Back in the HCG Saddle

183 lbs. Order is being restored.

Okay, so some folks will not like what I’m doing.

Oh, well. I told you guys I had decided I would do another round of HCG and nobody commented, objected, sent email, called, Facebook message, nada.

I do not like myself obese. I do not like myself overweight. I do not like working my ass off (or literally trying to) and not getting anywhere. As my father once memorably told me, when something I was trying to do was not to his liking despite my sweating bullets to get it finished, “Results get rewarded, not efforts.”

Words I live by.

I’m back on the HCG protocol and it is Day 3 of the Reduced Calorie Phase. This means I take the drops, eat 500 calories (well, more on that. And no, I’m not cheating) and go about my life. To me, this is boot camp to re-establish the discipline that got nearly 50 lbs. off of my body (and some of it back, but that’s been served with an eviction notice).

No personal hygiene products containing oil. Alba moisturizer and crystal deodorant. If you’re rinsing the shampoo out of your hair, it’s not a problem (that’s what the doctor who supervised me the first time told me).

The first 2 days of the protocol are the “Glutton Days”.  You stuff yourself with anything and everything high fat (and protein) and caloric. Over the weekend, I got a lot of cravings out of my system: Carl’s Jr. Bacon Avocado (well, not a craving, but I figured it would be high fat) combo, Ben & Jerry’s Coconut Seven Layer in a brownie sundae, Denny’s (there’s one down the street. I figured I owed it to the gluttony), Five Guys (YES! 920 calories for a regular sized bacon cheeseburger), Fab Hot Dogs (Victory and Tampa in Reseda. I’ll stand them next to Pink’s. Wicked good.), Starbucks foo-foo drinks (which were probably part of the reason I was stalling, gaining, stalling. It wasn’t lack of exercise), Chocolate Coconut Haystacks…

Not as much fun as you might think. My system said to me, “Dude, we don’t eat like this.” (Had I thrown up, it would have been “Bitch, we don’t eat like this.” If I’m not pushing the hard line, it’s friendlier). I felt uncomfortable and bloated. However, these are the rules.

Starting on Monday the 10^th and for 21 to 40 days (after 21, we’ll see), it’s the Reduced Calorie Phase: 2 meals per day consisting of 100 grams of approved protein (chicken, turkey, lean beef, veal, buffalo (I feel guilty), low-fat cottage cheese and the ones I won’t touch: lobster, crab, eggs).Meats are grilled, broiled or boiled. 2 cups of a single vegetable: tomatoes(veggies on this plan), cucumbers, string beans, spinach, chard, onions, radishes, Brussels Sprouts to name a few. If you cook them up, no oil, no butter, no sweetening, no bacon (no Brussels Sprouts). Go ahead and dump oregano, granulated garlic, vinegar, salt and pepper. Fruit: apple, half a grapefruit, an orange, 6-8 strawberries, 12 raspberries (Whoever heard of eating just 12 raspberries? That’s preposterous) and a “starch”, your choices being Grissini breadsticks (2-3), Melba toast (2) or 4-6 Blue Diamond Nut Thins, if you wish to dodge gluten (and I do).

Over the past 2 days, I have adhered to this “One From Column A” sort of set up, but exceeded the caloric intake. Today, I’ll work on sticking within the 500 calorie framework and report back.

This “no oil” protocol means no flaxseed oil during this time. The only supplements one is allowed are B Complex, Vitamin C, potassium and magnesium (which is good for your connective tissues). You can have up to 1 tablespoon of milk per day and the juice of one lemon. I’ve begun starting my day with hot water and lemon (lemon juice is a wonderful thing for your liver, your skin, your gums). (I’m pimping a Simon Cowell routine. Who’d a thunk it?).

I’ve cut back on exercise in the senses that while I’m lifting weights, the amount isn’t as much and I’m keeping the cardio down to one hour per day. Still doing yoga twice a week and Pilates once a week.

After the Reduced Calorie protocol, it’s 3 weeks without sugar or starch, but I can increase my caloric intake.

I’ll report back.

Up From the Depths...

183.6 lbs. Annoyed sigh coupled with disgusted snort BUT…

Wednesday was not a fun day for those of us in Red Sox Nation. Not for Braves fans, either, I expect. However, pitchers and catchers report to spring training in 4 months. Hope springs eternal. And suck it, Yankees.

Having felt so good after Monday’s Monster Burn (which did not result in the 5 lb. loss I experienced the first time I did it) and having finished my work in plenty of time, I resolved for Wednesday to outdo Monday and ramp it up to a Godzilla Burn (1 hour of weight training + 3 hours of cardio) provided the gym wasn’t over-crowded. That’s the beauty part of being me: too stupid and self-deluded to realize my limitations so I go ahead with the plan anyway.

I didn’t make it to 3 hours of cardio. Before the chorus of “Awwws” (save those for pictures of kittens. Kittens make me go “Awww.” I need a real home so I can have a kitty. Maybe 2), let me tell you what I DID manage to do.

1 hour of weight training, excluding the machines that were out of order.

2 hours on the elliptical, keeping the heart rate in the “fat burning” range. Knee was holding up fine (upper back was cranky, but that means the trapezius muscles have earned themselves more sessions with the rowing. This is tough lover for acting out). And yes, I made sure nobody was waiting for the machine before I started the second hour.

And…

45 minutes on the stationary bike. The only thing that kept me from knocking out the additional 15 minutes on the bike was the fact that the seat was so damned uncomfortable. It’s bad enough for a woman, but you know, you don’t hear about Tour De France riders having big families. I don’t think Lance Armstrong had testicular cancer so much as squashed McNuggets. I TRIED to tough it out, but my keyster has its limits.

According to My Net Diary, this was good for over 2,000 calories burned. Hoo wah!

Today was a session with Dr. Best who is VERY pleased with my knee (Look out, Rotating Staircase of Death) and knocked over by the King Kong Burn (Not quite Godzilla, but bigger than your basic, generic, vanilla Monster Burn. I’ve seen “King Kong versus Godzilla.” Godzilla kicked Kong’s hairy ass all over Tokyo). He tested muscles and flexibility and gave me his blessing to continue working out to this level, cautioning me to stay hydrated (my lumbar region was cramping up on me. He didn’t find anything wrong and, using the easiest fix first principle, suggested that dehydration may be the culprit. It’s the Great American Fix: “Just Add Water.” Or duct tape).

I can do this. With sufficient access to the equipment, I can kick Godzilla’s ass. And my own in the process. Granted, this is not an everyday thing, but I can do it when the opportunity presents. And I have lost enough weight that I can take the San Diego Wildlife Park Zipline Tour, which I REALLY want to do. Anybody want to go with me? COMMENT!!!

