Hunkering down

My faithful fifteens of readers know that Miss Tasha has been having herself a bit of a tough time with the whole money situation. Business is slow, I still have all these goofy-ass medical bills to pay plus my own insurance costs, etc. and so on, and due to all that, I was getting into a bit of a panic, though I wasn’t quite there yet. As my dear friend Adrienne told me, “This is no time to panic! Unless it’s a perfect time to panic.”

It’s time to panic.

You see, while as my resume will attest I’ve done a lot of great contract work over the past number of years - work that my clients have been thrilled about - my one truly steady source of income has been the market research work I’ve done for one particular company that specializes in such things. For ten years now – yes, ten – I’ve researched and written reports on a vast range of topics, from soup to gardening to footwear to oral care. You name a consumer good, chances are I’ve written about it. All the editors I’ve worked with have loved my work – and no wonder, considering some of the other writers they’re dealing with.

I have seen some of this other work. It has not been pretty.

So imagine my surprise and shock when I discovered just yesterday that I’m not being assigned reports due to…..who knows. Some random concern about timeliness? Which begs the question – if a report that’s turned in on time is deemed by the company to be not on time even though it is on time, in how many ways can one’s head explode? So that’s clear as fuck-all.

Concerns about quality? Hmm, let’s see. There was a report that I did in November that the QC guy (who needs to justify his existence to the company) took issue with. Living as he does in the tony enclave of Kenilworth, he apparently was unclear on a few concepts as far as research that I put into the report were concerned. What? People are struggling with a poor economy? Business at second-hand shops is booming? No!

And then there’s the work for the company that I’ve taken on the past that’s consisted of rewriting – yes, entirely rewriting – the shoddy work that other writers have done. There was the entire consumer section for one report, which consisted of statements like the following:

“Black people buy more biscuit dough because it goes well with their fried chicken, which they love and eat constantly, which is also why they will purchase items with the Aunt Jemima symbol, as she with her nappy hair and broad features represents the down-home cooking of their childhood, with chitlins and other black foods.”

No, I’m not making this racist shit up.

Then there was another report where, also in the consumer section, the Asian consumers were referred to as “boat people,” or, for a cute little colloquialism, just “boaters.”

Clearly, that’s some quality writing there.

So it’s unclear why I’m suddenly and inexplicably and with no warning persona non grata. Hell, I didn’t know there was a problem until the report-scheduling guy ignored all my emails, and didn’t respond to one until I called him and left a message, as he ducked that call too.

I can only conclude that their new research director, a woman with editing experience but no background or experience in actual market research, is perhaps fearful that The Cancer is contagious – kind of like cooties. Or maybe she thinks I’ll suddenly be stricken by a sudden bout of The Cancer! Like gout or something. That’ll render me somehow unable to complete my assignments. This is the kind of forward thinking I suppose the company wants to be known for, always alert for any possible problems on the horizon, no matter how remote. After all, that report that I was assigned that happened to coincide with my cancer surgery, bike crash, broken collarbone and brain injury two years ago – yeah, I finished that one. Even though I couldn’t even type at the time. But you never know, so one must always be alert for potential shirkers.

Now, I know what you’re all saying. You’re saying “Now Miss Tasha, be that all as it be, we ain’t here to hear ‘bout your problems, we be here to learns abouts the training and stuff, and fo sho to be some kind of entertained!”

I realize this. I’m one of billions of bloggers out there, a minute speck in the Blogosphere, and I’m sure if I depart, by tomorrow there’ll be six wanna-be bloggers to take my place: The Shake-Weight Route to Pasadena, and so on.

So in that vein, I present to you my latest in diet advice, that I’m sure will hone my already-almost-perfect-athlete’s physique to an even greater state of perfection. We all remember my Stillman's diet, which proved to be a bit tricky on those long bike rides:

The there was the liquid diet, which was certainly a happy one, though perhaps not the most productive.

My current one, therefore, is borne out of Need and Opportunity, or as we call it, Neeportunity. This is akin to when you’re on a bike ride and need to do some intervals, and you see a hill so you ride up and down it, even if said hill is on someone’s property. Or when you’re on yet another long ride and need some quick fuel, so you stop at a nearby donut shop. This is the kind of opportunistic thinking that’s made me the goddess I am today.

