For sanity's sake

In case you missed the themes of last week’s posts, here they are again in plain English: bored out of my mind, running on fumes, and desperate for some time away from my big girl job. As luck would have it, my vacation to the Texas Deutschland this past weekend was exactly what I needed—I ate (too much), I drank (wine varietals that I cannot pronounce), I shopped (for vintage treasures that I could not afford), and I relaxed (as much as one can when one’s fiancé is prone to waging tickle attacks). Inspired by my renewed joie de vivre, I’ve decided to tackle some new (and some not-so-new) challenges that’ll hopefully help keep my spirits aloft until my next day off:

Get reacquainted with ye olde wedmill. Ok, so we’ve only been unacquainted for, like, five days, but three of those days were coded in schnitzel, flourished with ice cream, and heavily punctuated with Orange Moscato and Viognier. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve already taken in more calories than I should have for the month of September, and I’ve only seen the wedmill twice so far.

Learn how to sew. I took Home Ec. in seventh grade, y’all, so technically I know how to sew—and I’ve got a pair of cow pajama pants and a lumpy accent pillow to prove it. Still, I’ve been experimenting with a few mini sewing projects lately (think five-minute fabric brooches) and now I’d love to try my hand at skirts and dresses (and maybe a jacket if I get cocky). And wouldn’t you know it—McCalls’ patterns are on sale today! Guess it’s time to break out the old Kenmore and the twenty pound box of thread and start a-stitchin’.

Get creative. Sewing’s one way to go, but what about writing? Cooking? Painting? Photography? Since I spend eight hours of every day staring blankly into a computer screen, I’m loath to fritter away my precious evenings doing more of the same. Working on creative projects is a great way to be productive on my own time without the unpleasant side effects (boredom, sense of obligation, gray hair) of being productive.

Put my bride hat back on. I typed up my wedding to-do list a couple of days ago and ho boy is it a doozy! Most of what needs to be done cannot be done until I’ve done booked the venue (read: set an official date), and the venue that I’m leaning toward cannot be booked more than a year in advance. But guess what—“a year in advance” is now only a month or so away (hooray!), and all of a sudden alarm bells are screaming “Finish the website!” “Pick out a dress!” “Update the registries!” “Take pictures!” and so on and so forth. Ok, ok, I’ll visit the venue tomorrow, go dress shopping next weekend, and take a few pictures at the end of the month. In other words: SNOOZE BUTTON! SNOOZE BUTTON! SNOOZE BUTTON!

Registruction

Sean and I have spent the last two weeks working on our wedding registries, and while some of the items we've selected are practical and necessary (coasters and pillows, anyone?) others are downright luxuries. Unfortunately, the three that I'm currently lusting after have the potential to do a lot of damage to my wardrobe, my waistline, and my well-being. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Heart Attack Collection:

Ice cream is my absolute favorite thing in the entire world. If I were sitting outside of an igloo wearing a bikini in the middle of January, I would still embrace a bowl of ice cream. Homemade ice cream is an extra special treat that I'm almost never able to enjoy because A) it's full of fat and B) my mom's great great great grandmother once cranked ice cream in our ice cream maker using milk from a German-speaking cow THAT SHE MILKED HERSELF! Suffice it to say, I've been looking forward to registering for a more modern maker pretty much since the day I met Sean. In fact, Sean probably could have gotten down on one knee and presented me with an ice cream maker instead of a ring and I would have been just as enthused.

This is the fiance's registry obsession. He's been talking about registering for a deep-fryer for a good, solid year, and I've been resisting almost as long. I just didn't think we had enough klass to request such a present. But after months of subliminal deep-fryer messaging (onion riiiiiings...donuuuuuuuts...sweet potato friiiiiiiies...), Billy Bob Sean finally wore me down, so on Saturday morning we kicked off our shoes, hopped on our four wheeler, and cruised over to Walmart to set up our registry. No, that's a lie. We actually registered for it at Target right after we picked out our crystal goblets and our $2,100 gravy boat. And I have to admit that I, too, am now dreaming about all the goodies we could throw in there: cookie dough? peanut butter sandwiches? ICE CREAM FROM MY ICE CREAM MAKER!? Whoa, hold on, I think a few of my teeth just fell out.