What I cannot do (YET) is a push up. Marine Corps, girlie, Rocky Balboa, Pilates, Chadaranda, judo or plain, I cannot yet complete 1 push up. However, I promise you this: I’m not going to hit my original weight deadline (even with the stomach flu from Hell and THAT’S not going to happen because I got my flu shot. This year’s flavor is H1N1. Your insurance most likely covers it and you can stroll into Rite Aid or CVS to get one. I HIGHLY recommend it. Out of pocket? $27.95, but that’s cheap compared to losing 5 days’ pay because you’re too sick or risking the hatred of your co-workers because you infected them. Remember: I dislike false economy) but I WILL complete a push up by December 31,2011, as God is my witness and I will be ready to take down any and all zombie Girl Scouts that come my way (weird, scary dream and particularly memorable).

I can’t wait for tomorrow to get here so I can hit the gym again and successfully complete a Godzilla Burn. The Big Green Guy breathed fire. If I hit that damned bike for an hour, oh, I’ll have fire coming out of me all right, but…

I Am Here Because I Finally Give A Damn

184.4 lbs. Temporary, I assure you because…

The planets aligned, the work gods were kind and I was able to finish my work for today with enough time to hit the gym for a Monday Monster Burn (cue Tim Allen grunting sound). An hour with the weight machines! Yeah, Baby, bring it on! An hour on the elliptical! Love it, love it. A SECOND hour on the elliptical! You heard me: two hours of cardio on top of an hour of resistance training! When he wasn’t getting bopped on the bean with apples, Sir Isaac Newton posited, “A body in motion tends to remain in motion.” Well, this body was in motion. There were plenty of empty elliptical machines available, TNT was showing a bunch of Lennie Briscoe “Law & Order” episodes (Jerry Orbach, we miss you) and I didn’t need to be anywhere else. This body remained in motion. I felt great, not just the physical “endorphin rush” kind of giddiness that one gets after working out hard (it’s actually kind of a fun goofiness), but because I had, if only for one afternoon, recaptured the drive I had when I began this project and I had kept the promise to myself I had made when I got to the gym: today would be a Monster Monday.

Accomplishment is good for the soul and the self-esteem. As a reward, I bought Epsom salts and Aleve for the body, which will be deployed when I finish typing. With great power comes great responsibility. I think if I multiplied what I’m feeling right now by a factor of 50, I might be able to talk to someone who just ran the Boston Marathon about post-race recovery.

But I still feel damn good. YEAH.

My very good friend, Darci Monet (shared courtesy of her sister, the fabulous Mandi J. Smith, who writes the “Mandi Crocker” blog and bakes so well, Martha Stewart should watch her back) writes a blog called “The Magical Musical Messcapades of a Juicy Girl in L.A.”. About two months ago, she wrote a post that resonated with me titled “I Am Not Broken.” Here’s the link: http://darcimonet.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-am-not-broken.html.  Reader’s Digest version: a woman at a women and food retreat realizes that her eating issues stem from her mother having eating issues and trouble handling people around her who were not experiencing the same trouble (Okay, I may get corrected, but this is MY takeaway. Got it?). This woman realized this and said, “I am not broken.”

Just that phrase is powerful. Not broken means functional, able and perhaps strong. I’ve been turning this over in the back of my mind.

Darci also related a story (not sure whose) about taking dance lessons at the advanced age of 5 and wanting to quit; the storyteller’s mother said, “That’s okay, Honey, you didn’t really have it anyway.”

I heard that after I got a “D” in acting classes because I didn’t want to act out lesbian scenes for the professor (not sex scenes, but scenes as a lesbian relating to others. Not being a member of the Sapphic Sisterhood, I had and do not have a frame of reference for how to be a lesbian, but this woman kept insisting on having me improv it). My father, on seeing the grade, said, “Well, I guess you’re not really an actress after all. You can focus on your real classes now.” (I haven’t thought about this in years and I’m tearing up a bit. Excuse me). Understand: this was a guy who was eligible to attend Julliard for piano and that was blocked by HIS parents.

My late best friend/soul sister, the fabulous Nancy Kurrelmeyer, gave me a bumper sticker that has been on my refrigerator ever since I got it (along with the late lamented “I Love NY, Too, It’s the Yankees I Hate” that shredded the last time I removed it): “Those Who Have Abandoned Their Dreams Will Discourage Yours.”

Something else that added to the mix was Ragen Chastain’s recent blog post on “Dances With Fat”, the “Awkward Conversations” post, specifically, where she repeats the statistic that 95% of diets fail. http://danceswithfat.wordpress.com/2011/09/24/awkward-conversations/ (In fairness, there’s the link). My previous post in this space discussed my disagreement with the half-hearted support she advocates based on her (I perceive) theory that whoever is doing the work will just do a 180 and start gaining it all back anyway. It still nettles me, probably because of the story I just related.

I will turn a concept or a “problem” (and that includes algebra-style problems) over in my mind like a hamster on a wheel. On Red Bull. Even when it’s shoved to the back, part of the organic computer that is my brain will be crunching the data. Yesterday, it spit out a response that synthesizes all of the above and I wrote it down:

“I am working on this project because I care enough about myself to strive towards the best possible version of me that I can become.”

I realized that I actually do give a damn about me and not because of the family/friend pressure. The woman who was not monitoring what was going in to the body (in the food sense) did not give a damn, mostly because she did not want to appear to conform to the wishes of those who disapproved (The terms “Maverick” and “Rogue” have been ruined for me since late 2008) and did not take care of my body just to prove who has power. If my body was a car, it could have been sitting on cinder blocks in the back yard, quietly rusting with weeds growing up around it, sort of like a Jeff Foxworthy “You Might Be a Redneck” joke.

Well, she won. In 2009, attempts to control/shame/force submission were cut off completely and it has taken until now for me to see it that way. People who had been telling me all of my life that they had my best interests at heart and I should trust them implicitly were wrong because their own interests trumped mine in their worlds and always will. My best interests trump theirs in my world and if I need to completely separate myself from them in order to survive and grow, so be it. But I digress.

Don’t get me wrong: I like food. I like it a lot. I love to indulge my sense of taste (and my sense of smell. I need to come up with a term for window shopping for the nose at a fancy perfume counter). Sweet, savory, sour, sometimes all three at once, I love it. I’ll overeat something just to keep its wonderful flavor in my mouth. But I can stop, save the remaining bites of whatever and anticipate its flavor at another time.

As for exercise, I’ve learned to recognize the difference between lactic acid burn in the muscles and pain from something being wrong and I have taught myself to push through that burn because the rewards on the other side of it are worth it. The woman who was previously in charge hadn’t learned this and would give up easily (although neither one of us is really comfortable on a bike. A few nasty spills as a kid and some ongoing low-level balance issues). I care enough about myself to make my body work; make the blood pump, the tendons flex and the muscles do what they were created to do. I’m not shooting for immortality, but avoiding physical decline, hell, yeah.

