Weighing on my mind

Back in January, I dashed off a quick, naive blog entry entitled Don't call me "Ace". As I assume you don't hang on every comma added to this blog, or have found that the rambling can get a bit l e n g t h y, or a bit sporadically posted and missed this post, I've hyperlinked for easy access. Now you can see for yourself how far I've fallen. Really, I reasoned, ten pounds by March 14th was just TOO easy. And, really, it should have been. (If you're uncertain about the outcome of this challenge, please note the unsubtle foreshadowing in the previous sentence.)

I quickly dropped 5 pounds in the first 8 or 9 days, just by planning out meals, avoiding ice cream and detouring around any tempting drive-thrus. All that really did was fill with an insane amount of smugness. A procrastinator by nature, I've found that sometimes promising beginning results like this can be more of a setback than a help.

Soon enough, though, it was March 7th and I found that--due to complete slacker-ness in terms of indulgent foods, and the fact that I had never really even started an exercise regiment--I had actually gained a pound and now had about 6 1/2 pounds to lose in one week! Being an avid watcher of The Biggest Loser, however, filled me with all sorts of false confidence about that goal.

I started applying myself (belatedly) on Monday, March 9th. Making the transformation from lounging couch potato to twice-a-day gym rat was surprisingly easy. Plus, I was given extra time at my disposal due to the fact that it was Spring Break!
Monday: Stupidly picked on a freshman athlete in my ward to play racquetball with--she kicked my butt.
Tuesday: Enjoyed watching House while trotting along on the treadmill. Courageously abstained from proffered ice cream at a friend's home.
Wednesday: Hmmm . . . still not quite dropping like I hoped. Added strength training. Played racquetball with nieces. 15-year-old's crush showed up at gym--coincidence? I think not.
Thursday: Started to panic. Couldn't decide when or if to ease up on drinking water. Necessity of life? or Threat to Hawaii trip?
Friday: Debated various cheats to aid my quest--mythical "water pill", ExLax, etc. Friend Tracy said "Too extreme. Then you'd be Anorexic." But only for one day, right? Alas, no pharmaceuticals for me. Only made it to the gym once (8 hours at B&N + book club means I enjoyed the gym delights at midnight)! Sat in sauna with other strangely mute people. Weird older woman reading magazines au natural. Averted eyes. Uncomfortable. Fled after 10 minutes.
Saturday: Ate meagerly, made it to the gym twice, sauna twice. Finally approached the hockey game at 8:30pm, hoping for kind scales. Nope. Missed by 2 1/2 lbs. Went to Wendy's. Ordered chicken nuggets, fries and a frosty. Yum!

Cooking for Dummies, Idiots and the Stubbornly Ignorant

Egg nog ~ Egg-beater ~ Bad egg ~ Eggshell ~ Eggplant

I don't eat eggs. Not scrambled, not hard-boiled, not over-easy, not sunny-side up. Definitely not green eggs. (Or ham, for that matter, except if pressured at Thanksgiving dinners in Idaho--Paul, my taste buds still feel betrayed!) In college, my eager roommates and I loved diving into homemade cookie dough, despite the dire salmonella warnings issued by one and all. My integrity was often tested by my most "germ-suspicious" roommate.

Donia: Ooooo, cookie dough! (Pauses) Rahni, did you wash the eggs before you cracked them?

Rahni: Um . . . yes.

Of course I lied! I wanted her to enjoy the dough with the rest of us--I was just thinking of her happiness! Perhaps not of her health, but I was confident that at least her taste buds would be grateful.

But I digress . . . the dogs I'm pet-sitting for right now LOVE eggs. They quite enjoy it when I add them to their Puppy Chow. That, or I'm just not feeding them enough and they're just ecstatic that there's food in their dishes. Actually, though, I have a far stronger reputation for fattening animals than helping them stick to diets. Anyhow--I ran out of pre-boiled eggs the owners left in the fridge. Luckily, though, there were plenty of uncooked eggs in the fridge just waiting to hit the water. Realizing that I had no idea how long to boil eggs, however, I called lots of people for advice. As is often the case with first pancakes, I recommend throwing out first responses to such inquiries as well. For example--I first called Amber with my dilemma:

Amber: Ask Mom.