I enjoy waffles quite a lot, but I don't eat them very often anymore. Still, for the past few weeks I've had a recurring daydream about getting up late on a Saturday morning, flinging open the windows, and enjoying a batch of waffles covered in whipped cream and strawberries with my hubby while we channel surf through various college football games.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to run 13 miles before I go to bed.

I. Was. Run. Ning!

I know I’ve written about my distaste for running before, but I thought I’d mention it again to help you understand the gravity of the statement I’m about to make in the fifth paragraph. So here it is again, for those of you who’ve forgotten: I am not a runner. No wait, that’s wrong. What I am is the antithesis of a runner: I am a sit-on-the-couch-and-eat-cake-balls-er. What I’m trying to say is, I’m not a big fan of aerobic activity in general, and since I consider running to be the mother of all aerobic activity, I also consider it to be absolutely not my thing. I’m winded and writhing in pain on the floor just from writing about running. Would you be so kind as to hold on while I recover? I’ll be back to finish this story next week.

Except not! Ever since I had The Surgery, I’ve been pretty inconsistent with my diet and exercise regimen. It was sort of like “here are your boobs and your discharge papers; don’t let the wagon hit you on the way out.” For a while I sort of relished the opportunity to be bad—Want to go for a walk? Can’t, I’m post-op. Should we go get ice cream? Well…it might make the scars less noticeable…—and I wasn’t exactly inspired to hit the salad bar while I was in NYC, or during those weeks that I was learning how to be a commuter. But as soon as Sean proposed, visions of engagement photos and bridal showers started dancing in my head, and I suddenly found myself wracked with fear about muffin topping all over sample size wedding dresses. (I even had a dream about it! Oh yes! Wherein none of the standard sizes would zip. Who zips a wedding dress, by the way?)

Ever since July 3 (well, let’s be realistic—July 5—I drank too much champagne and Messina Hof wine to claim my engagement day as the starting point) I’ve been acutely aware of every bite and step I take. Still, I’ve had trouble latching on to an exercise routine that I’m willing to commit to. I tried to get back into Power 90 because I know it’s effective and not terribly time-consuming, but it’s just so darned repetitive (cardio, weights, repeat) that doing it felt like a chore. Plus, it’s tough to be consistent because I’m back and forth between my parents’ house and my fiancé’s apartment so much, and I can’t take the DVD with me because my mom uses it too.

My new friend at work (I should really give her a pseudonym, huh? Like “Florence?”) My new friend Florence is a runner, and an avid one at that. She quite frequently regales me with stories about half-marathons, 8-minute miles, and being able to eat 3,000 calories per day at the height her training (I know, right!?). Yesterday, after Florence and I had each enjoyed a cake ball (my first and second-to-last of the week, thanks—the rest of the office has been gobbling them up since Monday) and after I’d read on my company’s wellness webpage that running is the most effective calorie burner around, I realized that 30 minutes of weight training with Tony Horton wasn’t going to cut it. So I made a radical decision—rather than go home and slog through P90, I would go home and run!

I’ve made decisions like this before, but I’m always quick to change my mind when I’m three minutes in and death is imminent. Still, what kind of bride would I be if I didn’t at least try? So when I got home, I put on my workout gear, turned on the most recent episode of The Next Food Network Star, hopped on the dreadmill, and I ran. And you know what? It wasn’t that bad. In fact, I ran for a whole 23.5 minutes and 2 miles and never once stopped! (Although the thought did cross my mind a couple of times. But all I had to do was look at my ring and poof! It was gone.) In fact, so tolerable was this run that I did it again today even though my legs were sore and I could have talked myself out of it if I’d really wanted to.

I was so surprised by my success that I told Florence all about it as soon as I got to work this morning. “But,” I said, “I think the reason I was able to do it is that I was distracted. When I run outside, all I can think about is how hard it is to breathe, how much my knees hurt, how tense my shoulders are, how hot it is, how much I’m sweating, how eager I am to quit, etc, etc. But when I run on the dreadmill, I can focus on the fate of the characters on my show instead of my own.” And then Florence, who was understandably excited by my change of heart, took things just a wee bit too far: “Awesome! Now we can run 5Ks together!” No, Florence, no we cannot. Not unless I can hook a TV to my shoulders and charge through episodes of Mad Men.