I HIGHLY recommend this video by Darci (“Pipes”): “Go On.”

http://youtu.be/cjN4Xw-CWPw

I can relate to one of the stories in it (and yeah, I helped. You can’t see me in the crowd scene, but I’m there) as portrayed by fantabulous Kelly Goodman. It speaks to me of winning the mental battles that are the biggest obstacles in our lives. Don’t let fear drive the bus. Go on.

I am here because I care enough about myself to become the best version of me that I can. And I am here because I will…go on.

One Step Forward

181.6 lbs. Okay, more like it.

And I just tuned into the Red Sox/Rangers game to hear Mike Napoli hit a 3 run homer. Mr. Napoli does not play for the Red Sox. I feel a twinge in my spleen....and its name is Eric Bedard (Red Sox pitcher who just gave up the 3 run homer. If you know me, you know I’d like to see John Lackey dropped off the Tobin Bridge in chains and cement. Or handed back to the Angels. He can take Bedard with him.

181.6  is infinitely preferable to 184.4 and, to get the big picture, even better than 224.6. However, I still want to get back below the 177 low point of early July. It’s not so much a matter of self-loathing (although the extra weight that I see does set off the Greek chorus of voices telling me how lazy and spoiled and useless I am and that my obesity is a reflection of my self-indulgence and irresponsibility). I did, in fact, take the end date off of My Net Diary and it’s a good thing because the last day that I had a goal date on there, the recommended maximum food intake was 811 calories. Remember what I said about the Nazis calculating they could keep the concentration camp slaves alive on 800 calories a day?  Danger, Danger, Will Robinson.

Dr. Mehmet Oz, he of the “You On A Diet” and various other books about our healt, beloved of the Great Goddess Oprah, was on the Mark & Brian radio show on Friday talking about (what else) better health (He hardly makes the rounds to talk about fashion). He was in LA to get people to root out and throw away anything with parabens in it (shampoo and such. It’s bad for you), but, of course, he had to get in a few words about excess weight. Okay, I am in favor of losing weight, obviously, but it is necessary to emotionally abuse people in the process? Dr. Oz doesn’t intend to be cruel just for the sake of hurting the feelings of strangers, but even over the radio, you can hear the head shaking in his voice. That kind of Ward Cleaver, “Well, boys, I’m just so disappointed in you” tone.  Dr. Oz reeled off all the risks that come from carrying excess weight in just that tone of voice.

Compare and contrast this to “Dances With Fat”, a blog written by Ragen Chastain that focuses on HAES (Health At Every Size). Ms. Chastain is, if I’m comprehending her point, pushing for people to focus more on how people feeling good about themselves regardless of waist circumference and focus more on things like blood pressure and cholesterol, etc. The kind of talk that Dr. Oz was putting forward was what she would call the “Vague future threat” of the consequences of not losing weight. Again, it’s that Ward Cleaver kind of disapproval. Of course, Ms. Chastain would probably chastise me for my “I want to get rid of this shit around my waist “ attitude as capitulating to an unreachable goal. (Bullshit, by the way). While she has an excellent point about how one should talk to oneself about these issues, she can be a bit shrill from time to time. Of course, so can Dr. Oz.

I might as well look upon all of this as an extension of the Presidential electoral process as it is practiced here in the US today. A little over here makes sense, a little over there makes sense, they’re all busy trashing one another (unless it’s trashing the newest guy on the scene or whoever is leading the pack at the moment) and so much screaming to be the one true path that one just goes deaf. And writes in Mickey Mouse.

This is what I know to be true: I want to be physically stronger. The process of getting there helps lessen the risk of things like osteoporosis and injuries from which it may be difficult to heal. I want greater endurance when I do physically active things. There are people, who are diabetic and far out of shape themselves, who feel it is their right to point out my shortness of breath after walking hard and fast and then launch into a sermon on how I need to drop weight. Not only do I want these people TO SHUT THE FUCK UP, but I’m also unhappy about it. It’s a limitation and I’m not a huge fan of limitations. I want better flexibility. Again, helps prevent injuries and removes limitations. Plus, it makes the chiropractor happy. I like my chiropractor.

I want to feel good about what I eat. Or don’t eat. I want to be satisfied (emotionally and physically) with better and less food. I want to feel energetic and healthy from eating the right stuff. While I’ve never had the experience of anyone (well, anyone outside of my immediate family) telling me “You don’t need to eat that” if I have something sweet or fried on my fork, I say it to myself. And that’s a tough one to beat.

I have been told, by more than one source, that it’s necessary to be at peace with oneself in the present in order to push forward and make it stick. There is a lot truth in that. It can be as easy as making up your mind to do so. It can also be as hard as Chinese algebra. If you have been taught (and self-taught) to be unhappy outside of certain parameters, it can be extremely difficult to overcome. The nail that stands up gets hammered down. I have 35- 39 solid years behind me of nagging, shaming and non-stop emotional, verbal pressure “because we love you and just want you to be happy and you can’t possibly be happy looking like that” affecting my attitudes. You can’t be happy with a bunch of people (whom you used to trust until you’ve spent your 10,000 night alone and had plenty of time to think about their motivations and maybe they don’t really have your best interests at heart) telling you that you shouldn’t be happy as you are. It’s a tough beat. Not impossible, but a tough beat. I think I’ll be breaking in my health insurance’s mental health benefits next.

 “Kill Bill, Vol. I” had the scene of The Bride, newly escaped from a 5 year coma and a hospital bed, lying in the back of a truck willing her big toe to move. It was a huge challenge because this woman’s body had not been obeying her brain or her will for years; why should it start now? She persisted in willing her toes to wiggle. Eventually, they did. And eventually, she walked and moved and was able to dispatch the Crazy 88s with a samurai sword. Since they were trying to kill her, the notion has its appeal.

The number between the toes today was the big toe wiggling for The Bride. Still quite a bit of wiggling to go before I can go after the Crazy 88s.

Don't Poke the Bear

181.2 lbs. Do not poke the bear.

