Too Skinny vs. Too Fat: America, Draw The Line!!!

Gaunt and emaciated. This is not the picture of a winner.
And they say TV adds extra 10 lbs. I'm terrified
to meet her in real life.

It's been almost 12 hours since the finale of The Biggest Loser Season 15 and I still, for the life of me, can't wrap my head around just how gaunt and emaciated winner Rachel Frederickson looks in pictures and on TV.

She was my favorite contestant. Her sheer determination and positive attitude up to the last episode, during the triathlon, made me believe she's another Danni Allen in the making (Season 14 winner).

But................ Wtf just happened?

Here are the numbers that further justify how jaw-dropping, and not in a good way, last night's finale was:

• The Biggest Loser Season 15 entitled, "Second Chances", ran from October 15 to February 4.
• Rachel, who stands at 5 feet, four inches, started the season at 260 lbs.
• During the triathlon which, correct me if I'm wrong, may have been a month before the live finale last night, she won the competition but went on to lose only a pound. Her victory during the triathlon earned her a spot in the finale but her weight loss only brought her down to 154 lbs from 155 lbs. (Pretty screwed up in terms of psychological pressure and public backlash over favoritism, i.e. Chelsea should have been in the finale instead of her if she had not won the triathlon)
• So from 154 lbs to 105 lbs in more or less a month? Do the math. She lost 49 lbs. How? She must have been consuming no more than 1,000 calories/day and exercising intensely for six to seven hours per day, everyday, just to get to that finale weight.
• Rachel's BMI went from 44.6 (Obesity level) to 18.0 (Underweight). If she were, AT THE MINIMUM, 108 lbs, her BMI at 18.5 could have been judged as normal. (SOURCE: National Heart, Lung and Blood Institute BMI Calculator)
• David, the first runner-up, lost 54.28% of his original body weight. If Rachel had lost 54.60% (118 lbs) instead of her whopping 59.60% (105 lbs) body percentage lost, she would look healthy and fit and would have still ended as the winner of The Biggest Loser.

And even if Rachel went up by three pounds just to get to the 18.5 normal BMI, a mere three pounds would and could not hide the fact that she lost huge muscle mass and huge amounts of good fat.

(From L-R) The three finalists, David, Rachel and Bobby, during the episode
before the finale. Rachel is 154 lbs here.

Was she eating healthy as someone claimed on CNN's Facebook page? No. There's no denying that there are people who are taller and pretty much weigh the same. But these people have got their priorities straight on the dining table by consuming the right amount of fat, carbohydrates, sugar and protein. Rachel, obviously, was not eating enough protein and fat to maintain the healthy muscle definition she showed during the triathlon.

Rachel at 260 lbs (left) and Rachel at 105 lbs (right)

So will someone please honestly tell me how this is not multiple shades of screwed up? I seriously believe that those who defend how she looks and how America overly criticizes using "too skinny" or "too fat" need major fitness crash courses.

After Haiyan: Dear Mr. President (An Open Letter)

Dear Mr. President:

As of this writing, it has been more than a week since typhoon Haiyan made landfall in Central Philippines leaving, in her wake, a massive scale of devastation for which no one could have ever FULLY prepared.

I am writing to you not as a Filipino citizen who sits around all day, finding reasons to complain, mock, whine or criticize your administration.

I am, rather, writing to you as a Filipino citizen, living far, far away from Haiyan's mess, hoping you could open your mind to how it is to be on the outside looking in.

Mr. President, you see, unless we are one of the typhoon's victims, we are never really completely in the know of how they prepared for the storm, how they were in the middle of it, how they tried to flee to safety, how they got injured in the process, how they had no choice but to leave their possessions and worse, their loved ones, how they saw their properties  -  their houses, their cars, their livelihood  -  flattened and torn apart.

Unless we are one of the survivors, we could only surmise as to how it must have been to walk  -  or limp  - for hours expecting help where they thought they could find it, only to end up seeing that there's no local government unit (LGU) that could help anymore. And this probably was not because they were ill-prepared. I'd give them the benefit of the doubt as much as I would like to give your leadership the benefit of the doubt. It's just that the typhoon was so strong that there's only so much muscle they possess.

I don't know how you would have felt had you been in the shoes of Tacloban City Mayor Alfred Romualdez. No, Mr. President. I would not go to discussing the politics that surrounds your family's relationship with the Romualdezes and the Marcoses. Such is the last thing the victims need. But going back to Mayor Romualdez, consider being pushed against the ceiling by raging waters and finding no choice but to punch a hole on the ceiling just so you could survive.

What I'm pointing out here, Mr. President is that the LGUs are also composed of people who have families who are every bit a victim as anyone else in the typhoon path. As such, I would not tell you to stop blaming them. I would ask you to show more compassion for them.

And then let's head back to the affected residents. While any country would agree that help doesn't come easy for a disaster of this scale, for the victims, minutes can easily turn into hours, and hours can turn into days.

