181.4 lbs. No explosion. I think I know where I went off the rails. Damn you, sodium! Plenty of water down the hatch. Grumble. Grumble.
Two firsts yesterday (3 if you count the Mavs winning the NBA Championship. I want one of those “Cavs for Mavs” T shirts that they have in Cleveland). I tried kale and I walked out of Pilates class. We’ll take these occurences in chronological order.
After putting in my hour of cardio, I changed shoes, grabbed yoga mat and headed for Pilates class, anticipating the usual teacher. She wasn’t there. Instead, we got a substitute with JMPD (Jillian Michaels Personality Disorder). First things first; she headed for the cabinet to strap on the wireless mike (Red Flag) and started up some energetic music (Another red flag). Anus (not her real name) announced that she didn’t conduct traditional Pilates; she teaches something called “Piyo” (bright pink flag) and it was very popular in her home gym (Big whoop). We were told Piyo was very athletic, combining the most challenging elements of Pilates and Yoga (to quote Denis Leary “thus the fucking name.” He was talking about Dunkin Donuts, what so proudly I hail. Best iced coffee on the planet). We were going to sweat and be tired. Lady (and I use the term loosely), I already sweat and get tired in a standard Pilates class. I do not give a rat’s, Mickey’s, Minnie’s or Mighty Mouse’s ass if half the room had just finished up the Body Pump class. I regard these hybrids with the same lack of respect I have for designer dogs (Puggle? Chiweenie? IT’S A FRIGGIN’ MUTT!!!! ESPECIALLY IF IT HAS BEAGLE IN IT OR THE BLEND RESULTS IN A TRULY STUPID NAME!!!!! GO TO THE SHELTER!) and fusion cuisine (Deep fried sushi? Pass). Another regular started rolling her mat. She had just finished the Body Pump class (this is a very fit lady) and we both figured that this wasn’t our bag. This was right after Anus announced that she had subbed our class a couple of weeks before and gotten “very positive reviews” (Yeah, by the sweat junkies. I was out that day: jewelry making class). I reviewed with my feet. Now is not such a good time for me to raise bail because I had punched a PiYo instructor in the face. Of course, I might have been able to get a recommendation on a good one: there are a couple of guys with T shirts from bail bondsmen and probable prison tats. I’m thinking frequent fliers: 5 bonds, no skip, you earn the T shirt.
The other first was just about equal in the success department: kale. I had picked up a bag at Trader Joe’s, having heard good things about it and we all need to eat our dark leafy greens. The bag described the contents as a “wild cabbage” that was suitable for eating in salad or sautéing (instructions on bag). I pulled out a leaf and gave it a nibble. Tasted like cabbage. Okay, I can work with this. I dug out a pot, added a half tablespoon of olive oil and commenced to sautéing (with plenty of garlic. Garlic is our friend, especially when it comes to camouflage. However, some combinations have explosive potential and perhaps should be preceded by a good dose of Beano. Interesting fact: many cabbage dishes contain caraway seeds because caraway lessens the gas generated by cabbage). I dumped some chicken into a dish and awaited the kale’s complete wilting.
Perhaps I should have waited longer. To say the stems were tough is an understatement. It was like trying to bite a redwood. The flavor was changed by the cooking process and the tough, chewy texture was not an enhancement. I’m thinking next time, remove the leaves from the stems. It may work as part of a salad mix or be more palatable as just leaves. Warning: kale seems to have a lot of naturally occurring sodium. Proceed accordingly. I will be examining the recipes for Portuguese kale soup. Sounds like a viable alternative.
Today was weight training and an hour of cardio. The cardio would have been at least 45 minutes on the Rotating Staircase of Death except that my right kneecap said, “Oh, no you don’t, Bitch” while I was on the abductor (outer thigh) machine. My right kneecap does not care for pressure and while I was moving boxes on Saturday, I managed to give it a good, solid head-on whack against. This means stopping still, clenching jaws like a Great White Shark with a mouthful of Robert Shaw and willing myself not to cry. It passes, but this shit hurts. It hurts a lot and is very defensive for a few days afterwards. No stairs, no treadmills. Elliptical, it is (I’m psyching myself up for another shot at the spinning).
A curious thing happened yesterday and today: I got so wrapped up in my music and keeping up with it that I forgot to watch the timer on the machine. Net result was rather than carefully timed 6 minute extra effort burns, I was doing 20 minutes at an accelerated pace. Yeah: one-third of the total workout sustained at a more intense pace without breaks in between intervals.
I used to have a pair of inline skates. And I was afraid of them. Well, afraid of falling off of them (and this was before the doctor who told me I was “too old and too top-heavy” for inline skating). One Sunday, I took them down to the parking lot of a local business that I knew wasn’t open. At first, I was tentative and my skating was choppy and erratic. Then, as I was trying again, my mind started to wander to some pressing issues I needed to resolve. I was so focused on those problems that I wasn’t paying attention to my skating. When I came back to reality (so to speak), I was skating with smooth, strong strokes and maintaining my balance without a problem.
The same thing happened yesterday and today with the elliptical: I was so focused on something else and rather distracted that I didn’t notice I was working harder than usual and maintaining the harder pace. John Mayer’s cover of “Route 66” (from the “Cars” soundtrack. What’s your point?) and Van Halen (Diamond Dave) had me going and going hard. Torquemada saw me and gave me a thumbs up (she loves to see me suffering).
I’ve got your PiYo right here.
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