Retraction: in a previous blog, Joe Castiglione was referred to as “the color man” for WEEI’s radio coverage of the Boston Red Sox. It has been pointed out (by someone who was a bit of a hemorrhoid about it, to tell you the truth. He would do well to remember that I have a truckload of frequent flier miles, hotel points and a GPS.  I also have a reputation for doing “things” when provoked. Not naming names, but his wife, whom I like because she has already slugged him once for my benefit, is checking life insurance coverage. Be afraid. Be very afraid) that Joe is “the Voice of the Red Sox.” Well, Joe is the Voice who also works with Dave O’Brien  and combos are usually a play by play man and a color commentator. Apparently not. So, in addition to dealing with short sleep, a slow rolling nosebleed (sinus bullshit. My right eye looks like someone belted me) and things not going my way, weight-wise, Management regrets the error of referring to Joe Castiglione as anything but the Voice of the Red Sox. And Shaws Markets. And though I am not naming names: FYJMYPITA. He’ll take it in stride.

He did redeem himself by sharing a Brussels sprouts recipe that makes the damned things look edible. To wit:

shallow roasting pan, 400F oven. Shallow baking dish (pizza pans work best) and your sprouts cut in half length-wise.

To said sprouts, add about a tablespoon of good olive oil, sea salt & freshly cracked black pepper & toss well.

Roast them for about 25 minutes. Remove from the oven and place into a mixing/ serving bowl and add the juice of half a lemon (or to taste) and any additional S&P you want as well as any stray gahlic you happened to roast off at the same.

Why bother? BS (So appropriate) belong to the cruciferous vegetable (No, I  don’t know what it means unless it’s “makes smelly farts”, but it includes sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower and I THINK broccoli) family and are chock full of health benefits. However (and this is strictly my opinion. There are actually people out there who think they’re wonderful. I believe these people also mourn the passing of New Coke and the AMC Pacer), like most medicine, they taste lousy. And they’re too chewy* (*when I reheated the “steam in a bag” veggie trio by Trader Joe’s that contained the cursed sprouts, sugar snap peas and asparagus,  I did so for the same amount of time I initially cooked them and found the BS much more tender and edible. Just an FYI). Morton’s Steakhouse (what so proudly I hail) sautés them with bacon and shallots and that’s pretty good. I do not have the kitchen facilities to test the above recipe. I ask my readers (and you know who you are) to undertake a test drive and report back with a comment on the blog (the ones out there are getting kind of dusty anyway).

Furthermore, if you’re looking to incorporate more and different veggies, sweet potatoes are also your friend. Truckload of nutrients.I got a couple of sweet potato planks (baked, I think) from Whole Foods a couple of weeks ago and they had been treated with orange (like orange zest added before baking). Good Golly Miss Molly, but that is fantastic stuff! I like sweet potatoes with butter and salt, butter and cinnamon but adding orange is an ascent to heaven. Paul Simon asking Art Garfunkel to sing with him, adding chocolate to peanut butter or Paul Newman and Robert Redford together kind of harmony. There are recipes at Allrecipes  that have you assemble an orange juice, cinnamon and margarine kind of glaze, but the ones  I ate didn’t seem glazed. I’ve gotten to a point where I’ll eat sweet potato fries (can’t tell you the last time I ate ANYTHING fried) over white potato fries. Somewhere, a small corner of Idaho just died.

I have a brand new health insurance card and brand shiny new health insurance, which is good because I had to cut today’s cardio short on account of my right knee. I have bashed the bejesus out of my right kneecap over the years and I get low level discomfort from time to time (since it is neither chronic nor searing pain, I just “walk it off”). Today, however, after weight training (and I’m slowly shifting from the pulley Nautilus type machines to free weights. More on that in a different blog, okay?), I got on the treadmill for an hour walk and within 10 minutes got a “Bitch, take 5 more steps and I’ll have you in the emergency room” sensation from the right knee. I stopped (not willingly) because when you get an unmistakable sign like that, you don’t argue. I’m not limping, but it’s still grumpy down there.

Yesterday, we had a substitute yoga teacher (Lila is injured). Remember Hans Landa, the little British lady?  (Reread the old post)Yep. She was back. Truthfully, I like her a lot; she has a knack for getting you into the deepest possible stretches and then just a wee bit more. We did a series of One Legged Dog into Warrior on one side, then she said, “We can ignore the left side, but you’d be limping.” I may have overworked the knee yesterday, plus the fact that I tend to sit here with my legs crossed, right over left and that puts on pressure the joint doesn’t like. I will let the chiropractor have the first shot at it on Friday.

This does not please me. I had managed to clear the decks, work and time-wise, so that I could indulge in a Monster Burn day (Weight training, all major muscle groups plus two hours of two different kinds of cardio).  I was going to do just that when interrupted. Once again, it will be necessary for the brain and the body to have a conversation about who’s in charge (and yes, I remember the old dorm room poster from the mid-seventies about the various body parts wanting to be boss and the asshole shut down  and after a couple of days, the rest of the body decided it was boss, so you don’t need to be smart to be a boss, just an asshole). There is a plan. There are instructions being followed and, having been told all my life I fall short in the “following directions” category, I expect (reasonably, I believe) to get the promised results when I actually do follow directions.

I’ll sign off with this question for you to ponder: why does the free weight section at the gym smell like Brussels Sprouts?

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

Movin' Along

180.8 lbs. Spike plus plateau broken.

And the blood blister on the big toe is rapidly fading, so the après dance class post on Tuesday night will cover the class from one who can actually finish the damned thing. Order is being restored to my personal Universe.

1.       Torpor: A state of mental or physical inactivity or insensibility.

2.   Lethargy; apathy.

“Endless football + couch + Bud Light induces a state of torpor in Bill every Sunday.”

According to the Law of Attraction, I am calling these spikes and plateaus to myself by virtue of the fact that they bug me so much. I should therefore not take them personally and, “Oh, dear, well, let me focus on something else and it’ll go away.”

This is ME we’re talking about. I do not claim to have OCD but I do know that when something catches my attention, like a spike and plateau, my brain gnaws and paws at it like a Schnauzer with a marrow bone. And neither one of us lets go until the object of our attention is picked clean. I’m an American and I think one of the things that distinguishes an American is that we believe the problem doesn’t exist that can’t be solved, especially if there’s duct tape handy (In my case, over the mouth to prevent food from getting in. Also makes a very cheap facial hair removal system). And, of course, 6 lbs. gained and held for 13 days claims some serious attention.

My conclusions: my exercise program, once at 2-3 hours per day 6 days per week was seriously disrupted and shrunk and I didn’t adjust my caloric intake accordingly. I was also eating stuff that “didn’t agree with me,” not so much in terms of stomach upset, but in terms of adverse effect on my system. I had been feeling “full” all the time, a bit bloated and like things were not functioning at full efficiency. These are indicators that your body is not dealing well with the type of food you’re ingesting.

Time to adjust. Again. Sugar DEFINITELY out and now, all grains are out. We’ll see what that does.

