One Year on Ketosis!

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I zipped right past my anniversary!

On the weekend of Memorial Day, 2016, I decided, rather on a whim, to give this Keto thing that my friend was on, a try.

Soooo…like all good diets, I made a spreadsheet.

Wait a minute???

One of the things that ketoer’s harp on is consumption tracking in the beginning.  In order to figure out what to cut from your dietary intake, you gotta first know what             -exactly-   you’re putting in your mouth.  In this age of smart phones and apps, most suggest my fitness pal to track their intake.

I’m not romantically, physically, emotionally or mentally tied to my smart phone.  In fact, the more I can ignore the demonic little piece of tech, the better I like it…so nix on the whole “there’s an app for that” thing.  But I am a self-confessed excel junkie – so a spreadsheet to track daily, weekly, monthly intakes was right up my alley.

A year later – I’d say I’ve had some very noticeable results.

I don’t know how much I weighed when I started, as my SOP was to avoid scales like the plague, but I’m gonna guess it was upwards of 260.  At 5’4″ and that much poundage, yea, I was a ball.  But, hey…round is a shape, right?

I know I went from size 22-24W pants to a size 16  – and even those are now starting to bag.  Ditto on some of my favorite shirts.  I went to the local Goodwill a couple of weeks back, and went mad in their shirts department…I can now wear a ladies size large.  I’d have been lucky to find 2x or 3x that fit before.

People I haven’t seen in a while are starting to tell me “Man…you’ve lost a LOT of weight…”  I usually tell ’em “Keto done me good…”

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I made a choker necklace for S a year+ ago – it didn’t buckle around my neck then – it does now.  And even my ring (featured a couple of times here on the T&T) got too loose to wear without emergency reinforcements!

 

 

 

 

 

I won’t discuss the underwear…you’re welcome!

Am I curious enough to actually step on a scale to see how much tonnage I’ve removed?  Maybe.

Anyway – here’s me before and a year into Keto… and looking forward to year 2!

 

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Before….

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1 Year Low-Carb

Goodbye Darkness, my old friend…

Right…

I haven’t had a drop of anything caffeinated since the fascinating brush with the new pain chart last week won me an all-expenses-NOT-paid trip to the ER via ambulance last week.  It was a hard decision.

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I had been drinking the occasional energy drink on the weekends, because I wanted something sweet and cold, instead of hot. (Not that big a deal – they’re loaded with chemical stimulants, anyway…)

 

 

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The Diet Coke is now officially history.  (ditto – chemical shit-storm, anyone?)

 

 

 

 

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But the coffee & cream in the AM?

**sob**

Gawd, I miss my coffee…

 

 

 

 

Oddly enough, it’s not missed nearly as much when I walk as when I drive in to work.  The fresh air, exercise, and sunshine must be fully waking me up so I don’t NEED  my coffee in those mornings…but when I end up having to drive in to work, I feel my ass just a-draggin all day long.

 

I have to wave valiantly to you, my dark, hot, creamy & sweet (thanks to some Torani syrups) lover…but the romance is over.  Maybe you and Catherine’s Clothing Stores can get together?

 

Now what am I gonna do with my funny coffee cup collection?

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The Rock

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Nope – not the wrestler/actor…although, it certainly FELT like I’d been body-slammed.

I’m talking about a kidney stone.  I had one make its way down from the kidney to the bladder yesterday.

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For the record, I did hit 12 yesterday.  Max Suckage.

 

When they say ‘You never forget your first,’ a kidney stone may have been what they had in mind.

But – I did survive my trip to the ER via an ambulance, after scaring the bejezus out of my co-workers – and survived the stone’s travel from the kidney to the bladder.  I even survived a brief episode of ‘bumper beds,’ when the lady who was wheeling me from the CAT scan room back to my ER room banged the bed into a wall.

I now get the lovely task of waiting until it takes the final leg of its journey, out of my bladder and into (hopefully) the strainer the ER provided to catch it.  They want to analyze it and find out what substance it’s made of, so dietary recommendations can follow.

I already made some changes in the daily diet on recommendations I found on the web…going meatless for my work lunches (I still get cheese & butter, though, which is an acceptable substitute for the Keto-me), looking for protein/fat sources with a little less sodium, and seriously amping up the water intake.

I also have magnesium and potassium citrate supplements on their way.  Both are recommended in the prevention of future stones.

I have a feeling there’s gonna be a fight with a nutritionist in my immediate future, though, because I’m not willing to give up ketosis.  A year of no heartburn after 20+ years trying everything under the sun to alleviate it – yer damn straight I’m gonna fight to keep my diet.

 

Should be interesting.