So for my latest diet, it occurs to me that I need to a) not spend money I don’t have, and b) get my ass in shape for this summer’s cycling adventures, to include my Crazy-Ass Bike Ride Across Iowa, or CABRAI. I think that’s what it’s called. And who is it that has enough food stored in her place to last through the next millennium, due to her Ukrainian-bred tendency to buy food in bulk when she sees it in a store? Yep, yours truly. I honestly think I can go months living on what I have in the house, between the cans of tuna and frozen chicken breasts, and so on. Oh sure, scurvy might be lurking around the corner due to a lack of fruits and vegetables, but you can’t have everything.

Because you see, the timing of all this – and the unexpectedness of it – is really shitty. Not only do I have the regular bills, plus what I’m sure will be an early property tax bill (unlike the fall one, which they delayed by several months until after the election), as well as the root canal that I need, but…. I also found a lump in my breast this morning. The right one. The cancer one.

Now, do I really think this is anything? No, I honestly don’t. I really think it’s scar tissue or the port that I still have in there, or even a frisky meandering implant. Though it’s a bit of dejavu that I have my every-six-month mammogram schedule for Monday – which is just what it was like for my original cancer diagnosis.

So I don’t think it’ll be anything, but at the same time, it pisses me off, because my first thought was, oh for fuck’s sake, can’t I get a fucking BREAK around here once in a while? And I don’t mean a break that’s just a lack of bad news, as in “oh whew, it’s not cancer.” Or like the Ukrainian National Anthem, Ще не вмерла Українa, which translates to Ukraine is Not Yet Dead. Gee, yay.

And I don’t even mean I need the seriously amazing luck, like winning the lottery. No, I just want a garden-variety decent something happening in my life. Oh, you know, like say having one of the many potential projects I have out there actually come to fruition, where some company realizes – hey, you’re exactly the kind of brilliant person we need, you with your fan-fucking-tastic resume and your amazing experience!

Seriously, is that too much to ask of the universe?

Apparently so.

Who knew it was so simple?

My mom recognizes that I’m known far and wide for my cutting-edge thinking with regard to diet and nutrition, and how I’m always ready to do what needs to be done to bring truth and wisdom to you, my fourteens of readers. It is in this vein in which I’ve tried Stillmans (fail), VLCD (mega fail), and of course who can forget the Pink Diet, in which I only ate or drank foods/beverages that were pink (okay, not big in terms of weight loss, but at least the mai tais were tasty. Hey, they’re kind of pink!).

So it should come as no surprise to anyone that my mom came running over to me eagerly a few days ago, after she came across a most illuminating article in the paper, entitled “Eat This and That!”

Now, this is different from the “Eat this not that!’ people, who’ve made a career – a lucrative one, it seems – out of informing the apparently clueless populace that yes, eating the wizened and desiccated bag of apple slices from Hardees rather than the Super Mega Monster Cheese-Buster ThickBurger will save you approximately 4,000 calories. Who knew?

Anyway, the basic premise of this article revolves around food combining. For those of you not in the know, this means that when you combine certain foods, there can be a synergistic effect, in both negative and positive ways. For example, with the Atkins diet, you’re warned to not eat any carbs with your proteins lest you want to blow up like a jellyfish that’s been left to fester out in the sun on a hot summer’s day. Conversely, eating celery with pretty much anything cancels out most of the calories due to the vigorous digestive processes required to do anything with the celery.

This article suggests that by combining certain foods, you negate the detrimental impact of one of them. To wit:

“In a perfect world, you’d eat healthily all the time, but let’s get real.

The good news: Consuming certain nutritious foods with harmful foods can help minimize the damage.”

And so we have the following suggested combinations: hot dogs and sauerkraut. A high-fat meal plus grapes. Salty food plus chocolate. And for the coup de grace: fried chicken (!) plus cherries, of all things! Two of the most perfect foods in the world!

Well. This completely changes things for me, as I’m sure it does for you. Now, while the article doesn’t mention anything about weight loss specifically, we all know that good health and nutrition go hand in hand with being svelte and lean and losing weight, yes? Right? I will report back.

