New Year, New Project

Hey there all five of you BettyBabe followers – HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I’ve been an absentee blogger, haven’t I. As you likely know I tore a disc in my back last summer and fell off the workout truck. I’m slowly making my way back. Long road.

Not sure if I’ll be back in this blog any time soon. I have a new project in the works, though. I’m blogging about it, to. If you feel like checking it out, here it is: http://eatplantssaidthecow.wordpress.com/

Thanks for being a BettyBabe fan. Hope to see you over in my new blog.

Hugs,
Lisa


Run, Cynthia, Run!

Cynthia has raised $585 toward her End Kids Cancer Contribution Goal of $1,000- WAY TO GO, CYNTHIA!

http://searscanada.akaraisin.com/ottawa/CynthiaElliott


I’m Toast!

When the smell of toast toasting (ha-ha, “toast toasting”, so Dr. Seuss-like), wafted into my office and smacked me in the nose I was dazzled by memories. Beautiful, fulfilling, toast-eating memories: toast with peanut butter; toast with jam (I never mix); toasted sandwiches with plenty of mayo; Toast.

The smell carried me so far away that I couldn’t concentrate on my work, so I gave my head a shake and took myself for a walk. Of course you know what I did, right? I followed that smell right to the source. And there in the kitchen I witnessed the toast in all its glory. And get this; the toast was topped with a deliciously coloured, homemade jam…real jam with real sugar in it!

Had the toast-owner not been there there’s no telling what would have happened but he was there, and he was at one with his toast so I was left, toastless and deflated, to my own devices.

Could I toast me some toast of my own, as in, put bread in the toaster, toast it (toaster toasting toast, ha-ha), add jam, and eat? Could I oh could I? My GOD I love toast; I MISS toast; I WANT SOME BLOODY TOAST!

I open the food cupboard and survey:

Bread? Check.

Butter? Check.

Waistline?

…Waistline?

I make the appropriate choice, plug in the kettle and wait for it to boil. The green tea was the good choice, the healthy choice, the smart choice. That’s me, smart ‘n all.

Smart. At times yes, and at times like this, maybe not. What happens when we deny our deep-seated want, regardless of how momentary it is? Is this how we crash-and-burn from our good eating habits? Is this the kind of denial that spirals us downward toward a bigger gaff later on like, say, eating 8 chocolate bars in one sitting?

It’s been months since I’ve stuck some toast in my gullet and I don’t think of it much anymore but, like some distant heartbreak unearthed by a current experience, it creeps up in the most unexpected of times and floods in. Then the fight breaks out. This time I triumphed, green tea let-down and all, but next time? Will I triumph tomorrow if Mr. Toast-toaster has toast with – OMG – peanut butter?

Next time I think I’ll just eat some damn toast and not sit here, 5 hours later, eating chocolate bars and dreaming toast.


SHOT! Down … in a Blaze of (Old) Glory

Ah, aging. Weird things happen to me now that I’m ‘of a certain age’ (over 40). Weird things like me spraining my neck.

I didn’t even know it was possible to sprain a neck but alas, it is. And I did it.

So how oh how did I sprain my neck? You’d expect I did it by doing too many push ups and compromising my form, right? No.

Or maybe I did it by jerking myself up to my nemesis, the chin-up bar? Nope.

Perhaps dead-lifting too much weight? Nuh-uh.

I sprained my neck because Jon Bon Jovi has a singing career.

*

Sleep is a big deal these days. Up till recently I’ve been more of a night tosser  than a night sleeper, but thanks to my working-out and minimal sugar intake (ignore the whole Laura-cake thing), I’ve become a much better night sleeper. I sleep; therefore I wake up feeling rested and refreshed. It’s wonderful.

The night before last I went to bed knowing that I was about to sleep away all my tensions, mental and physical, and wake up rejuvenated; a sensation that this new sleep thing has gifted me. I like to read before sleeping so I propped myself up on all my pillows and read a quick couple of pages, but I couldn’t sustain the reading – I was far too eager to embark on my sleep – so I closed my book, kissed MY #1 goodnight and tucked in. Moments later I was floating blissfully into my little slice of sleep-heaven.

Little did I know that our clock radio was set a half-hour early. Little did I know that the volume was set on BLARING, and that the radio station was slightly out of tune.

At 5:30 a.m. the radio screeched full-volume static at the exact moment that Bon Jovi yelled, “SHOT!” (down in a blaze of glory). I lurched out of bed in terror, simultaneously spraining my neck in two places.

*

Would this have happened twenty years ago? Ten years ago, even?