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I’m Walking Around! – or – Alright…who conjured a demon?

 

It’s interesting how life things just…happen.  I had started out today’s posting by putting words on the screen Saturday.  I knew it was gonna be about the first, triumphant walk to work…and I wanted bragging rights.

Then Sunday night happened – an unfortunate incident involving a pan of freshly hard-boiled eggs and my sock – and I started a second post for today growling about the vicissitudes of fate and rapid disrobing techniques.

Hence – the double title for today’s post.  I wasn’t sure until this morning which one was gonna go up…I couldn’t pick a favorite, so they both did.

 

First – I believe Spring has finally gotten Mother Nature firmly back on her meds and moderating her off-the-wall mood swings…we had a beautiful day here in Wisconsin on Saturday.

I got to take a walk, and solidify my work route.  According to the map – I got in 1.8 miles for the round trip.  The route to work is only 1.5 miles, so I’ve proven to myself that I CAN walk the distance.

Today – I got that nice morning.  It was in the high 50’s at 7am – a bit of a breeze and overcast, and a slight chance of rain for the walk home.

I took to the streets.

Downtown Summer 2016

 

First, there was the march through the downtown district – pavement, pavement, pavement…but our buildings are pretty cool, so I’m OK with that.  If I didn’t like all the paving, I wouldn’t have moved to the center of downtown in the first place.

 

 

I got to the Fox River…this is where the pavement shrinks and the green starts.

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Who doesn’t love a walk in the park?  Especially when there’s moving water involved?  The green and growing and the flowing water generate a very in-tune-with-the-Natural vibe that’s evident even just off the center of the bustling downtown district.  It’s one of the reasons I focus so well in downtown Waukesha – the river winds through it and tamps down the oppressive “Buy more shit now” energy generated by humans caught in the throes of capitalism.

So…the 2nd leg of my walk is through Bethesda Park, following the Fox River.  Right now, the trees are still bare, but the grass is greening up so it shouldn’t be long before we have buds springing from those sharp branches.

Beetle Bridge

 

This will forever after be called (in my mind, at least) the Beetle Bridge.  What I love about this is, even through there is other tagging work on it – nobody has bothered to molest the faces.  Under this bridge, there’s additional artwork which has also remained clean of hostile influences.

 

Directly after the bridge – there’s a home with an overabundance of little purple flowers in the front lawn, and I can see the iris plants poking their green blades up from the leftover fall leaves.  Spring is aggressively on its way here.
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And here we go for the third and final leg of the trip – up to say hello to my greenspace, and continue up the street to land at work.

 

1.6 miles – before coffee – DONE.

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But…this trip very nearly got delayed again…because sometimes…eggs happen.

Personally, I think the remnants of my fat cells have gone out and summoned a demon in protest.  They’re sick of the ever-shrinking living accommodations my butt is providing, and have taken it into their own hands (or a reasonable facsimile thereof…) to right the wrongs of this ‘damnable Keto diet thing.’

We’re a household of hard-boiled egg eaters.  I have egg salad from time to time, S likes her HB Eggs with a shot of mustard, B takes three to work each morning, and D will grab one on occasion – even though he worries about the cholesterol content.  Eggs are perfect for keto, ideal for gluten-free, and a low-sodium, very low-cost complete protein source.  Every Sunday night…I put a dozen & a half to the pot.

Well…last night, while transferring the pot of freshly boiled eggs from the stove to the sink to shock them cold, those fat-summoned demons caught the bottom of the pot on the counter.  It did this crazy jiggle – which a vessel filled with water likes to do – and I ended up slopping boiling water down my front to soak happily into my shirt, pants, and left sock.

I swear – I heard the demonic little fat cells cheer over the successful completion of their evil plan.

Well…while saying a few -less than polite- words, I did my own crazy little jiggle I like to call the ‘hot pants dance.’  It’s amazing how quickly the clothing comes off when pain is involved.

I think I got off lucky.  The last time I ended up with near-boiling water in my lap, I was 5 – and had 2nd degree burn blisters all up and down my legs.  This time, I have some bright red and puffy spots on my stomach and top of the left foot, but no blisters.

So what’s a freshly-boiled girl to do?

I slathered the burns with coconut oil.  A nice, thick layer over my belly and foot.  And I went to sleep.

This morning – nothing short of fabulous…the foot barely hurts at all, and is only slightly red along the top.  The belly is still just a bit twitchy, but the redness and puffiness diminished markedly from the night before.

I’ll continue to oil up for the next couple of days, but…I’ve defeated the demons and I FINALLY got to walk to work!

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TAKE THAT, FAT CELLS!

