Sadly to say we did not achieve the full twelve pounds of Christmas. Stopping at 9.7 lbs of weight loss.  The reason we stopped was while repairing frozen pipes for two days in the freeze which is gripping Europe, I tried to remove the end of my finger with a Stanley knife .

So as it is a nightmare to train with a throbbing, spurting finger, the gym was given a miss and the yule merriment began earlier than anticipated.

But never the less here are the full twelve days of Christmas as described by fitness support team who were eager to limit the intake of calories in an attempt to stem the circumference.

 

 

The Twelve pounds of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love took from me,


every thing that was Hershey.

On the second day of Christmas my true love took from me

two vanilla shakes.

On the third day of Christmas my true love took from me

three mars bars.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love took from me

four glasses merlot.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love took from me

five snickers bars.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love took from me

six candied apples.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love took from me

seven slices cheesecake.

On the eigth day of Christmas my true love took from me

eight pieces pizza.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love took from me

nine tangy tartlets.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love took from me

ten jars of jujubes.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love took from me

eleven cans of Corona.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love took from me

twelve pounds of peanuts.

 

There it is, all the things denied (sort of) for a month to lose almost ten pounds. You know the tune.  Maybe there should be a verse for New Year resolutions…

On the first month of New year my true love bade of me…?

Merry Christmas to all.

 

It went to my head.  I hit the 76 kilo mark meaning I had lost 9.675 lbs and still had four days until Christmas so my twelve pounds of Christmas challenge looked as if it might work.  In celebration of this achievement I thought an inexpensive toast with a splash of cabernet would be in order.

I casually walked through the drifting snowflakes and as they meandered through the curtain of gold cast by the street lights, it put me in a playful mood.  Who cannot resist trying to catch a cascading snowflake on your tongue?  It was almost ten p.m. and I felt no embarrassment at all as I wandered through the streets with my tongue protruding like the prow of a ship.

The youthful mist was still in my eyes as I paid for my nectar and impulse got the better of me.  I mean I had lost more than four and a half kilos and the fountain of youth was lying fresh on my winterized tongue, so why not?

I bought a cheap inconspicuous lollipop.  ( I hear you sneer and see your grunt of disdain and raise you a cocky 4.5 kilos… so there.)  Impulse, youthfulness were raging as I tore at the insanely tight plastic wrapping.  I should have twigged at the this point.  Any adult-proof membrane on candy- IS THERE FOR A REASON!

Finally I popped the treat into my mouth and headed out into the snow for the walk home, red wine in hand.  The lolly was vanilla with pistachios on the outside – lovely, but this is Denmark.  Was this folly?  How could I say that in the land of sausage, pastry and aquavit you may ask.  Well, there is one more peculiarity about Denmark…

The lolly went soft and in my brazen confidence I bit into the little white ball.

Immediately I wretched forward.  I have eaten oddities all from over the world.  From sea slugs and urchin to grasshoppers, from haggis to tripe and thymus glands. I can battle and in fact enjoy all those delicacies but I was now prostrate in the snow from a… LOLLIPOP!!

In my hubris I’d forgotten one of the lurking surprises of visitors to this land.  LICORICE.

This is not any licorice.  Oh no, no, no.  I can enjoy my jujubes, jellybeans, licorice allsorts, licorice shakes and black ice cream.  BUT don’t mix with the Danes when it comes to licorice.  In Denmark it is completely unsalted, unadulterated hard core.  Licorice here slaps your taste buds like New York cheesecake swells the hips.

It shot through the roof of my mouth, piercing my nostrils leaving tears streaming from my eyes.  It was a white lollipop for Godsake! .  I gagged on the street, hacked up the black sludge and spewed it across the virgin snow.

Fortunately it was only six blocks back to the apartment where I gargled and rid myself of the offending poison.  After the pain of the lollipop I of course needed the stabilizing of my system and as the cork popped so too did the 4.5 kilos.  Geez.

