I’ve always admired those serene, slender women who gracefully saunter through life, their lean legs and contented faces carrying them through even the most turbulent of times.

Until recently, I’d assumed they probably had the same amount of stress as the rest of us, only they were self-disciplined enough to take out their frustrations at the gym instead of in front of the fridge.

Turns out, though, maybe they aren’t as stressed as the rest of us. Maybe that’s their secret to being slender: chilling out by mellow meditation, instead of cooling their heels with a vat of Chunky Monkey.

At the end of a two-year study, women who followed a programme of yoga and meditation had lost weight and kept it off, while those who focused purely on exercise and nutrition had not.

The ‘relaxed’ women were also generally happier and healthier at the end of the study.

Experts believe that reducing stress stops cravings for fatty foods and sweets.

The study suggests that dieting and exercise — although they do bring health improvements — may not actually be the key to weight loss.

All together now: Ommmmm. [Link]

I used to love the Garfield comic strip which featured the lasagna-loving cat saying “I’m not overweight, I’m under tall.” At 5′1″, I totally relate.

Like many “under tall” people, I keep wondering why the heck I’m not losing weight. No, I don’t exercise fanatically; I don’t like to sweat unless I’m sitting on the beach sipping mai-tais while on one of those Orlando vacations.

But I do walk over 8,000 steps per day according to my pedometer, at least an hour of which involves doing housework sufficiently strenuous enough to raise my pulse to the weight-loss target zone. And still my fat won’t budge.

Turns out, the problem might be all in my mind. Literally.

Researchers split 14 university student volunteers into three groups for a 45-minute session of either relaxing in a sitting position, reading and summarizing a text, or completing a series of memory, attention, and vigilance tests on the computer.

The scientists had determined beforehand that the thinking sessions consumed only three calories more than resting. After the sessions, the participants were invited to eat as much as they pleased.

Though the study involved a very small number of participants, the results were stark.

The students who had done the computer tests downed 253 more calories, or 29.4 percent more than the couch potatoes. Those who had summarized a text consumed 203 more calories than the resting group.

Blood tests showed that the participants glucose levels fluctuated more dramatically following intellectual activity, and that may cause the brain to demand more food to balance the glucose levels.

If you think about it, there’s plenty of anecdotal evidence to support this theory. Consider, for instance, the notorious Freshman 15. Maybe they’re not so much attributable to cafeteria food as the increased intellectual demands of college life? Or bloggers: how many of us can recall being thinner before we joined the blogosphere?

So, with all apologies to Garfield, I have a new explanation for being fat: I’m not overweight, I’m just really freaking smart.

Leo Babuata has posted a wonderful list of easy (and sexy) ways to lose 50 pounds in a year.

And when he says “easy”, he means it: some are as simple as substituting veggies for chips just one snack per day. Oh, there’s not a lot of ground-breaking info there, but it’s still good, solid weight loss advice.

My favorite:

If you can get 15 minutes of sex in a day, you can burn 150 calories.

Honey, if I could get fifteen minutes of sex in a day I probably wouldn’t find half of my favorite foods nearly as attractive.

Apparently, the financial woes plaguing American workers don’t extend to big business, at least not to those engaged in market research. Recently, two experts in that field were asked to analyze their data to determine relationships between voter demographics and what people eat.

No, really.

Their findings? Clinton supporters like Red Lobster, Krispy Kreme and fruit-filled cookies, while Obama backers can’t stand vanilla wafers (No racial jokes, please) but like Cheesecake Factory, Panera Bread and Starbucks. As for those likely to vote for McCain? They prefer Chips Ahoy, Fuddrucker’s and Hardee’s.

As for what your burger says about you, it’s all in the beef. Corn-feed beef lovers tend to side with McCain, while the Obama camp leans toward grass-fed beef. And Clinton’s supporters? They’re big on the fake stuff, preferring Boca (soy) burgers to the real thing.

I’m not a doctor. I don’t even play one on TV. I’m also not a nutritionist, a dietitian, a weight loss consultant, or whatever they’re now calling people who tell you what to eat. I am, however, fat. And I’m constantly amazed by that fact.

You see, I do most of the things we’re all told to do.

I move around quite a bit daily, most of which involves chasing my 8-year-old homeschooled son around the house and doing an hour or so of cleaning chores per day, both of which take me up and down 3 flights of stairs. Repeatedly.

Sometimes I add yoga to that mix or rebound on my mini-tramp. Other times I spin for a while on my exercise bike. Sure, there are days — whole weeks, even — when I don’t do additional exercise, but my trusty pedometer tells me that I’m walking at least 10,000 steps per day.

I also eat fruits, vegetables and whole grains regularly. Oh, some days I might slack off on one or two servings, but for the most part I eat what I’m supposed to… and then some. Enough, in fact, that I refused to even look at my life insurance agent’s recommended weight chart to see just how above average I am.

But therein lies what’s led to my theory on why America is fat: we’re constantly being told more foods we ought to be eating. One day it’s “add grains“, the next it’s “eat more fruits and vegetables“, then it’s “eat more protein” and “eat more fish” and drink more tea and consume more dairy products.

Then there’s the flax seeds, coconut oil and the ever-growing list of disease-fighting foods.

In short, by the time a person has followed all the so-called “experts” advice on what to eat for optimum health they’ve polished off as much food as a defensive lineman.

But is it helping? No, or we wouldn’t continue to be plagued equally as often by health bulletins warning about the risks of obesity and diabetes.

You know, after putting so much effort into losing weight — and learning how I’m supposed to lose it — I’m sorely tempted to just shrug my shoulders (hey, that burns calories, right?) and eat more junk food. At least then I’d be conscious of how many calories I’m consuming, and I’d enjoy the taste, too.

My husband and I were invited to attend one of those murder mystery dinners this weekend. We’ve gone to these things a few times in the past, and both of us have been struck with how much they feel like play-dates for adults: there’s always a hostess trying to marshal everyone into their places and get the activities started, along with a dozen or so attendees who want to know when they’re going to be fed.

This particular party is at the home of a friend who’s a die-hard vegan. That means two things to us. First, we’ll have to eat before we go have dinner at her place, because my husband thinks a meal without meat is, basically, crap. Second, she’s almost certain to be wearing one of those sexy costumes designed to show us meat-eaters how much better her life is for subsisting on lettuce leaves and sprouts.

Which is fine, really. See, she’s had a long-time crush on my husband, so in the past three murder mystery dinners she’s thrown she’s cast herself as the victim and me as the villain. And, frankly, if she tries passing off wilted romaine and mealy tomatoes as dinner again, there might not be much of a “mystery” to solve.

My son has been making the most of having Daddy home for the President’s Day holiday. Starting this morning, and continuing even as I type this, my son has almost exclusively pestered his father instead of me for a change.

It’s been quite nice. Until a day goes by when I’m not the parent in charge, I never really realize how much time I spend fixing my son’s meals, nagging at him to finish his meals, cleaning up after my son’s meals, nagging at him to pick up his toys, cleaning up his toys, then preparing to fix his next meal. I almost didn’t know what to do with those extra 6 hours in my day!

Fortunately, I put a couple of them to good use. I watched a movie, did a little laundry, caught up on email and blogged at all five of my blogs. Then I exercised, too! I pedaled 5 miles on the exer-cycle then spent about 20 minutes doing some yoga. Lovely, that — the deep relaxation section on one of my favorite yoga DVDs always leaves my body feeling like melted butter.

So, with that on my mind, is it any surprise that after I’d emerged from a nnice hot bubble bath and stood shivering in my bathroom, smoothing lotion all over my goosebumpy skin, I suddenly got a craving for turkey?

Although I said I wasn’t going to make a New Year’s Resolution to lose weight (preferring, instead, to simply resolve that I won’t gain any, either), I’ve nevertheless found myself on a diet.

I blame this on the recent discovery that my bathroom mirror is in no way related to my car’s rear view mirror and, thus, objects seen in it really are larger than they appear. Or at least that’s what my jean size seems to be saying.

Still, I refuse to come straight out and say that I’m on a diet. In my house, that announcement prompts loud groans since it’s often followed by a week of bland, tasteless broiled chicken, brown rice and steamed broccoli for dinner then glares and outrage whenever my husband or kids — who cannot stand brown rice or steamed broccoli — find me standing at the fridge eating ice cream straight from the container. I am, instead, simply watching what I eat.

And that makes me grumpy.

Very grumpy.

It’s not simply because I, too, hate brown rice and broccoli. It’s because my husband has no idea whatsoever about how to live with a woman who is, for all practical purposes, on a diet. So I’ve decided to share some tips which I’ll be emailing the man together with a warning that failing to follow them just might result in the loss of life or limb.

1. Do not ask how my diet is going. When I hear that question my brain interprets it as, “It doesn’t look like you’re losing weight. Are you SURE you’re on a diet?” That triggers the cycle of impatience and frustration which leads to those 2 a.m. refrigerator raids.

2. Do not tell me that you’re proud of me for being good on my diet. Yes, I know you think you’re being encouraging and I appreciate the sentiment. But such praise only makes me terrified of letting you down if I slip up and have a bite of chocolate. That kind of guilt is only assuaged by having yet more chocolate, and next thing I know I feel like I’ve disappointed both of us.

