Shall we rumba?

To set unrealistic expectations and then see them unrealized just as expected is so reassuring.

I am assessing my progress, three weeks into FFFF.  I expected to lose 6 pounds by now, which I know is wholly unrealistic.  I have not lost 6 pounds.  All is right with my planet.

Almost exactly ten years ago, 2002 New Year’s Resolution:  To lose weight and get fit.  At that time I weighed about 15 pounds less than I do now.  I changed my eating habits.  I joined the local gym.  I got myself a professional personal trainer, who I later discovered was also a waitress and bartender at a local Mexican restaurant.  I pretended not to recognize her, thinking she might be thinking it incongruous if not downright hypocritical that she served tequila, rice, masa, and lard to one of her fat clients.  Who, come to think of it, as a person carrying too much lard already, really had no business being a customer of a Mexican restaurant and/or its bar in the first place.  Which, I suppose, made us even.

Anyway, in January 2002,  I lost 10 lbs the first week just drinking water, not eating rice and lard anymore, and getting my TV fix while remaining stationary on a stationary bike in the gym’s cardio room.  I didn’t have TV at home at the time, so it was quite a treat.

Even though my intellect acknowledges that the scale is fickle and on any given day it will display whatever weight it feels like without any sense of obligation to actually measure my real weight,  I am feeling a teeny bit betrayed by the scale’s display of a half-pound gain.  After all, I have been doing darn good on the eating part of this project.   I am starting Week 4 and still haven’t seen a tortilla.  On the other hand, my activity level has been, admittedly, not very.  I have some pretty good excuses, as far as work and other demands, but I did promise 30 minutes of exercise five days a week.

Being the analytical type, I launch an analysis of my project and look for overruns and underruns.  The big glaring underrun is exercise.   The only overruns are coffee and sugar.  But I might be getting all of 30-40 grams of carbs per day even with sugar or Splenda/sugar mix.  That is pretty darn low carb, if I ask me.

The next thing I ask myself  is  “What else can I be doing that can help jump-start some real weight loss around here?”   From the corner of my bedroom my recumbent bike answers, forlorn, sniffling.   “And what am I, chopped liver?”    I promise the bike I will pay it a visit, sometime soon, but first I need to do some research.  I head to my computer in a different room, thankful to be out of range of the bike’s doleful stare.

I start googling.  I google middle-age weight loss, menopausal weight gain, how to get 30 minutes of exercise without actually doing it, homeopathic remedies for low metabolism, how to get effective physical exercise from anxiety disorder and panic attacks, and finally homeopathic remedies for anxiety and panic, which gets me some links to YouTube.

In my planet’s year-round summer carnival, YouTube is the official Fun House.   Where the weird and creepy parts are the fun kind of scary.  Where you go in and then find yourself in a hall of mirrors and then can’t find your way out.  Where I get to watching videos of people exercising their anxiety away, which leads me to people dancing their anxiety away, then to people dancing the Argentinian tango, then to Latin dancing in general, and finally to my all-time favorite episode of I Love Lucy, “The Diet”, where Lucy and Ricky do the “Cuban Pete” number.

By the time I finally stumble out of my research, I have picked up a lot of interesting information.  The most interesting and useful to me in my present mindset is that some anti-anxiety/anti-depressant medications cause significant weight gain.  The medicinal culprit most interesting to me is Paxil.  This is because Paxil is one of my favorite companions.  More on why later.

The news is disappointing, but oddly not defeating.   This is just going to be harder than I thought.