I’ve also started a semi-annual Bowel Cleanse (Yeah, this is gross, but making sure that your gut is in good working order is a FANTASTIC idea). It’s a two formula program (made by a company in Marina Del Ray) that gets the smooth muscle of the intestines working again to (ahem) “move things along” and uses a charcoal, pectin, bentonite clay blend to absorb and remove toxins. This is NOT a weight loss shortcut: I have done this cleanse several times and never had significant weight loss. What it does is make me feel “lighter” (for want of a better word), make me feel like my digestive tract is working better ,faster, more efficiently and make me feel better, not so sluggish and my skins clears up (great barometer, your skin.  It’ll tell you if something’s amiss. Think of a zit as the Sarah Palin version of  Paul Revere shootin’ guns and ringin’ bells. And, in this case, YOU are the British and heed the warning to nip that shit in the bud). Again, no weight loss during the cleanse period (5 days), but getting rid of retained waste is always beneficial. There’s a reason your body doesn’t want to keep that stuff.

I’ve also advocated for adding fiber supplements (Like fiber gummies) and acidophilus/bifidous regularis to the diet. I like a good cheeseburger as much as the next carnivore, but I know that they’re calorie-dense, loaded with saturated fat and hard to digest. Added fiber and “good gut” bacteria (plus drinking those 8 glasses of water per day you’re always hearing about) helps your body cope with the heavier load. (Look, I’m not a scientist or nutritionist, okay? I just know what works for me, what makes me feel better).

I got the chance on Friday to finish my work a lot earlier than usual so that I could get to the gym at a time more to my liking: no issues with getting to weight equipment, no lines for cardio equipment. I had noticed that lately, I’ve been going through the weight training than I had when I started out  (45-50 minutes instead of 60-75 minutes). Same number of sets and reps, but it is my understanding that working more slowly is more of a challenge. I want the greater challenge; my muscles need the extra work. We have about 20 years of torpor (And you thought I wasn’t going to use it in a sentence) to overcome and with the slacking off of exercise, they need to be reminded who’s boss (my brain is such a control freak).  Saturday was welcome soreness (lactic acid burn; drink water to flush it out) and the drop on the scale.

Back on track.

Ten HUT!

180.4 lbs. Extended commentary to follow          

Dear Whatever Parts of the Body Feel the Need to Shelter Excess Weight,

Okay, so potato chips were consumed, as were Jello shots (SUGAR FREE or so I was told) and Mandicakes (DAMN THE GIRL! KEEBLER ELVES SHOULD BAKE SO WELL!). There were days without hitting the gym because of the low level sinus bullshit going on and trying to get up to speed on work. You made your point.

However,

This is not wartime Amsterdam and that adipose tissue is not the Frank family. You have been to the gym every day since Saturday. The water intake has gone back to where it belongs, as had the sugar consumption. You’ve been getting as close to 8 hours a night as possible and yet, no. You decided to gain and hold. This is NOT an option. Either you can release the additional pounds or we’re going to consider some other options, such as intermittent fasting (Meaning no eating outside of a 5 hour window) or we’re going to play HCG Round 2. 500 calories a day for 3 weeks? 40 days? Want to play that game again? Purge the sugar, starch and oils from the diet and the system? I can do it standing on my head, which means you get to play, too.

Your choice, Body. You can play nice with the 6 days per week of exercise and 1200 calorie intake and get me past the 174.6 lbs. (aka 50 down) mark within the next 14 days OR we can contact Dr. Fit back in St. Louis and get some more HCG and do it that way. Oh and in case you’re considering protesting, I have a memo from Alberto Gonzalez that says I can pursue any of these options, God bless America.

You wanted coconut, I’ve given you coconut (curried chicken salad dressing: ¼ cup non fat Greek yogurt, 1 tablespoon Coco Lopez, 1 teaspoon curry powder. Stir together, refrigerate overnight and allow flavors to get to know each other. 200 grams of grilled chicken, cut or torn into bite sized pieces, ½ cup shredded coconut, ½ cup raisins and 1 apple cut into bite sized pieces. Makes 3-4 servings). Ralph the Renegade Sinus is holding the right inner ear hostage and demanded wasabi for ransom: I ponied up with wasabi almonds. You wanted chicken, chicken, chicken after tonight’s workout; what did I just give you? Did I exceed the recommended caloric intake to satisfy you? Yes. The least you can do in return is to turn EVERYTHING that’s been given to you into muscle and energy  and healthy organs.

So, here’s what we’re going to do: starting tomorrow, we’re back on the N acetyl cysteine, alpha lipoic acid and tyrosine to get the cravings back under control (While I am willing to indulge you up to a point, macaroons are not allowed. Sorry) and get the motivation geared up again. We’re going to figure out a way to make a wasabi/yogurt dressing for more chicken salad adventures (what else would go in such a salad? Cucumbers, definitely. Sort of like a kappa maki roll without the rice. Avocado? Maybe). What’s that? No. No mayonnaise, even it if endangers our street cred as a white Protestant. Mayonnaise is only good as edible mortar: all it does is bind the more interesting ingredients together. And that includes a tomato sandwich.

We’re back to pounding down at least 10 – 12 glasses of water per day. We are no longer going to eat unless there is an actual physical sensation that needs to be addressed and I am pretty sure reinstituting the amino acid regimen will reinforce this.

No alcohol. Water or tea or black coffee, that’s it until and unless you get with the program.

Chocolate almond horns? Not so much. Clearly, sugar is not your friend. You want sweet? Have some stevia.

So, Body, either you show me that you’re back on board with the weight loss project or the floggings will continue until morale improves.

Dismissed.

Hang in There, Baby

176.4 lbs. I’m  1.8 lbs. away from being 50 lbs. down. You bet what’s left of my ass I’m happy.

I just signed up for HEALTH INSURANCE again! Frabjous joy (? From “The Jabberwock” by Lewis Carroll) It’s group health so, unfortunately, I didn’t get to test my new BMI vs. the health insurance company algorithms to see who would win, but hey, now I can get my blood chemistry tested without a) having to do it myself because b) I don’t want some dopey doctor just looking at me and prescribing Lipitor. Fuck Big Pharma. And before I start hearing about “well, they do this and they do that” [imagine sound of air horn]: They are in the business of selling pills and will do whatever it takes to make you a customer and a lifelong one at that. You know those ads for a “Drug Free America”? Did you ever notice that they never address prescription drug abuse? Chew on that.

“Bless me, Father for I have sinned.”

“Go talk to Richard Simmons or Oprah or Doctor Oz. Leave me alone.”

“Oh, you’re just crabby because Andre Ethier’s talking about going to the Red Sox.”

“He is?”

“Yes and I would welcome him. JD Drew is just a little too fragile. When he’s good, he’s great, but when he’s not, as thunder follows the lightning, he’s going to be on the DL list.”

