Today is my 97th post on this blog. The big 100 is right around the corner and I think that I should mark it by some really big changes to the way I share info with you. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I will say that the change is for the better. I can't wait to share all this with you. For now just hang tight.
Moving right along to the subject matter at hand - The diet/lifestyle change is finally back on track. I hate that my kids have to go back to school so early, but I'm not at all sorry to be back on schedule. I'm back in the gym 3-4 days a week, and I'm eating regular meals at regular times. Boring, yes, but undeniably good for the body.
I have to travel to the lake house again at the end of September for Dad's 50th birthday (insert big whoo-hoo here). That is exactly six weeks from now and I would like to be down 10 pounds by then. That is a totally reasonable goal. That's 1.66 pounds per week and if I can't do that after setting stagnant all summer, well then, I just need to throw in the towel.
One last thing. Part of the Big Surprise has to do with food. (what doesn't?) Anyways, if anyone has any absolutely fabulous (original - meaning yours or a friend or family members, not previously published) recipes, healthy or otherwise, that you would like to share then please do so. Just send the recipe name and origin, recipe, and your name to keila_mb@myway.com. It really is going to be awesome!
Showing posts with label gym. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gym. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Inspiration Station? Not So Much.
It would appear that I have lost my mojo. You see, I am not one of these miracle people who have this internal motivation. Someone who can just get out of bed throw back a cup of black coffee and a banana and actually look forward to a good hard workout. I suppose had I been born one of this alien race, I would not be in the predicament I am in today. I need the external inspiration. Desperately.
See, I am one of those profoundly normal people who must drag my sorry ass out of bed, have a Java Monster (don't worry - the lo-ball only has 100 calories for the whole can), plus my multivitamin spiked w/ green tea and egcg, and even 4oz of orange juice for the sugar rush. Then I have to rush my kids to school and hurry to the gym before my chemically induced high wears off. I plug away on stinking sweating machines, glaring across the room at the skinny new trainer with the impossibly high ass showing the correct way to use the machine. She makes it look so easy. Naturally this is not true. She is nice, but I secretly want to snap her like a twig.
Then I'm home and it's time to force feed myself some form of protein, usually a boiled egg or a cup of fat-free chocolate soy milk - my favorite. I try to get in a few loads of laundry and make the beds before I inevitably crash for a semi-comatose doze for a few minutes before the kids get off the bus. Then, of course it's homework, dinner, dishes, feed the dogs, more laundry, kids baths, my bath, fold the laundry, take a few mandatory minutes to read something completely unnecessary and self-indulgent before falling asleep -I hope- before 1:00 or 2:00am.
The thing is, a few months ago. All this seemed to be no problem. Before the end of the last school year, I seemed to have it all under control. I breezed through my daily workout, burning 500+ calories and even having enough energy to take a 3-mile walk a few times a week. And my house had never been cleaner. Now I can hardly make it up the stairs with my laundry basket and I am trying to figure out just how we can afford a cleaning lady.
The thing that pisses me off the most is that I have changed absolutely nothing. My trainer says that we all go through periodic slumps once in a while. It is natural, she says, and it will soon pass. What does she know, I think, she eats grass and tofu and weight 100lbs. She is what I imagine Satan looks like in my own personal hell. See, I think there will be a personalized hell for each of us and mine will have me too fat to move while I watch this skinny bitch supermodel stuff her face with endless cupcakes and pies and extra salty chips and never gain a pound. Worse, she will periodically, get up, step over to the scales, climb on and blithely say, "oh look, I've lost a few pounds." Yes, this will be hell. And if I am unlucky enough to end up there, this is what it will look like. Oh, and there will be bad poetry. I hate poetry.
So, what do I do? How do I find my inspiration again. I need Biggest Loser to come back on TV. I need for Kirsty Alley to lose the weight again. (although, conversely, it makes me feel worse whenever Oprah loses weight. go figure.) I need Richard Simmons to come bark in my ear every day that I can do it.
Maybe tomorrow I will wake up with a burning desire to go work out. Maybe I will wake up with enough energy to get through my day. And maybe; as my GenX hero, Wayne Campbell, often says; monkeys will fly out of my butt. Oh well. At least if that happens I will at least have lost some weight. I wonder how much a flying monkey weighs?
See, I am one of those profoundly normal people who must drag my sorry ass out of bed, have a Java Monster (don't worry - the lo-ball only has 100 calories for the whole can), plus my multivitamin spiked w/ green tea and egcg, and even 4oz of orange juice for the sugar rush. Then I have to rush my kids to school and hurry to the gym before my chemically induced high wears off. I plug away on stinking sweating machines, glaring across the room at the skinny new trainer with the impossibly high ass showing the correct way to use the machine. She makes it look so easy. Naturally this is not true. She is nice, but I secretly want to snap her like a twig.
Then I'm home and it's time to force feed myself some form of protein, usually a boiled egg or a cup of fat-free chocolate soy milk - my favorite. I try to get in a few loads of laundry and make the beds before I inevitably crash for a semi-comatose doze for a few minutes before the kids get off the bus. Then, of course it's homework, dinner, dishes, feed the dogs, more laundry, kids baths, my bath, fold the laundry, take a few mandatory minutes to read something completely unnecessary and self-indulgent before falling asleep -I hope- before 1:00 or 2:00am.