My excuses are already made.  I blame the lollipop and the snow … and… and the rest of it.

Here we are closer to Christmas;

The Twelve pounds of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love took from me,


every thing that was Hershey

On the second day of Christmas my true love took from me

two vanilla shakes

On the third day of Christmas my true love took from me

three mars bars

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love took from me

four glasses merlot

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love took from me

Five snickers bars

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love took from me

six candied apples

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love took from me

seven slices cheesecake

On the eigth day of Christmas my true love took from me

eight pieces pizza

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love took from me

nine tangy tartlets

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love took from me

jars of jujubes

 

Oh my one a.m. and we just finished watching ‘Meet The Fockers‘ and suddenly we are met with the knockers!  (Which excluding the male perspective relates to doors.)  So now it is ‘Meet The Knockers’.

Charming couple and so was Yusti their Ayrdale terrier, but we were poised with tooothbrush in hand thinking of curling up into bed  not rolling out of it.  The neighbors had the most humbling of requests at 1 a.m.  ‘Could they just crawl across the balcony?’

Sorry come again? My mouth is full of Crest and my thinking not the best.

They were going for a quick walk and as the door clicked behind them so too had the realization that they had no house key.  They had no phone. They had no way of getting back into the apartment should they venture into the snow outside the front door which Yusti was eager to sign with his yellow ‘pen’.  They had no car keys and apparently the car was on the fritz anyway.  It appeared the Knockers were joining the family of F****** in the movie!

Valiantly he scrambled across the balcony but to no avail – his balcony was locked.

A locksmith would cost a fortune in Denmark at least 2000 Kr. or $350! So what to do. Call the landlord I suggested.  We didn’t have the phone number but we did have the phone number of some other tenants.  Let’s wake them up, then wake up the Landlord and then wake up someone to borrow a car to drive to the Landlord to pick up the key .  Easy.  $350 – it is life or death!

Well an hour later all is well, as we had to have a glass of wine and wait just in case they couldn’t get in as things seemed to be on  a downward role.  It dawned on us, as the nectar slid down, that if we have passwords for our bank and personal details swimming on the web for all hackers and wikileak experts to expose, could we not simply have a password for our house?  Why do we have to futz with keys, which men lose anyway?  Can’t we just come up to the door and say… ‘Martha’s Vineyard‘ or ‘Air Force One‘ or even ‘Cell Block H‘ and be allowed in to our own domain?

I’m going to push for this. I think there is a real business opportunity here and my front door password will be … Dilly-

DALI

Frightening actually that a few numbers can shatter the fingers causing them to curl into a paralysis of shame that tortures even the gnarled claws of this blogger.

The numbers arrived randomly, a bit like lucky dip lottery tickets – and they too have always been a disappointment.  The numbers ( I don’t feel man enough to address them formally) fluctuated repeatedly similar to the radio broadcasts from Voyager 1 as it reaches the outer limits of our galaxy which now seems equaly distant to my twelve pound goal.  AH YES… he is still struggling with that one.

For the past seven days the upward gravity blog has in itself suffered from an upward gravitational force.  Initially it was thought that this phenomena was linked to brie  – a very ripe, slightly warm, chase the flies away in the summer type temptation.  As it was no more than five or six slices it was eliminated from the equation.  Triscuits the darlings of brie and fashionably loaded with rock salt and smoked oysters stepped up to the palate… oops … I mean plate.  Once opened the oysters like brie have the most startling brevity of shelf life. If not done away with quickly they will fester to a sad state in a matter of hours.  Noble consumption- the only recourse.  Gallantly with thoughts only of their well being I stepped up to palliate the plate and my palate.  As I did the honorable deed I was struck by the incompleteness of my attempts. The oysters and brie would be fraut in my bowels without a suitable elixir to ferry their way to the numbers on the scales peering annoyingly up at me.  A well rounded few glasses of Merlot bounded forward eager to please.  As quickly as the Merlot bounded, the oysters and brie grounded and the love handles rounded!