Up for air

Joining the throngs of Americans in a daily slog to and from the office has really thrown me for a loop! I thought working 10-hour days at home was rough, but back then I had no concept of a daily shower, a morning commute, or an alarm clock that rang before 7AM. Riddle me this: how does an eight-hour workday last six months when a five-hour evening lasts 10 minutes? It’s like I get off, get home, change clothes, and BAM! bedtime.

When I was working from home I would regularly tisk tisk Sean from my high horse of veggie burgers and P90X for not eating right and working out consistently. Now that I’m a commuter, however, I’m lucky if I even get to sit down to dinner, let alone figure out how many Points are in it. And exercise? Forgeddubouit. 

Sean and I get off around the same time every day, so we usually call each other to chat while we’re sitting in traffic. After a particularly tiring day last week, Sean mentioned that he was driving past Canes on his way home and OMG chicken fingers, Texas toast, Canes sauce! Ho boy, did that sound good! Freelance Sarah would have rolled her eyes and whined about fat, calories, and a 12-mile run for dessert. All that 8:30-5:30 Sarah whined about, however, was how unfair it was that none of that tasty comfort food was available in her neck of the woods.

Of course, diet and exercise aren’t the only things that have fallen by the wayside since I got my big girl job: gainful employment has also set me back about 20 years, technologically speaking. I haven’t logged into Twitter in nearly three weeks; I’m lucky to make it through my News Feed every day and even luckier if I can muster a status update; I’m equal parts annoyed and worried by my email inbox, so I avoid it; I frequently forget about Google Reader until it’s so full that I have to set aside 45 minutes to just get through it; and (perhaps worst of all) I’ve become a bad blogger. I used to take great pride in my ability to rattle off three posts per week. Now all I feel is shame that I’ve barely felt compelled to post since I arrived home from NYC.

I hope that in the coming weeks I’ll settle into a routine that’ll allow me to return (at least in small part) to my former glory. Perhaps then I’ll finally be willing to eat cabbage and climb up on the treadmill. Perhaps then I'll finally be able to respond to messages and friend requests on Facebook (hi, Facebook friends, I haven’t forgotten you!), check emails and Google reader more regularly, and blog about something other than how I never blog anymore. If I’m really feeling crazy, perhaps I'll even set up mobile Twitter so I can update my followers with important deets about my day: “I am sitting in my cube.” “Man, Keurig hazelnut coffee is good!” “My co-worker is fluent in barrio.” Until then, please forgive my negligence. Growing up is hard to do.

One week.

- Sarah, Sarah, what a boob you are! I spent all of Tuesday thinking it was Wednesday and all of Wednesday thinking it was Thursday (even though I reminded myself of the actual day just before bed on Tuesday night). Not only has my confusion made my week seem longer, but it has also interfered with the timing of this post. Worry not, though, the title is correct.

- Until very recently, I'd been stuck in a breakfast rut--nothing passed over my lips but yogurt before 11:00AM. I liked yogurt because not only was it tasty and varied, but it was also full of satiating protein and low in calories. Eventually, though, it became a bit monotonous. It got so bad, in fact, that I finally started skipping breakfast all together, and any nutritionist'll tell you that this is not a habit to get into--not only do you not jump-start your metabolism in the AM, but you also set yourself up for a binge in the evening. If I wanted to keep my diet on track, I had to nip that practice in the bud. Enter apples and peanut butter: it's high in deliciosity and hunger-busting fat and protein and still low enough in calories that I don't feel guilty om noming it every single morning.

- Right around the time I graduated, I thought that self-employment would be a hoot! After all, I could make my own hours, work when I needed to, and generally lead a pretty relaxed life. WRONG! I'm currently juggling 2.75 jobs to ensure that I rack up enough hours to pay the bills (and buy pretty clothes and entertain myself). Whatever could that mean? Well, I still have my web job (that's one), I was recently hired for a new writing job (that's as much as I'm allowed to reveal about job two), I still drive my sweet freshman home from school every day (that's job .5--not hard or particularly time-consuming, but a daily task none the less), and I'm an occasional Spanish tutor for some kiddies in the area (that's job .25; I said "occasional"). I get up early and work super late just to keep up, which means...

