The Part of the 179 lbs Woman Will Be Played by A 181 lb. Woman Today

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.

How Do You Like Me Now?

179.8 lbs.! It’s a whole new deal.

Thud! Crash! That’s more body armor falling off.

Oh yeah. Oh, yeah, Baby. We will call this past week the Week of Milestones.: Pilates roll-up completed, 40 pound loss marker passed, able to reach and paint my own toenails, Tree Pose held (okay, somewhat) , but wait, there’s more.

However, before we get to the big reveal…

I subscribe to Vogue. I will buy the Oscar edition of People magazine (This year, Natalie Portman’s earrings have given me an idea. Don’t know if I can execute it, but…). When I can get E! network, I will tune in to “Fashion Police.” Consequently, below  is an “artist’s” rendering of the Idea American Woman:

I have the right color hair (especially when I can get to the stylist), although long doesn’t mix with fine hair (it goes flat). I have the eye color. Come to think of it, this is Angelina Jolie from “salt.” (Never saw it).

I suspect that what we’re told is the ideal has been greatly influenced by Anna Wintour and Helen Gurley Brown, the editors in chief of Vogue and Cosmopolitan magazines respectively. These are very small women, natural size 2s. I hypothesize that what they approve for the images in their magazines are a strong reflection of what they see in the mirror (and what they saw as young women): not naturally curvy (notice I said “natural”), in need of high heels and the kind of hair that, in the 50s, would be a fantasy if let down from a bun for The Boss (Helen Gurley Brown is a product of the “Mad Men” climate).

 And if we don’t have this look, we are supposed to undergo whatever it takes to get there and put off feeling good about ourselves until we do (despite the terrible pain from the stilettos and collagen-lips) and the harassing phone calls from Visa because we not only overshot the credit limit, but we’ve not been able to make a dent in it what with the change of seasons and “in” makeup palettes (free gift with purchase). The last issue of Vogue ecstatically described a new “hot” nail treatment of applying python skin (shed from a living snake. They only give their lives for luggage) to nails for $125. It lasts a whole week.

Fuck that noise.

Let me show you whiy I’m feeling REALLY good today:

Yes, those are the infamous Levi’s 501s. And they FIT!!!! (a big snug and there’s overhang, but God dammit, THEY FUCKING FIT!!!) I have not fit into those jeans in this century, let alone this decade. Unfortunately, the placket (it’s either the piece of fabric that hold on the buttons or a tropical fish. I get confused: Home Ec. was a helluva long time ago) has a ripped seam, but that’s fixable. And the shirt? IT WAS TOO SMALL WHEN I BOUGHT IT!!! Not any more. It fits. So does  a historic long-sleeved tee shirt. Historic because it’s the tour short from the first Jimmy Buffett concert I ever attended in 1986. Okay, so it’s snug, but I can get into it.

Truth time: I had confused those jeans with a couple of pairs of Calvin Kleins. The Live’s are 34W and 32I, boot cut (not my favorite leg. I like the narrower bottoms). The Calvins and another pair of Levis were also retrieved from storage yesterday. The Calvins are 13 and 12 respectively and do not presently fit (I figure another 10 lbs., maybe 5 to close them. I’m not good at estimating these things). But I can get them up onto my hips. The other Levis are black 917s, size 14 and  maybe 5 lbs., I can close them.  Whatever.

The important point to me is that I WEIGHED LESS THAN 180 LBS. THIS MORNING! This is not a drill. This is for real and the next big mile marker is 174.6 lbs. That’s 50 lbs. since January 31, 2011. Oh, you bet your sweet bippy I want to hit that and pass it. Right now, I am 20.2 lbs. away from the normal BMI marker (159.6).

Back in January, when I had decided I was going to make this run, a younger friend asked me how old I was. I told her I would be 50 in June and her response was, “At that age, why bother?”

Because, Sweetie, I may be eligible for AARP, but I’m not dead. Because I want a stronger, healthier body (which was moving heavy boxes yesterday with relative ease). Because I don’t want to give ANYBODY the opportunity to call me a “Fat Bitch” or a “Fat Fucking Whore” ever again. Ecause I have such a sense of achievement right now. Not accomplishment, because I’m not goal weight (but I’m less than 30 lbs. from it – initially 140 lbs, but I told My Net Diary 125 lbs.). Because I want to be able to buy health insurance on my own (I’d rather be part of a group plan, but if I need to buy my own, I can, finances notwithstanding). Because there is no upper age limit on doing. Because I get better options for dressing myself.

Mostly, because I have felt for the past 20 years like life and potential relationship/ social interaction was a party to which I wasn’t invited. 

