My cat wants me to be fat
What with one thing and another, I’ve completely fallen out of any sort of fitness/weight loss effort.
And started eating sugar again.
Bad, very bad. Tasty, but very bad.
I’ve just about reached my ‘no tolerance’ point again, at which moment I will magically kick myself in gear and get back on track. I get to that point very slowly, so I have lots of time to mentally adjust to the fact that my life is going to suck again while I weed out bad habits and groan through character-building exercises like situps and skipping the bakery section in the grocery store.
Yesterday I acknowledged the inevitable and cleaned my apartment. Those warning sirens you heard, and all the Hazmat-logoed trucks you saw driving by? All me.
I’ve been busy. Perhaps a little less observant than usual. I had no idea the dust would rise up, rise up some more, and then attack the shedded cat hair. But now stuff is clean and I can open the curtains again without worrying that passing neighbors will report me to the health department. I’ve even found the carpet again.
That means I have room to start getting back into shape. Yeah, yeah. I have a gym membership. People go to gyms to get into shape. Here’s a secret: people go to gyms to get into shape after they are already in enough shape that they don’t have to worry about passing out on the treadmill next to the cheerleader who is sprinting while texting and not—this is important—breaking a sweat.
In other words: having found my carpet, I would like to spend a week or two finding my abs before I subject myself to public humiliation. Of course, this means I can’t open the curtains yet in case neighbors walk by and call an ambulance for me, but hey—if I wanted to open my curtains, I could.
Riding high on yesterday’s marathon cleaning session, I hopped out of bed this morning and prepared to do some exercises. Push—- oh, look at the cute kitty, rolling around on the floor, begging to be petted. Awwwww…. she’s laying on her back and wants her tummy rubbed (she chases her tail, too—this cat thinks she’s a dog).
Push up, let down, pet the cat. Push up, let down, pet the cat.
I have a feeling this is not a very effective exercise routine. Neither is sit up, lay back, push the cat off my belly, sit up, lay back, push the cat off my belly.
Or squat, untangle the kitty from my ankles, stand up, squat, untangle…
Now I understand. Gyms were created to save people from their pets. Onyx and I are clearly going to have to have a very long conversation about this, probably with her shut in the bedroom while I work out in the living room.
In the meantime, I hope my two and a half pushups, one squat, and three situps qualifies as a “start.”
It’s the thought that counts, right? I mean, I know exercising can’t be all mental… actually, it kind of is all mental, but not in an “It’s the thought that counts” kind of way.
Why am I doing this again? I think Onyx may have the right idea, here. Who needs situps when you can just pet a cat and lower your blood pressure instead?
Weight for it…
Around a year ago, give or take a month, I decided I really should stop saying I was going to lose weight and actually, you know, do something about it. Otherwise, I was going to have to go out and buy pants in a size I swore I would never wear.
I sat down and acknowledged some truths, like “I hate change,” “Sugar makes me happy,” “I’m lazy,” and “Cutting carbs out of my diet just might make me homicidal.”
This raised some interesting questions, like: if my own inertia is going to make developing a real exercise program difficult, and cutting sugar and carbs from my diet is going to make me even more unhappy and unwilling to stick with a new program, how the hell am I going to lose weight?
The answer was to change one thing at a time, so that I was only vastly unhappy about one particular aspect of my life at any given moment.
And, periodically, I decided I was awesome and threw the whole program into the trash for a week or two and had some milkshakes.
This has worked, it really has.
Total weight lost in one year: 35-40 pounds.
For the past six weeks, I’ve been celebrating my awesomeness. While I haven’t gained, I haven’t lost more—and my overall fitness has decreased.
I decided I would have to do something before I started gaining again. There’s a gym on the way to work. I hate exercising, and I hate mornings, so I might as well exercise in the morning and hate everything all at once.
It’ll build character. The fact that this is the exact opposite of last year’s plan is not lost on me. This would never have worked at this time last year, but I think it will work now; I know that I can and will stick to a routine once I get into it, and that I can and will get through the hellish adjustment period.
So today I stopped at the gym to sign up.
As I chatted with the membership guy, we did the usual goals and such things. I explained about the last year, and he said that was great and asked how I did it.
I had to think for a moment, because the obvious answer is: eat less, exercise more. I thought it might be a trick question. Are there other weight-loss techniques? Has someone invented an eat more, exercise less program? Turns out they haven’t. Bummer.
We got all the details sorted out and I handed over my driver’s license. He looked at it, looked at me, and said “Is that really you? You really did lose a lot of weight!”
Well, no. I got someone fatter than me to take my DMV photo, because if there’s one thing any of us needs, it’s to increase the inherent awfulness of DMV photos.
And I’m somewhat bemused by the implied “I didn’t believe you before” in his statement, but I can’t fault him there. I’m sure a lot of people go on about the weight they (never actually) lost or are (not really) going to lose. It’s probably like horse people listening to the average person on the street saying “I’m a great rider!” and we’re thinking “a pony ride when you were six does not make you an Olympian.”
But I do like being flattered, even when the flattery is probably just part of a pitch to make sure I hang around long enough to sign on dotted line.
I signed. Tomorrow they are doing the orientation session. They promised to kick my ass in a whirlwind tour of all the equipment.
If you hear groaning tomorrow night, it’s probably my ass, wondering what it ever did to deserve the end of this prolonged celebration and the rather cruel resumption of… THAT word.
