Laser Rocket Arm

I have never been thin. Until recently, I was never hugely fat, either. Being sedentary since earliest memory probably never helped. After roughly 33 years of various self-destructive behavior, my five-foot-four-inch self stepped on a scale one day and almost had my head explode. 211 pounds? WTF?

Around that time (1999) the Mayo Diet thing was making its rounds. I also had a co-worker who swore by Protein Power. I bought the PP book and a gym membership, but fell prey to the low-fat mantra and started following that instead. I did lose weight–about sixty pounds, to be exact. I was working out six days a week, but I was also starving hungry pretty much all the time and found myself practicing bulimia if I ate something I deemed “bad.” We, meaning Mr. Laser Rocket Arm and I, moved to Virginia, and in the midst of setting up our new lives I drifted back to my whatever/whenever eating plan combined with a charming alcohol habit.

Flash forward seven years. I got sick and needed to go to urgent care to get a note to go back to work (I tend to avoid doctors). The nurse took my blood pressure, and her eyebrows raised. Another nurse came in, did the same thing. Another nurse … well, you get the idea. My BP was through the roof. I got weighed (I don’t own a scale so I won’t be a slave to it).

211? I wish. Try 240.

I am a huge NFL fan (as if the name of the blog wasn’t a huge obvious clue). The first thought that went through my head when I saw the scale was “OMG, I weigh the same as Ben Roethlisberger.” Yeah, Big Ben–who is thirteen inches taller than me. I can definitely drink like a Roethlisberger today, but apparently eating like him isn’t a good idea. Oh–and don’t forget the high blood pressure! Armed with a prescription, I went home and really looked at myself. My family always remarks on my resemblance to my mother. That day, I saw it. The round, red face. The bloated body.

And I remembered my last sight of her–in her casket, dead at 43, no doubt of obesity-related causes. And I had just turned 40 in the autumn.

I knew that I needed to do something.

I fell back into reading and participating on low-carb forums, but found myself getting increasingly annoyed with the stay-at-home mommies who passed around Oprah sayings and Bible verses and posted about eight gazillion recipes for low-carb cheesecake–with none of them losing weight. Then I started hearing about Paleo and the Bear and became intrigued by the ideas expressed. I did get caught up with the zero-carb extremists (*cough*charleswashington*cough*) for a while but quickly got bored. I like food. I like to cook, I like to eat. Red meat is awesome but dammit, I like veggies and sauces too. I have seen that I can and do lose weight when sticking to whole foods. In the past year I’ve made a conscious effort to buy sustainably raised meats or at the worst Bell and Evans chicken, and I’ve found a couple of sites run by fellow foodies that let me know going Paleo/primal/whatever doesn’t mean boredom. I realize that if I truly want to succeed the booze needs to go, but I’m having a hard time letting go. My resolve is building though. I quit smoking over ten years ago by deciding I didn’t want to smoke anymore. That same idea as applied to drinking is starting to gain hold.

So that’s me in a nutshell. I may also talk about football and post YouTube Peyton Manning commercials since I do sort of have to honor the guy who uttered the words that became the title for this blog. Just so you’re warned.