- Good golly I'm tired! All of the responsibilities and late-nighters make me feel like I'm in college again, and not necessarily in a good way (there's no summer break or bar in sight!). I'm cleaving to the idea that I can sleep when I'm dead. Or maybe on my vacation next month!

- Egads, Mad Men is a good show! It's nostalgic, artful, and absolutely titillating! (Not to mention subtly offensive and enjoyably enraging.) Sean and I started Netflixing it a couple months ago and just received our last DVD in the mail yesterday. I'm down right depressed that I'm going to have to wait until the new season begins to find out what happens to the marginalized girls and macho boys at Sterling Cooper. Who thought it would be a good idea to make the seasons of such a well-written and well-dressed show just 13 measly episodes long?

- Remember when I said I was going to try to figure out a way to push up the wedding date? Fuhgeddahboutit. With all the other things that are going on (including but not limited to the aforementioned 2.75 jobs), it seems impractical to throw wedding planning into the mix now as well. Besides, Sean and I are both gung-ho about having the exact wedding we want, and I'm afraid that if I tried to plan it in six months some of the details would be left out. My mom's friend wondered if Sean and I would be able to live separate lives for the next year and a half, to which my only response was a series of "I think I cans." In any case, I appreciate all of the so sweet comments a few of you ladies left on that post!

- Yesterday I had to exfoliate my knees. MY KNEES! Why? Because they looked and felt like neglected elbows. Why? Because I bust my butt doing a TON of girly push-ups every other day as part of the Power 90 regimen, and the carpet in my workout room is very rough indeed. However, while my knees may say "floozy!" my guns totally say "bang!"

Food, mostly

- As I was browsing the Central Market food court on Saturday night, I happened to notice a sign for "Greek Yogurt & Cucumber Dip," which some of you may know by its more official name--"Holy Buckets, This Tzatziki is Amazing! Is it Available in a Big Gulp?" And that's when I started craving a gyro. I would have gotten one, too, when Sean and I decided to have something exotic for brunch on Sunday, except Sean doesn't like Greek food, so we went to an Indian restaurant instead. And green curry, while delicious, does not a gyro craving satisfy. So I did a little research and lo! Recipes for gyros and tzatziki! Extra points for my mom if we have a pound of ground lamb in the freezer...

- For perhaps the first time in the history of new years, I did not resolve to lose weight. Hooray! Except then I ate a couple of doughnuts for breakfast, cheese fries and a hamburger for dinner, and a few dozen left over chocolate chip peanut butter cookies for a snack, and all of a sudden my jeans didn't fit quite right. The trouble with me is that while I can get down to a satisfactory weight and size fairly easily, my motivation to do so ebbs and flows in conjunction with major events in my life. For example, I wanted to look decent in my Halloween costume, so I chose food wisely (flow). Then I didn't have anything immediate to look forward to so I ate some full-fat ice cream (ebb). Then Thanksgiving was around the corner so I was careful again in the weeks leading up to the gastronomic deluge (flow). You get the idea. I had a pretty good system going this summer that kept me on track in spite of my relatively clear schedule--whenever I looked in the fridge or wanted to sleep through Jazzercise, I just imagined myself in a bathing suit and ho boy did those carrots look good! I'm implementing a similar strategy now that I'm trying to drop a few holiday pounds--whenever I think I'm about to drop dead on the treadmill, I pretend that I miiiiiight end up in some engagement pictures soon (I'm nothing if not delusional. Do not derail my efforts, SEAN!) and I crank that sucker up to 11.

- Speaking of which, I was so sore today after two days of working out (by which of course I mean "walking briskly on an inclined treadmill for 30 minutes") that I had to pop pills just to stand up straight. Oops, out of practice.

- My dear beau is a genius at practically everything. Thinking about putting your mature bonds in a savings account? Sean says: Buy mutual funds, you'll see a better return. Want to buy the large new house with four bedrooms at a bargain basement price? Sean says: What are you going to do with the three extra bedrooms besides pump them full of electricity? Buy a smaller house for the same price and you'll save money in the long run. Having trouble finding a job that you're qualified to apply for? Sean says: In the thirty seconds I just spent searching, I was able to find five jobs that would be perfect for you! I'll find ten more tomorrow! Two things he is not a genius at? Housekeeping and kitchen management. Sean and Sarah--an exercise in symbiosis and traditional gender roles.

