Loretta's Countdown to 60

Aging on my terms - Daily musings in 500 words or so

Tag: fat

Eclipsed by regret

I’ve been accused of having FOMO more than once. You know, Fear of Missing Out? Apparently it’s become such a big deal that it needs its own acronym. I used to take offense to it, thinking I was somehow a bad person because I had it.

I don’t really care anymore. I would rather be accused of having FOMO than regret. Which is where I am today, feeling regret.

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Do this, try that, this works better, don’t do that!

Low fat, high fat,

Low carbs, balanced carbs,

Do jumping jacks daily, don’t do high impact,

Never eat bananas again, just eat fruit, fruit is bad,

Bread is bad, grains are bad, eat whole grains,

Don’t eat legumes, just eat beans and rice,

You must do 60 minutes of cardo daily, just do 30 mins of cardo 3x per week,

Don’t eat meat, eat lots of meat,

Eat fish, don’t eat farmed fish,

The only way to lose fat is to exercise, there’s no need to exercise to lose weight,

No coffee, coffee is good for you,

No butter, put butter in your coffee,

Dairy is out, dairy is okay,

Eat everything, don’t eat anything,

No added sugar!


Okay, got that? Yeah, me too.


Trying to figure out what the best diet and exercise routine is best for you?

A look inside

I’m off today.

I don’t mean off from work, I mean off emotionally.

We had a busy weekend working on a home we own that’s about six hours away from us. Each time we have been between tenants, we would head to the house to clean and paint and kept it looking good. We had renters in it for the past couple of years, and since they are out, it was time to go get it ready to sell.

We arrived on Friday night and were immediately disappointed by the state of the house. We’ve had renters in it before that have left it dirty and in disrepair, but this time was different.

The house was, for lack of a better word, worn. It was like stepping inside a once beautiful masterpiece, that was now faded and torn and lacking any luster of it’s glory years. It was sad to see it like that, and it got us down.

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Is it okay to cheat? Do you do it?

When I started telling people I am trying to lose weight and get back in shape, I got a lot of opinions and ideas on how to do it. I’m learning that there are as many ways of accomplishing that goal, as people who found what works for them.

Cut out sugar, don’t eat fat, avoid carbs, don’t eat fruit, just eat fruit, test your pH level, eat fat, eat whatever you want but in moderation, never eat grains, eat only plant base foods, just eat protein… and on and on.

One of the suggestions I have heard from several people, including my husband, is to have a “cheat day” each week. You know, a day to indulge and eat whatever you want. I know for a lot of people that works well.

For me it’s a slippery slope to allowing it to happen two, three, or six more days of the week, and I’m not sure why. Maybe once that door is opened, I feel like I’ve broken the “rules” and so fuck it, I might as well eat whatever I want.

Once that happens, another little voice starts whispering in my ear. She says, “You should love your body just the way it is. The average size woman in the US is 14. Embrace your curves. There’s nothing wrong with being a little overweight. Some women my height would love to be 175 pounds. Be happy!”

It is easy for me to listen to her, because I’ve gotten validation about all those things. I see it everywhere. And while those sentiments are good and affirming, they can also give me permission to cheat. Give me permission to go back to overeating, over indulging, and taking my scooter instead of my bike to the store.

How about you? What works for you? Do you give yourself a cheat day? How do you keep it to just one day?

Vulnerable Rebel?

How I see myself, and what’s reality can be quite different most times. Take riding my scooter, for instance. I can see myself on my pretty blue Vespa, sundress and sandals on with a baguette poking out from under a basket on the back.

But I’m a bit of a rule follower. I like to think of myself as a rule following rebel. I have a tattoo, but not too many people will see it. I have a Vespa, but I wear protective gear. Every time.

I thought about writing a post about giving oneself permission to be safe instead of cool. Or maybe saying safe is cool. So, yesterday I asked John to take some photos of me with my scooter showing my top of the line, super safe helmet, my full armored jacket, boots and jeans on, and gloves near by.

It was fun and we got a couple of good shots. I was able to find one I thought was cool and I posted it.

When I look at that picture, I feel good about myself. I look a little bit like a rebel too.

In reality, I was feeling fat and hyper sensitive about many of my features. My face looks funny, I’m squinting, my belly looks fat, my jeans are showing my fat….blah, blah, blah.

So today I feel a little guilty about posting that photo. It was the old me saying, “look how cool I am!” which translates to “please like me”. I didn’t do what I set out to do as much as go right back to that old mantra.

What I want to do is learn how to be happy with me, by exposing my insecurities to anyone who cares to listen (are you listening, Loretta??). And maybe help anyone else who feels like I do.

So I’ll keep working on it.

I let a couple of screws get me down

I’m hard on myself sometimes. And I don’t mean just metaphorically. I mean like dropping a five-pound mallet on my right foot, or cutting my left thumb. Somehow, I keep injuring the same areas.

Four years ago, I dropped a crystal clock on my right foot…this was a few years after dropping the mallet. Man did that hurt. That damn clock was a gift from an old real estate client of mine who was ready to sue me because she was sure the home she purchased was giving her headaches. I managed to avert getting sued by selling that home and helping her buy a new one, affectively earning me thousands of dollars and…. a lead crystal clock, which smashed my foot.

I grew up in a family that believed you don’t go to the doctor unless you’re brought there by ambulance. So I just let my foot heal on it’s own. That was a mistake.

