Weight, Weight, Don’t Tell Me



Yesterday the scale was up 5 pounds.


Today it was down 6.


(I’m going with today’s weight.)


(I think I need new scales.)


Oh, the weight loss angst.


Running Man

Running Man gave me a bit of a hand salute tonight as we passed each other on the road.

Running Man NEVER acknowledges the existence of another runner (and by runner, I mean, jogging at what is normally considered to be a fast walk by NORMAL people, like the Old Gray Mare who ain’t what she used to be).  I feel that I have Arrived, somehow.

Running Man is always RUNNING, like he’s being chased by someone with a machete (alTHO, I’m not sure how fast you should actually run if you were holding a machete, because it doesn’t seem terribly safe, does it? running with a machete, I mean).  Running Man runs like Chuck Norris being chased by someone with a machete (except that would never actually happen because Chuck Norris wouldn’t have to run because a) he would pulverize the machete with the laser-like beams of his bad-ass stare and b) once the guy with the machete realized that he was a) chasing Chuck Norris and b) that Chuck Norris just obliterated his machete using only his eyes, he himself would turn and run–a few paces before Chuck Norris took him out using only his little finger.  So in reality, what I should say is that Running Man runs as fast as Chuck Norris chasing the guy who tried to go after him with a machete. of course, that chase would only last about 3.7 nano-seconds because Chuck Norris is just that fast.)

So anyway. Pretty cool about Running Man AND I was at the beginning of my run so I wasn’t puffing like a steam engine or something super-not-cool like that.

And did I mention that Running Man always runs shirtless?  And that he’s ripped?

I, on the other hand, will never be ripped because I have had babies, you see.

BUT.  Dear Running Man, I have popped out babies without even THINKING about an epidural (ok, SERIOUSLY thinking about an epidural. at least until it was too late to get one. and by then you are just about done anyway so why bother?). Despite your ripped abs and fast runninging, I BET you couldn’t do that and I BET most men couldn’t.

Except Chuck Norris. OF COURSE.

But thanks for making me feel like a real runner.

Tuesday & the underwhelming urge to be fit



Whole Grain Zucchini Parmesan Pancakes

Growing up, my mom’s zucchini (yes, zucchini) pancakes were always a treat for me, mostly due, probably, to the parmesan in them 🙂

1 c. any mixture of grain flours (I used whole wheat, flaxmeal, and quinoa today)
1 c. milk
2 eggs
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp baking powder
1 med zucchini, shredded
1/4 c parmesan (or more. why not?)
dash pepper

1. Mix
2. Cook
3. Eat.

Makes about 8 pancakes.

Today, Emily (remember Emily? Hi, Emily! I didn’t forget about the 7 things I LOVE) wrote about feeling discouraged about her fitness program that she has recently started (did I mention that Emily is about a size 2 and most likely only needs to lose weight in her little finger, if at all?).

I have been thinking about this for myself. Not that I am doing X-stretch or “shred” (whatever THAT may be. sounds dangerous to me) or anything remotely difficult. In fact, I can hardly motivate myself to go for a walk even when the weather is beautiful like it has been this week and yet we are constantly  made to feel guilty for not getting at least 1/2 hour of exercise every single blessed day.  Who has time for that? Who has the energy? Not mamas of little ones, IMHO.

I blame mothering toddlers. No, really, I do.  It just kinds of saps your motivation for pretty  much anything, especially the sleep deprivation part.

I’d like to lose about 8 more pounds to get where I was before I got pregnant w/ Miles and before I put on the 10 pounds I put on before I got pregnant with Miles.  I’d like to do that before getting pregnant again (IF that ever happens). 


I know full well how good exercise is for me, how well it makes me feel and how happy I am when I can wear certain clothes without feeling constricted.  But that may all have to wait until I have navigated these uncharted toddler waters. And if that means that for the next 6 years I don’t exercise as regularly and as consistently as I should and as we are told we should every time we turn around, well, I’m not going to feel guilty about it.

So there.

I’d much rather eat brownies, anyway, and if that is what it takes to survive, so be it.

Parmesan Pancakes?  Brownies? Bring it on! I’m ready!