Leafy greens

Last week I got it into my head that I should try out vegetarianism for a couple of weeks. Not because I espouse any related ideologies, but because I don't eat that much meat anyway and I figured it'd be an interesting way to shake up my diet. "Heck," I thought, "maybe I'll even find an exciting new recipe or two whose main ingredients are not flour, sugar, and eggs." I also decided that if I could last two weeks as a vegetarian, I might go really crazy and try to make it through week three as a vegan.

So on Monday last I gave up meat, and it was really no big deal. Except I ate a lot of yogurt and cottage cheese for protein and knew pretty much immediately that the vegan idea had to go. Then on Tuesday I went to the pantry in search of dinner and found a Ramen-like cup of soup that looked sort of yummy but was off-limits because it contained chicken fat. Boo! I found squash and onions in the fridge, sautéed them, mixed them with black beans, and ate all of that on a wrap instead. On Wednesday I heated up some leftover brisket for Sean, managed to keep my fingers out of it, and ate a not so good mealy apple and cottage cheese salad instead. (I did not adequately prepare for this experiment, by the way.) Then on Thursday I messed up and popped some of my cousin's taco meat into my mouth without thinking, but I recovered nicely on Friday with a veggie burger and oven fries. (P.S. I've been eating veggie burgers for eons because they are super convenient, low calorie, and really really tasty. I've tried most of the big brands, but I have to throw my endorsement behind Morningstar Farms [invest in Spicy Black Bean! or Tomato & Basil Pizza if you're feeling Italian.] Just don't bite into one expecting a beefy taste. The only mock-beef patty I've tried is Boca and it made me sick. Yucko!)

By the end of the night I'd already decided that one workweek of vegetarianism was all I could handle (I'm already so strict about what I put into my tummy that I just can't nix a whole 'nuther food group from my diet), so I convinced Sean to take me to Cosmic Cafe--a vegetarian restaurant and #32 on tripadvisor.com's list of Dallas eateries--on Saturday night for one last hurrah. He was wary at first since he thinks a meal without meat is just faking it, but I think he started to change his mind as soon as we walked through the door. (The place has a major Hindu theme going on, which makes it really unique and fun.) Of course, I knew for sure he'd changed his mind after he bit into a deep-fried samosa and announced (in so many words), "I've changed my mind!"

So the vegetarian experiment might have been a total dud, but at least it finally gave the beau and me a chance to dip our toes into Dallas culture. And now that we've finally realized how much exotic cuisine exists in our own backyards (we've tried Indian and Greek food recently as well) we can start sampling those rather than maxing out our credit cards on bi-yearly vacations. Win win!

Food for thought

Up until about a year ago, the thought of consuming seafood absolutely repulsed me. And the loathsome act of actually eating it darn near made me toss my tartar sauce. I think it might have been a textural thing, or maybe I was just freaked out by the idea of eating something with which I'd once shared a swimming hole. Anyway, imagine my surprise when, while shopping at Costco last week, I gleefully hurled a bag of mahi mahi, a bag of shrimp, and two different types of tilapia into my parents' basket.

I finally started eating seafood in earnest last summer after I found (and boldly tried) a recipe for shrimp pil-pil in Rachael Ray magazine. Now I like all sorts of marine treats, from crab to salmon to beer-battered cod (and I can't even begin to articulate how much I appreciate most of these yummies for being so kind to my waistline). But my absolute favorite dish at the moment results from this happy combination:

Seriously, friends, I could eat cinnamon/chipotle-rubbed tilapia and zucchini every single night. For dessert. Over ice cream. Topped with Cool-Whip, sprinkles, and a cherry.

In other semi-food-related news: my eyes popped right out of my head and onto the floor today (now there's a visual for you!) when I came across this date on my bottle of diet grapefruit tangerine sparkling water. Can you guess its significance? Here's a hint: Sean's disqualified from this game on account of I bludgeon him over the head with OCTOBER 15!!!! daily and he would ruin the fun for everyone else were he to participate.

