Sunday, August 28, 2011

Still no surrender

179.8 lbs. HUZZAH!!! BELOW THE 180 MARK AGAIN!!!

And there was much rejoicing.

Okay, still not where I wanted to be by this point, but definitely better than where I was. I’m done with work for the day, I got to the gym early  and it’s the other end of laundry day (there is something magical and soul restoring about clean, fresh clothing, especially if you like the smell of your fabric softener). And the Red Sox are leading Texas for the moment. I emphasize the “for the moment” nature of this because these ARE my Sox and I know, from 40 plus years of following them, anything can happen, be it good or bad.

I had a breakthrough of sorts in yoga class yesterday. Still have a LOT of difficulty with the standing positions (but that’s okay since Dr. Best doesn’t want me doing them), but I achieved a goal: In Downward Dog, I GOT MY HEELS FLAT ON THE MAT!!! I’ve been working towards that goal since I started the class, working towards stretching the muscles little by little. I still have to have my knee on the mat for Crescent (and I have the chiropractor’s encouragement to do just that) and like I said, the standing poses are not my friends (balance on one foot. The right side is noticeably weaker than the left, which is odd because I’m right hand dominant, but that could be a function of the wonky knee and you’re probably so bored right now with this, you could shoot yourself). That’ll come.

Since I started writing this post on Wednesday, August 24th  the weight jacked back up to 183.2 this morning with a stop at 181. My doing: I’ve been indulging in mindless eating yesterday and today by violating Susan’s Rule Number 1 to Avoid Eating the Wrong Thing: DON’T BUY IT AT THE STORE, DON’T HAVE IT IN THE HOUSE.  In this case, it was a Trader Joe’s trail mix called Peanut Butter Trax. Fruit, nuts and tiny little peanut butter cups (Danger, danger Will Robinson). ¼ cup is 130 calories BUT I didn’t stop at ¼ cup.  And today, I had lunch at Chipotle. I haven’t been to a restaurant of any kind in ages and I’m a fan of Chipotle’s. It wasn’t mindless, though: I made the decision to have a barbacoa bowl (with a little bit of rice, although it should be noted that starch is not my friend) and a beer. I haven’t had beer since December. And now, that’s done and out of my system.

I have also been back to the chiropractor and he treated that right knee with ultrasound (no fetuses found in the kneecap) and that sucker ACHED for a day and a half. I was warned off of any lower body  work by Dr. Best and the nasty-feeling knee reinforced it. So, no weight training Friday or yesterday (even though I was cleared for upper body). The Fucktard had no competition from me for the weight machines (Actually, I haven’t seen him around. Maybe he did finally verbally abuse the wrong person and got his ass tossed).

Although I dearly love this guy (in a cooperative and grateful within the boundaries patient sort of way), he used the “A” word on me with respect to my uncooperative upper back: arthritis. No. I refuse.

Look, nobody is going to condemn me any harder for backsliding than I will myself. I refuse to shrug it off as “Oh, well, you need a cheat day every now and then” and that is because I am a huge believer in the slippery slope. Thomas Jefferson said that “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty” and the notion of staying on your toes applies to health improvement/weight loss. I’ve been down this road and I know that a little slack gets bigger and bigger and bigger until the whole project is undone and I have to go beg back all the fat clothes I’ve given away. Not this time.

I’m finding inspiration in odd places. With the see-sawing back and forth, I’m seeing a parallel to the uprising in Libya. My fat is the oppressive tyrant that’s been in control for decades (I’ll go 20 years to Gadhafi’s 42) and the muscles are the rebels taking control of one area after another, getting pushed back time after time, but ultimately, storming Tripoli and cornering the tyrant in its compound (that would be The Great Whit Belly). I’m getting closer to completing a push-up, so progress is still being made, even if the scale says something different. Unfortunately, the muscle/rebels of my body have not yet been recognized as a legitimate government (and part of my brain is saying that the guys raising hell in Libya are going to be as bad as what they’re replacing), that is coming.

So long as NATO doesn’t call in airstrikes on me…

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