Rahni: Well, but I'm on the phone with you. You eat eggs, right?

After much deliberation, some witty back-and-forth . . .

Amber: I'm fairly certain--2 minutes.

I was more than fairly certain she was wrong, but politely thanked her and dialed again. Soon, I was swimming in advice about boiling times, water coverage, starting in cold water or hot, and all manner of endless ovoid trivia. Then I got steered towards the "proper" way to cook eggs.

According to Cooking Basics for Dummies . . .

Eggs should never be hard-boiled (in their shells), but rather hard-cooked. Rigorous boiling causes eggs to jostle and crack, leaving the whites tough. The correct technique is to place the eggs in cold water, bring the water to a boil, and then immediately remove the pot from the heat, as in the following steps.

1. Place the eggs in a saucepan large enough to hold them in a single layer. Add cold water to cover by about 1 inch.

2. Cover the saucepan and bring the water to a boil over high heat as fast as possible. Then turn off the heat. If your stove is electric, remove the pan from the burner.

3. Let eggs stand in the pan, still covered, for 15 minutes for large eggs, 18 minutes for jumbo, and 12 minutes for medium.

4. Drain the eggs in a colander and run cold water over them until completely cooled.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, but is this like how everyone on earth (except my mom) says penalize instead of the proper pronunciation of peenalize? There's no way I'm waiting that long to cook eggs for dogs. I don't even have the patience to bake potatoes in the oven for myself. (BTW--Rahni's Recipe for Potato Success: Stab, 4 minutes in the microwave, turn over, 4 more minutes, dispose of nutrient-rich peel, sprinkle with salt and pepper, serve!) They even have a 3-step process spelled out for peeling an egg! Congrats to everyone who advised 10 minutes--the dogs aren't complaining!

Don't call me "Ace"

The other day I was trotting along on a treadmill at the Alaska Club when I became distracted by an ad shown repeatedly on one of the screens. Seriously, though, anyone would be hooked by the words, "Win a free trip to Mexico or Hawaii!" The ad stated that anyone who registered in the contest could qualify for the drawing by losing ten pounds by March 14th. Marvelous, I thought. I intended on getting back in marathon shape anyway. Why not add extra incentive? However, once perusing the details online, I found that the contestants would have to weigh in at an Alaska Aces game held on January 1, 2 or 3. What??! Are you kidding me? I was picturing being on the ice between periods, humiliated in front of the large crowd of fans. Turns out that it's done in a private booth up by the concessions, much to my relief.

I wavered about going, but found myself wending my way to the Sullivan Arena a little after 8pm last Saturday night. When I arrived, I asked the ticket lady for a nosebleed seat--whatever the cheapest seat available was (I wasn't planning on staying long, seeing as how I was already about an hour late.)

Ticket lady: Wet or dry?
Me: Excuse me?
Ticket lady: Wet or dry?
Me (fumbling): Wet or dry? Um . . . what?
Ticket lady waits patiently, if unhelpfully.
Me: Oh! Dry. I guess. Obviously, right? Seeing as how I had no idea what you were talking about.
I chuckle, amused at my gaffe.
Ticket lady doesn't smile.
I escape into the arena.

I decided to stay and watch some of the game, seeing as how I paid to be there. Making my way up to the upper "dry" section, I quickly found myself baffled by many aspects of hockey. 1) What

color was I supposed to cheer for? A quick text to Amber answered that question--the guys in blue. Also, since when are hockey players allowed to bat the puck out of the air with their hands? Perhaps, I've been watching too much soccer, but I thought only the goalie was allowed to touch the puck with something other than a stick or a skate. This mystery didn't get cleared up until later, when I queried my always-knowledgable friend, Sarah. Apparently, you can stop it with your glove, but you can't catch it. Or something like that.

Anyhow, the great result of all of this being that I enjoyed myself way too much on Sunday, fiddling around with an Excel spreadsheet, scrupulously detailing my meals/snacks/exercise ambitions for the week. Aha! Therein lies my strengths--lists and MS Office. NOT HOCKEY. I hope to conduct myself with more grace at future hockey games--the midway check-in is on either February 11 or 13!