But I guess you already have the knowledge of said fact. I do, too. For anyone who has, at one point in their lives, experienced a tragedy, such is undeniable. For several times in my life, I experienced how slow it felt for help to come when my mom and my dad turned for the worse in their hospital beds. I pleaded. I screamed. I cried. Every time, I thought, help never came fast enough.

At this point, it'd be unfair to expect the victims to understand the abovementioned fact. While true and reasonable, the last thing an aggrieved person would want to hear is that relief operations take time and careful planning. That feature article about that woman whose husband died of an infection due to a badly wounded leg? In order for her husband to survive, his leg needed to be amputated. But the antibiotics just came in too late. Way too late. I hope you don't turn a blind eye on this and merely treat this as "all in a day's job"; that it was, maybe, his time to die. I don't know how you are affected by this, I'm sure you are, in some degree, but having known that my husband could have been saved if his much-needed antibiotics had arrived a little earlier, say, even just a few hours earlier, I might have as well died on the day my husband perished had I been in that woman's shoes.

Mr. President, I couldn't emphasize enough how even just as little as a few seconds could mean the difference between life and death.

On the day Asiana Airlines crash landed in SFO in July of this year, I was in the middle of my shift as a passenger service agent for an international airline. With the call to evacuate the severely damaged aircraft only announced 90 seconds after the crash, the speed of which is still severely criticized and being investigated by the Federal Aviation Administration, many things could be emphasized and asked here:

1. While it is understandable for the crew members, themselves, to be in so much state of shock that there's a temporary absence of laudable and required quick thinking, many people would still have ended up asking what if evacuation was announced 85, 80, 70 seconds earlier? After all, the first group of emergency responders arrived on the scene a full minute before evacuation was announced.
2. I can't resist mentioning that when a Cebu Pacific aircraft crash landed in Davao a month prior to above incident, the rescue team arrived after 15 minutes. Thankfully, everyone onboard survived.

See, Mr. President, while one would surely be quick to argue that my little example is, by no means, any relevant to what happened in the Visayan Region, I hope that you and your administration are fully aware of how countries like the US and Japan conduct constant auditing of emergency responders' awareness of procedures and their skill in implementing such. Why, even bank employees are required to pass yearly auditing involving security processes!

So how do emergency responders in the Philippines live up to what is expected of them? Sure, fire and earthquake drills are regularly held in schools and buildings but I am also sure that even with the lack or insufficiency of expensive high-tech machinery, we have the infrastructure to constantly audit and train our emergency responders and deploy them and ensure an implementation of procedures that is faithful by the second, minute, hour, day and week following a disaster.

Could we do just that, Mr. President? Could we get everyone in the administration, from the lowest ranking military officer and I dare say, up to you, yourself, to get down on your knees and dig using your own hands, just like what the Japanese did when a tsunami struck their country, in the absence of the right tools should another disaster happen? And even if your team did just so during Haiyan's aftermath (I saw that photo of admirable Filipino soldiers crossing a flooded landscape while carrying victims on their backs), would anyone be man enough to admit and apologize that there indeed was something, a procedure or a line of communication, that broke somewhere?

Because to the world who are on the outside looking in, to the Filipinos like me and my husband who are living abroad, even to the Filipinos who are safe and far away from the islands of Samar and Leyte, there is something truly amiss.

I would not apologize for seeing that CNN correspondent Anderson Cooper and his team did nothing wrong. If they seemingly focused on nothing but devastation when they arrived in Leyte and were, per that Time Magazine article of Harvard expert John Crowley, "scaremongering" and in the process, catastrophizing the relief efforts, I would be the first to gather my friends who were either in Leyte, themselves, or those who had relatives in the areas affected and have them validate the international news teams' reports.

Mr. President, a former co-worker's posts on Facebook was so powerful that I felt an all-too-real fear in my heart for her and her family members. She was at first asking for help to locate her brothers. It took two or three days for her to finally learn that they were safe but not without finding out that their once peaceful neighborhood had not just been flattened but overtaken as well with violence and rampant looting.

Yes, looting. One would think and expect that during disasters, people only took what they needed to survive. But no, Mr. President. Reports from credible news organizations, both local and international, indicate that even flatscreen televisions are being taken away from houses.

And then there's the issue involving crimes. As I am sure you are fully aware of reports of the New People's Army (NPA), being hungry and desperate, themselves, taking advantage of the chaos, and of reports of women being raped and videos of men fighting over a few sacks of rice, I could only hope that what you told that businessman who was held at gunpoint would never happen again.

I am sorry if I am rubbing it in but "But you did not die, right?" is in no way an appropriate response to anyone who was perhaps just calling for your attention and action. I would never claim to know what exactly transpired that day that you were reported and quoted saying such and if true, what exactly came over you to bypass compassion and let frustration overcome you.

Mr. President, I would never claim to be better than you. During the 2010 presidential elections, I had another candidate in mind for the highest post in the land. What could I do, though as even over big and small controversies prior to Haiyan that plagued the first half of your term, even if I always had a biting thing or two to say, back then, the believer in second chances in me had always thought it just fair to give you the "benefit of the doubt".

