Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Who Could Ask for Anything More?

186.6 lbs. Third day. Look, I’ve been stuck in place for years by inaction on my part. Okay, I am actioning (see how dumb business-speak is?) and I want fluid, dynamic movement, dammit.

For the record, I think “Magnum” ice cream should change its name. A premium ice cream treat having the same name as large condoms has truly ugly mix ups written all over it

Today was weight training day at the gym and due to my focus point generally being on the floor (or a bolt or a nut 6 inches above same), I get to see a lot of sneakers. Lately, there have been more of the ones that look like actual feet (Fila calls theirs “Skele-Toes” and Vibram’s are called Five Fingered, which is a stupid name unless you plan to hand-walk the Boston Marathon), but on the more conventional footwear front, I have been seeing striking purples, reds  and yellows and sparkly shoelaces. And those are the guys! Today I was staring at a pair of Nike Something Or Others that have the big clear bubbles in the soles. That seems like wasted space. Why should 6 year olds be the only ones eligible for light up shoes? I think it would make a workout much more interesting (especially if you’re in a Zumba or dance class). Or Nike could put small rubber ducks or plastic goldfish in those bubbles.  We are always being told to “get in touch with our inner child” and I think light up sneakers make for a good start. Of course, the Eagles said they’d “like to find your inner child and kick its little ass.” (“Get Over It”, Hell Freezes Over, 1994) Given that statement, I don’t think Don Henley would want a pair.

Today is my 50th birthday and I must say, having seen a picture from my 40th birthday, I’m in considerably better shape now than I was 10 years ago. (At that point, I think “denial” might have described my condition. Hmm. The dyslexic version of Denial is Denali. Do you think maybe whoever named the mountain thought he/she was in Egypt? Just a thought. The blood flow to working muscles deprives the brain of oxygen and weird thoughts seem to fill the void).

Once again, the Rotating Staircases of Death were not only full, but had a waiting line you usually see for “Pirates of the Caribbean” at Disney (Land, World. Doesn’t matter. And since they’ve added Johnny Depp, it’s mostly filled with giggling, middle-aged broads like me. I’m afraid, one of these days, decorum will not rule the day and the animatronic Jack Sparrow will be draped in flung brassieres. I made do with an hour on the elliptical. One hour of a “vigorous” workout burns over 700 calories. It’s also easier on my knees than the treadmill.

In fiddling with My Net Diary (available through the Android Market, presumably IPhone and , I discovered that I made an error: the dividing line between overweight BMI and normal BMI is not 140 lbs. as previously believed. It is actually 159.6 lbs.  I started this blog at 199.2 lbs. and named it accordingly, believing I had 50 lbs. to the border (no passport required). “39.9 lbs. to Normal” makes for a less compelling, more geeky and nit-picking title so we’ll keep things as is, although there is a motivational boost in knowing that I have only 27 lbs. to make normal BMI (It makes me smile just to type that) v. 46.6 lbs. to normal. Now that I look at the numbers, my math was completely off since it was more like 60 lbs.  Tough. I’m still not changing the blog’s name.

I would like to announce that I have nearly eradicated the plagues known as “back boobs” and “saddlebags” (I never really had a problem with outer thigh fat, but the past few years, it’s been threatening). The back boobs, though, have been an issue. Overflow from The Great White Belly. My weight training has included all major muscle groups three times per week (Instead of breaking it into upper body and lower body).  My hamstrings actually look somewhat athletic. Whoa.  The arm flaps aren’t as flappy. This is good, this is motivating.

My playlist titled “Workout Tuneage” (I know: it’s frat boy tool language, but I did it. I feel shame) contains 154 songs, over 10 hours of music. Yet, even on shuffle, it keeps pulling up “I Will Survive.” I suspect my Zune (aka Zune Resurrection. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask) may be monitoring my heart rate as I get to the end of a set or getting off the elliptical. I think it has a Van Halen fixation as well, but it’ll mix it up between David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar (I am firmly in the Diamond Dave camp, but “Humans Being” is audio caffeine. That is also the name of another playlist and the trademark is pending). Shuffle brings up the Grateful Dead all the time, too, especially “Truckin’.” I also hear Bob Marley and Matisyahu a lot (Yes, those guys AND Tom Jones AND Public Enemy AND the Stones, Beatles and Zombies. What’s your point?). I’m wondering if Zune Resurrection was constructed by a Chinese Rastafarian.

I highly recommend adding “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” by Tomoyasu Hotei.  “Kill Bill. Vol. 1,” just add a plane flying into Narita, samurai sword and a yellow motorcycle outfit. It’ll get you pumped. Trust me.

You have probably never heard of “The A La Menthe” by a French group called “La Caution.” You don’t know the title, but if you saw “Ocean’s Twelve” and the best part of the movie was Vincent Cassel dancing through the lasers (that was a great sequence), then you know the music. One of the few times accordians are actually cool, but these guys ruin it with some superfluous (and truly annoying) synthesizer. I maintain that the only nations that “get” rock are the US, Britain (all of it, including Ireland and Scotland) and Australia. Canada? Not until they disown Rush.

 I have Queen, but I will not add “Bohemian Rhapsody” to the mix. It starts off too slow, takes too long and when the temp actually does pick up, I want head bang like Wayne and Garth. Suitable for the car, not so much for the Rotating Staircase of Death. Focus, focus, focus.

Not only do these songs set a snappy rhythm for the body to follow, they serve as an adequate distraction from sweat dripping down the back of my neck, lactic acid build up in the gluteus maximus (talk about hot cross buns) and the idiots surrounding me yapping away on their cell phones. Look, if your job required that much attention and availability, you’d be working out at 5 AM (which I have done. Not my thing) and actually at your desk or in meetings at 11 AM. I’m not impressed; I have a snazzier phone than yours. I digress.

I just heard a great line on “Mike & Molly”: Mother and overweight daughter discussing mother’s dream that daughter would have grown up to be a ballerina. I forget Molly’s rejection (something to do with being 140 lbs. in the 7th grade, I think) but I love her mom’s response: “Swans come in all sizes.”

Right now, I’m an XL swan.

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