Taking stock, part 2

The training

The training part of my CACTASS endeavor has at least fared slightly better than the diet part. In the last 5 weeks, I’ve logged 1,016 Garmin-certified miles across hill and dale here out in the boondocks. I mean, the bucolic countryside around Huntley, IL. Since I’ve been traveling the same roads ad nauseum, so as to not waste time driving elsewhere to ride, I now know every farmer, every chicken, every dog (fenced and non-fenced), every bump in the road, every place where the wind shifts, every water stop.

I know everything there is to know about the growth cycle of corn. I know the bartender at the Prairie Pub (hours 11AM – 2AM), who’s always nice enough to put ice in my water bottles before I fill them with bottled water. Kelly at Sharon’s Sweet Shop and I are pals, and I promised her a bushel of tomatoes when I get back from my trip. I’ve come to discover that the roads around Delavan, WI get suckier every year, even when they pave them and for some reason wind up with all these seams in the road. People in cars have stopped to ask me for directions. When I see my mom’s neighbors here in Sun City, the first thing they ask me is “How many miles today?” My mom, who’ll be happy to see the tail end of me and The Kone, as I don’t think she likes how we’ve disrupted her orderly existence.

The question, of course, is this – even after all the riding, am I ready to make it up the Alps, or even AN Alp? I have no idea, though I’m starting to think it’s doubtful. But I’ve done what I could in the time I had – and for those wondering why I didn’t start training sooner, well, those pesky surgeries got in the way. At least the Boobages will look good though as I’m gasping for air on the side of a mountain, having simply fallen over on my bike, still clipped in.

And I’m determined to have a good time, whatever may be. I’m still pissed off about the weight thing – since I haven’t had a burger, a bonbonbonbon, or anything else remotely tasty in months now –to no avail. I’m still fat, and will have to try to haul my fat little self up a mountain, which is hard enough when you’re thin. Fuck you FatSurly!

I actually got The Look yesterday from my brother – who’s seen how little I eat - when I idly mentioned that my ride that day had been 80+ miles to Wisconsin and back. He literally stopped in his tracks, looked me up and down, and said “What?? 80 miles? But….how…..”

Me: “Yeah, I know. I’ve been riding those distances for a while now, and you can see all the good it’s done me.”

Andrew: “But…..wow. Imagine what you’d look like if you weren’t doing all that cycling! If I rode that much, I’d look like an Ethiopian refugee!”

Sigh.

Of course, true to form, I’m still ramping up, so I’m off now for another long-ish bike ride in the 99% humidity, now that the rain has stopped. I have a whole week left, and I’m sure I can ratchet up my fitness level another couple of notches in that time. Right? Maybe? Bueller?

Scenes from Stillmans

Delavan, WI

Deanna and I have ventured up here for the 4^th of July weekend, and naturally, after planning out our weekend and making sure we include the Carp-O-Rama in those plans, in keeping with the holiday we meet up with Mike M. to go to a Chinese restaurant. I’m pretty sure I can find something appropriately tasteless and boring ala Stillmans there. Of course, it’s not long before trouble arises.

Deanna, to the waitress: Say, these Happy Chinese Puffy Goodness Delights on the menu, are those the fried dough things rolled in sugar?

Waitress: Yes they are.

Deanna: Great, we’ll have a whole stack of them!

I sit there steeped in virtue as Deanna and Mike stuff ball after ball of fried doughy goodness down their gullets, and wait for the weight to instantaneously start dropping off. After all, I think it’s a cardinal rule that the amount of weight you lose and the speed with which you lose it is indirectly proportional to the tastiness of the food you’re foregoing. And fried dough, well, that’s pretty much my favorite food in the world. Along with pizza, Cheez-Its, mochi, Annette’s chocolate nutella cake, donuts, barbecue, and pancakes. And of course cheese, which kind of goes without saying. Anyway, I wait for the 10 pounds to dissolve from my hips. And wait. And wait. And start pouting, while Deanna and Mike give me gloating, sugar-encrusted grins. I hate them.

Mecca

“Stan” and I decide to go to the new Superdawg in Wheeling, to mark our birthdays, and in preparation I haven’t eaten all day, so that I can have my mai tai when we go to Bob Chinn’s next door afterwards. I’m determined to stick to Stillmans, so instead of the glorious Superdawgski – “nestled in a box with French fries” – I instead have the delightful yet boring SuperChickenski, i.e. a grilled chicken breast on a bun. Stan, being an intelligent human being, orders the Superdawgski, and….