After Haiyan, I have never been as passionate over an issue involving my home country as much as I am now.

Why, you may want to ask.

It is because I am not the only one aghast over how divided the Filipinos are when it is during times like this that all the more we should be united.

It is because I agreed, however grimly, when a high school classmate assessed that Filipinos these days are divided into three groups:

1. The Prayer Group;
2. The "Ikaw, May Naitulong Ka Na Ba?" (You, Did You Contribute/Help Already?) Group; and
3. The "Palpak ang Gobyerno" (The Government is a Failure) Group.

It is because I am apalled at the thought that those who help from other countries belong in just one group with nothing else in mind but to help.

As such, Mr. President, I am hoping that there's no more repeating of unfeeling responses like what you were quoted saying during that disaster briefing in Tacloban.

I am hoping that there's no more lambasting of international media if their reports could be validated by accounts of victims, themselves.

I am hoping that there's no more fingerpointing and blaming.

I am hoping that instead of such, when there is a breakdown in the line of communication and required action, the immediate response is to act on and implement contingency measures and secondary courses of action. When Plan A fails, there always has to be a Plan B, C, D and E, right?

I am hoping that there are no more evasive or defensive speeches and interviews. This disaster is more than enough to make anyone fall on his knees out of overwhelming grief and helplessness.

Show more compassion, Mr. President. If you say you have been doing so, express it some more.

Mr. President, don't further divide this nation. Its more than 7,100 islands make it fragmented enough.

Lead us. Unite us.

Of Being A Filipino For Me These Days

A few years ago, after getting married and prior to officially migrating to the US, I was on vacation at my then future home when the husband of a college classmate posted scathing remarks obviously against me on his Facebook wall. The root cause? Him ridiculing Fil-Aussie actress Anne Curtis's nip slip in Boracay and then him taking personal offense against my Facebook status that chastised all those (not just him - there was a ton of male chauvinist pigs on my news feed during the peak of the controversy) who ridiculed Anne.

Although he did not directly say that it was me he was angrily talking about, he spoke of (not the exact words  -  they were in Tagalog, actually) a woman who, just because now lives in another country and managed to perch like a fly on top of a carabao/buffalo (it's a classic Filipino insult), thinks she was already someone else. And when I posted an indirect comment on my wall? His next status confirmed that he was talking about me!

So anyway, short of making this blog about him, fast-forward to today, I now live permanently here in California, with a job and hoping to have and raise kids here with my husband.


Equal Employment Opportunity

There is a US government agency called the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) that "enforces federal employment discrimination laws". Prior to me landing my first job here, the hope that an agency like this exists bolstered the however exhausting mission to secure a position in any company especially during the recession. When, before, in the Philippines, my educational background alone could secure me an initial phone interview in a matter of hours of applying online, here, I was met with the somehow rude realization that being an "on time" Cum Laude graduate of the Philippines' Premier State University does not really give me an equal chance against those who studied all their lives in the US even if they're still college undergrads and are competing with me for the same position level.

When I left my last job in Manila, my position as a trainer was categorized by the company as a supervisory post. It was not an entry-level position but a position that guaranteed better benefits and perks. Upon coming to the US? There were times when I would hopelessly look at non-English speaking people who have jobs, however small or big, that I actually considered applying as a cashier for Target or a housekeeper at a hotel ala-Jennifer Lopez in her movie "Maid in Manhattan". Of course, even there, I was turned down.


Who You Know

Fortunately, because of another college classmate, the winds shifted in my favor. She helped me land a job as a teller in a Bank of America (BofA) branch in Daly City. It was then that I realized the truth in what my dad had always told me when he was still alive: It's not only what you have that matters, it's finding, and knowing the right people that could help you get up there.

I'm no longer with Bank of America but through this classmate of mine, an example of a successful Filipina here who worked her way to the top, and through the many Filipinos who I have since met, I learned the value of helping foremost your own race especially if one is a newcomer in a foreign land. After all, who else could one rely on and learn from if not his own kind of whose culture he's familiar?


Not Necessarily Bad To Compare

I don't need sarcasm. I want this statement on this San Francisco
Cable Car to ring true and good.

A trainer colleague of mine at my last company in Manila prepared me for what I was about to see in the US. Her tourist visa was approved months before mine and when she returned from her vacation in the US, she told me, "Presh, you know, from the plane, one could immediately see the stark contrast between community and city layouts of the Philippines and the US. The latter has organized zoning and structure placement while the former  -  well, you know you could immediately see the shanties and residential areas mixed with office buildings."

She further told me that her trip to the US, however brief, made her see things clearly from the other side; that there's truth, however harsh, to what Fil-Ams say when they compare the Philippines to the US.

"It's hard not to compare when you see a huge difference between what is there and what is here especially when you realize that it's actually not difficult at all to enact and implement positive changes."

Once it was my time to be on vacation, my then-boyfriend, now-husband, had to pull me back when I was walking too fast towards a Disney World escalator and trying to overtake a family and an elderly couple. I sheepishly defended my action by saying that's how I was trained: To always be in a rush so that I could secure a good position in the place where I'm supposed to go especially in MRTs.

