Been There, Done That: My 'solid' plan for weight loss

I always have a plan, no matter what we're talking about: yard sale shopping, grocery shopping, paying bills, even losing weight. I want to get into better shape. I'm going to try to do in my 60s what I haven't been able to do my entire life— get rid of these "thunder thighs" as my brothers so aptly named them.

I was a chubby child. My great-grandmother called me "solid." Harsh term for a young girl. She meant well. "You're not fat, you're solid." Not helping me.

I slimmed down eventually, but even at 104 pounds in high school, my thighs were an issue, at least for me. I distinctly remember my weight because of a blood drive at school. I had talked a bunch of strapping young football players into donating on the promise that I would, too. You know, if this little slip of a girl can do it ... but you have to weigh at least 105 pounds in order to donate blood. Oops, sorry boys.

I ballooned up to a stout 125 pounds after I got married. During pregnancy, I really packed it on, but waitressing brought me back down.
In the 30 years since then, sit-down jobs have got me in a bad place. Sort of. It may be a chunky body, but it's a healthy body. Ask my doctor, my numbers are great. Except my weight. I need to either gain about 6 inches in height or drop about 25 pounds.

My little elliptical died and was replaced with a Schwinn Airdyne (25 bucks at the thrift shop). I tried a treadmill (5 bucks at a yard sale) but never could make it move. I went back to my squat machine. Fifty of those and five miles on my bike every day. But I'm not getting anywhere. That scale doesn't budge. And these thighs are still not at their summer weight.

I decided it must be the can of diet pop I drink every day at work. If I stop that, the weight will just fall off. Well, it didn't. It must be the fake licorice bits. I pack five of them in my lunchbox every day. I can't be trusted with any more than that or I'll polish off the whole bag. It's been a hot minute since no candy and no change in that stupid scale.

OK, new plan. I'll only use the upstairs bathroom. That'll give me roughly 15 trips a day up and down the steps. That made my right knee a little sketchy and unreliable, but brought me zero results with the scale or my thighs. Time for a new plan. Of course I have one.

What if I was to dial down on my alcohol consumption? Just cut back by 1 1/2 beers per weekday. How do you cut out a half a beer, you ask? Easy, substitute a 12-ouncer for a tall boy and cut out one altogether = 1 1/2 less per day, 7 1/2 less per week, 30 per month. That's got to do something for me. If nothing else, it'll save me $20 a month.

Plus, I have another plan. Walking. A great way to get in shape. I'd like to walk during my lunch break, but I get too creeped out walking uptown. Too many cars with too many people in a big hurry. Besides, I like going home at lunch. Fine. I'll walk around my back yard and bring our Beagle Boy Cletus with me. He could stand to lose a pound or two, too. We just have to wait for winter and mud season to be over. A "solid" plan for those thighs of thunder.