 

 

 

These Shoes are Made for Walkin’

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I LOVE my crazy socks

This is it…

I’ve been watching the weather for the past 2 weeks – waiting for the temperatures to rise in the morning.

I’ve got a backpack to stuff all my work stuff in, so I don’t have to carry things in my hands.

The iPod will be on the charger Sunday night…

Because Monday, it’s supposed to be in the 40’s at 7am, without the threat of rain.

I’m walking to work 😀

Funny, how I’m actually excited about this.  Me.  The person who, just a year ago, had serious worries about my heart bursting through my chest by walking A BLOCK to get to my car…is gonna walk over a mile…

in the morning…

before the coffee has kicked in…

and then work a full day, turn around, and walk home.

Who am I, and what have I done with myself????

 

 

Thinking of Lard

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Me…ice water challenge…last summer

For clarity – I.  Am.  Fat.

I am not overweight.  I am not undertall.  I am not large, rotund, or whatever other polite phrasing can be employed to describe the mass of my body.

I.  Am.  Fat.

But I’m not unhealthy.  The ticker still works.  The mind is sharp as a tack (granted, a little rusty, but I digress…).  The plumbing takes what I eat and converts it to energy and waste products without bias or complaint.  I take zero prescription meds or supplements.  I will occasionally cop to taking an analgesic for various aches and pains that come from 29+ years walking this Earth, and fully admit that I’ve slowed to a leisurely pace in my daily activities.

Now, If you believe the health fascists out there – I should be either dying, or dead. I should be regularly pestering my doctor about this ache or that pain.  I should never leave his office without making a new appointment.  I should be on several prescription medications to moderate my heart, my blood pressure, my cholesterol, my glucose levels, my emotional stability, and my bowels.

And I should be TERRIFIED by the horrible spectre of aging, determined to beat it off with a large, heavy object.

Wait – I AM a large, heavy object! 😀

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Taco quiche…noms

It doesn’t end there, unfortunately.  According to those ‘in the know’ in Public Health, I should also be regularly beating myself up over what I choose to put in my mouth, and self-flagellating over my lack of determination in the gym.  And for the icing on this cake (mmmmmm – cake….) my doctor, my publicly-elected officials, and the public at large should all be more than happy to assist in my flogging.

for my own good, of course…

Why is everyone in the field of Public Health worried over what I do with my body?  It’s not their body – it’s mine.  They don’t feel the ache in the back that comes from sleeping flat.  They don’t feel the stubbed toe.  They don’t have to clean the glasses that perch on my nose.  They don’t know that Orange Milano cookies are a confection that makes my tongue sing in joy, and Sauerkraut and Dumplings is the traditional Christmas dinner of my family.

They refuse to acknowledge that I am a thinking adult, capable of making my own decisions, and living with the consequences of them.

Everywhere I turn – there they are.  Bemoaning the health of our nation.  Wringing their hands in agony over the obesity epidemic, the smoking epidemic, the sugar epidemic, the lack of proper funding to assist them in the wars they are waging on health and decency and common sense epidemic…

Oh…wait…no…that’s accurate.  Nevahmind…

Waving around another half-baked study which tells the masses that they are doing it all wrong! even though it was their advice in the first place.

Fat is bad for you!                                                          Not ALL fat is bad for you!

Eggs are bad for you!                                                    Eggs are good for you!

Alcohol is evil!                                                            A glass of wine may have benefits.

Smoking,       salt,           sugar,          trans fats,             cholesterol,             tri-glicerides

QUAKE IN FEAR, PUNY MORTALS!!!!!!!!! 

Sorry – I’m too busy being irritated…

There is a rather old bit floating out there on the ‘net about ordering pizza after the scourge of “Public Good” has convinced the masses that what they do is for ‘your own good.’   I’ll leave it to you to decide if this is just ♦bullshit, or just ♦around the corner.

Sleep Deprivation on the Left

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At least SOMEONE can be comfy in my bed…

We spend a third of our lives in bed.  Ok, some of us spend more time there, some less, some are more “active” between the sheets, and some spend all this time and more actually sleeping.  Yes, variations do occur (because your regular, mundane human is anything but…), but on the average – we spend one third of our lives unconscious on a horizontal surface designed to support the comatose body.

All the experts (and I use that term loosely…) agree that the average Mr. Joe Human requires 8 hours of sleep a night to maintain the health and mental acuity of the body and mind.  8 hours.  Every night.  Without fail.  Or.  Else.

Or else what???