I just invited myself. Oh, Boys.... 

Hoo Wah!

181.4 lbs. YES!!! Monster burn comes through!! 40 lbs. down and then some!

And broccoli stick sucks, but I’ll have to find a way to work with it. Probably raw florets and hummus (healthier than ranch dressing).

NOT TO BE DONE DAILY:  Yesterday’s calorie intake was 1272 (no starches) and exercise output was 1619. And plenty of water.

I think I had trouble with plateaus and reversals when I went from eating plain yogurt to flavored. Even if they’re non-fat, the flavored yogurts are not sugar free. 53 calories for 100 grams of plain 2% Greek yogurt (more protein) v. 170 calories for 150 grams of Greek style with honey (by Yoplait). I’ve said before and I’ll say it again: sugar inflames the liver and the pancreas. When those organs get pissed off, they play hell with the rest of the body. Since you only have one of each and they’re vital to metabolism and blood filtration, it pays to keep them happy. You’re better off getting the plain, adding a sweetener if you must and fresh fruit rather than the fruit preserves found in flavored yogurt.  If you have access to Trader Joe’s, they have great prices on berries (always a good choice). This morning, 100 grams of plain 2% Greek yogurt and 2 tablespoons of ground flaxseed and 1 cup of blackberries (Oh, MAN, were they good. I’m going to add some to light lemonade later. If you’re in Washington or Oregon, Burgerville adds seasonal fruit to their lemonade and it is a wonderful thing.) was 195 calories. That included protein, antioxidants, omega 3 oils, fiber, calcium and probiotic cultures. Not a bad way to start the day.

It’s been a big week for mileposts: a completed Pilates roll up, the 40 lb. decade marker, ability to hold Tree Pose (I got some new, less slippery pants for yoga) and being able to reach my own toes for painting purposes. I still have yet to complete a push-up (regular or yoga) and it’s  still 21.8 lbs. to normal BMI. That’s a damned sight better than 65 lbs. to normal BMI.

When I started this enterprise, the distance I wanted to cover loomed large, especially given the struggles I’ve had with my weight. A small part of my mind expected me to fail this time as I had in the past. Maybe I’d set such a big goal because I didn’t really want to succeed. It can be tough to shut out that particular voice.

I’ve driven up and down the East Coast (from Vermont to Florida and back), up and down the West Coast (Los Angeles to Seattle and back, Los Angeles to Portland and back) and across country from Concord, New Hampshire to Woodland Hills, California. They’re all big distances, but if you break them down by landmarks (a state border, a particular mountain to pass or a city to stop in), they can be done. If I was driving across country again, I’d be somewhere in the Midwest right now; still pretty far from the goal, but a considerable distance from the starting point. Every mile forward gets me that much closer to where I want to be. And further from the place I wanted to leave.

Paint the Town California Raspberry

186.2 lbs. For two days now.  I don’t think I need to tell you what I’m thinking.

I’m watching the Bruins on TV (muted) and have the Red Sox on the radio (courtesy of MLB Gameday. $14.99 for the whole season. I highly recommend it). We’ll see if it’s a good night for Boston v. Canada (Broons v. Canucks, Sox v. Blue Jays). And I’m writing this blog. I’m a Gemini. We multi-task and we do it well. As for Canada, especially the Canucks and especially Burrows: Bite me.

I achieved an important milestone today and as you can tell from the numbers that it’s not on the scale. Yet. Being pissed off at said number, I turned in a monster calorie burn today, 1616 according to My Net Diary. And broccoli has been deployed. I repeat: broccoli has been deployed. And despite advances in freezing in the past 35 years, it’s still mushy and yucky.  I got the Green Giant steamer kind, figuring it would be close to raw. Nope, I had flashbacks to being twelve. Our dog used to get most of my share. I learned to tolerate raw broccoli, but since I have to dump so much dressing or cheese on it to make it palatable, it’s a wash on the health benefits. There was a report on the news today citing a study that said vegetables in the mustard family would prolong your life. This included broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage. Well, I guess I’m not going to live to be 200 if that’s what it takes (except for the cabbage. I need to develop a low-fat coleslaw dressing. And don’t mention broccoli slaw, it’s too chewy. However, if you give me the broccoli salad with carrots, raisins and that sweet dressing, I’m okay. Healthy?  Not so much).

Oh, yes the milestone: I I JUST PAINTED MY OWN TOENAILS. They’re sloppy and I’m not going to be working in a salon anytime soon, but the point is that I COULD REACH MY FEET!!!! The Great White Belly has shrunk enough that it wasn’t in the way. See?

I even found them festive enough to add my sparkly toerings (which hurt like hell if you wear them too long. Damned O rings).