My husband, who is a Filipino by the way, responded that it's out of respect that one should not overtake or cut someone in an otherwise organized path unless the situation is very, very dire. Needless to say, the wisdom in what he said grew heavier in the years that came especially when I started to find myself on the road and with a driver license.


How Dare You

I currently work at the San Francisco International Airport (SFO) as a check-in counter agent for a French airline. I find the situation so ironic considering that I dropped out of an extracurricular French class in college and that, even with my linguistics and phonetics training and background, I still have a hard time deciphering French sounds and connecting these with how words are spelled.

So anyway, I'm happy to have found a company that follows to the letter the EEOC's mandate that no US-based company, foreign or otherwise, should ignore anti-discrimination laws  -  majority of my colleagues are not French! In fact, I have a Filipino supervisor and five Filipino colleagues.

It's not even a requirement (because it would be against the EEOC's mandated rules) -  although it would be a plus  -  to know how to speak French. However, this comes as a weakness especially in issues of race and, well, yes, discrimination. There was a time that an irate passenger berated a Chinese colleague of mine for not being, well, French, and "stealing jobs from his countrymen". The root cause? He had an overweight luggage and he adamantly refused to pay.

Now I feel bad for thinking ill of the Vietnamese (or was she Japanese?) business class lounge agent of Philippine Airlines in SFO last year when my mileage status earned me the privilege to enter the Mabuhay Lounge.


Work Hard For Every Cent

Although a news feature on TV recently spoke of Americans not bothering to pick up pennies, nickles, even dimes (if you park in the city, you'd know the value of dimes where parking meters are; my fellow Pinoys, a dime is roughly the equivalent of half of a jeepney fare) left unattended, in plain sight, on roads, I still pick them up whenever I get the chance.

I got the shock of my life when I learned that one's work appraisal and pay increase here is based on a few cents. In the past, when I was still a trainer, a year's worth of toil guaranteed me several thousands' (in pesos, of course) worth of increase in my 15-30 salary. Once upon a time, I jumped from my starting pay of P22,500 ($523.26) to P29,500 ($686.05) in less than a year to P35,200 ($818.61) the following year. The pay increase of course moved me up on the tax bracket.

So how are things any different here? Let's use a former BofA supervisor of mine as an example. She said a certain year's appraisal gave her an increase of $0.11 (P4.73) per hour. Say she works for 40 hours a week with an initial pay of $15/hour (P645), this pay increase would have her jumping from $2600/month (P111,800) to only $2619.07/month (P112,620.01). And that's before taxes.


Tax Value

I'm no economist. I did not even take economy or business courses or managed to move further in my law studies in the University of the Philippines enough to gain at least a holistic understanding of Tax Laws in the country. As a Filipino though who worked in Manila from the time I turned 18 to right before I got married at 24, I am familiar with the sarcasm that envelops the joke of how, with every pothole a jeep goes through in the streets of the country, one feels the lack of direction of the taxes being deducted off one's salary every pay day.

This recent social networking-initiated One Million March in Luneta Park in Manila had me posting a Facebook status that, well, needless to say, earned the ire of friends and former colleagues who fully support the said gathering. To make the long story short, I said that even if I am not against the said march as I also want a good change in Philippine politics, I can't bring myself to fully support it as its too-general, too-wide goals were not the type that would make me attend if I were there.

So what's the connection? Well, let's just say, a private chat initiated by a friend to give me information that supports the march at least had the both of us agreeing on one thing: We're both after making our taxes work for us.

As I still am a Filipino citizen who pays real estate taxes, sends remittances and continues her Philhealth contribution (in spite of them constantly losing my filed receipts of my whole-year payments, thus refusing to release on-time deductions and/or reimbursements for our hospital bills), I told her, my husband and another person that my string (or "barrage" as what my better half calls it whenever I am emotionally and mentally piqued) of political commentaries is only due to the fact that I wish to see significant and positive progress in how the taxes paid by Filipinos work.

An example I spoke of during the abovementioned private chat talked about my recent traffic accident. It was only my second time at calling 911 for help and like the first time, the immediate and unbiased response from a respectable police officer never failed to surprise me. I told my friend that it's through simple things like that that those who live where I am feel that their taxes are working for them and not against them and that I wish to see and feel the same in the Philippines.


Inflation And All That Jazz

Like I said, I'm not an expert on economics. But I can tell my friends and relatives this much: Do not, and I mean, do not, convert to peso what I'm earning here.

Other foreign tourists, not just Filipinos, myself included, often fall prey to how attractive a dollar's worth of a McDonald's or Wendy's value meal is, sometimes casually forgetting that a dollar is actually equivalent to four or five one-way trips on a jeepney in the Philippines that sometimes, back in the day, I never even had enough even for just a single ride.

That $1 is not the same as P1 fails to enter the thoughts of those who are probably still stuck in the pre-WW2 period when the Philippines was still a US colony. Not once had I desperately tried to explain to some family members during a family crisis a year ago that sure, my dollars could go a long way in the Philippines but even so, the value of commodities in the US are priced high enough for my salary to not last that long; that I had (and still have) bills to pay and a family to support here, too.