Stan: Hey, should we get some onion chips?

Me, muttering: I’m on a diet.

Stan: What’s that?

Me: I’m ON A DIET! So that I’m not FAT AND MISERABLE for the rest of my MISERABLE FAT life! So NO I CAN’T HAVE ANY DELICIOUS ONION CHIPS!

Me, adding: But you go ahead, don’t deprive yourself.

He adds the onion chips to the order, and there we are chit-chatting away, eating our food, me gnawing on the chicken breast sans bread, when…..

Stan: …..so my viewpoint on Avogadro’s Number has always been a little bit different from the mainstream scientific thought, in that I think…..wait. What’s this? What happened to the rest of the onion chips?

Me, grinning sheepishly: Oops.

Okay, so sue me, I had 6-7 onion chips! I don’t know why I even bother with the damn diet anyway. Let’s see, I “cheated” with a handful of delectable fried onion chips, which when added to the chicken breast, water, and mai tai I had the rest of the day still doesn’t amount to very much. My reward? Gained 2.5 pounds the next day. I hate life.

LARD (Long Ass Ride Day), # whatever

In spite of the extra weight making me feel like I’m toting around 10 frozen hams with me, I continue the daily riding in the somewhat futile hope of making it up the Alps. Or even an Alp. I just want to make it up ONE Alp please.

And naturally, I’ve had every mishap known to man. The flat tires. The rip in the tire instead of the tube. The shifting problems. The meth head. The extreme heat and wind. The poor fit on the bike that makes every ride a new study in pain. I think today is the day, after the gazillion mile ride in the heat and wind, that I make it back to my mom’s and say fuck it to Stillmans, and have some cheese and a Coke as my post-ride recovery snack. Where are the purported 15-25 pounds I was supposed to lose in 2 weeks? Not here, my friends, not here.

The birthday party

I’ve been tracking my calories religiously, and in spite of the occasional lapse, I have yet to go over 1600 calories a day, and that includes the GU and such that I use on my rides. So basically I’ve been running a serious calorie deficit each and every day.

And tonight, in preparation for Robyn’s 40^th birthday party, I’ve had my usual austere meals of roasted chicken and zucchini, with a few blueberries thrown in for good measure. Just in case there’s something worthwhile to sample at the party. Like, say, cake? Ah yes, Nettie has made another one of her delectable creations – a chocolate Nutella cake. Who can resist?

I idly make the comment - as I eat my tiny sliver of cake – that this is the first not-on-my-diet food I’ve had in eons, since I’m not really counting the post-90-mile-ride-ounce-of-cheese as a lapse. Right after I say this, I’m met with silence by Colleen and Bridget, who give my fat little self The Look, and I can see the thought bubbles over their heads clear as day: “Umm, right, who are you trying to kid?” That hurts.

Body for StillButter?

An astute friend posts the following video to FB, which I immediately glom onto, as this could be the key to everything:

You see, I could handle the fact that Stillmans doesn’t allow, well, much of anything. No Cheez-Its. No cake. No pizza. But….no fruit? No. That’s just not possible.

But I soon realize that by combining Stillmans and its stinginess – I mean austerity - with the Butterfield Plan and the free day, and throwing a bit of Body for Life in there as well so that I have another free day, that leads to this: a diet where I can eat whatever I want for 48 hours – including my beloved bonBONbonbons - and then get by on the Stilmans’ 3 olives/day the rest of the week. Score!

I will report back.

July 2nd - Day Two

I manage to haul myself out of bed – I mean, spring out of bed lightly and nimbly – at 5AM, to start my riding early for a change. But first, a yummy Stillman’s breakfast of coffee, scrambled eggs, and some strawberries. I’m pretty sure all that’s allowed.

Kona, as usual, helps me get ready.

As I’m getting my riding fuel ready, however, I discover the first problem with Stillmans, as it pertains to cycling. After all, even I’m not so stupid as to try and do a 4-5 hour ride on my (albeit considerable) charm and good looks. So according to the book, snacks are allowed, preferably all-protein: “Choose something as simple as a hard-cooked egg or leftover fish, chicken or meat, or a cup of bouillon, perhaps with bits of leftover fish, chicken or meat thrown in.”

Hmm. Somehow taking a bit of salmon on a bike ride in the blazing sun doesn’t sound too appealing. Bouillon? No. Now eggs, eggs I can do. Or not.

