It starts so innocently. First I read the MCD book, and learn that in the first two weeks (“Lose It!”) I should lose 3-6 lbs. Well, HELLO! That’s nice! I feel like I’m CHEATING or something. Then I should settle into a steady 1-2 pound-per-week loss pattern (“Live It!”) until, sometime in the nebulous future, I will be stunningly gorgeous and look about twenty years younger. Don’t argue with me, TWENTY YEARS YOUNGER.
And then Magical Math pops into my forebrain and I aim my pointer at my inner whiteboard. “If you stay on the ‘Lose It!’ portion of the plan, you could lose a maximum of 6 lbs. per week, and so reach your goal in approximately thirteen days.”
This perks me up. “OH REALLY?”
“In addition, thirty minutes of brisk walking burns an additional 400 calories, 3,500 calories burned equal one pound of fat lost…blah blah blah…so if you lift weights and walk 23.4 km per day, adhere to a 1200 calorie diet, sleep without blankets thus forcing your body to use calories to keep you from dying of exposure and…[more wacky number antics.]”
Anyway, my math tells me that if I was really dedicated to the numbers I could lose about 73.8 lbs in sixteen days, 9 hours, and 43 minutes, give or take a few seconds. It’s true. Math never lies.
And now for the true tale of How I Won the “Harder for ME” contest!
So on Saturday night my husband and I were killing monsters with eight of our friends, and I died. (This is not the part where I win.) Since I was dead, and a little annoyed at being dead, I hopped up out of my chair and charged toward the kitchen where I was sure there were a few liquor chocolates lounging about, leftovers from our Christmas party. (An aside: liquor chocolates are excellent at removing the sting of death and the stench of failure from your gaming experience. Also, this was part of my Cake Day allowance not eaten on Christmas Day, so I was really ready for it.)
I rammed my foot into the leg of our two-ton desk, and something broke. (Also not the part where I win.) You know how when you stub your toe it feels at first like you have shattered about forty-seven bones? And for the first thirty seconds you can only speak in profanities? But then the pain settles down and you realize that your foot isn’t going to fall off and you go about your business? Well, I waited for that part where the pain subsides but it NEVER CAME.
(Just to establish my hardcore gamer cred I want you to know that I propped my foot up on the corner of the desk like a contortionist and went back to the game to finish the event. But the pain crescendoed to the point where I couldn’t mash buttons and wiggle the mouse any longer. True, I WAS weeping like a baby.)
My husband looked at my purpling toes and swelling foot and said, “I think you need an x-ray. Time to log off the game.” Five hours at the ER later, I came home with a splint from my toes to my knee, a pair of crutches and instructions to stay off of my feet and see a specialist. (No win here, either.) My husband took Monday off and fetched my food and pain meds, got a copy of my x-rays, called my doctor for a referral to the specialist, and made my appointment. I <3 him a lot.
I know a little bit about bones and peeped my x-rays. To my non-doctor eye I appear to have broken my toe. (Non-displaced fracture of the second right proximal phalange, distal end.) I see the specialist this morning and I expect he will merely tape one toe to the other and tell me to stay off of my feet for a few weeks. SEE THE PART WHERE I WIN?
PEE ESS I got a yoga mat for Christmas so I will do Pilates on the floor for my lower body and core work, and lift weights in a chair.
Math suggests that I will not be losing weight at the rate previously thought.