Thursday, February 22, 2007

We(igh)nesday



First official weigh-in day

The Man laughed at me this morning for announcing that I was selecting my lightest weight clothes to wear today. And, at the fact that I weighed before and after I got dressed, so that I knew my clothes weighed 2 pounds. (Like he has room to talk—he’s the person who taught me the “weigh, pee, weigh” trick to see if you can lose that extra couple of ounces to put you down another pound on the digital scale. It’s kind of interesting...mentally...maybe.)

(That was probably too much information for y’all, but he’s been complaining that I’ve not mentioned him in the blog lately, so there you go, baby!)

4.8lbs is the official loss for the week, which is good, considering the OG debacle from Sunday. 9 out of the 10 people in our meeting lost, so everyone got a silver bravo star (the 10th person just started). We had our little motivational discussion, and the WW group leader said something that sort of stunned me. He was discussing hitting a plateau of sorts, when folks are following the plan and exercising, etc., and get frustrated because they aren’t actually losing weight. Usually, they are losing inches and don't realize it, and he mentioned that folks sometimes rationalize their lack of actual poundage lost by saying, “well, muscle weighs more than fat.” We’re all nodding our heads to this, because I believe I’m pretty “muscular.” (Ha!)

And then he says, “ That’s just not true. A pound of muscle weighs as much as a pound of fat.”

It was like hearing a pin drop in the empty spot that used to be my brain. Well, duh! It was like a light bulb had clicked on...more like a giant q-beam spotlight. (You know my math skills are non-existent, so stop sniggering at my blonde moment. Stop it, right now!)

Well, hell yeah, of course it weighs the same! It’s like that whole “pound of bricks vs. pound of feathers” adage—pound is a pound is a pound…whether it’s on my hips or thighs. (If it would migrate ‘round onto my ass, of which I have none, I’d feel a whole lot better about that pound-for-pound thing.)

Go ahead and ‘fess up to yourself, even if you won’t tell me…we’ve all bought into that “muscle weighs more” nonsense, and I personally know that I have been hiding behind that old wives’ tale for a number of years. Somewhere along the way, someone told me that it was true, and just like a deep-fried Kentucky rat urban legend, it grew in importance in my pea brain until I unconsciously/subconsciously believed it as fact. (I think this is a prime example of “lying to oneself,” don’t you?) He did point out that muscle is more compact/dense than fat, so that might be why I've been able to glom onto that for all these years.

But enough of that. Earlier, my SS boss and I went to a competition's franchise to do a little "competitive intelligence" or "industry espionage." This place is very trendy and cute, and the SS boss has a feeling that they might be moving over into our area soon. They have fun names for their food (like Ode on a Grecian Three-Breasted Chicken™ and She's Not Heavy, She's My Meatball), a bright color scheme, and a great desire to be hip. It's the same basic concept as SS--sign up, assemble meals, freeze, thaw later, and cook at your convenience. I baked up one for The Man, and it wasn't too bad. We're going to try the rest of them through the rest of the week.

With almost a year of meal assembly experience under our aprons, SS Boss and I were trying hard to look like newbies but not be overly dramatic. Of course, we both think that our model is better, and that our staff is definitely friendlier and more helpful. The staff at the competition sort of stood around and looked pretty--there were 3 of them out on the floor and 2 in the back who seemed to be prep and clean up the dishes. The 3 floor models basically stood in one place and chatted with each other and didn't pay much attention to us. There were 4 of us customer types to begin with, and 4-5 more came in a little later, and they still didn't seem to be very animated or motorvated.

The place was brightly lit and looked clean and tidy, so it gets points for that...the ingredients were some of the same we used from the same supplier, but it appeared that they chose to chop most of their own veggies, like celery and onions. Let's just say they wouldn't have made it out of Head Chef's class based on their knife cuts. Granted, I'm supposed to have some experience at this and should be able to chop fairly uniform pieces, but this stuff looked like it might have been gnawed up by a lawnmower. I was picking all sort of stringy pieces of celery out and onion skin--not attractive at all. At our store, we get pre-chopped onions, green peppers, etc., and it doesn't cost that much more than buying bulk/whole and chopping it ourselves. Remember that dreadfulPurchasing class? Well, it might have come in handy...if you do the math on the labor it would take for us to clean and chop, along with the trim loss, etc., it actually comes out about even or maybe even a little cheaper. We're fiends about inspecting that produce when it comes, too. We open all the boxes and inspect the bags to make sure it looks good and isn't slimy and spoiled.

Our cover held and we weren't spotted as the competition, and it was kinda cool to be in the customer's slingbacks for once...we didn't have to do the clean up or worry about making a mess. Granted, we tried to be neat, having already walked a mile in their aprons with messy customers before, and not take too long to do the recipes. Of course, we think our version is better, but don't all moms think their child is the cutest?

1 comment:

Linna said...

Ode on a Grecian Three-Breasted Chicken™??? Keats is revolving in his grave. What Alton does the name thing, it's cute. These guys are trying too hard.

Congrats on your first loss back on WW! Wishing you many more.

I was tickled by your secret agenting. Trenchcoats over your SS tee shirts? If the competition isn't *helpful* to their customers, they aren't going to last long. You did learn useful things in your culinary classes.