Going, Going, Gone

185 lbs. Plateau broken! Woo and Hoo! You can’t see it, but I’m dancing like Snoopy. Elation may help you lose weight.

.4 lbs. stand between being down 40 lbs. and me. Those four tenths of a pound should watch their ass; it’s in my sights.

Douchebags in the steam room (what else is new): Right under the sign that says, “Don’t pour water on the thermostat,” he was pouring water on the thermostat. Doesn’t give a shit if it’s shut down for days because of his actions. The other douchebags left their towels lying behind. I called out to one “Hey, you forgot your towel” and got “That’s okay.” I don’t understand how grown adults, not in their own homes, feel no sense of responsibility for cleaning up after themselves. I can understand and forgive a forgotten water bottle or towel, but sticking your gum to the underside of a piece of workout gear (not yours) is unsanitary and childish. Leaving weights in a heap away from the racks is inexcusable.

I get a chuckle out of the competition for parking spaces in front of the doors. This includes seemingly healthy and sound bodies (body builders, even) emerging from cars with handicapped parking hang tags. Just can’t take those extra steps ore else it’s too much exercise.

I ran out of the Air Detox that I had been using on my sneakers. I had shifted to the Whole Foods answer to Febreze. The problem is that the more natural stuff is vetiver scented (look it up). Effective, yes, but my feet smelled like incense, which doesn’t quite jive with a gung ho effort to move and be active. I’m going with the real deal. This may not be earth shattering, but stinky sneakers are no joke. I could have won the annual Rotten Sneaker contest put on by Odor Eaters.

I’m still jazzed from yesterday’s encounter with the smaller jeans and with the plateau break this morning, I’m, well, I’m dancing like Snoopy (The Christmas special). Normally, when I embark on a big project or journey (like moving across country), I know I’m on the right track if I ask myself “What the hell am I doing?” I’ll make an exception for the weight loss project and the blog. For once, I’m finding the validation within myself. I can look in the mirror and see that I’m doing a good job. I’m hesitant to say I’m proud of myself or I love myself, although that’s essentially self-esteem. There’s a fine line between having a healthy self-image or self-confidence and being a narcissist or egomaniac. The former is essential to taking proper care of oneself and functioning effectively in the world. The latter is usually a cover for low self-esteem. There’s also a fine line between being excited over an accomplishment and sharing that excitement and talking about yourself exclusively.

An interesting development from Pilates class today. If you’re squeamish, this is your exit. Now, in Yoga class, there is a move to stretch the spine: you’re on your back, you spread your arms out . Now bend one knee and lower it across your other leg ( It’s still stretched out and keep your shoulders on the mat) so that you’re twisted in the midriff. When I used to do this move with Denise Austin, my cats would jump off the couch to roll and stretch on the floor with me. Lila the yoga instructor tells us that this move massages the internal organs.

Apparently, the Pilates 100 move will do the same thing. Okay, a Pilates 100 is where you’re on your back, legs in the air (knees bent in Level 1, legs straight up in the air in Level 2 and legs held at an angle in Level 3) and while you’re lying in this pose, you beat (gently) your arms up and down at your sides, inhaling on a five count and exhaling on a five count. You do this twenty times, hence the name of the exercise. Oh yes, and your “core must be engaged” meaning you’re sucking in your gut. Abdominal muscles that have been on an extended vacation hate Pilates. I have proof.

Today, while performing Pilates 100 (and the other two exercises that accompany it), in addition to “feeling the burn,” I also felt my stomach growling and gurgling like I hadn’t eaten in three days and just got a whiff of good barbecue. I was getting nauseated (Not nauseous. If you’re nauseous, you make other people sick. Look it up) and it cut into the effectiveness of my workout. (Here’s the gross part) When I got home, I couldn’t get to the bathroom fast enough and I think anything that had been hanging out in my colon for the past 5 years made like Elvis and left the building. Right now, I feel as cleaned out as Filene’s Basement after a bridal gown sale.

I still can’t execute a damned Pilates roll-up, though.