Summer style

A couple of weeks ago I watched The Women (mostly because it stars Meg Ryan [aka: my idol] but also because it stars Debra Messing, whose presence in movies always entertains me because I spend two-thirds of the time gawking over how closely she resembles my beautiful friend Lauren). ANYWAY, the movie wasn't particularly memorable, but it did leave me with a new summer mantra: "What are the two words that women fear the most? Pool party." Never has that sentiment been more relevant than it is right this second as I prepare for "4th of July 2009--Lake House Edition."

Sure, I've been working out for one hour Monday through Friday without fail for the past month, and I've managed to keep my food intake under control even though I sleep right above a kitchen that's overflowing with calorie-dense goodies, but that doesn't mean I'm any more comfortable with my biggest (harhar!) trouble spot--the ol' pot full of jelly.

You see, it sort of pooches and ripples in the front where it shouldn't, and while I don't mind baring my tummy by the pool in my backyard, I'm a lot less comfortable letting it all hang out in public. So here's a question for you, dear readers with the same offending spot, where do you find swimsuits that aren't matronly or terribly expensive? I found these few that I like online at Macys.com:







Unfortunately, the only suit that's even moderately affordable on a part-time copywriter's salary is the last one, and there's a good chance that without any straps for support, I'd expose more than just my tummy since my girls are more like fried eggs than bags of sand dear God I wish I were exaggerating. I've also found scads of decent tankinis, but I'm not really sure about those since the two pieces meet right on The Spot and the tops have a tendency to ride up. And what about these crazy "monokini" things?



They'd definitely hide the front of my tummy, and the missing sides might not be a problem since I've managed to work off most of my love handles, but are they cute or just strange? Please discuss, or I might just find myself relaxing by the lake in long johns and a parka.

Nothing tastes as good

Three years ago today I weighed in for Weight Watchers and posted my first loss--three pounds of an eventual thirty-five that I've managed to keep off thanks in one part to the brilliance of the Weight Watchers plan and in another to my oftentimes painful determination to keep my hands out of the cookie jar. Sean suggested that we celebrate this milestone with a hamburger and fries (ha!), but I've opted for a different approach--an uncensored glimpse into the psyche of a one-time fat kid. Behold, the Sarah of yore:


Fourth grade school picture.


Tenth grade school picture.


Christmas break, freshman year of college.

These are three reasons I am moderately terrified of chicken fingers and pizza. They are three reasons I do not keep snack food in my house. They are three reasons I pass all of the food-related gifts that I receive off to my beau. They are three reasons I will not drink my calories (Starbucks notwithstanding). And they are three reasons I laugh a little whenever anyone asks me for diet advice.

My weight was ALWAYS an issue when I was younger and being a fat kid was terribly socially debilitating. I was rife with self-esteem issues and did everything I could throughout high school to make myself invisible. I tried every diet under the sun from about third grade on, but I could never stick to any of them. It wasn't until the summer before my freshman year that I finally tried (and succeeded with!) Weight Watchers. I lost about ten pounds, but gained it all back and more during my first year at A&M. When I started up again three years ago, I weighed in at 168 pounds and was muffin-topping over my size 12 jeans.

To date I've been called everything from "skinny" to "string-bean" to "anorexic" (which I clearly am NOT, but jealousy has a tendency of rearing her ugly head, ESPECIALLY when she's married to someone who was caustic even in the womb). But the best thing about being thin for the first time in my life is not the compliments, cat calls, bikinis, or single-digit pants: the best thing about being thin for the first time in my life is the willingness to finally be noticed.

Buuurp!