Care for an example?

A 16-oz bottled water, if bought outside big box stores, retails between $0.75 to a dollar here. That's P32.25-43! Our recent trip to the Philippines just this year had us buying bottles of mineral water, of the same size, and worth P25 each.

How about public transportation?

Well, a single ride on a bus here, if without a value card, would automatically cost one $2.00. That's a whopping P86 in Manila! The cost is already enough for a five to 10 minute taxi ride there.


All About Image

I told one of those who wrote challenging comments on several Facebook posts of mine that it's hard to be a Filipino in a foreign land; that I take great care not to create a negative impression of my kind as it's the least I could do.

See I admit I do not have much to be proud of where material backgrounds are concerned. I did not finish my law studies in the Philippines. In spite of graduating with honors from the University of the Philippines-Diliman, my college degree is, sad to say, probably just enough to level the playing field between me and someone who, in spite of not finishing college, has spent all of his/her life studying in the US. I did not even manage to land the promotion I was gunning for prior to leaving my last job in Manila. But even so, despite the differences in opinions between me and my friends and family members on how the issue of corruption in the Philippines should be dealt, this I can promise and assure everyone: Everything that I say or do whether here or there or elsewhere is for me to not lose hope in the country with whom I still associate myself.

Should I pledge additional allegiance to another country (because I'm toying with the idea of dual citizenship), I will never be like those featured online who vehemently deny that there's an obvious Filipino blood running in them.

I will still loudly cheer for our Miss Universe, Miss World, Miss International, Miss Earth candidates, without a care that I'm in the middle of a fine dining restaurant somewhere in New Jersey (this really happened when Janine Tugonon competed in the Miss Universe pageant last year).

I will never fail to embrace just how awesome Filipino Catholic Churches are in the US especially the parish where we attend mass. The St. Augustine Catholic Church in South San Francisco, California has the largest Catholic Church membership in the Archdiocese of San Francisco (love your own!).

I will still watch Filipino teleseryes and follow these teleseryes' official fan page on Facebook (if you know me well, you know that I'm a member of two private fan pages on Facebook for Be Careful With My Heart).

Senor Sisig Food Truck in San Francisco

I will still eat Filipino food and continuously beam with pride whenever I see the famous Senor Sisig food truck with the longest line during OffTheGridSF's weekly schedules in San Francisco or at the Serramonte Parking Lot in Daly City.

I will make it my mission in life to introduce and share healthier versions of Filipino dishes like Chicken Adobo or Chopsuey sans cooking oil.

Even so, I will still inform my non-Filipino work colleagues of how awesome Filipino lumpiang shanghai and Jollibee are.

I will never fail to look back at how I started and reflect on the hardships my family and I had to go through just to make both ends meet while keeping ourselves educated on how we could maximize the benefits we receive from the government (TIP: Receive better hospitalization at specialized government hospitals. Rates are not as expensive as private hospitals and the facilities are clean and in line and at par with modern technology. The one that tops my list is the Philippine Heart Center).

PR 105's Boeing 747 aircraft in SFO

I will continuously be honest and hardworking at whatever I do, wherever I go.

Just like my college classmate (you know who you are) who helped me find a job in BofA, and just like the Filipinos I've met here in the US, I will continuously lend a helping hand to my fellow Filipinos who have just arrived here.

If my future kids are unable to secure a scholarship in a reputable US university, I will never lose my seriousness in sending them to good schools in the Philippines so humility in knowing their roots is not lost on them.

I will  make sure that my future kids can understand, if not, speak, Tagalog.

I will always beam with familial and familiar pride whenever I see Philippine Airlines' PR 105 (San Francisco to Manila) or PR 104 (Manila to San Francisco) at SFO (although I still wish they have a better mileage program that associates themselves to international airline alliances... expiring miles suck!).

More importantly, I will never fail to disclose my thoughts, however radical, if only to prevent myself from falling in apathy over how dire the situation is in the Philippines.

I could be worse and choose not to care. I just choose not to.

Birthday Weight Goal, Achieved and More!

It's been a while, a long while since I updated this blog. My birthday month of July has passed and in 26 days, my fitness account on Instagram, @whenyouloseyouwin, will celebrate its first anniversary.

So what has happened so far?

Well, for starters, in the survey/poll I posted when I started this blog, I can tell that one person who voted that I'd be heavier than 150 lbs by July 19, that I definitely didn't have a relapse and bounced, ironically enough, "backwards", to that.

To be honest, July did not come easy for me. It had actually been very challenging since the end of April. It was in April that I first went down to less than 118 lbs and what followed was a series of ups and downs due to family gatherings and vacations. My consolation? Well at least I was, and still am, already in the healthy weight range.