So far, my body hasn’t quite caught up with my brain and realized that I’m serious about the exercise-in-the-morning thing. When that happens, I’m sure you’ll hear the screams of protest.
I’m warning you, so you can go out and buy wax to stuff in the ears of any small children whose psyches might be permanently damaged by the choice phrases I am likely to resort to. I can’t be held liable for my language under the influence of exercise in the morning.
In which we progress slowly, without drama
[This bout of shameless bragging brought to you by the letter A for Awesome]
No pain, no gain. That’s what they say.
They can tell it to my abs, which are currently so sore that even menstrual cramps sound pleasant. This is what happens when you try a new exercise and, while you’re doing it, think Hey, I can really feel this working! Awesome! More reps! More! More, I say!
More sense would have more useful.
Other things they say: when you lose a lot of weight, your balance and coordination can’t keep up with you. And so, for a while, you feel less capable and the weight loss actually seems counter productive.
I’ll vouch for that. I’m estimating that I’ve lost about twenty pounds since last September, and there are days when I can’t do even a modified Tree pose. That’s right. There are days when I try to stand on one leg and fail. And if I happen to be benchmarking on the Wii, it chirps “Your leg is a little unstable” and I contemplate electronic murder. Really? I have one arm stretched towards Kansas and the other windmilling towards Mexico and one leg flailing out to the Gulf of Mexico while I try not to fall down, and a computer program thinks I might be a little unstable?
And some days things are ok. Because I haven’t lost all that weight in a nice, steady, pound-a-week style the way they say you should. No, I prefer the panic cycle: lose weight, lose weight, celebrate my awesomeness, panic, sulk, lose weight, lose weight, celebrate my awesomeness…
On the upside, I’m able to readjust my balance periodically and there are days when I ride and realize my core is no longer a bowl of jello. It’s now a marshmallow. Days like this weekend, when we were doing some shoulder in and I realized I wasn’t fighting my body. Or when we started a canter exercise, and I realized I not only wasn’t fighting my body—I also had better control over it. Or when we work on stretching down and out and the horse’s head and neck disappear from in front of me and I don’t feel like I am going to fall right over his ears because my aids are becoming increasingly independent and stabilized.
It was a good weekend.
Then I tried some new ab exercises. That was stupid. I should rejoice in my marshmallow abs for a while and stop worrying about transforming them into… what comes after marshmallows, anyway?
Pain, that’s what. Must… remember… this weekend. This was a good weekend. I’m halfway to my ultimate goal. Inevitably, I’ll be spending time over the next few months looking like a mutant pinwheel while trying to stand on one leg, but balance and coordination will come back. And it feels pretty good when it does.
Blowing the budget, for a good cause
We all know I’m on a budget, saving for The Wonder Horse To Be. I even cut back my book buying, which is a Big Deal. I buy books like other people buy cigarettes.
I’ve also been on a long, slow lifestyle adjustment. This time last year, I was fifty pounds overweight. Not a national crisis, I agree, but I could feel the effect of the extra weight in my back. Not good.
Also, I went to put on my field boots and they didn’t fit. Not even close. Ditto my full chaps. One or two other things convinced me that I would be happier if I could lose even forty pounds.
Because I know myself well, I knew a quick, dramatic diet was not the answer. It had to be the whole “lifestyle” thing, and I don’t change habits easily. I knew this would be a long, slow battle.
Given the “long, slow” bit, you’d think I’d have gone out and bought some temporary field boots or half chaps or something, right? Oh no. See, I keep my old boots and chaps in the closet and tell myself “I’ll wear these again some day, so no need to buy new ones.” Some people have “skinny” jeans; I have “skinny” boots and chaps.
I’ve been riding with sherberty pink polos wrapped around my legs.
Oh, I know. Believe me, I know. If I had to go the polo route, at least I could have shelled out ten dollars for cheap black ones, right? I mean, I hate the sherberty pink color. I think it was supposed to be a regular reminder of what I was working for, but… oy. I’m lucky my instructor just let it slide. I’m lucky the junior riders thought it was a cool fashion statement.
It’s been a year since I started this weight-loss thing. My boots and chaps still don’t fit. But!
But I have lost twenty pounds. A pant size and a half (I’m in that icky in-between stage). An inch and a half off my calves. I couldn’t fit into extra-wide half chaps last fall; I tried on large half chaps at the store this weekend and they fit.
I just couldn’t help it. I bought the chaps. They are purrrrrrrrty: full-grain leather, close contact, brand name $$$ chaps.
At least when I blow the budget I blow it big. And for a good cause.
I have no self control
I’m on yet another “I must be healthier” kicks, although it’s really a “Oh my god, do I really spend that much money on sodas and junk food?” kicks. Ah, money. The great motivator.
So: the plan. No more Subway lunches. Only X amount of soda purchases per month. Only one weekly snack purchase.
You should already be laughing, especially at the soda one. What was I thinking?
Nevertheless, I was determined to do it.
Dinner last night? Was Chinese takeout. While I was out getting takeout? I bought a bag of chips. Which I just finished eating (freaking Kettle chips. They’re more addictive than caffeine). And I bought more soda, which would have been ok, except I drank more than my new daily allotment. Which means, come end of the month, I’m going to have to break my soda budget.
Sigh.
Five days. I couldn’t even stick to my budget for five freaking days.
Right: Starting tomorrow, I resolve…
*snort*