Okay, so the scale numbers are driving me crazy by stalling and going in the wrong direction, but things are changing. I bought workout pants and shirt at Target yesterday (I needed something for yoga so that I could hold balance poses and I needed another shirt). I wasn’t gutsy enough to buy the L size (or too gutty, maybe?), but the XL shirt is TOO BIG on me. The pants are just right (The Great White Belly, though retreating, hasn’t given up completely).

The Peppermint Bitch was back at the gym today and had been in the steam room ahead of me. Guess how I knew? Complete lack of respect for the rules. Management had (so I’m told) given her hell the last time she did this, but apparently, she feel the rules do not apply to her.  Parents of America: you have no grounds to complain about other people’s kids because chances are; yours are just as entitled and snotty as everyone else’s. It’s on your heads if you think the succeeding generations are spoiled, demanding and weak. You raised them.

I also had a guy bark at me today because I had not said, “Thank you” as I walked through the door. Observation: it’s never the real gentlemen who scream to have the smallest polite gesture acknowledged. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even holding the door for me, just released it late. So, I guess he feels I owed him thanks for not slamming it in my face. I will say, with this particular gym, most of the guys go out of their way to hold a door open and I do thank them. I am not unmindful of the kindness of others. This morning’s case, however, did not rise to the level of good manners.  Again, misplaced entitlement.

I looked in the mirror this morning and my grandmother, Kay Thatcher, looked back at me. I have a picture of Gram (say it with me, “In storage”) from when she was about 40, I think. If I’m right about the age, she’d been married for 20 years at that point, survived the Great Depression and its hardships (my grandfather was a banker and Roosevelt’s Bank Holiday was enacted March 9, 1933, a month after my father was born), survived World War II and its rationing (Trenton, NJ wasn’t in much danger from the Japanese) and you didn’t see any of it in her face. Growing up, I always wanted my mother’s face. Hers is more oval than her late mother-in-law’s and she has more prominent cheekbones (I hunger for cheekbones). No dice: I look like Dad’s side of the family. Hey, genetic crapshoot, what are ya gonna do? Gram never looked her age. Even at 90 and oral cancer having taken part of her jaw, she could still pass for her late 70s. Except for two sections of hair that framed her face, she never really went gray (Dad on the other hand, was gray when I met him. When I said that he’d started to turn gray when my older sister came along, my mother came back rather tartly with “And it began falling out with you!”). That’s not a bad legacy to inherit. I know for sure I got her legs, just a longer version. Gram was pretty short, but she could exhaust the Energizer Bunny.

We’ll see tomorrow morning whether today’s strategy (big burn + high protein – grain + broccoli) worked. I’m looking for a good drop on the scale. I think part of the gain and hold was due to inadequate fiber. I have been taking the Vitafusion Fiber Gummies and ran out. I didn’t replace them until the day before yesterday, so that may have had a hand in the subsequent drop from 188 to 186.2). Since I’ve conquered the “able to paint my own toenails” and Pilates roll-up (if I was doing it correctly), I want that 40 lbs. down marker and I want it bad. Bring me its head.

Pauses That Refresh

188 lbs.  Un fucking believable. If I was a cat, my tail would be swishing a mile a minute right now.

Making my way to an open Rotating Staircase of Death, I came across a woman in a harness attempting to run across the length of the gym while tied to another woman who was leaning back and dragging her feet (clearly, she did not want to follow her friend).  My first thought was that it was lucky that both women were about the same size or else it would have been Snoopy running like hell with Linus’s blanket in his mouth and Linus flying like a kite at the other end of the blanket.

I will paraphrase my Facebook update ((yes, I am that narcissistic and obsessed over this. Deal with it): Just because the extra 3 lbs. followed the body home from the gym (or wherever. It sure as hell wasn’t all you can eat buffet), my body cannot keep it. Either it goes overnight (for which there is precedent) or I will deploy the nuclear option and go grilled chicken, brown rice and broccoli, all of which have been purchased . Consider this Def Con 3. Def Con 4 involves a liquid diet.

As I did on Monday, I channeled my anger and frustration into my weight training today (even at 5:15 AM, the Grunt Brothers were all over the Juice Bar, which is the weight and cable set up that resembles monkey bars. Given the bulk, acne and generally obnoxious behavior observed, there was a reasonable suspicion of steroids , therefore  Juice Bar). I was able to increase weights on everything, including the Prone Leg Curl. (And I’ve figured out why it’s more difficult than Seated. With Prone, you’re lifting the weight up, so you’re battling gravity unlike Seated. All I know is, it’s a bitch. I’ve increased the amount on the stack, but it’s still a bitch).

