumbering around today in a body that is 5'2" and weighs 181.8 (thanks, doctor's digital scale) pounds.

This is not good.  In fact, it is bad.

As my most recent and worse weight gain was starting to snowball, I was talking to my dad about wanting to go backpacking but fearing I couldn't because I had lost so much fitness.

My dad, paragon of physical perfection that he is, had a simple answer for me.  Lost fitness?  No problem!  "Get it back!", he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

Get it back!?!?

When I pointed out that I was gaining weight, his answer was simple as well.  "Lose weight!  Now!  Today!"

This conversation was several months ago and I should have taken his advice because I have probably gained another 20 pounds since then.  Don't know if its aging, or hormones, or just being a lazy butt, but I have never gained weight so fast.

Nor have I ever weighed so much.

I'm still exercising but its actually hard to move.  My thighs, always trouble spots, rub together alarmingly, making it even harder to move.  Walking has become uncomfortable. 

Clothes that fit?  Ha.  I've got the middle age belly spread but I guess I still have enough female hormones to still have saddlebags on my upper thighs.  So I'm not an apple, or a pear, I'm both at the same time.

I'm still healthy, sort of, but I'm uncomfortable and want to change.  I really can't stand this.  I need to lose in the 50 pound range, and I can't do it alone. 

Hence this is, yes, wait for it . . . yet another weight loss blog!

I've got to go cuz husband is clamoring for the computer but a little about me:

I live in New Mexico.  I like where I live.
I work for a municipal government.  My whole career has been in government.
I'm 49 for a little while longer.
I have three kids.  One is 26, one is 22 and one is 6.
I'm an only child.
I haven't really felt good since having a third child at the age of 43, but I soldier on.
I'm addicted to Diet Pepsi, and I have cravings for sugar that must rival those of nicotine!

More to follow.

I'm attaching a horrible picture of what I look like.  Eu, eu, eu.  And yes, I made it as unflattering as possible.