The numbers went up.  I was devastated.  I was doing it out of concern for the brie, triscuits, oysters, (the Merlot… well that was merely obeying convention and good form).  As the numbers on the scales rose so too did the chasm of guilt swallow my intentions.

Thankfully the significant other reminded me of the twelve pounds of Christmas and what other manly pursuit I might lose access to if I did not get on track – it would be only MY hands grasping MY love handles.

Panicked the gym became my womb, sweat my second skin and spinach salad the second love of my life.  Tirelessly… no that’s not true… in a state of total exhaustion, the hours passed until 77 was broken.  Down 3.5 kilos in two weeks – 7.9lbs.  Back on track!  Ten days to go.  Just over 4 pounds.  I stare at the empty bottle of merlot, tears in my eyes.  She shall not grace my lips again until Christmas morning.  I feel almost chased… chaste.

The results The Twelve pounds of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love took from me,


every thing that was Hershey

On the second day of Christmas my true love took from me

two vanilla shakes

On the third day of Christmas my true love took from me

three mars bars

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love took from me

four glasses merlot

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love took from me

Five snickers bars

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love took from me

six candied apples

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love took from me

seven slices cheesecake

On the eigth day of Christmas my true love took from me

eight pieces pizza

 

I return from the shower with a face like a grouper fish.  What is going on with the scales??

I know, I know, I’m toning you say… oh come on get your pumpkin outta the oven, get your noodle into the cup.  I don’t want toning!  That’s like saying you almost want sex!  I mean come on, you either do or you don’t.  You can’t have a half intention.  It’s like making a crepe and forgetting the strawberries or having an omelette with no cheese, a fondue with no wine… that pays no due to the fondu!  I just realized those are all food related images.  I am not suffering here.  I have my smoothies but what I do not have are the pounds rolling off the scales.

“You’re toning, firming” my significant other says, “giving lift and definition.”  I’ll give her definition… The definition of a dreamlike svelte figure is fading faster than soufflé from a spoon (Damn another food analogy).

“In every difficulty therein lies opportunity.”  She gently whispers.

What!  She maybe oriental, wise, serene, beautiful, blah blah blah… BUT there is no opportunity gained here!  I am meant to be losing.

“Breathe.  Just breathe.” She says.

Breathe…?  What am I so rotund now that I need Lamaze breathing exercises, am I about to give birth?  I stare longingly at the bag of Doritos she is squirreling away behind her little frame.  Is this the opportunity?  NO I slap my wrists.

She looks back at me as if I am blind and cannot see the opportunity before me.  I cannot.

“We need onions for the omelette.”  My eyes glow at the thought of a cheese, onion, bacon and mushroom omlette.  She gives me fifteen Kroner and my sweat pants.  My head moves to one side.  Stupidity swims all too naturally across my face.  “The opportunity, dear, is to jog to the store, get the onions and jog home.”

I stare at her.  Disbelief has paralyzed my mind and soul.  It is a five mile round trip and that is hard with or without the damn onions.

She pats my shoulder and crosses by.  The Doritos craftily guarded on the far side, away from my grasp.  “Every difficulty provides opportunity dear.”

Softly I mutter at her receding slender body, “I hate the word, dear.”  But like the proverbial deer standing before the headlights of my weight, I slip on the track suit and make my way out the door.

It was actually a marvelous little jog just when the crispness of winter cuts the air.  Fresh alive.  I returned to see her bored eyes teeming with Dorito-riddled self guilt.  I shot my rosy-cheeked smile at her and waved my onions.  “What an opportunity.”

Ha! Got the little robed confucian!

The pudgy little guy in robes was wandering around here again from two posts ago.

