Oct 1, 2008

like a big rock that's not micheal phelps

Last night my mom and I decided to start our own diet competition. Kind of like our own little weight watchers, but without any actual weighing in. Because no one is allowed to know how much I weigh. So don't even ask. (I lied on my drivers license, I will lie to you too!!)

We're going to be keeping track of our scores on a point system. Basically, if we follow our diet for the day, 1 point. For every half hour of exercise, 1 point. And the person with the most points at the end of a month picks something for the other person to do (that they obviously don't want to do themselves- it's still a little fuzzy with the whole reward/punishment part.) But the points are simple enough, right? This should be fun, right? And think about how much weight I'll lose while I'm having that simple fun, right?


I'm going to fail like a big failing rock that has sunk to the bottom of a wide nasty river because it thought it could swim like Micheal Phelps. Silly silly rock, you will sink. And I will FAIL.

I've found that my weight loss has to be a completely non-pressure deal. Because basically, when there's pressure I eat. So if I'm pressuring myself not to eat, what do I do then? Scream. A lot. And maybe jump off a bridge (where I can once again use the big sinking rock analogy.) I just can't handle it.

Over the past couple weeks I have un-pressured 6 pounds off. And then over the past two days there was pressure (remember, no Disneyland?) So I have pressured a couple back on. And then my mom suggested our fun and simple competition, and what happened? I turned straight to the tortilla chips and chocolate frosting. (Not together, eewww.)

And that's why I will fail.

My plan was to keep tricking myself into weight loss, and then wear over sized sweatshirts all winter long. That way, in the spring, when I start wearing t-shirts again people can go, "Woah, wasn't she fat?" Because that way if I did fail (which was likely, because come on, what a great plan...) no one would know that I was actually trying to lose weight and I'd still just be fat. No pressure.

So maybe when my mom has gotten about 4,523,962 points, and I only have 3, we can quit our little contest and I can go back to my original plan. Or I can just keep eating that chocolate frosting. We'll see.

Oh, and my diet, which really isn't a "diet" because that words automatically inserts a brownie into my mouth, is going to be: if I feel like I haven't totally engorged myself today, I get a point. And my exercise (since I have absolutely no time to spend at the gym and I'm competing against someone who has a Curves membership - CURVES, people) I'm going to count each time I run up and down the stairs as a minute of workout time. It doesn't really take me that long to go up and down, but I want the points. And I know I go up and down at least 30 times a day. And maybe getting on the floor to change diapers should also give me some points, because boy do I ever do a lot of that.

So here we go diet competition....let's just get the losing over with.


Claire said...

See, i respond to the pressure. That's why I go to Weight Watchers every week. I respond to knowing that if I don't do well, I'll be beaten to a bloody pulp with a brick. Yeah - my leader knows how to get folk to lose weight. Violence.

Good luck though! Curves is rubbish anyway! She should be deducted points for having an advantage!

LisAway said...

I love your great plan as outlined in the last paragraph. Excellent. Good luck! Keep us updated, too.

Barbaloot said...

Ooh---good luck! I'm the opposite of you, it's got to be a competition or I just don't have the motivation to not eat all the wonderful good food floating around.

You have fun with those oversized sweatshirts---they are disgustingly comfortable:)

the MomBabe said...

Hey, as long as people think I'm just chunky, and not pregnant? I'm good.

Heather (n.) An organized mess. said...

Diet. It starts with "die". WHO could possibly think a diet is a good idea?

I live up to people's low expectations of me. Heather? Oh she's a fatty. Now, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't fulfill that expectation?