“You didn’t come here to talk baseball. Spill it. I have to listen to Mrs. Mulroney every week talk about impure thoughts about Tom Jones. She’s been having those thoughts for 50 years.”

“Hey, he’s still got it, but that’s not why I’m here. I cheated.”

“You’re not married.”

“Not that kind of cheating, Father. I broke my discipline on exercise and eating this week.”

“You know, maybe if you got yourself a boyfriend, you’d leave me out of it.”

“You’re encouraging fornication?”

“I’m encouraging ‘leave me the hell alone-ication.”

“I’ve not maintained my schedule, Father.”

“And why not? Have you been fornicating? That’s lust, one of the Big Seven.”

“No, Father. You know better.”

“Have you been sleeping until noon? That’s sloth, another one of the Big Seven.”
“No, Father. In fact, I’ve been getting up early to work every day.”

“You got a job? That’s good. Earned income is a beautiful thing. So have you been stuffing yourself? That’s gluttony. Big Seven.”

“And my particular favorite for years, but only tonight, Father.”

“Why is this night different from all other nights?”

“Is that a Jewish joke, Father?”

“Huh? Oh, right. Passover questions. Rabbi Greenberg thinks he’s George Carlin. No. Let me rephrase: why did you break your discipline tonight?”

“I was at a gathering with friends to watch the last three Harry Potter movies and I indulged in a bunch of things I’ve been able to resist eating for quite some time.”

“For example?”

“I had two Mimosas and an English muffin with light butter.”

“Well, I don’t think the alcohol will hurt you too much, but we’ll wait and see what the gluten does to you. That’s penance enough. Was that it?”

“No, Father, I had some pizza, too.”

“Oh, great, more gluten And sodium and saturated fat and all that stuff that puts you in a panic when My Net Diary gives you the thumbs down on intake.”

“See, I cheated there, too, Father. I didn’t input all that stuff.”

“Well, you’re going to feel like crap. What did you weigh this morning?”

“176.4.”

“So you won’t be shocked at a spike, right?”

“No, Father and I figure the gluten intake should do it.”

“This close to 50 and you had a field day. Sabotage?”

“I don’t think so. There was fresh melon there and I stuck mostly to that.”

“Well, that’s not a big deal. But the pizza…and you said you’d been breaking your gym schedule. Hmm. Okay, this is not good. Tell me, are you keeping up with your brain chemistry supplements.”

“Yes and no. I just ran out of a bunch of them.”

“For how long?”

“A few days.”

“You know you’re crediting that stuff with controlling your eating habits and helping you stick to the exercise routine.”

“Yes, Father, but money has been tight lately. That’s $210 for a three month supply right there.”

“Right, but you’re working again and you’ll buy things as you need them and rebuild. Get the N aceytil cysteine, alpha lipoic acid and L tyrosine first. Keep your dopamine and serotonin levels up or get them back up.”

“What did you do, rifle my purse?”

“That thing? Honestly, I don’t know why you feel you need to lift weights with that thing. What do you have in there, bricks? The thing’s a lethal weapon!”

“Back on track, Father.”

“Okay, here’s the deal: you slipped. And yes, I know about the flourless chocolate cake. And before you jump on that. I know because I was in Whole Foods when you bought it. The only time I’ve seen anyone with a more crazed look in her eyes was Mrs. Mulroney at bingo when the prize was an all expenses paid weekend in Vegas with a Tom Jones show thrown in. I thought she was going to strangle Mrs. Whitehead when she won it.”

“Your point?”

“And yes, I have one: You’re back on duty as of right now. Re-establish your focus, get your eyes back on the prize. Speaking of which, what is the prize?”

“Feeling better?”

“You don’t have a more material reward in mind?”

“Depends. Do you have George Clooney’s phone number?”

“No and I’m not about to go get it for you, either. Why don’t you come up with a non-food reward for your next milestone. That’s the 50, right?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Something moderate, like going to get your nails done. I know you have that salon you like. And figure out something for hitting the big jackpot. I want you to come up with rewards that you can picture. In fact, cut pictures out of magazines and make a vision board, you know? For each reward, write the weight on the picture that’s the point where you’ll reward yourself. And start putting away money for it. We live in a day and age where every kid gets a trophy just for showing up. Well this is more than just showing up and you are earning the recognition. If an annual sales trip to Hawaii makes people sell cars or insurance, then why can’t you have mark your milestones?”

“When I hit the 125, I could go to Vegas.”

“Only if you take Mrs. Mulroney with you.”

My Advice? You Want MY Advice?

178.4 lbs. Two days ago, it was a big WHOO HOOO! Today, it’s old hat.

Due to learning/mastering a new job, I have been off-line. Anybody going through withdrawal symptoms, sorry about that. However, I need to earn money for gym fees and Trader Joe’s runs.

I nearly got kicked in the face during yoga class yesterday. No, the Drip Sisters didn’t return. It was another young woman with the runway poker face (supermodel wannabe). The room was wide open, but she had to set up within “smell my feet” range of my mat (which was already there because I got to class on time). The next non-Susan foot that comes near my face is getting yanked or slapped. I don’t care if it creates a ruckus in class. And yes, we were breathing and stretching to reggae, Pearl Jam and George Harrison again. Anything Beatles makes me smile (unless it’s Cirque du Soleil: I find it creepy and too European. Plus, I don’t pay beaucoup mega big bucks to see anything French Canadian unless it’s wearing black and gold and skating for the Bruins).

I have several friends who are also working on their fitness (and I’ll bet anybody reading this who isn’t working actively to improve fitness has at least 1 friend who is). One was telling me about hitting a plateau and asked me for suggestions for breaking it. Even though this person is a HUGE Looney Tunes fan, I didn’t recommend the Dynamite Diet that I threaten under the circumstances. Rather, I suggested that he vary his exercise routine with something like swimming. I find it amusing that people are asking me what they should do about diet and exercise. To the dipshit in the parking lot who told me I was angry because I was overweight and the discussion board jerkoff who called me a “fat fucking whore” because I could write better than he does: kiss my lily-white ass, you gomers. I’ll bet you’re both still miserable human beings.

Oh, and no, I won’t go swimming myself. It completely undoes my nail polish and I work HARD to put that on and get it right. Even the steam room erodes it. If OPI (What so proudly I hail. Best  nail polish and products in the business) comes up with a waterproof nail polish, I volunteer as a test subject.

The inner thigh flaps are rapidly shrinking. When in Forward Fold (Utinatasana?), I noticed I can see slivers of daylight between my  thighs. This makes me eligible to wear corduroy without risk of starting a fire.

The waist that I thought I saw a few weeks ago is becoming a reality. It’s very shy: I only get a glimpse of it from time to time. However, unlike Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster, I WILL prove that it exists.