He wanders by as Yo and I are watching the ‘El Classico’ between Barcelona and Real Madrid and stands in front of the screen.  HUH!?  Standing in front of a football game, let alone this one, was something even our daft Great Dane knew to be suicidal. .. not from me from Yo!

We split to either side to peer around him – he craftily bent sideways to see ( and block) both of us.  We slam together to quickly peer over – he straightened up.

“MOVE!” Yo yelled.

“I have a message for the grasshopper.” His serene voice retaining a Chinese takeaway lisp.

“IT’LL BE ON YOUR TOMBSTONE!” Yo barked back.

“Calm yourself oh passionate Preying Mantis.” He wafted a milky open palm at my significant other.

This is not going well . I think about the likely damage to art work and glassware when the small man gets torn to bits by Yo and tossed about the living room.  She is definitely NO Preying Mantis (far to short and her feet – well that goes back to a post on toes, BUT the aggression factor in front of Footie games… yes I’ll give him that, he’s right there.  TOTALLY PREYING MANTIS

“Do you have a purpose or do you want to depart this life… now.” She asks though clenched teeth.

“I have a message.”

“Use bloody DHL!”

“No for him.”

I prick up my ears at a chance to diffuse my boiling Samurai Sweetheart and meekly whisper, “perhaps you could give it and go, kind of like a football 1-2 pass?”  I smile at the Preying Mantis hoping she would find the analogy amusing.  She didn’t.

The robed white bearded Confucian munchkin held out a searing finger to grill me and the bag of Doritos on my lap.  “Discipline is the horse you ride.”

The Preying Mantis whipped toward me with fire in her eyes.  I could suddenly see where the munchkin got the imagery… really clearly.  “YOU!  This is about you and that stupid diet before Christmas?”  I babbled something incoherently – fear can do that to the lips.  “Give me those Doritos and get ‘#31 Chicken Fried Rice’ the hell outta here!” She snatched the recently opened bag of Doritos from me and turned back to the game.

Thankfully the Munchkin had evaporated.  Yo was steaming.  Barcelona was winning.  And I had been told off for losing only a pound and a half in four days!!

Well back on the horse and I better lose the remaining seven pounds.

So to catch up on the twelve days of Christmas and weigh in here are the results from the last two days reaching  Day Eleven

two days ago 77.6

Yesterday 77.3

SO….

On the first day of Christmas my true love took from me,


every thing that was Hershey

On the second day of Christmas my true love took from me

two vanilla shakes

On the third day of Christmas my true love took from me

three mars bars

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love took from me

four glasses merlot

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love took from me

Five snickers bars

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love took from me

six candied apples

 

So the great being said:

Our greatest glory is not in NEVER falling but in rising every time we fall.  Hmmm….

HOLD IT… I’m lost already.

So as I see it, if I fail at something when I bounce back I will be stronger.  Okay, Okay, work with me on this, so….

–  My failure to find a parking spot near the mall entrance resulting in my parking slightly (EVER SO DAMN SLIGHTLY) on the disabled zone resulting in a $250 fine allows me to quell and focus my inner ninja, pursue my greater focus of good and take out the next ticket slapper I see with a whizzing star shuriken and then evaporate faster than a passion fruit souffle in front of K.

–  My failure to stride forcefully past the pick’n mix will result in the increase of sugar level building up within my inner sporting stores (ie; fat) but this allows me to pedal faster than a speeding zimmer-framed granny or leap unsavory dog droppings in a single thrust.  My shoes even like this Chinese wisdom.

–  My failure to limit myself to a single glass of red wine will allow my over wrought red blood cells to chill and relaaax on the journey of life leaving me more centered and they will be more at one with themselves to carry out their inner duties to a new and greater level as soon as they can focus coherently.  My red blood cells adore Chinese wisdom.

 

I think this sage old age/new age spillage can flow right into my soul and make the confusion and illusion.

Where’s my pick’n mix I’m going for the Big Belly of the Buddha.Ohhm.