Even though I’ve gone up on weights (and yeah, ha ha, weight under the belt, too), my legs are no longer trembling by the time I get to the end of my circuit (I go through legs, then upper body, then abdominals). Perhaps that’s an indicator that I’ve outgrown the machines.  Maybe I should throw a Paypal gadget on this blog to pay for more training sessions with Torquemada.  And a new wardrobe. And broccoli.  

Sox are leading the Forces of Darkness and the Bruins just took a 3 nothing lead on the Vancouver Cheap Shot Artists. (Bite me, Burrows)  It may end up as a good night to be a Boston fan. (It did indeed turn into a good night for Boston fans).

As mentioned, I got up at dark thirty this morning. While I’d prefer to be asleep for at least two more hours, I admit I love the stillness of the wee small hours. In a very crowded city, it’s a way to find some elbow room, even if it’s only for an hour.

I first moved to this area in 2002 and fell in love with the Topanga Canyon area. There is Topanga Canyon State Park with trails that will lead from Topanga Canyon over the Santa Monica Mountains to Sunset Boulevard, an 8 mile hike. (It’s not the Eagle Rock Loop Trail) Not having a ride waiting at the other end and being mindful of snakes, I set out early one Sunday morning on this trail to go as far as I could and still return (about halfway).  

It was early and misty. I was the only person on the trail and I enjoyed the soundtrack provided by nature including quiet. I detest winter, but I love the silence that comes with a snowfall. Sometimes, you need just that to reboot your soul. If you’re performing an activity in the middle of it where you can maintain a rhythm, there’s a meditative quality to it. I was walking at a steady rate so I had that going. A hawk soared past my head at one point and I could hear the air moving through its feathers. Since I was wearing a red sweatshirt, a hummingbird buzzed me.

The trail I was on hugged some steep cliffs and I couldn’t see around the corners. As I approached one especially sharp curve, I heard running coming from the other side. I moved to the side of the trail closest to the hill (I’m not a big fan of drop-offs, so I stayed away from the edge) and prepared to smile and wave at the runners coming around the corner.

Except that they weren’t runners.

As I came around the corner, I found myself face to face with three deer. I froze. They studied me for a couple of minutes, then scrambled up the embankment. Five minutes later, a group of bicyclists rode by and as I returned to my car, groups of chattering hikers started to hit the trail. The spell was completely broken, but I had witnessed something that they wouldn’t. You need to be silent for those moments.

For the moments when you’re pushing 248 lbs. on the leg press, you need AC/DC.

Amazingly Enough, My Scale is Still In One Piece

187.2 lbs. God, it is rumored that You have created Man in Your own image. Is this Your way of telling me You have a fat ass? Or are You jealous of me getting into those 501 jeans? Huh?

As a “fuck you” gesture to the 2.2 lbs. of water weight stowing away on my body, I just ate a Chocolate Almond Horn. This still has me with a 1602 calorie loss for the day, so no apologies.

Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine. Insert annoyed sigh. Torquemada just shrugged and said, "That's the name of the game." Oh, really? You mean, if I do this the way everyone says I should, it's reasonable for it NOT to work? Is that what you're saying? Fuck that noise.

Yoganesia (yo-GUH-neezha): (noun) The syndrome in which the yoga instructor completes a series of poses for one side of the body and completely forgets the other side of the body.

Despite yesterday’s post about being angry at the 2.2 lbs. (which I still am because the little fuckers haven’t left), I am not hormonal. It is not “that time of the month,” nor am I 1)with child, 2) freshly dumped or 3) recently insulted by a cheerleader. Sometimes, a chocolate almond horn is just a chocolate almond horn.

The only thing mitigating my anger at the moment is the Red Sox are winning. Against the Yankees (aka The Forces of Darkness).  However, as the great Yogi Berra (the only NY Yankee I ever liked. We are not discussing members of the local Tee Ball team here) said, “It ain’t over til it’s over.”

1400 calorie burn yesterday was not enough to budge things downward. Fine. Plan B is another big burn tomorrow (I would have done an hour of elliptical today, but I took too long to get to the gym before yoga class) BUT tomorrow’s food is going to be mostly protein. We’ll see if replacing more meals with the protein shake makes a difference.

It would be nice to wake up to a lower number on the scale tomorrow. Yes, I feel entitled. I’ve put the work in on it. And while we’re at it, a winning Mega Millions ticket and George Clooney’s phone number would also be nice. As Yul Brynner said (seemingly every 10 minutes in “The Ten Commandments”), “So let it be written, so let it be done.”