I managed to hobble along on it just fine, and it felt better before long, so I just figured, that was that. About a year later, I was in so much pain I couldn’t walk without crying. John insisted on taking me to see a doctor, and that started a long journey of injections and physical therapy, and ultimately ended in surgery to fuse the joint in my big toe.

For three years, I let that foot slow me down and even stop me from exercising. Not walking properly, lead to my knees and hips hurting. My knees got so bad, I went to see yet another doctor who told me I had chondromalacia; a tracking problem with my kneecaps. He said I’d had it from birth, and it would get worse when I got older, like in my 40’s. When I told him I was 57, he said, “oh, you are already old!”. Thanks doc.

Turns out all those years riding my bike had kept my knees tracking the way they are supposed to. And I love riding my bike, so why did I let a bum foot stop me for so long?

I think there are times we get in a rut. We think, “well, this is the way it is now”, and just live with it. But I also think that’s how we let age sneak up on us and define us as old and aching.

I don’t want to do that any longer. Time for a bike ride.


The Great Cover-Up

Growing up on the western shores of Lake Michigan was the best. I think it seared my love for the beach into my soul. We hung out on those beaches as often as possible, and it was always a treat.

As a teenager I would put Sun-In on my hair, baby oil on my skin, and get as blond and tan as I could. All my friends hung out there too, and it was like growing up in a Beach Party movie.

I always wore a bikini, like most of the girls. It was the 70’s and we were young and didn’t care if we let it all hang out.

Later on, after having my kids, I thought maybe I was supposed to wear a one-piece suit, you know, something more adult and mom-like. I think we do that to ourselves sometimes…act like we are “supposed to”.

It didn’t take long before I abandoned that notion and went back to my bikini. I felt like I could get away with it because I was skinny. Only skinny girls get to wear bikinis, right?

Growing up in the 70’s on the heels of the Twiggy movement, thin was in and it was engrained in us to aspire to be one of the skinny ones. If you had ANY body fat, you sure didn’t show it. Cover it up, girl!

So, unfortunately I still have that tag line running in my head. Cover it up. I’m trying to let go of it, but it’s like set in stone inside my head.

I live at the beach now and it’s my favorite place to be, and I’m struggling with what to wear. Most days, I just wear my shorts and a shirt. Apparently, there’s a lot of other women who are struggling with this too, because my facebook feed keeps showing me Modlily ads for two piece bathing suits that are nothing like the ones I wore on the beach in Silver Lake.

So, I succumbed to the ads and bought my first Modlily two-piece. Now I can go to the beach and make sure I “cover that shit up”.

Screw it….now where did I put that bikini?


Inspiration comes from the strangest places.

Have you ever seen that Modern Family episode where Phil tells his wife, Claire, that he had lunch with a colleague who recommended the wedge salad, and that she should try it? It’s one of my favorites, because Claire is upset with him, as she had been saying how great the wedge salad was for years… but Phil never listened.

I don’t think it’s that we don’t want to listen to our people; it’s just that we can’t hear them sometimes. Sometimes, it takes someone else saying the say thing, for our brains to connect.

I’ve been thin most of my life. Except for the last four years. Friends and family have offered good advice for what has worked for them. I’ve tried most, except one.

Last week, I had lunch with a very good friend of my son’s. He was in town visiting his family, and I hadn’t seen him in about seven years. It was great catching up and chatting about life. He’s one of those people who should probably be a motivational speaker because just about everything he says, you find yourself excited about.

I mentioned that losing weight in my 50’s has been so much harder than any time in my life. He chuckled and said he felt the same after 30. He mentioned that he went on the ketogenic diet and it worked well for him and he felt great. When I got home, I looked it up and pretty much started following it right away. I feel great, and I’ve lost five pounds already.

I told my husband about it, and he said (with a bit of frustration), “yeah, that’s the diet I’ve been telling you about…where you go into ketosis and burn fat”.

Next time, I’ll try to listen better.


The day after

I let it all hang out yesterday.

With encouragement from my husband, I posted my first revealing, realistic, relevant photo of myself…in my underwear. The truth is, I was nervous as hell. I was sure I was going to be publicly shamed, virtual stones thrown, maybe even rotten fruit and vegetables, all while everyone was laughing.

In reality, a couple of things happened. Luckily, not many people saw the photo. Of course, that was carefully executed on my part. I just started this blog and have very few followers. But the other thing that happened was, I got some really cool messages from people. All positive.

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Exposing the truth

Okay, here goes nothing. It’s time I exposed the truth and be who I am.

How did this happen?

Five years ago, I was in great shape and looked my best. I mean, just look at this picture!!

That’s the kind of picture you wish you could post and share. I was 53 and single, and did a glamour photo shoot for my then boyfriend, John.

Here I am five years later at 58, and wow, what a difference. Notice the practical, unsexy bra goes perfectly with the practical, unsexy underwear.

And…how did I get so out of shape??

The interesting thing about these photos; is you can’t tell by the first one, that I was a wreck. I was getting into yet another relationship. I was so scared and nervous, and I wasn’t eating. Thanks to the stress diet, I was in shape.

The second photo shows an out of shape (let’s just go ahead and say, fat), comfortable, married…happy woman. Sure, I need to lose 30 pounds and yes, I need to get in shape so that I stay healthy, but the outside isn’t all there is to us.

It’s funny, when I decided to write this, I thought I’d be exposing my fat and talking about dieting and getting back into shape. I think I just had a light bulb moment…

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