hungry poodle

Telephone Booths in Hyde Park, Central London

I’ve done it! I’ve Jazzercised two days in a row! OK, so maybe I’ve got an excess of endorphins flooding my brain, but I am feeling rather invincible and I hope that any of you who have decided to be active every day for the next three weeks (ending February 6) are feeling the same.

Royal London Hospital, Liz's home-away-from-home

Every time I think I’ll be unable to exercise on a daily basis, I remember 2006, when Elizabeth was studying for a semester in London. She suddenly came down with appendicitis; I flew over and arrived just as she was being wheeled out of surgery in one of the oldest hospitals in the city, Royal London Hospital (founded in 1740) on Whitechapel Road (Jack the Ripper’s haunt in the late 1800′s!).

Lizzie’s appendix had ruptured so she was pretty sick and in and out of the hospital for several weeks. Hospital visiting hours were strictly adhered to: absolutely no visitors until 2:00 pm each day. The place was literally on lock-down until then.

Early riser that I am, I had no choice but to walk the streets of London until visiting hours. From early in the morning until the afternoon I walked and walked and walked, stopping occasionally for coffee or a bite to eat. London has lovely parks interspersing busy streets with shops, historic sites and museums, so I was never without interesting sites to explore. I carried a Cadbury Fruit and Nut Chocolate Bar with me at all times and broke off a chunk whenever I felt I needed a bit of fuel.

Lizzie finally was able to return with me to Kansas and when we arrived home, I was shocked to find that I had lost 10 pounds during my three-week stay in London. These weren’t just any pounds but 10 stubborn, seemingly impossible-to-lose menopausal pounds. How was this possible, I thought? I hadn’t even thought about dieting, I had eaten regularly and had even had a glass or two of wine every evening when I arrived back at my hotel.

And then it occurred to me: it was the walking that did it. I had walked every day for hours, along the streets, up and down the stairs to the Underground (like millions of Londoners), through the parks. Although I hadn’t walked fast–indeed I often stopped at shops and museums or sat on park benches and people-watched–I had nonetheless covered what I estimate to be about four-to-six miles a day without even thinking twice about it.

No wonder people who live in big cities weigh less than the rest of us. They have no choice but to do what I did–walk. It isn’t exercise to them–it’s the only way to get from point A to point B.

And so, I’m not going to bail on my commitment to be active every day for three weeks. I know I can do it because I did it before, in London.

Last week Sally, my Jazzercise instructor, challenged us all to come to Jazzercise every day for 21-days, starting today.

At first I thought to myself, I can’t do that. My attendance at Jazzercise over the last few years has averaged about twice a week. I can’t come every single day, including Sundays, for three whole weeks. My muscles would ache (more than usual), my feet would swell,  my back would hurt and I’d die. I’d simply die.

At least, that’s what the slothful devil who lives inside of me was saying. The virtuous angel, the one who doesn’t eat junk food and doesn’t make excuses, said, You can DO it!

And so I signed up for Sally’s challenge and went to Jazzercise this morning, and I am hereby tossing out the challenge to you, wherever you are and however you choose to be active. Why not make a commitment to exercise daily for the next few weeks? What’s to stop you, besides your inner devil? It might be fun, and what’s more, it might just kickstart you into the regular habit of exercising!

And damn it, if I have to do it, I want some company to share my misery with!

For those of you who fear hurting themselves, here’s my plan: I’m going to alternate with heavier weights one day and lighter ones the next. Also, I’ll alternate high and low impact so that I don’t over-stress my muscles. See? We can DO this.

Please leave your comments if you choose to join me in making January your month of fitness and strength! Go Hungry Poodles!

Now, watch this youtube video and be prepared to be either amused or “weirded-out”, as a marijuana-smoking friend used to say in the 70′s. I was a bit of both.

The video was made for Panasonic during the 2004 Athens Olympics for reasons I cannot begin to understand. Notice that real poodle heads have been expertly superimposed on the human bodies. This may be an impossible question, but, what were they thinking?

Today’s New York Times features an article in the Dining section about Kansas City! This could be construed as good news for us Midwesterners, who–let’s face it–are aware that the folks in the East and the West generally consider the central part of the country as a place you experience from no closer than 30,000 feet as you fly from one end of the country to the other.

The author has been recently relocated to the land of beefeaters (and I’m not talking gin here) to report on the Midwest for the Times. (You have to wonder what he did to deserve such a fate.)

The poor guy is a vegetarian! Of course, the first restaurants he visits are the Golden Ox Steak House and Arthur Bryant’s legendary Barbecue, where the only completely meatless option (the fries are cooked in lard!) is a mug of Budweiser.

According to him, the most common salad ingredient here is iceberg lettuce. A Chinese restaurant provides him with the best meatless sustenance he can find–a plate of tofu.

Now, all of this makes for quite comical reading, and I can picture New Yorkers smugly chuckling into their latte cups this morning as they read this.

While I can understand that some parts of the Midwest (he must travel to places like Iowa City and Omaha!) might provide less-than-stellar veggie fare, we denizens of Kansas City regularly munch such big-city delicacies as arugula and watercress. At this moment I have rainbow Swiss Chard in my refrigerator, and I didn’t even buy it so that I could say so!

