Sunday, May 1, 2011

Rotten to the Core

198.2 lbs. I am tired of this bullshit. 2 lbs. on overnight is water weight. 2 lbs. up overnight and it plateaus for 4 days DESPITE days with yoga and cardio, weight training and cardio and Pilates and cardio is an indicator that something isn’t working right. If the scale doesn’t go down tomorrow morning, we’re going back to doing the eating my way. Fuck oatmeal.

To the heavily tattooed chick in the locker room complaining about the difficulty of getting together money for dental work: Not to judge, Sweetheart, but if you’d maybe skipped a couple of those big pieces, masterworks though they are, you might could afford the dentists, some health insurance and the doctor bills that are going to come with your looming hepatitis. And, 20 years down the road, you wouldn’t be covered in unrecognizable runny ink. Just an idea, you know. Maybe a shift in priorities is in order. Part of being a grown-up and all that.

 I had (as requested by Torquemada) done 30 minutes of interval training on a treadmill that slowly bucked. Grade up to 18.5% then down to 3% and a few stops in between.  I was supposed to be dripping in sweat. I complied. And then headed into a class.  Hey, I have a request from the trainer.

Today was the first time I’ve ever taken a Pilates class (outside of a DVD and Amy’s yoga with a layer of Pilates).  It’s quiet and subtle.  You work your muscles deeply. It’s about balance and strengthening your core. The instructor asked us to grab some light weights to use. In hind sight, she should have asked us for a safety word.

There is no “Child’s Pose” in Pilates where one can park and silently whimper. Just a nice, sweet-faced lady at the front of the room telling you go from flat on your back up and over all the way to touch the toes of your outstretched legs. This is a Pilates Roll-Up. I couldn’t even do one of those bastards modified. We are talking serious shame. One woman gave me a “you don’t belong in this class” look. I’ve got news for you, Sister! Yoga and Pilates have given you a great body: too bad it ends at the neck, BUTTERFACE.

But I hung in there. I’m mopping the floor like it’s the 1986 NBA playoffs in the Boston Garden (then, it was condensation from the ice below. Now, it’s sweat. Mine. I should have collected a jar of it for Torquemada as proof), but I do as much as I can of the exercises. It is not much, but I’m working it.

I thought my abs and glutes hated me after the Friday training session. We are talking torched tushie here. Burning buns. 

I am good at focusing during exercise until we get to the point where the blood flow to my brain is diminished. When Paula (the instructor) told us to flex our feet and pound pizza dough towards the ceiling: “Little kicks, little kicks,” my mind went to “Seinfeld” and Elaine Benis’s dancing. Paula said something about little donkey kicks. I have been kicked by a horse (okay, so it wasn’t a donkey, but it was an equine) and there was nothing little about it (Damned horse was out to get me. I was moving in on her head to grab her bridle and she spun around and got me with both back SHOD feet. This horse, previously called “Lass” became known as “Lasshole.”  I did it. True story). Same with these. If you are on all fours, then remove a “corner” and while keeping your leg in the air, knee bent and kicking upwards, it’s brutal. NB: Do not eat a burrito prior to Pilates class. Your classmates will thank you.

I keep checking the clock like I’m back in Algebra at Proctor High School (I got bad grades in Algebra). You know how time flies when you’re having fun? It drags when you’re wondering whether barfing is in your immediate future. (There is a special Vomit Corollary to the Theory of Relativity)

I will return to this class, mostly out of spite (Not directed at the instructor, you understand. The abs and glutes need to be taught a lesson. They’re very bad abs and glutes and time outs just don’t work. In fact, time outs just enable their bad behavior).

As noted, I’ve been stuck on an undesirable plateau since Thursday (and an even longer one prior to that, not quite so undesirable, but still). For the first time since I started using the, the progress line on my weight loss chart on My Net Diary is even with the projected progress line. I’ve been ahead of it all along, but this, this is not acceptable.  I have old friends in storage waiting for me and this nonsense delays the reunion. Friends like two pairs of 501 jeans  and Ann Taylor turtlenecks. A black velvet dress (strapless, sweetheart neckline, ballerina skirt) that went to see Luciano Pavarotti in concert. I want to see these again.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go shotgun a sweet potato. No eating after 7 PM.

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