In a shocking development today, just before the start of yoga, I was describing Pilates class to a well-built young gentleman (yoga regular and damned good at it, too) and especially the dreaded Pilates roll up which, as of Sunday, was still beyond my abilities, I don’t care how you modify the fucking thing. He didn’t know what I was talking about so I demonstrated it for him…

And completed the Pilates roll up. How the hell did that happen? I tried it couple of more times and did it pretty easily. I began to hear the “Twilight Zone” theme.

I held a Tree Pose for more than a nanosecond today. On each side. It was an out of body experience because CLEARLY this was not my body doing these things. You know, when the aliens abduct you and do their experiments, you never remember it. Somebody swapped my body with that of a much fitter person. Who is probably pissed off. My body is probably running from Marvin the Martian right now, holding the Illudium Q 37 Exploding Space Modulator  (Bugs Bunny stole the Q 36 version. Steven Jobs is hinting that the IQ 38 may be introduced in time for Black Monday Christmas shopping. Or it may be delayed, something to do with an unstable supply of instant Martians).

Have I reached critical mass, though? Has the Great White Belly shrunk enough to permit (duhn duhn duhn) PAINTING MY OWN TOENAILS????? Between the yoga and the shrinking belly, could be. God knows, I think I’ve learned the Vietnamese for “Okay, I think I have the winner in today’s biggest feet pool!” (Size 9.5 or 10, depending on the shoe) and “Have you ever seen such weird toes?” (I have Roman toes, meaning the second toe is longer than the big toe. Marilyn Monroe had Roman toes. We also share June 1 as our birthday) or “I bet she can pick up a dime with these toes!” (No, I can’t. But I did win a contest with my younger sister one time by picking up car keys, an emery board, a quarter and a nickel. It was her idea)

I had that day last month where I dropped 5 lbs. overnight. That was a great day. I’d like to have another one. Every day or week is too much, but I don’t see a problem with once a month. Well, how about that; it’s a new month!  What are the odds?

Despite the most recent setback, I’m feeling good enough that I would hit on Hugh Jackman. I have a short list of men from whose wives I would fully accept an ass-kicking in exchange for knowing their men in the Biblical sense. Mrs. Jackman is Number One on the list, mostly because there is no Mrs. George Clooney. I would accept a gang beatdown by the wives and girlfriends of the men from “300” (chick flick) provided the men were whipped back into cape and loincloth shape.

But I digress. Pardon me while I wipe some drool from the corner of my mouth.

This gain plus plateau is getting busted, one way or another, and getting busted to my liking. I am getting my ass into those jeans, dammit.

Sound of Sizzling

187.2 lbs. Oh, Jesus P. God! Why, God, why???? 

I worked out hard yesterday, resisted temptation, drank water and Boom! Spike. Mother fucking son of a bitch!

.4 lbs., lousy four tenths, two fifths, not even a mother fucking half of a pound and BLAMMO! All of sudden, my downward progress is using the 2011 Red Sox as a role model. “What? We’re on a win streak! Aaaargh!! Panic!” And then they’ll get embarrassed by Cleveland or the Sisters of the Blessed Shroud Junior Varsity softball team.

Too much joy over the jeans? Too much excitement over being so close to 40 down, it seemed like a done deal? Who the fuck knows?

Incredible Hulk, my ass! HE’S afraid of me when I’m angry. And that includes Lou Ferrigno, Eric Bana AND Ed Norton! And their little CGI alters as well. That goes double for Norton.

So how did I handle this setback? Obviously, not with Christian grace and equanimity. Put it to you this way: by 5:30 AM, my ass was on the lower back press moving 250 lbs. In fact, I moved up in weight on all of the machines.

It’s a good thing that it was too early for Douchebag Nation.

But wait, there’s more.

Torquemada wants me to drip sweat, cardio blast and hit an hour of cardio, she got it. Well, one out of three is .333, which is a very nice batting average. (Please note, four strikeouts by one batter in a baseball game is known as a Golden Sombrero).

I hit the Rotating Staircase of Death for 45 minutes.  And that included time spent listening to Sarah Palin try to spin her ignorance of American History (I’m thinking she was only half paying attention on the Old North Church tour), listening to a financial reporter (alleged expert) discuss foreclosures, underwater mortgages and totally blow the term “Deed In Lieu” (He called it “Deed in Lease.” Idiot, but since Sarah Palin opened for him, the moronic tendencies were less heinous).  So, we’re talking physical and mental stress. Didn’t do much to lessen the anger, but by God, it kept me pushing.

Nixon didn’t sweat this much debating Kennedy.

1404 calorie burn. Suck on it, 187.2.

We’ll see what happens tomorrow (sound of fist being pounded into palm of hand).