My chocolate and ice cream-loving better half celebrated his birthday a day before mine so what was expected was two straight days' worth of food coupons, discounts and freebies from restaurants. Here are two photos clearly depicting what happened on Day 1, July 18, my hubby's day:

Hubby had a coupon at Elephant Bar and a discount card so that's where we headed for dinner after work. Upon finding out that he could actually have a free meal and that there's no price limit to such, naturally, he ordered the most expensive one that he liked. I don't remember the exact name of the entree but it has steak, lobster, veggies and shrimp.

As for mine, I was craving for pasta so I ended up with a dish that has shrimp and white sauce. Again, I don't remember the name of the dish and I'm currently far too lazy to go to their website and give justice to this post. Don't judge. It's my day off as of this writing :p

The following day was my birthday and I, well, for lack of a better term, "clocked in" at 119.2 lbs. Here's a photographic evidence (not rigged, I swear) from my FitBit app:

My original weight goal when I started my fitness account on Instagram was 138 lbs by this date. *big grin*

And here's a photo of what transpired during that day, this time, at Kome, that Chinese-Japanese buffet restaurant in Daly City:

Food Coma.

Not for anything weight-related but after this trip to Kome, hubby and I swore it'd be a looong while before we find ourselves in this restaurant. Why? Well, aside from the disappointment of seeing ridiculously long lines at the Chinese buffet table (Who starts a buffet with dessert?) and people cutting lines, my favorite Japanese rolls were not available. Then again, this was not meant to be a restaurant review so I'd cut this one short.

So anyway, the next few days after my birthday found us down in SoCal. I would let you judge for yourself what occurred from July 20-24:

I swear we tried to start our vacation by having something healthy for breakfast before our flight. This was, if I remember it correctly, approximately 353 calories :)

The following day found us at San Pedro Fish Markets and Restaurant having this c/o a relative. Not in picture was the tilapia and ceviche we had with this.

At the Disney California Adventure Park having this enormous turkey leg. Disclaimer: We shared one leg for dinner. And a chimichanga.

Post-Universal Studios the day after Disney, we had dinner at Kalye Hits and for the two of us, had two cups of steamed rice, a stick of Betamax (pig blood), a dozen pieces of Kwek-kwek (quail eggs dipped in orange-colored batter and fried), an order of Beef Pares (sweet beef stew) and vinegar and brown (caramelized flour with soy sauce) dipping sauce.

We now know that no trip to Los Angeles is ever complete without going to a Porto's Bakery branch. We found ourselves both in the Glendale and Burbank branch, on July 21 and July 23, respectively.

We ordered their famous cheese rolls (at 238 calories/roll) and guava cheese roll (did not bother to find out how huge this one is, calories-wise). We demolished our Glendale order, all 12 pieces, in 14 hours!

Started at 433 steps at the Disneyland gate. Went back to the hotel with over 18,000 steps.

What was the damage then? Upon returning to the crib, I immediately weighed myself and saw a whopping 124 lbs! No biggie, truth be told. It was expected :p

The next day, my theory (well, it's actually a scientific fact) of how being in a hot area adds weight, water weight to be exact, was proven once again. My morning weight saw me at 122 lbs. The day after saw me at 121 lbs.

Fast-forward to August 1st, I'm back to my birthday weight of 119.2 lbs.

What then?

Well, since the scale is not really the be-all and end-all of fitness, my goal is to be at my most toned and my fittest by August 27, just in time for @whenyouloseyouwin's first anniversary, provided that I'm not, well, pregnant by then (starting my fertility consultations after my lab work today so I really need to finish this blog ASAP! lol).

'Til next time then! :)

I Miss You, Dad

It had, and still has (at least for me), been a rollercoaster of emotions for me and my dad ever since he was diagnosed with End Stage Renal Failure during the second quarter of 2008.

Let me say this now so at this early stage I can already get rid of the bitterness mixed in how I am or have been feeling: While people are entitled to their own opinions, right or wrong, and while I can't please everybody, nobody, ever, has the right to say to my face that I left my then very sick dad, just like that, to live the "good" life in the US.

Dad, seated, in black, between me and Isa, Sergs's niece, when he went,

all by himself, to my surprise, to my in-laws' house in Quezon City
on the day of our flight to the US to accompany in sending us
to the airport. He had just come out of an ICU confinement

at the Philippine Heart Center two months prior. He would soon have

another chance in 2011 to send me to the airport and bid me farewell,
one last time, when I finally received my immigration visa.

Yes. I still reel over these words blatantly left late last year by a female cousin who I never saw visit my dad when he was sick and hospitalized from 2008 until his death just a couple of weeks ago. If it were also true that during my dad's second day of wake she spoke of being relieved to have paid her respects on that day rather than on the day I was supposed to arrive from the US, shame on her and her added insult to injury.

A older sister of my mom told me: "No one but you (and your dad), alone, know (or knew) how the relationship was between the two of you."

And I concur as this is perhaps one of the few most soothing balms I have heard during this period of grieving for me.

Two things that still hurt me: Missing him, so bad, and recalling how his illness slowly and painfully took the life out of each body part he had in spite of all of our material, physical, spiritual and emotional efforts in trying to prevent such from happening.