The arm flaps are slowly tightening up. I blame myself for the slow progress: I should be working my triceps harder than I do. I’m supposed to be developing my push-up ability, which depends on good triceps and chest muscles. Clearly, if I’m referencing this as “supposed to be”, I’m not doing it. Yeah, I know: I said doing a push up was a goal. Annoyed sigh. I’ll work on it; stop nagging.

When I get to the 50 lbs. down mark (174.6 lbs, or 3.8 lbs. from where I am now), I will get measured again. Until, then, I’ll just keeping trying on those size 12 jeans to see if I’m getting closer to successfully zipping them.

Another aspect I’m really enjoying with respect to this is watching my BMI drop.  It has gone from 35.4 to 27.9. Granted, I will be eligible for group medical insurance through my job, but if I have to buy my own insurance, I know from ugly experience that the first thing a company asks you is how much you weigh and your activity level. And then, the computer turns you down if it doesn’t like the answer. Who needs an actual exam and a blood chemistry panel when you have an algorithm? Suck it, United Health Care, Blue Cross and Aetna.

The necessity to measure and record everything I put in my mouth has had a couple of unintended benefits: 1) it does make me more mindful of what and how much I’m eating. My Net Diary essentially imposes a budget of calories and although exercises allows it to be stretched, it’s not a blank check. I’m striving to hit certain nutritional markers (daily recommendations of fiber, calcium, fats, protein, etc.) and there’s not much room for things like ice cream or a cheeseburger. 2) Cravings for things like chocolate and cheeseburgers have largely died. Partly because I’ve corrected whatever part of my brain demanded them and partly because I don’t want to blow out my calorie budget for the day with one snack (Whoever at McDonalds or Burger King thought to market their products as “snacks” is probably some evil little skinny vegetarian marketing drone (which makes him evil anyway) who, like a scientist in a bad 1950s sci fi movie, has vowed to destroy humanity) and 3) I’ve been cash strapped lately and being mindful about what I’m eating and how much has allowed me to stretch out my food supply rather than the panicked gobbling I used to do when faced with a money/food shortage.

I’m heading into this holiday weekend with reason to celebrate. I doubt I’ll wake up nearly 4 pounds lighter tomorrow morning (but that would be SWEET!), but I’m in a lot better shape than I was on the Fourth last year. And I’ll be taking the pictures to prove it.

Once More Unto the Priest

179.8 lbs. GAH!!!!!

Dear Axe Body Spray: I think it is shameful how you lie to young, desperate, zitty men about your product, particularly since your product causes my nostrils to sting and eyes to water worse than Ron Burgundy’s “Sex Panther” cologne* (*Yes, I know it was really Paul Rudd’s character. Spare me the correction emails). Angels do not fall from the sky, young women do not pull off their bikini tops for horny nerds unless considerable amounts of Red Bull and vodka are involved. I should report your ass to the FTC for false advertising.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Oh, for the love of God: don’t you understand what a RESTRAINING ORDER means?”

“Since this is supposed to be anonymous, how can you possibly prove I am that person for whom you got a restraining order. You’re not even supposed to know my name. What are you, a Peeker Cheater?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t bring your boss into this.”

“So your Red Sox lost to the PIRATES??? HA!”

“And the soon-to-be former owner bent your Dodgers over a chair like the Monsignor and…”

“HEY! Don’t go there!”

“You started it.”

“So, what’s the big sin today? Evil thoughts about people who stick gum on the elliptical? Pride over your accomplishment? By the way, I notice your progress.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to see me through the screen.”

“You didn’t sa “OOF!” as you got into the confessional. I figured it wasn’t such a tight squeeze anymore.”

“It’s not, Father, and thank you. But I am angry.”

“What, another plateau?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I read your blog. And yes, I click on the ads, hoping the income will make you go away. And yet, here you are. AH CHOOO!”

“ Bless you, Father.”

“That’s my line. So tell me about the anger.”

“So, I’ve been VERY careful about what I put in my mouth, I have done at least one Monster Burn this week and I’ve been stuck at the same god damned…”

“HEY!”

“Sorry, Father. The same LOUSY weight for days. You know, I’ve got that My Net Diary and it ASSURES me that between what’s gone in the mouth and what’s been sweated off the butt should result in a loss of x number of ounces per day. However, the numbers don’t change.”

“Are you cheating?”

“On whom? I’m single.”

“(Annoyed sigh). You know what I mean.”

“Well, I am today, Father.”

“Oooh, let me guess, you did less than 5 hours at the gym and ate 3 bean sprouts instead of 2. You naughty girl. There’s a special place in hell for you.”

“Hey, leave the sarcasm to the professionals, Father.”

“You know there are people who are 1) actually Catholic, 2) truly wish to unburden their souls and 3) actually want absolution and will do penance. You are preventing me from ministering to my flock.”

“Your flock is at the beach. It’s just you and me. So about the cheating…”

“Go ahead, but be advised, I’m gonna lay such a penance on you…”

“Whatever. I started a new job this week and that makes it necessary to shuffle my schedule, not to mention there’s a huge amount of stress because I want to do this RIGHT. Employment is good. Unemployment, not so much, especially when the benefits run out. I was doubly anxious because I was frustrated with myself for not being better at the job and because I wasn’t on my usual gym schedule. I just hit the emotional wall yesterday and…”

“Let me guess, TWO chocolate almond horns?”

“You got it.”

“I can understand that. Those things are really, really, really good. What else?”

“Wine, Father.”

“Oh, please.”

“No, Torquemada said ‘Once a month’ and I had a glass on my birthday. She said it slows down the metabolism and since I’m working towards a goal, yada yada yada, eyes on the prize…”

“How much?”

“One coffee mug. I don’t have wine glasses.”

“Anything good?”

“Mosby Vinyards Sangiovese.”

“Ah,that’s good stuff. Did you at least have it with a filet mignon?”

“No, Father, veggie burgers. And they SUCK.”

“You’re killing me. That’s a crime against humanity.”

“You’re telling me.”

“So, for the first time since you started this odyssey, you indulged in a little rebellion. Big friggin’ whoop. Come back when you’ve committed something interesting, like lust.”

“I lust in my heart.”

“Unless you’re Jimmy Carter, it doesn’t count. And frankly, if you got laid once a while…”

“Father!”

“You wouldn’t bother me so much. What else?”

“The cheating continued in to today. I had more wine.”

“Did you record it?”

“Well, if your weight goes up tomorrow, it’s your own damn fault.”

“It would be something different on the scale.”

“Yeah, but as bad as you are on a plateau, I don’t want to be within 10 miles of you when you spike. Are you sure you’re not on the rag?”

“NO!”