Well…I’m glad you asked that 😀  If you fall short of this expert-mandated directive – a whole host of really scary medical conditions are trotted out – heart disease, heart attack, stroke, diabetes, depression, insomnia (well, duh) short attention span, inability to focus, muscular weakness, sloth, avarice, vanity and erectile dysfunction.

Why does EVERYTHING revolve around the ability (or lack thereof) to pitch a tent on demand?

I see things a bit differently, looking from over here on the left.  If sleep deprivation goes on long enough, the body throws a temper-tantrum worthy of a jilted lover: metaphysical dishes get flung about the house at high rates of speed, doors get kicked in, impolite words get spray-painted on the walls, and dubious ‘soils’ appear in the carpeting and dressers.

The family pet(s) may also be shaved without prior warning.

Sadly, divorce papers are sometimes signed, consigning the body and mind to a neat little cubicle, with softly padded walls, leather jackets that lace up the back, and rather powerful drugs injected either willingly or forcefully by attendants in white scrubs.

From Owlnet Blog on WordPress

OH…and..basket-weaving classes are mandatory for the hour they let you out of your “guest suite”…but you are allowed no pointy objects or cigarettes.

Divorcing your body is REAL expensive, both in the financial and freedom departments – so you might as well learn to live together, and that means giving in to the demands of the body, even when you, the mind, doesn’t wanna.

My body and I (specifically the muscles in the neck) are currently in negotiations – hopefully a peaceful settlement is on the horizon, as I can’t weave a basket to save my soul.

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Toy snake pillow – 4th neck support bought, first one that worked.

My body missing its bed.  Its favorite bed.  The waterbed.

I loved that bed.  It wasn’t one of the real pricey models with the baffling within the bag, or the high-gloss wood bookcase headboard with built in lights, 9 drawers underneath, multiple heaters for zoned settings, and tall enough to need a ladder to climb up in it – It was one of the cheap ones.  Just a big bag of water in a box.  I didn’t even spring for the headboard.

It was warm in the winter, cool in the summer.  It supported everything it needed to, squishing in where it saw more weight (yea, I’m talking about my hips, here…) and less where there wasn’t as much.

Although the term ‘fathead’ is cycling through my mind right now for some reason…

It cuddled around you at night, wrapping you with all the love a water-filled bladder of vinyl could muster, and was really fun to lay on and roll around, or just push on, to get the wave effect going during the day.

You could ‘spoon’ all by yourself in a cheap waterbed…no partner required!

I REALLY miss my waterbed…sleeping platform, heater, partner and plaything all rolled up into one gigantic waterbox.

Unfortunately, the wuzband didn’t think too kindly of my favored bed.  It was too hot, too cold, too wavy, translated the movement of the person sleeping next to him (that would be me, for the record…) and couldn’t be re-arranged unless you drained the thing (he was big on moving the furniture around at a whim) first.  It used too much electricity, too much water, and had too much maintenance with all the burping and chemicals and special sheets one had to have for it.

They say that marriage is sleeping in a bed that’s too hard next to someone who’s sleeping in a bed that’s too soft.  We went another direction – we went from someone sleeping in a perfect bed next to someone who was tolerant of it, to the opposite person sleeping in the perfect bed next to someone who absolutely could NOT get comfortable.  I’d had my perfect bed, and it came time to be the one without.

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I’m too tired to make the bed!

The day we got rid of the miracle of sleeping on a water-balloon and went to a traditional mattress, the sleeping issues started.  I’d wake up stiff as a board.  I’d wake up in the middle of the night with heartburn so violent I was gagging.  Occasionally, midnight trips to the bathroom to hug Ralph would happen.  The bed was too damn hard, too hot, too cold, too freaking flat.  It didn’t ooze around you, cradling you in warm-water and vinyl arms – you conformed to it.  Or Else.  It rolled away from the wall, sneaking the pillows out from under your head in the middle of the night.  It threatened bedsores if you stayed in one position too long, and turned tossing and turning into a nightly Olympic event.

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I can wallpaper my room with damn gold medals…

I swear I heard it, in several occasions, giggle maniacally as I levered my poor, stiff body off it in the morning.  It was a sadistic, evil piece of furniture, and he was welcome to keep it when the marriage finally ended.

So far, I’ve survived on memory foam pads piled atop a traditional matress/boxspring (bought for the SQO’s sleepovers) and my recliner.  I slept in the chair for a good, solid, 2 years, with occasional bouts of horizontal-ism on the bed.  When the kids moved in with me, they got the pads, and the living room, so I was confined to once again attempting to sleep on a torture rack masquerading as bedroom furniture.

My neck has finally had enough, and is threatening the big ‘D’.

Time to move the furniture around, and get my recliner in my bedroom so I have a place to sleep.