The thing is, a few months ago. All this seemed to be no problem. Before the end of the last school year, I seemed to have it all under control. I breezed through my daily workout, burning 500+ calories and even having enough energy to take a 3-mile walk a few times a week. And my house had never been cleaner. Now I can hardly make it up the stairs with my laundry basket and I am trying to figure out just how we can afford a cleaning lady.
The thing that pisses me off the most is that I have changed absolutely nothing. My trainer says that we all go through periodic slumps once in a while. It is natural, she says, and it will soon pass. What does she know, I think, she eats grass and tofu and weight 100lbs. She is what I imagine Satan looks like in my own personal hell. See, I think there will be a personalized hell for each of us and mine will have me too fat to move while I watch this skinny bitch supermodel stuff her face with endless cupcakes and pies and extra salty chips and never gain a pound. Worse, she will periodically, get up, step over to the scales, climb on and blithely say, "oh look, I've lost a few pounds." Yes, this will be hell. And if I am unlucky enough to end up there, this is what it will look like. Oh, and there will be bad poetry. I hate poetry.
So, what do I do? How do I find my inspiration again. I need Biggest Loser to come back on TV. I need for Kirsty Alley to lose the weight again. (although, conversely, it makes me feel worse whenever Oprah loses weight. go figure.) I need Richard Simmons to come bark in my ear every day that I can do it.
Maybe tomorrow I will wake up with a burning desire to go work out. Maybe I will wake up with enough energy to get through my day. And maybe; as my GenX hero, Wayne Campbell, often says; monkeys will fly out of my butt. Oh well. At least if that happens I will at least have lost some weight. I wonder how much a flying monkey weighs?
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Getting Used to a New Trainer and other impossible goals
My trainer quit the gym. Just up and quit with no good reason. I know she has her own life and everything and doesn't exist just to whip my ass into shape, but still. My new trainer is actually the owner of the gym and she is super nice and helpful and there is absolutely nothing wrong with her whatsoever. I think, personality-wise, I might actually like her better. It's just that . . . well . . . you kind of get used to a trainer, you know?
It's a very personal relationship a woman has with her trainer. You tell her things you would never tell anyone else, not even your husband whom you love more than anything. You know, things like your weight. She's seen you sweat and groan through your toughest workouts and she's even measured your thighs, for god's sake! And you actually feel compelled to tell her the truth because you know that her sole job in your life is to make your body better. And that's exactly the way you like it.
Now she's gone and you have to get used to someone new. It's a bit like dating, I suppose, after having been in a long term relationship. I can't imagine anything more horrible. Now all I have to do is manage to carve out a good relationship with my new trainer without growing too attached. I have some serious issues.
My next impossible goal is somewhat more short term, but no less unrealistic. I want to lose 3.5 lbs. by the end of the week. 6 days. Not entirely impossible, but still highly improbable.
You see, I have these jeans . . . and then there's this concert . . . and well, you get the picture. I tried the jeans on yesterday and they actually fit. And fit pretty well, I might add. But I can't get over the fact that I'm hovering at 213.5lbs. and I can't help but feel that the jeans would look even better on me if I was at 210.
I know it's ridiculous, but still. I figure if I bust my hump all week then even if I don't lose the whole 3.5 lbs. I will at least have lost something, and hopefully even have jump started my metabolism so that next week is a little easier on the scales, too.
Call me crazy. Call me a dreamer. Just don't call me for the next 6 days. I will be at the gym.
It's a very personal relationship a woman has with her trainer. You tell her things you would never tell anyone else, not even your husband whom you love more than anything. You know, things like your weight. She's seen you sweat and groan through your toughest workouts and she's even measured your thighs, for god's sake! And you actually feel compelled to tell her the truth because you know that her sole job in your life is to make your body better. And that's exactly the way you like it.
Now she's gone and you have to get used to someone new. It's a bit like dating, I suppose, after having been in a long term relationship. I can't imagine anything more horrible. Now all I have to do is manage to carve out a good relationship with my new trainer without growing too attached. I have some serious issues.
My next impossible goal is somewhat more short term, but no less unrealistic. I want to lose 3.5 lbs. by the end of the week. 6 days. Not entirely impossible, but still highly improbable.
You see, I have these jeans . . . and then there's this concert . . . and well, you get the picture. I tried the jeans on yesterday and they actually fit. And fit pretty well, I might add. But I can't get over the fact that I'm hovering at 213.5lbs. and I can't help but feel that the jeans would look even better on me if I was at 210.
I know it's ridiculous, but still. I figure if I bust my hump all week then even if I don't lose the whole 3.5 lbs. I will at least have lost something, and hopefully even have jump started my metabolism so that next week is a little easier on the scales, too.
Call me crazy. Call me a dreamer. Just don't call me for the next 6 days. I will be at the gym.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Is this supposed to be inspirational, or something?
OK, I know this is completely ridiculous, but I have found something new to piss me off. To be fair, on the pissing me off scale this is relatively low and probably completely petty. But hey what are pissing me off scales for if not arbitrary absurdness?
So here it is. For the past two morning in a row I have entered my gym only to be greeted by dance mix versions of church hymns. No, don't adjust your screen, you read it right. Dance mix church music. