Monday, April 18, 2011
Grow a set
199.2 lbs. This officially blows.
I may be a spoiled American, but when I work hard at something, I expect a GD payoff, you know? Right now, I’m sitting here in that kind of spacey, woofy, state you feel after a workout. 1 hour on the treadmill, 3 MPH, 1% incline. 300 + calories burned. I’d better see a drop in the scale tomorrow or Somebody (I’m not naming names, but He wants us in His house every Sabbath) will be listening to me bitch for all eternity. I am sick to death of this over-under-on 200 lbs. shit. Seriously. Cut way the hell back on fat; no difference (and you do need certain types of dietary fat. It’s just avocado v. bacon. Olive oil v. butter). I go over on sodium (My Net Diary tracks intake and recommends amounts) and I’m up 2.4 lbs. over 2 days. Not on the rag: that was a fluke and it’s over. I’ve been drinking enough water to float an aircraft carrier, down 1 lb. and hold. Do a half-hour on the elliptical then a half-hour on a treadmill again drinking so much water you can hear me slosh as I walk and NOT A GOD DAMNED BIT OF DIFFERENCE. “Oh, well those temporary spikes are just because your body hasn’t used up the food you’ve taken in.” Well, I’ve given it damned good reasons to start burning hard, fast and bright.
Meditate and give thanks for the progress I’ve made. Visualize myself as I want to be.
Go back to work with a personal trainer. In fact, I had a conversation with the gym today about that very subject. Last time I did, I enjoyed it AND I learned good enough weight training form that I was getting compliments from gym rats. Gay gym rats. Gay Latino gym rats.
Stay the course. Not gonna change now, wouldn’t be prudent. Besides, I suspect that if I did start consuming sugar and gluten again, I’d feel sick.
Be hitting the HCG again starting June 5 (I’m planning my birthday party for the 4th. Mark your calendars. Details later). Party Day is part of the 2 day load, the 500 calories per day begins on the 5th. Another 40 days, if necessary. It worked the last time, it’ll work better this time. I can do it on my head (and that’s because I’ve started the yoga classes).
I have not had anything fried in months. I have weighed and noted everything that goes into my mouth (which gets tedious) and over the past couple of days, the calorie count is staying at or near 1000. Anybody who wants to argue with “Oh, but you need to be eating at least blah blah blah,” I DID THAT AND IT DIDN’T WORK. I’m not eating later than 7 PM. Breakfast is fiber a go-go.
If you’re familiar with “Fiddler On the Roof” or at least know the lyrics to “If I Were a Rich Man” by heart, you know that the last line of that song goes, “Lord who made the lion and the lamb, You decreed I should be what I am, but would it spoil some vast eternal plan if I were a wealthy man?” The sentiment applies and in addition to a leaner body, I want $2 billion and ownership of the Red Sox. John Henry is wasting too much money on other pursuits. (And don’t get me started on the guy sitting stone-faced during Game 4 of the 2007 Series when the Sox were inches away from winning). However, I digress.
I do not buy this “Your body has a set point in weight where it wants to be and it’ll keep going back to that point.” That is bullshit, victim-think cop out. It is nothing but a justification for breaking discipline and wallowing. Here’s the thing: you want to be a victim? Knock yourself out but know this: victims have no power because they have given it away. Blame it on set points, genetics, your horoscope or the incessant advertising. But if you go that route and shift the blame, you then yield your bitching rights.
On the other hand, if you’re working hard at it and hitting these bumps, then bitch away. You’ve earned the right.