I have finally discovered that me and my fat cells are officially at WAR. They are my own built WMD's, and I am on my own search and destroy mission.
I started gaining some weight, but couldn't quite figure out why since my eating habits haven't quite changed. I sailed through my self-made hysteria that I had hypothyroidism, and came to the conclusion that, uh, maybe, it was my eating habits. So I decided to download one of those fancy little app's for iPhone - for like... free, cause I have four kids and it's like, for free! I loaded it up so I could track what I eat and all the nutrients - or lack thereof. I found - disguistingly I might add - that I need more fiber in my diet. Better buy some Beano while I'm at this. Plus it gave me the opportunity to buy original Galaga I use to play in the 80's cause, damn, my fingers need some exercise too, and special exercises for your fingers does cost money! Then I finally went and shucked another $50+ on the new Wii Activ (which I've been driving my tweet buddies nuts about lately). Okay, it got a bit more expensive than I had planned, but after all, I'm at WAR and WAR cost money..... right? At least it's cheaper than that thing we did over in Iraq, and I'm not asking for any kinda of bailout or special research funding here.
I've been tracking the food for about a week now. I'm only allowed to eat a little over 1300 calories according to my age, weight, height, hair color, fingernail length, and ability to handle stress. Damn, that thing asks a lot of questions for a free app! What I have discovered is that though my caloric intake is below the "required" amount for my old lady ass, my fat intake is seriously, well....... OUT OF CONTROL. I think there is something wrong with being 40-something, taking over 70 grams of fat a week, and trying to get the body back of a 20-something.
SOMETHING HAS TO GO AND IT AIN'T THE DESIRE FOR A 20-SOMETHING BODY EITHER!!!
See, I am actually a cheap miser when it comes to buying clothes in a larger size. Even after my pregnancies while I looked like Orca the Whale coming down the hallway sporting two watermelons on my chest, I refused to buy larger clothes to fit in simply because I had "gained a little pregnancy weight". In my mind, if I bought larger size clothes, then I would have NO excuse to dispose of that little extra weight that was making my thighs itch from the party the fat cells were having at my expense.
So after tracking what I've been eating this past week, I've decided it's time to starve the little buggars out of my butt, thighs, stomach, and anywhere else they think they can hide from me. We already know the negative health affects of an over accumulation of fat cells can cause: heart disease, diabetes, looking-in-the-mirroritis, and a sudden attraction to mumu's. But what we haven't realized about the fat cell is that after a certain age of our life, the damn things suddenly obtain an intelligence that is beyond comprehension. They obtain the ability to organize and hold a PROTEST against my efforts to lose weight!
After awhile, fat cells get kinda of tired being picked on and eliminated. Somewhere along the way they have figured out how to speak to one another in some weird chemical way, and organize a collective protest on leaving their "nest". They have become comfortable living in the soft, cushiony areas of our butts, thighs, and stomachs; and on occasion, the older ones like to move "South" to the calves and you wake up one morning and your lower legs look like pockets of Jell-o juggling all over the place. The others who prefer a cooler climate, move to the arm section of the body, thus making women look like they sprouted bat wings overnight as they wave good-bye to their children in the morning, only to be slapped up the side of the face by what use to be a firm tricep.
Fat cells learned to gather together at some point and organize a march against becoming a part of the normal energetic process of elimination from the body and just have a permanent sit-in instead. So I've figured that in order to wear down their ability to protest my desire not to have a "wide-load" sign put on my ass by some smart-elec child of mine, I will have to eliminate the numbers going in so they will have less of a population from which to gather support from.
Think of it as a 1960's fat march against health, and I am the freaking riot police eliminating their numbers one pelt at a time. It's all about outsmarting the suckers. Hopefully, if their numbers dwindle, there will be less of a reason for them to go marching on around my hips.
So now I understand the reasons why one wants to lower their fat intake; especially at my age. I am not about to let the little greasy slimballs take over, and I am NOT about to let them march their numbers up to that fashion brain cell that says "Okay, maybe I'd look good in a tent this summer!"