I’m a born-and-raised Northern Californian (alfalfa sprouts were invented there) who has lived in the Midwest for the last 30 years. I am frankly relieved that, due to the arrogance of a displaced New Yorker, our secret remains secure.

Don’t move here. Please. The fewer Easterners, the more arugula for us.

This year for Christmas I gave our daughter Elizabeth the newest, 18th edition of “Emily Posts’ Etiquette: Manners for a New World”. The gift wasn’t meant altogether seriously, as Lizzie already has good manners (after all, I am her mother, damn it!).

Because I am a hoyden at heart, I’ve told my share of jokes about etiquette books, but I hereby retract my revulsion to those who would have us behave correctly. There are actually some useful tidbits here.

For instance, what about personal grooming at a restaurant?  Emily says it’s perfectly OK to dab on a bit of lipstick or gloss at the table (I’d always wondered about the propriety of public lipsticking, didn’t you?), but using a toothpick or dental floss goes into the “major never ever” category.

No dental flossing in public. Good to know.

And here’s a tip for when your aged parent has memory loss and you’ve invited friends over: “When friends arrive, tell your parent their names and who they are. Link

Perfect solution for Mom's, and my, forgetfulness!

them to an event from the past that your parent might remember.”

I’m beginning to think that maybe I could get into this etiquette racket, because I’ve got an even better solution: have everyone wear name tags and make sure your parent is wearing her bifocals. I, for one, could benefit from the use of name tags. Two birds with one stone, I say.

This morning at the grocery store  I encountered a young mother chatting on her cell phone while her forlorn toddler sat in the cart, which was situated exactly in the center of the aisle. As I squeezed past her (if the kid hadn’t been there I’d have given her cart a good nudge) I could hear her say, “No, we haven’t eaten there. Was it good?”

Later when I saw her in the check-out line she was still talking as she placed her items on the conveyor belt. She ignored the cashier altogether, as if she didn’t exist.

Now, I love my iPhone as much as the next gal (my voice recognition device, Siri, is my BFF) but to my mind this was social ignorance in the extreme. We’re literally face-to-face with people every day, yet we act as if we’re on our own private islands. And consider this, quite off the topic but nonetheless worth considering, how much easier is it to lie when you are not looking someone right in the eye?

Remember when our parents used to sit outside on the front porch and chat with passersby? These days, garage door remote controls make it possible to completely circumvent our neighbors. I’ve lived in my house for 17 years and if you put the couple living across the street in a police line-up I couldn’t recognize them.

After shopping I raced home to find out what Ms. Post had to say about the blabbing woman at the grocery store, and lo and behold, there was an entire chapter titled, “Personal Communication Devices.” (This is, after all, the 21st century edition.)

It came as no surprise that Emily was quite adamant about the proper use of cell phones in public places. Here’s what she had to say,” No one should be slowed down in a checkout line because you’re having second thoughts about the blouse you’ve chosen and need to phone a friend for advice. Also, it’s disrespectful to the cashier, who is trying to serve you. She deserves your full attention.”

And texting? Do I have opinions about that, which I will expound on next. In the meantime, close your phone and look around you. Make eye contact. Smile. Pretend that you’re human.

Tara Parker-Pope, New York Times health writer

Last Sunday an article written by the health columnist for the New York Times appeared as a cover story for the Sunday magazine.

Written across the front of the magazine in bold, ominous black letters set top a schematic of a bulging belly were the dire words: “Do You Have to be Superhuman to Lose Weight?”

The answer, in brief: yes.

Author Tara Parker-Pope, by her own admission 60 pounds overweight and as frustrated as the rest of us dieters, referred to recent studies that show that when we lose weight, our bodies fight against us to try to regain the lost pounds.

How does this happen? Apparently, obese dieters who have lost weight and then try to maintain it face an uphill battle that includes an increased appetite and a preoccupation with food. The dieters’ bodies become biologically altered; hormones that signal hunger register about 20 percent higher, while hormones that suppress hunger remain lower than normal. In fact, a myriad of hormones that are associated with hunger and metabolism all become significantly changed from pre-dieting levels.

Thus, after dieting, we cannot eat the same amount of food as a non-dieting person weighing the same weight. For instance, in order for a 150-pound woman who has lost 50 pounds to maintain that weight, she must eat less–between 50 to 300 calories per day–and exercise more than a 150-pound woman who has maintained that weight naturally.

This reminds me of my senior year of high school. We were allowed to leave campus on Fridays for lunch and our usual haunt was a nearby Taco Bell. Jane Larson, a thin, good-looking athlete, regularly wolfed down the five-tacos-for-a-dollar special while I sat on the bench next to her and grimly ate the diet lunch my mother had packed for me.

In retrospect, I’m glad that iPhones didn’t exist back then: I would have hated to have had a photo of my chubby self, crumpled brown paper bag in hand, next to the beautiful, skinny, taco-eating Jane Larson.

OK, I won’t end on a negative note. You can lose weight and keep it off, but in order to do so, you will have to be vigilant about what you eat and how much you move. Every single day. No exceptions.

Don’t hate me. I’m only the messenger.