In the end, I stock up on the usual GU, but resolve to only have one an hour rather than 2. 100 calories an hour should be more than sufficient, especially as my body switches over to burning fat for fuel, turning me into an efficient machine. Or rather, more of a machine than I already am.

Soon enough I come across the usual asshat driver, who decides he’s going to pass Mr. Farmer in his pickup with blinkers on, toting a load of hay. Which is fine, pass all you want – umm, but maybe not on a blind curve in a no pass zone?? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people? I pull off the road as usual, and this doesn’t even phase me, but it’s nice to feel some solidarity with the farmer as I can see that he’s shaking his head as he drives past me. I’m sure he deals with asshat drivers even more than I do. Hey, this is still farm country, okay bub, Mr. I’m So Important and In a Hurry?

Anyway, I’m feeling good in spite of the wind, and after my turnaround point, I decide to stop in the little café in Garden Prairie to restock on water. But I feel bad just getting water, so I decide to hang out at the counter and have a soda. Oops, not on Stillmans. Cheating on my diet already, sigh. As I’m drinking my forbidden beverage, I watch tv, which is set to some local station, and they have a few people talking with the host about the local Brat Fest. It all sounds familiar – and then I realize that’s because it sounds like that Delicious Dish/NPR show on Saturday Night Live. To wit:

Guest: People ask me, how can you eat a brat for breakfast? And I say to them, how can you NOT eat a brat for breakfast?

Host: So tell me more about Take a Brat to Work Day…..

I escape.

Finally nearing home, I do my usual Mulberry Stop at the community garden. Though of course I start thinking, are these allowed on the Stillmans plan? Screw it, I think. “Why don’t you go on a 50-mile ride and then tell me whether or not berries are allowed on your fucking diet, Dr. Stillman”, I mutter to myself, munching on berries.

When I get home, I do look at the book to see if I did okay here on Day Two, and make a horrifying discovery which so defies explanation that I go through the book about 5 times to make sure I’m not missing something. It seems…….fruit, of all things…..is NOT allowed! What say? Is the good doctor a Communist or something?? I may have to rethink things a bit here. I mean, I know, it’s just 14 days (this is after all Dr. Stillman’s 14-Day Shape-Up Program – so I fully expect to be lean and svelte in a mere 14 days), but still, this is prime fruit season. What to do, what to do…..

The answer to my problems

Well, not all my problems of course – even I recognize what a tall order that would be. So there I was at my mom’s last week, puttering around the house while breathing deeply and hence doing a strenuous core workout, when I spotted a file folder. “Diets,” it said. Hmm.

I just have to say, the treasure trove I found was remarkable. A bunch of those little booklets that they sell at checkout counters, but these were the originals, i.e. the 1974 version of Stillman’s, not the new namby-pamby version that coddles people and lets them eat processed food and the like. No sirree! Some highlights:

· One is allowed 3 – count ‘em, 3 – olives a day. I know, the mind reels.

· We – that is, the “overweights” as the good Dr. Stillman refers to us – can potentially lose 10-25 pounds (“or more!”) in just two weeks. Sweet!

· Ha! In the “daily 15-minute exercise program” section, the VERY FIRST item is entitled “Breathing Exercises.” Doubters and naysayers, take heed!

· Alcohol is allowed. Yes!!

· This part is labeled IMPORTANT: “Take a multivitamin daily – if you are over 40, take a higher content “geriatric” capsule.” Geriatric? At 40?? Sigh.

Now, one of my problems with these kinds of diets is that I tend to be an all-or-nothing kind of person, figuring that if something is good, going to that extreme is way better. So it is with diets, where I generally err on the side of eating too little, feel like crap, and don’t lose weight anyway thanks to my FUCKED UP METABOLISM AND FATSURLY. Oh wait, did I say that? Anyway.

But I’m determined to follow this to the letter. NO deviations, at all. This means that I need to learn to make something called Protein-PLUS Bread, Protein-PLUS Buns, or Protein-PLUS Cake. Though as far as I can tell, the only difference in the three is….I have no idea. They all have the exact same ingredients. Hmm.

I began this little experiment in high protein-low-carb-low-calorie yesterday, July 1^st, and feel significantly slimmer already. I will continue to report back.