Unlikely, but if it had happened I would have joyfully stayed home from work, watched decorating-TV shows all day long and rebounded like nobody’s business.

I dismissed the decorating-TV shows option – I’m responsible now, being 47 and all – and downed some Tylenol.

All day at work the ice picks from hell spiked up from my neck and invaded my brain. Worse, I felt ripped-off from my daily fresh-as-a-daisy, oh-what-a-beautiful-morning experience that I’ve come to relish lately.

After work I went to my chiropractor and explained my Bon Jovi neck to him. He said that he should write a report of findings to say that he has “diagnosed the patient with Bon Jovi neck, although not contracted in the typical rocking-out-at-a-concert way, but in the old-lady-getting-out-of-bed way.”

I hit him and that hurt my hand. Ah, aging.


Relapse is Sweet

Our lovely friends Tim & Laura are here for the weekend with their sweeter-than-peaches dog, Angus. It’s been great catching up, eating meals, and shopping with Laura. Right now the ‘boys’ are out jamming and no doubt are resurrecting the best of the best of that seventies vibe.

Laura & me just finished a little afternoon spritzer along with a little cheese, crackers and girly talk. I threw some Chopin on the stereo just now and left Laura on the sofa to have a little nap (she’s been up since five). While she sleeps happily on the sofa – she loves Chopin – I’ve crept in here, the dining room, to do a little writing. What luck! Right in front of me is the chocolate-banana cake that Laura, cake-maker SUBLIME, made for this visit. Yum – what a nice dessert to my cheese and crackers. I’ll put on some tea and get a fork.

I’m back with my tea, fork, and a knife to cut off a sliver with however it IS a special cake (made just for this weekend), and it IS a special weekend (we don’t spend near as many weekends together with our lovely friends as we’d like), so I should cut off more than just a sliver. I’ll cut off a wedge.

O.M.G., this cake is fabulous. So moist and plump with raisins, nuts, and chocolate chips. SO much yummier than the banana-chocolate chip coffee cake that Starbucks sells. This cake blows that cake to smithereens.  This cake takes you to some wonderful place when you eat it; to a fairy land where the sun shines onto candied houses, trees grow candy apples and grass blades are made from tiny mint candies.

Mmmmmmmmmmmm… So good, so much flavour. My stomach has mouth envy as I chew…

…I swear I savoured it by chewing slow but the wedge has vanished already. It happened so lightning-quick. Maybe the wedge-piece wasn’t as generous as I remember. Maybe I’ll have just one more bite, I won’t even cut a piece off I’ll just use my fork, it’s almost clean, and take a teeny bit off the corner…

*

I’ve messed up the cake. The entire thing is full of fork marks and there are crumbs all over the place. My cake-crime is obvious. Must fix. I’ll start by cleaning up these crumbs … YUMMMMM. Now all I need to do is cut the edges smooth, like so…

Oops, another slice fell off. My bad. Must get rid of evidence.

I think I need a sharper knife – this one keeps making mistakes. Cake, cake, oh delicious cake: I’m sorry that I cut you crooked. Here, let me fix you, let me even-up your crooked edge…

*

*BURP*

Uh-oh, there isn’t much cake left for the others to eat. I still want more but I have to save SOME for dessert tonight. There is only one way to stop a sweet craving: salt. Good thing I bought Ruffles for the Tim & Laura visit…

*

BODY STATS:

Weight: blob
Body fat ratio: wha? …<crunch …crunch …crunch> …you say something?


aka session 12

HA! I DID IT! I CHINNED UP! 7 TIMES! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA


My bad

I’m a bad blogger. I have had SO much to write about, but not written a scratch of it down. Naughty Betty Babe!

In short, point form, here’s a brief overview of the last while:

- Kylie helped me with my diet, and helped me understand the importance of food combined with working out

 - I joined a one-on-one personal training type gym and have been working twice a week with trainer Gaby. WOW, can that woman make you move your butt!

 - I’ve lost a few pounds of fat and can see that I have a wee bit of muscle tone that I didn’t have before

 -  I feel good

Now I gotta run. Literally – I’m late for the gym. ;)

 

 


A muscle here; a muscle there; I swear I have them everywhere!

My clothes are tighter. IN. THE. CHEST. 

Like THAT wasn’t my dream come true when I was 14!


Was I hit by a Mack truck, or is this the aging process?

I was startled out of my sleep this morning by my body screaming at me. Still dazed and jarred, I scanned my body and found out what the problem was: I was laying there being 47 years old.


Ever feel like a mammoth?

UGH. So heavy….


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