“Jeez! Relax, Francis! Just asking.”

“’Relax, Francis?’ Have you been watching ‘Stripes’ on your IPod?”

“Yeah. Love that movie.”

“So, what’s my penance?”

“If I let the punishment fit the crime, I’d be busting into your sanctum sanctorum on a regular basis and driving you nuts. And you know, since you’re not actually Catholic, I could probably step outside the 10 Hail Marys and Stations of the Cross boundaries and give you something really creative, like a 20 mile hike. HOWEVER, you and I both know that there is a Bible passage to address your plateau concerns.”

“Which one?”

“This, too, shall pass. Just chill, keep on keeping on and tell me a six letter synonym for ‘hemorrhoid’.”

“P-R-I-E-S-T.”

A Day in the Life

179.8 lbs. Let’s see, South Beach, Atkins, Cabbage Soup, Beverly Hills Fruit Bat…nope. Can’t find the rules for the Tasmanian Devil Plateau Buster Diet. How am I supposed to know how much dynamite to swallow?

Saw some interesting clothing at the gym today, both on men. One was a guy in solid blue from head to foot, all the same shade. Either he’s a huge Dodgers fan or really, really anxious for the new Smurf movie (may it crash and burn. Those little blue bastards give me the creeps. Smurf them). The other guy was wearing a San Francisco Giants cap, but the cap was made in Dodger colors. Obviously, camouflage. Hey, it could save his life. It works for chameleons.

Despite the current plateau, I felt bold enough to wear a sun dress out in public today. Granted, I’m not happy about the bra straps on display (they’re nude, but I’m the whitest woman in captivity, so pretty much anything shows). Nobody stopped me. As far as I know, there was no snickering behind my back. The cops didn’t stop me (maybe my time spent the other day served a purpose. We shall see). I was rewarded for going out on this particular limb by not encountering any resistance to me wearing what I want. And yes, when somebody mocks your clothing choices, they are resisting your choices. Even me when I talk about women wearing big furry white boots over skintight leggings (or dainty, lacy tops over big, leather boots. I still don’t get that one). Be that as it may, I feel it is our fashion duty to resist all Ed Hardy clothing. Initially, it was intriguing to see tattoo designs incorporated into fashion, but it was over-licensed and as quickly over-exposed  and old hat as “The Macarena,” Smurfs and the cast of “Jersey Shore.”

For the record, some of the gentler Beatles tunes and especially "Here Comes the Sun" work nicely as yoga background.

And no, I’m not wearing any shaping garments except for the afore-mentioned bra. It’s supposed to be in the high 90s over the next few days and that is just begging for a truly hellacious rash. Granted, it could be argued that a girdle could lead to weight loss under such circumstances, but I wouldn’t do except on a $1,000 bet. Go ahead, bet me: I could use the dough.

The Greek chorus in my head (which is also the one that I’ve recently stopped from telling me I need to put on lipstick and mascara before leaving the house. It’s a feminine chorus.) is scandalized at my audacity. How dare I walk around with being reined in (BTW: I keep seeing that term misspelled by professional writers on websites such as CNN, MSNBC and the LA Times. The LA Times is particularly bad with such matters, as well as factual errors by their bloggers). How dare I expose my arms? Ugh, the world will end.

Well, my wearing a sun dress ended the world about as effectively as the Rapture prediction for May 21. Of course, that guy has amended his timetable to October 21 (the Mayans are suing because that screws up THEIR end of the world prediction. This is like all the state primaries piling onto February and March to steal a march (bad pun) on New Hampshire, which has a law that states its primary shall be first in the nation. These friggin’ people give me a headache, but I digress). Maybe my wearing the sun dress precipitates it. I’ve got the power (which reminds me of some more songs to add to the “Workout Tuneage” playlist).

It was Yoga Day and (per the orders of Torquemada. I’m not afraid of much, but the Pushy Peanut is high on the list) I also put in some quality cardio time. I found one of the newer yoga regulars on the treadmill next to me and as we were discussing how much we love Lila and her class, the guy on the other side of me started quizzing us about the class. Seems he’s wanted to give it a try, but was intimidated by the notion of practicing among advanced students (like me. Right. Some of those poses, I make a yak on ice skates look graceful). WE assured him that Lila was the way to go and in fact, the classmate had joined because he’d been urged and pushed to do so by one of the other guys in the class because, well, it’s mostly women and testosterone evaporates in the presence of overwhelming estrogen. There’s scientific evidence. (On the flip side, I’ve done stand-up comedy…surprised?...in lineups so testosterone heavy that I was able to call up meaningless sports statistics during the night. We’ll see if the new guy shows up.

Oh, yeah: I managed to actually JOG for over 5 minutes. This is progress.

I’m still having issues with the balance poses IF I keep my feet together as I’m supposed to do. If I widen the stance, I do better, but the one-legged stuff still needs work. Never mind the forest: if this Tree falls over in yoga class, it makes a noise. In fact, it makes a lot of noise that sounds like George Carlin’s “Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television.” (Interesting fact: in the law text book that covered the Supreme Court case included those seven words in a footnote. It would have been cheaper just to buy his album).

One of the other regulars, a nice lady with shoulder issues (we both have to modify quite a bit) and I got into a bit of trouble at the beginning of the class when we were working core muscles (the new buzz term for abdominals, lower back and butt) in the Boat pose (balance on your butt with your legs in the air and reach up with your arms) and both of our Boats kept capsizing. This wouldn’t have been a problem except that we’d catch each other’s eye and giggle.  At the end of class, she told me I had very beautiful legs. That was nice. (By the way, Guys? Women can tell each other we look good or we admire various body parts or clothing without thinking it makes us sexually attracted to the complimentee).

On top of these good little bits that happened today, I’ve also got a new job (Yea! And that’s the correct spelling by the way) that will allow me to continue my intense physical training schedule. That and the fact that the gym is open 24/7 (it’s part of the name).

I need to look into whether it is possible to tighten skin after a substantial loss without the help of a plastic surgeon (which I may need anyway due to the nascent turkey wattle (aka a Reagan) under my chin. I’ll find out who took care of Ann Coulter’s). I’ve been watching “Extreme Makeover: Weight Loss Edition” and those folks are undergoing the program with an eye towards earning skin removal surgery. Of course, they’re starting out from weights like 651 lbs. and 500 lbs., so the skin’s been stretched pretty far. Now that I type it, it seems a little squicky that people would compete for such a thing, but the guy who was featured last night said that he’d like to inspire people who watch the show. I give him credit for dropping 300 + lbs. in 12 months. He literally worked his ass off despite  a very prominent abdominal hernia on display on top of a week in the hospital to deal with pneumonia. He wanted the  new body enough to just keep pushing.

And so do I.