Those 70ish Girls

I’m trying to lose 10 pounds. Just 10. I’m not asking for a miracle or trying to squeeze into my high school cheerleading uniform. I simply want to lose 10 pounds without giving up everything that makes life worth living.
You know, like cake.
And cookies.
And the occasional second helping of mashed potatoes.
At my age, I’ve earned the right to enjoy my food!
Why Is Losing Weight Harder in Your 70s?
When you’re in your 20s, you can eat a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake, then dance until midnight and burn it all off.
In your 70s, you eat one cookie, sit down to rest, and somehow gain two pounds.
I suspect my metabolism has retired without giving me notice. It’s probably on a beach somewhere, sipping a margarita and saying, “Sorry, lady. You’re on your own!”
Meanwhile, my bathroom scale has become my least favorite piece of equipment. I step on it hoping for good news, but it gives me a number that sends me straight to the refrigerator. I’ve even considered weighing myself while holding my stomach in. Surely that ought to count for something!
Exercise: My New Four-Letter Word
Everyone says the secret to losing weight is exercise.
So I walk.
To the refrigerator.
To the pantry.
Then back to the refrigerator because I’ve forgotten why I went there.
That’s three trips! Surely they count for something.
I’ve also heard that strength training is important as we get older. Every time I carry groceries into the house, I lift weights. Every time I put a heavy casserole into the oven, (Who am I kidding. Lean Cuisine doesn’t weigh that much.) I’ll practice resistance training later when I empty the dishwasher.
And when I get up from my favorite chair without making a sound like an old screen door, I consider that a gold-medal performance.
My fitness goal is simple: I want to be able to get off the floor if I drop a cookie.
Preferably before the dog gets it.
The Trouble With Dieting
I’ve tried eating smaller portions.
The trouble is that my eyes haven’t gotten the message that my stomach is older. I still think I need a dinner plate big enough to feed a small family. Then I put half the food back and, five minutes later, wonder whether anyone would notice if I ate one more bite.
Nobody would notice.
Except my bathroom scale. That thing has the memory of an elephant.
Diets also have a cruel sense of humor. The minute you decide to stop eating sweets, someone brings homemade pie to the house.
Where were these people when I was eating everything in sight?
Now they arrive with chocolate cake, banana bread, and cookies that smell like heaven. It’s almost as if the universe is testing me.
And frankly, the universe is playing dirty.
Ten Pounds and a Whole Lot of Determination
I’ve decided not to rush this weight-loss business. At my age, I believe in taking things one day at a time.
I’ll eat a little healthier, walk a little more, and try not to reward myself for losing a pound by eating a cheeseburger.
That last part may require professional help.
I’m also learning that the goal isn’t just to look better in my clothes. It’s to feel better, keep moving, stay strong, and enjoy life for as long as possible.
If I lose those 10 pounds, wonderful.
If I lose five, I’ll celebrate.
If I lose two, I’ll call it progress.
And if I gain three, I’ll assume the scale is broken and put it in time-out.
After all, we didn’t make it into our 70s by giving up every little pleasure in life. We’ve survived raising children, paying bills, changing fashions, and learning how to operate television remotes with 47 buttons.
Surely we can handle a few extra pounds!
My New Weight-Loss Philosophy
I’m no longer chasing the body I had at 25. That body is long gone, and frankly, I don’t think it wants to come back.
I’m aiming for a healthier, happier version of the person I am today.
I’ll eat my vegetables, drink my water, get some exercise, and try to make sensible choices.
But if someone brings me a warm chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven, all bets are off.
Life is short.
The cookie is warm.
And I’m in my 70s.
I think I’ve made my position perfectly clear.
My final goal? Lose 10 pounds, keep my sense of humor, and never become so skinny that I can’t sit comfortably in my favorite chair.

Because at this stage of life, happiness matters just as much as the number on the scale.
Besides, I have a feeling those 10 pounds aren’t going anywhere without a fight.
And I’m an old lady who’s been around long enough to know how to win an argument.
At least most of the time.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a walk.
To the kitchen.
I need to check on those cookies.
Wish me luck!