For dinner tonight I dreamed up a delicious and simple (oh let's call it) "vegetable enchilada" that I'm looking forward to eating again and again and again. I've provided the recipe below, though I'm not sure it will be a universal hit as it sort of requires that you have a taste for vegetables. Since I've been assailing my taste buds with figure-friendly fare for going on three years, I LOVE the flavors of spinach and red onion (and fat-free cottage cheese for that matter) but I'm practically betrothed to someone who could live without all three, so I know this enchilada's not for everyone:

1/4 large red onion, cut into chunks
2/3 cup frozen spinach
garlic salt
cumin
1/3 cup fat-free cottage cheese
black pepper
1 high-fiber La-Tortilla Factory plain tortilla (small size)

Spray a small skillet with cooking spray. Saute onion until it just begins to brown. Add frozen spinach and heat until it has melted completely. Sprinkle with garlic salt and cumin (I don't measure, just add until it looks good. More cumin than garlic salt, please!), turn off the burner, and add cottage cheese and pepper. Stir until cottage cheese has just begun to melt. While mixture is still on the burner, microwave tortilla for 10-20 seconds, depending on your microwave. Dump cottage cheese mixture onto tortilla, roll up, and enjoy!
156 cal + 2 fat + 9 fiber = 2 Points

500 Miles

When I was a chubby middle schooler, I had the great misfortune of being involved in an "off-season" athletics class, or, "a class for kids who tried out but lacked the general skills required to participate in volleyball, basketball, track, cross country, or swimming at the junior high level." On particularly bad days the coaches made us run a mile around the track. Run. Outside. Four laps. Fat kid. Suffice it to say, I was lucky to make it around one curve per lap without stopping to walk, and if I succeeded at that I had a chance of finishing in less than 30 minutes.

I've been pretty content to walk since then, especially since I sort of look like a pregnant duck when I run (and I use this term "run" very loosely--what I do is more like a brisk walk with bigger leg lifts and more arm movements) and I'm happy to deny the general public the entertainment. I've had to contend with a few bouts of motivation in the past year, given that it seems like everyone in this town does it (including my boyfriend) and no one could ever accuse me of being a rebel, but those were usually cured after one failed attempt at making it out of my complex before doubling over in a fit of wheezes. UNTIL THREE WEEKS AGO, when I mapped out a 1-mile course and challenged myself to run 1/4 of it without stopping and not only succeeded, but was then able to run ANOTHER 1/4 of a mile after catching my breath. And the next day the strangest thing happened--I ran the course again and made it even farther before I had to stop. And then I did it again! And, dear readers, today I ran close to 3/4 of that mile, walked the remaining 1/4, conquered the whole thing in 15 minutes, and was still breathing when I walked into my apartment! Success is sweet!

Food and Link

Readers, it's time I changed my eating habits. According to pretty much all of the diet literature that I've read, the ideal way to navigate a grocery store is by shopping on the outside edges and staying the heck out of the middle aisles. Why? Because every. single. grocery. store. period. puts their fresh fruits, vegetables, meats, and dairy along the outside edge and stocks all the processed stuff in the middle and it's so much more food pyramid friendly to eat the outside things. And since I recently discovered that eating junk (ie: granola bars and cereal) just makes me even hungrier, I've decided to limit my shopping to the outside edges (for the most part). The few exceptions are high-fiber tortillas, canned and frozen vegetables, and herbs and spices. Thankfully, all of the ingredients for the black bean salad that I've been craving for the past week fall within those boundaries.

In unrelated news, the job hunting process is terribly tiresome. I used to be so in love with my major, so excited about my career choice, and so proud of my GPA, but now I'm feeling dumb and worthless because I can't find employment. And oh yeah, going through two portions of a very lengthy interview process and then calling to set up a time to complete the third portion only to be told that (WOOPS!) I was unqualified wasn't any fun either. But then I found this while I was reading my favorite blog whose author is super successful and pretty much my idol:
"After graduating college with a degree in English and enough of a GPA to have the terribly misleading phrase 'cum laude' stamped on the diploma, I used my impressive four-year education to land a job taking phone reservations for Delta Airlines."
And suddenly I'm not the only cum laude English major who's fumbling into the job market. Thanks, Dooce!

Calories In, Calories Out

After spending 30 minutes boosting my heart rate and building my muscles on my marvellous new Wii Fit, I raided the refrigerator wherein I found a jar of roasted red pepper hummus and a bag of baby carrots. I initially intended to eat the recommended servings of both tasty treats - two tablespoons of hummus and five carrots - but then I though, "Hell, I just worked out, why not indulge a little?" So I ate two tablespoons of hummus and ten carrots instead.

How glorious to be back on the wagon after spending a prolonged period face-down in cookie crumbs and cheese dip!