I would have wanted to be with him until the very end, just like how I was with my mom when she breathed her last. I don't know why I am trying to convince people about championing my case but I feel like I need to say it over and over just to ease the pain: My situation had not only been a matter of choice but of chance as well. I was living a life I could not fully control as there were people and circumstances in it that were beyond what I could handle.

Careless and insensitive remarks like I should be the one who should be taking care of my dad in the Philippines play in my mind over and over again as though I should just completely forget that I'm married to a US-based man who had never been selfish to my father even before he became my husband; that nevermind the fact that this husband of mine also has his siblings and mom, and his hard-earned properties and job to take care of, I should have convinced him to move back with me to the Philippines (even if this could subsequently cause my dad to sink further into depression over guilt of what people think I was supposed to have done).

I'll be damned if I say that what I said or wrote above does not have a hint of anger  -  I am already damned for still harboring however big or small anger I still have.

I was never the perfect daughter to my parents. I had my disobedient, disrespectful moments. And I am not washing my hands clean of them but maybe people didn't know that I while crying over learning my father's kidney failure, I was getting in touch with my company health and medical insurance provider to find out the extent of their medical coverage. Prior to getting married and while still working, I would make the hospital my second home whenever dad's confined, going in rotations with an uncle or our househelp, sleeping there at night, taking a shower there in the morning, going to work and coming back right away to be with him. During my out-of-the-country trips, I never left the Philippines without making sure dad would be okay and covered for for the next few weeks or months. There was never a day I never thought of him. There was never a week I asked about him or called and tried to get in touch with him if I had the chance. There was never a month, for three years since I got married in 2010, that I never sent whatever amount of monetary or material help I could to cover his needs. There was never a time I never fought with a friend or a relative, humbled myself or compromised my principles just so I could do what I thought of was best for dad.

But this blog is not just or fully about the bitter emotions that I feel. It's also about me missing him.

Dad's the sweetest, most malambing (it sounds better in Filipino; "affectionate" in English) person I have (or had) ever known. You know how normally awkward it feels for a child to declare or hear such things about or from a parent? Dad made it awkward but sweet enough to be forgivable. He would kiss my cheek, my forehead or my hand. Whether because of fear or something else, he would hold my hand. On days he was a proud dad, he would roughly put his arm on my shoulder and tell people of my achievements. He was not one to be shy around people in telling me he loved or missed me. Oh how I still recall his voice calling my name or calling me "anak" (child)!

I was lucky for having experienced  thow he was as a father. On nights or ungodly hours that I needed to go to work or came out of the office to go home, he made sure he was always there to take me to the bus stop or meet me halfway to pick me up and take me home. On the way, we'd pick up food or stop by a restaurant to eat. This was him being extremely caring even if he had already been undergoing twice weekly dialysis at that time.

Whenever I had business trips or vacations, from August of 2008 to July of 2011, he was always at the airport bidding me farewell or welcoming me back. Imagine how painful it was for the both of us when, during a vacation in the middle of 2012, he couldn't be among those picking up my husband and me and afterwards sending us to the airport because of his already rapidly deteriorating condition.

His minor heart attack and confinement in the ICU of the Philippine Heart Center more than a month before I got married came on my final day at work. I knew, but just refused to acknowledge, that it would be the start of his seemingly neverending physically, mentally and emotionally painful ordeal that came with his diabetes and kidney failure. He got better and was discharged from the hospital more than a week before Christmas. He even vetoed relatives' suggestion that he be accompanied by an aunt while walking me down the aisle  -  he bravely walked me down, himself. He even obliged for an impromptu (I might have forgotten to tell him) father-daughter dance during the reception.

But then how was I supposed to know that it'd be the last time that he'd have full use of both of his legs or see all of his digits intact? When I came back to the Philippines in July of 2010 to process my immigration papers six months later, he had just come out of another serious confinement and I burst into tears upon immediately seeing him partially blind with his right index finger severely screwed and distorted c/o a nurse during the mentioned confinement. In an effort to prevent further bodily damage by his diabetes and to fulfill a promise I made to him, the following month, we immediately had him undergo cataract surgery. How was I supposed to know that after that surgery, he'd then be hospitalized twice for lung fluid extraction and subsequently be diagnosed with extreme clinical depression?

How was I supposed to know that after months of weekly painful trips to different foot doctors, in an effort to save his left foot, his whole left calf would eventually require amputation after I left to officially move to the US?

How was I supposed to know that his right middle finger would also require a partial amputation?

How was I supposed to know that several days before his death, his remaining right foot (with its big toe already gone) would get dragged and scraped while he was being transported to the hospital?

How was I supposed to know that even during his final hours, I would be barred by the "ancient" Revised Penal Code of the Philippines (what irony  -  this was the subject I flunked in law school) from fulfilling dad's wish of removing his respirator tubes just so he could speak to me and my sister (I believed he could see me while I was on Skype video chat; I knew he wanted so much to speak) and at least be comfortable?