3. Do not roll your eyes when I serve ‘diet food’ at dinner. Of course baked fish and a tossed salad with low-fat dressing doesn’t taste nearly as good as a ribeye with a loaded baked potato. Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I’d rather be having steak, too? If you know some other way to achieve weight loss besides dieting, please market it so we can get rich. Until then you, at least, have the luxury of knowing that you can always order a burger tomorrow on your lunch break. So shut up about tonight’s dinner already, ok?

4. Do not snack in front of me. I mean it! I’m fat because I have a hard time saying ”No” to food. You wouldn’t swill from a bottle of beer while visiting someone in alcohol rehab. Don’t eat in front of me. Dieting means having to say no all the time. Not just to second helpings at dinner. Not just to dessert. I have to say “No” every time I pass the cupboard or refrigerator or the snack aisle in the convenience store. Don’t you dare make it more difficult by sitting arm’s length away nibbling on potato chips because I might just start looking for something heavy or sharp that is also arm’s length away.

5. Don’t tell me I deserve dessert as a reward, either. I am not a puppy. I do not need treats. If I do decide to have a treat then I will be the one to choose when I deserve it. The only thing you’re trying to accomplish is getting my permission to eat your hot fudge sundae in front of me. I suggest re-reading that last section if you value the solidity of your skull.

6. Don’t call me cute names thinking you’re being supportive. Coming home and saying “Hi, Skinny!” only makes me wonder if you stopped for Happy Hour after work. I know I’m not skinny. You know I’m not skinny. I know you know I’m not skinny. I also know — as you should, too — that it’s going to take a lot of carrot sticks, sweat and time before I’m skinny again if that ever happens.

7. Don’t ask how my work out was. First, you’re assuming that I did work out at all. If I didn’t, you only made me feel guilty and, once again, that’s best assuaged by chocolate. Second, my brain translates that question the same way as any inquiry into how my diet’s going. All I hear is “When are you going to start looking thinner???”

8. Don’t fix me snacks that you think are healthy. You can’t win on this one. That turkey burger you made me stopped being healthy the instant you threw it in a pan full of oil, long before you slapped mayo on the bun made from processed white flour and topped it with a slice of cheese. I appreciate the thought — and not having to cook for a change — but, really, since you’ve never had to diet let’s just agree that you don’t know the first thing about how to cook something diet-friendly.

9. Don’t walk in on me while I’m working out. If I liked to exercise I’d be thin already. I hate it. I also know that, because I’m not thin, I don’t look nearly as good as those spandex-clad girls on my workout tapes. Don’t walk in while I’m trying to tune out the misery by concentrating on how much I hate those women. All you’ll do is make me self-conscious of how much more of my body jiggles than theirs.

10. Don’t tell me that sex burns calories. Believe me, even with the most frantic activity, two minutes won’t burn off the calories in that cup of broccoli I had for dinner. Oh, and by the way, if you happened to have broken Rule Number 9, you don’t even need to get your hopes up that I’ll be in the mood for a little in-the-sack workout anyway.

Around this time every year, websites and MSM begin posting their “Top 10 Stories” recounting some of their favorites over the year. I figure I might as well jump in on the action, too. (Hmmm… does that count as exercise?) So here, without further ado, is the Year In Fat: the Top 10 reasons we’re fat, according to various “news” stories that came out in 2007.

10. Friends make you fat, even if they live hundreds of miles away.

9. Marriage does, too.

8. So does diet soda, even if it doesn’t have any calories.

7. That prescription your doctor gave you? With certain prescriptions, it might be that your medicine makes you fat.

6. Credit cards make you fat, according to one financial site.

5. Sleeping too little or too poorly, makes you fat, too.

4. Video games make you fat, but who cares when we can all have skinny avatars?

3. Or maybe it’s something you caught, now that research claims a virus makes you fat?

2. You could always blame it on your parents, but that’s so…. 2006. Why not blame it on your skeleton, since your bones can make you fat?

But before you start thinking that every diet-related news story has shifted the blame to something other than what you eat, take a look at the Number One story from 2007 that explains why you and I are fat:

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For future reference, and the benefit of those to come, when switching from a standard, unhealthy diet to one that’s chock full o’ fruit and veg goodness, I’d advise doing it slowly.

According to my scale, I’ve lost 3 pounds this week. But according to the waistband of my pants, I’m due to give birth any moment.

I have a feeling the “whoosh” that’s coming up isn’t quite the same thing that the Atkins dieting crowd talks about.