Tuesday, June 21, 2011

A Day in the Life

179.8 lbs. Let’s see, South Beach, Atkins, Cabbage Soup, Beverly Hills Fruit Bat…nope. Can’t find the rules for the Tasmanian Devil Plateau Buster Diet. How am I supposed to know how much dynamite to swallow?

Saw some interesting clothing at the gym today, both on men. One was a guy in solid blue from head to foot, all the same shade. Either he’s a huge Dodgers fan or really, really anxious for the new Smurf movie (may it crash and burn. Those little blue bastards give me the creeps. Smurf them). The other guy was wearing a San Francisco Giants cap, but the cap was made in Dodger colors. Obviously, camouflage. Hey, it could save his life. It works for chameleons.

Despite the current plateau, I felt bold enough to wear a sun dress out in public today. Granted, I’m not happy about the bra straps on display (they’re nude, but I’m the whitest woman in captivity, so pretty much anything shows). Nobody stopped me. As far as I know, there was no snickering behind my back. The cops didn’t stop me (maybe my time spent the other day served a purpose. We shall see). I was rewarded for going out on this particular limb by not encountering any resistance to me wearing what I want. And yes, when somebody mocks your clothing choices, they are resisting your choices. Even me when I talk about women wearing big furry white boots over skintight leggings (or dainty, lacy tops over big, leather boots. I still don’t get that one). Be that as it may, I feel it is our fashion duty to resist all Ed Hardy clothing. Initially, it was intriguing to see tattoo designs incorporated into fashion, but it was over-licensed and as quickly over-exposed  and old hat as “The Macarena,” Smurfs and the cast of “Jersey Shore.”

For the record, some of the gentler Beatles tunes and especially "Here Comes the Sun" work nicely as yoga background.

And no, I’m not wearing any shaping garments except for the afore-mentioned bra. It’s supposed to be in the high 90s over the next few days and that is just begging for a truly hellacious rash. Granted, it could be argued that a girdle could lead to weight loss under such circumstances, but I wouldn’t do except on a $1,000 bet. Go ahead, bet me: I could use the dough.

The Greek chorus in my head (which is also the one that I’ve recently stopped from telling me I need to put on lipstick and mascara before leaving the house. It’s a feminine chorus.) is scandalized at my audacity. How dare I walk around with being reined in (BTW: I keep seeing that term misspelled by professional writers on websites such as CNN, MSNBC and the LA Times. The LA Times is particularly bad with such matters, as well as factual errors by their bloggers). How dare I expose my arms? Ugh, the world will end.

Well, my wearing a sun dress ended the world about as effectively as the Rapture prediction for May 21. Of course, that guy has amended his timetable to October 21 (the Mayans are suing because that screws up THEIR end of the world prediction. This is like all the state primaries piling onto February and March to steal a march (bad pun) on New Hampshire, which has a law that states its primary shall be first in the nation. These friggin’ people give me a headache, but I digress). Maybe my wearing the sun dress precipitates it. I’ve got the power (which reminds me of some more songs to add to the “Workout Tuneage” playlist).

It was Yoga Day and (per the orders of Torquemada. I’m not afraid of much, but the Pushy Peanut is high on the list) I also put in some quality cardio time. I found one of the newer yoga regulars on the treadmill next to me and as we were discussing how much we love Lila and her class, the guy on the other side of me started quizzing us about the class. Seems he’s wanted to give it a try, but was intimidated by the notion of practicing among advanced students (like me. Right. Some of those poses, I make a yak on ice skates look graceful). WE assured him that Lila was the way to go and in fact, the classmate had joined because he’d been urged and pushed to do so by one of the other guys in the class because, well, it’s mostly women and testosterone evaporates in the presence of overwhelming estrogen. There’s scientific evidence. (On the flip side, I’ve done stand-up comedy…surprised?...in lineups so testosterone heavy that I was able to call up meaningless sports statistics during the night. We’ll see if the new guy shows up.
Oh, yeah: I managed to actually JOG for over 5 minutes. This is progress.

I’m still having issues with the balance poses IF I keep my feet together as I’m supposed to do. If I widen the stance, I do better, but the one-legged stuff still needs work. Never mind the forest: if this Tree falls over in yoga class, it makes a noise. In fact, it makes a lot of noise that sounds like George Carlin’s “Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television.” (Interesting fact: in the law text book that covered the Supreme Court case included those seven words in a footnote. It would have been cheaper just to buy his album).

One of the other regulars, a nice lady with shoulder issues (we both have to modify quite a bit) and I got into a bit of trouble at the beginning of the class when we were working core muscles (the new buzz term for abdominals, lower back and butt) in the Boat pose (balance on your butt with your legs in the air and reach up with your arms) and both of our Boats kept capsizing. This wouldn’t have been a problem except that we’d catch each other’s eye and giggle.  At the end of class, she told me I had very beautiful legs. That was nice. (By the way, Guys? Women can tell each other we look good or we admire various body parts or clothing without thinking it makes us sexually attracted to the complimentee).

On top of these good little bits that happened today, I’ve also got a new job (Yea! And that’s the correct spelling by the way) that will allow me to continue my intense physical training schedule. That and the fact that the gym is open 24/7 (it’s part of the name).

I need to look into whether it is possible to tighten skin after a substantial loss without the help of a plastic surgeon (which I may need anyway due to the nascent turkey wattle (aka a Reagan) under my chin. I’ll find out who took care of Ann Coulter’s). I’ve been watching “Extreme Makeover: Weight Loss Edition” and those folks are undergoing the program with an eye towards earning skin removal surgery. Of course, they’re starting out from weights like 651 lbs. and 500 lbs., so the skin’s been stretched pretty far. Now that I type it, it seems a little squicky that people would compete for such a thing, but the guy who was featured last night said that he’d like to inspire people who watch the show. I give him credit for dropping 300 + lbs. in 12 months. He literally worked his ass off despite  a very prominent abdominal hernia on display on top of a week in the hospital to deal with pneumonia. He wanted the  new body enough to just keep pushing.

And so do I.

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