Dad, a blog or a dozen wouldn't be enough to pay tribute to how great you were as a father even during your most difficult and challenging times. No amount of words would suffice to say how much I grieve over remembering how you suffered or how much I miss you. As my cold fingers fly over the keys of my laptop, I somehow long for and are warmed by any manifestations of you while you're "still here" and the thought that you're already free from any kind of mortal pain.

I miss you dad. I love you.

Eat More, Weigh Less

This post is actually the second part of my blog with the inversed title "Eat Less, Weigh More".  Why a Part 2, you may ask. It's because I felt like I wasn't able to explain fully and clearly why I said eating less could mean a possible weight gain. Through a quick chat (more of a series of Instagram comments with @emmahmay (thanks, sweetie!), I, myself, found the right words.

It's all about your metabolism.

As what I had first quoted at the first part of this blog last month, About.com states that metabolism is the chemical process that establishes "the rate at which your body burns calories". Short of going into health gobbledygook, let's put things this way: You've probably already heard or googled health products or food (hello, cinnamon and cayenne pepper!) that boosts your metabolism. You have also probably been given dozens of tips regarding metabolism-boosting exercises and the when's and how's involved. The how's are mostly regarding getting your body to not move or exercise in the same manner over long periods of time; that we need to "shock" or "trick" it against getting used to a routine every now and then.

Guess what? It's the same with food, especially with how much you consume per day.

Many people find it easier to believe or fall into thinking that eating less alone is the key to weight loss. While it is true that cutting calories AND exercising more do lead to significant weight changes, it is highly important to establish when the cutting of calories should stop.

My personal minimum benchmark is 1,220 calories. At my age of 28, height of 5'2 1/2 and weight as of my last weigh-in yesterday of 129.8 lbs (Yey! Closer, make that "a lot closer", to my second goal weight of 125 lbs!), Livestrong MyPlate tells me that in order to continuously lose a pound more, I should only consume 1,159 calories. Please do note, however, that I set my activity level (another category fitness/calorie tracker apps like MyPlate and myfitnesspal use to determine calorie goal) to "sedentary" here if only to challenge myself to move more, even if I know I am no longer sedentary (I exercise five to six times a week and walk and stand for four hours straight on work days).

So how much have I been eating? Well, over the past two weeks, I have definitely been eating more than 1,220 calories! At one point, I think I reached 1,700 calories (This was the day I finally passed my behind-the-wheel driving exam at DMV after two tries! I had a Jollibee chickenjoy-spaghetti meal along with a banana langka pie!). But I am still losing. How? I drive my metabolism crazy, that's how!

On days that I am truly sedentary (Day off from work and from exercise... Yes! I have exercise "rest days" too in order to allow my body to recover!) or during detox days (hello, smoothie!), I do follow what my calorie tracker apps dictate. On weekly date nights and/or binge days, I allow myself to go over my set calorie goal, eat whatever would make health nuts' eyes roll, and go crazy at the gym, the "crazy" depending on how much I am over.

For instance, since I noticed I burn 10-17 calories per minute on the elliptical or while doing any kind of cardios, I extend my cardios for a minute more if I am over 10 calories. So if I'm over a 300 calories, you can bet your glutes off that I'll be at the gym for 30 minutes more.

But going back to food and metabolism, like exercise, when conditioned, the body needs to be challenged every now and then to test how well it has responded to your conditioning. If you keep on feeding it the same kind and same low amount of food everyday, for long periods of time, chances are, you'll no longer lose weight. The mental torture you've been subjecting yourself will eventually become nothing more than a routine for your body that has already gotten used to it.

So eat more. Take risks. Shock your body. Get your metabolism off the couch and get it working overtime each time you shock it! It doesn't hurt to have a bite of this and that. The key to fitness and weight loss is not eating less alone. It is moderation. Moderate, not low, amount of calories or portions. Moderate exercise. Moderate frequency in shocking meals and workouts.

Still not convinced? Follow me on Instagram @whenyouloseyouwin and see my exercises, my food and my progress!

First 2013 Progress Pictures

We're already almost halfway through the first quarter of 2013. Since it's my day off, let me indulge you with some progress pictures of mine that I sincerely and genuinely hope could inspire you to start working on creating progress comparison shots of your own.

A month back, I unintentionally wore the same long-sleeved shirt from Old Navy and jeans from DKNY that I wore in September and December of 2012. As such, I found it only apt to make a progress shot. This was originally posted in my Instagram account (@whenyouloseyouwin).

This next progress shot was posted just a couple of days back. Five months ago and 40+ lbs back, in August of 2012, when I was still taking those dreadful "day 1" photos of myself, I thought the picture to the left wasn't really bad. I had a toned booty and gym capris were enhancing my curves. Or so I thought. Peeling the short pants off revealed a not-so-sumptuous rear. It was flabby and big. Today, people think I may have lost my curves but what I lost are actually fat... in my thighs and calves! Fat in my thighs and calves, people! And since muscle is more dense than fat, my leg muscles are the ones that still give my butt shape. I know I still have to keep on working though on strengthening and toning those muscles. I don't want to lose my ass! :)