How Do You Like Them Apples?

179.4 lbs.* Yeah, we’ve been in this neighborhood before. Didn’t stay nearly long enough.

So, It is Day 7 of HGC** Phase 2 aka Reduced Calorie Phase and it IS WORKING.

Hey, like I said, I tried it the “approved” way and weight loss didn’t happen. I do this, I lose weight. I’m sitting here in my Levi’s 501 jeans. Again.  

One of the goals is to be size eligible for the “it” brands of jeans like Lucky or Seven. (Nordstrom Rack). Lucky’s largest women’s size is 12. Yes, it’s superficial, but it’s my landmark. Besides, I took a good look, thought about it and I have a cute ass. A cute ass should have high end jeans.

Unlike the first round of HCG  for me (Jan 31 – Mar 13), I am exercising regularly and eating less beef (I have my diary from the first time). I have expectations of losing more weight this time than I did on the first round (26 lbs.). I’m also planning to revisit the length of time I’m doing this when I get to Day 21 (October 31). If the loss is satisfactory at that point, I’ll shift to Phase 3. If not, I’ll go to 40 days. Since the comments section on this blog has dust on it, I take it that none of my regular readers has an opinion one or the other as to my chosen methodology. (Type now or forever hold your peace. Not that it’s going to change my mind one way or another). I know, I know; the suspense is killer.

One of the features of the HCG protocol is something called “Apple Day.” When weight gets stuck (or one day in 7. I opted for 1 day in 7.), instead of the standard 100 grams of protein, 2 cups of vegetables, 1 fruit and measured Nut Thins, one eats 6 big ass apples over 24 hours and only 6 big ass apples over 24 hours.

Yeah, it’s gimmicky and nowhere near as much fun as a “Steak Day” (those are in the 3 weeks afterwards. 12-14 oz steak and sliced tomatoes. My kind of a diet.), but it works. It’s how I got the jump start for this project.

I am still hitting the gym (not as hard) and while putting in time on the elliptical cross-trainer the other day, one of the ladies from my yoga class got on the machine next to me. I don’t know her name, but she’s a sweet, friendly person and wanted to take a spin on the elliptical for the first time. We worked through figuring out her rhythm (Look, we’re human beings, we dig rhythm in all things and once we figure out a good groove, we stay there. Think about it) and how to program the machine. She hung in there for 20 minutes and then stopped. The next thing she said absolutely floored me: “I stayed on that long because you were doing it, too.”

Me? A role model? For EXERCISE? Am I in a parallel universe? This is the same person that gets all the pontificating from family members, draws the fat comments from shitheaded strangers and I’m a role model? An inspiration? I’m on a protocol that people either love or hate (the acupuncturist and therapist I trust – love. Dr. Oz – hate) and  still people look to me. That’s heady stuff.

Well, my yoga friend, because you stepped up onto the machine and out of your comfort zone, I’ve kept faith with my exercise regimen, even though with HCG, I could skip it altogether (I don’t want to lose ground, so I’ll keep going). Plus, it’s a tough crowd in yoga class: you miss one class and you get grilled by the other students when you return (practically need a doctor’s note. NOT Dr. Oz).

I need to prove 50 isn’t fatal. You are never too old to achieve (although the hot flashes are telling me that kids are out of the question. I’ve long considered adopting a 30 year old the best course of action; you miss diapers, teething, terrible twos, puberty and the cost of a college education). Hefner isn’t going to put me in Playboy, but I may turn a few heads yet (once I get rolling on E Harmony. Those bastards want the entire fee UP FRONT. I should put a Paypal donation link on here). Somewhere out there is a little black dress and a lucky man with my name on them.

*It’s 3 days after I started this post and it’s still 179.4. Annoyed sigh.

**Human chronironic (or something like that) gonadatropin

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 24^th  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…

Cue Journey

180.8 lbs. and has been…for days.

No, I did not hit the Bollywood cardio dance class last night as I wanted. Something to do with a headache making bedtime not much later than dusk.

“Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey has been getting a lot of attention lately (Some list made it the Best Rock Song of All Time. Or something like that. No, I don’t hate the song. Keep reading). I’ve needed to hear it, I guess.

I’ve been spiking and stalling. Not my favorite thing. Being a responsible adult and working a job has pretty much zapped my workout schedule. To be honest, I knew 2-3 hours 6 days a week wasn’t sustainable with a normal work schedule (C’mon, Lottery). I’ve been skimping on rigorous honesty with respect to My Net Diary and food intake (mostly because it’s been whittling down my caloric intake. If it gets to negative numbers, I don’t know how THAT’S going to work). I want to SUCCEED at this project, dammit. Failure is not an option, goes the line. And “Not on my watch.” Well, the only watch IS mine, so it’s on me if I want to succeed.

Where does “Don’t Stop Believing” fit in? I need to believe I can do this in order to keep plugging away. I need to not view spikes and plateaus as opportunities or, at least, not as setbacks. Or, not as personal attacks by mysterious forces that don’t want me to be thinner. That’s preposterous: Nobody wants me to fail. At least, no one I know. My gang is very supportive (both close by and those off in distant lands like New Hampshire and North Carolina). Hold on to that feeling.

Despite not being back down to 177 (That’ll happen again), I got into my size 13 Calvin Klein jeans tonight. There’s a victory: I have retaken territory.

I got a fresh dose of inspiration: a friendly acquaintance of mine has written a comic book series and tonight was a signing event for the fourth issue (I’ve got ALL the issues and they’re ALL signed). Okay: here’s a guy who had an idea for a comic book series. I have ideas for lots of things but not many of them come to fruition. But Daniel Corey saw “Moriarty: The Dark Chamber” all the way through from concept to reality (it’s really good, too). I don’t know what’s involved in creating, assembling, editing and actually publishing a comic book, but I imagine it’s not simple. And here, someone I know manifested an idea into reality.

Thomas Edison said, “Success is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration.” In my case that’s literally the truth as I am undertaking a physical fitness improvement program. My favorite actor is George Clooney and he was in a string of failed pilots and VERY short-lived series before he became an “overnight success.” The man started in the business in 1982 and didn’t “hit” until 1994, so unless he was spending the night on Neptune, it wasn’t overnight. He has also spoken of the necessity of persistence to be a success.

Right now, the short term goal is to get back down to the lowest weight I’ve been so far, 177 lbs. Achieving that will be its own reward. Of course, I need some bras (are the cups half empty or half full? They no longer runneth over. It’s a free market. Maybe I could rent out the extra space).

Today, I didn’t make it to the gym (but I have completed 4 of the 6 weeks of activity needed for the President’s Active Lifestyle Achievement Certificate). That’s okay: I didn’t mindlessly graze all day, so there’s a victory. And tomorrow, maybe I can pull back together with my old zeal (well, 6 month old zeal).

Dear Fitness Gods: Look I’m not asking to wake up smokin’ hot tomorrow. I’m 50 and realistic. Give me the strength to resist temptation, the will to do what I must and show me in some way, that I’m making progress every day. Let me see it or feel. Thank you.

“Every day’s a new deal, you know?” – Harvey Pekar