Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Amazingly Enough, My Scale is Still In One Piece

187.2 lbs. God, it is rumored that You have created Man in Your own image. Is this Your way of telling me You have a fat ass? Or are You jealous of me getting into those 501 jeans? Huh?

As a “fuck you” gesture to the 2.2 lbs. of water weight stowing away on my body, I just ate a Chocolate Almond Horn. This still has me with a 1602 calorie loss for the day, so no apologies.

Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine. Insert annoyed sigh. Torquemada just shrugged and said, "That's the name of the game." Oh, really? You mean, if I do this the way everyone says I should, it's reasonable for it NOT to work? Is that what you're saying? Fuck that noise.

Yoganesia (yo-GUH-neezha): (noun) The syndrome in which the yoga instructor completes a series of poses for one side of the body and completely forgets the other side of the body.

Despite yesterday’s post about being angry at the 2.2 lbs. (which I still am because the little fuckers haven’t left), I am not hormonal. It is not “that time of the month,” nor am I 1)with child, 2) freshly dumped or 3) recently insulted by a cheerleader. Sometimes, a chocolate almond horn is just a chocolate almond horn.

The only thing mitigating my anger at the moment is the Red Sox are winning. Against the Yankees (aka The Forces of Darkness).  However, as the great Yogi Berra (the only NY Yankee I ever liked. We are not discussing members of the local Tee Ball team here) said, “It ain’t over til it’s over.”

1400 calorie burn yesterday was not enough to budge things downward. Fine. Plan B is another big burn tomorrow (I would have done an hour of elliptical today, but I took too long to get to the gym before yoga class) BUT tomorrow’s food is going to be mostly protein. We’ll see if replacing more meals with the protein shake makes a difference.

It would be nice to wake up to a lower number on the scale tomorrow. Yes, I feel entitled. I’ve put the work in on it. And while we’re at it, a winning Mega Millions ticket and George Clooney’s phone number would also be nice. As Yul Brynner said (seemingly every 10 minutes in “The Ten Commandments”), “So let it be written, so let it be done.”

In a shocking development today, just before the start of yoga, I was describing Pilates class to a well-built young gentleman (yoga regular and damned good at it, too) and especially the dreaded Pilates roll up which, as of Sunday, was still beyond my abilities, I don’t care how you modify the fucking thing. He didn’t know what I was talking about so I demonstrated it for him…

And completed the Pilates roll up. How the hell did that happen? I tried it couple of more times and did it pretty easily. I began to hear the “Twilight Zone” theme.

I held a Tree Pose for more than a nanosecond today. On each side. It was an out of body experience because CLEARLY this was not my body doing these things. You know, when the aliens abduct you and do their experiments, you never remember it. Somebody swapped my body with that of a much fitter person. Who is probably pissed off. My body is probably running from Marvin the Martian right now, holding the Illudium Q 37 Exploding Space Modulator  (Bugs Bunny stole the Q 36 version. Steven Jobs is hinting that the IQ 38 may be introduced in time for Black Monday Christmas shopping. Or it may be delayed, something to do with an unstable supply of instant Martians).

Have I reached critical mass, though? Has the Great White Belly shrunk enough to permit (duhn duhn duhn) PAINTING MY OWN TOENAILS????? Between the yoga and the shrinking belly, could be. God knows, I think I’ve learned the Vietnamese for “Okay, I think I have the winner in today’s biggest feet pool!” (Size 9.5 or 10, depending on the shoe) and “Have you ever seen such weird toes?” (I have Roman toes, meaning the second toe is longer than the big toe. Marilyn Monroe had Roman toes. We also share June 1 as our birthday) or “I bet she can pick up a dime with these toes!” (No, I can’t. But I did win a contest with my younger sister one time by picking up car keys, an emery board, a quarter and a nickel. It was her idea)

I had that day last month where I dropped 5 lbs. overnight. That was a great day. I’d like to have another one. Every day or week is too much, but I don’t see a problem with once a month. Well, how about that; it’s a new month!  What are the odds?

Despite the most recent setback, I’m feeling good enough that I would hit on Hugh Jackman. I have a short list of men from whose wives I would fully accept an ass-kicking in exchange for knowing their men in the Biblical sense. Mrs. Jackman is Number One on the list, mostly because there is no Mrs. George Clooney. I would accept a gang beatdown by the wives and girlfriends of the men from “300” (chick flick) provided the men were whipped back into cape and loincloth shape.

But I digress. Pardon me while I wipe some drool from the corner of my mouth.

This gain plus plateau is getting busted, one way or another, and getting busted to my liking. I am getting my ass into those jeans, dammit.

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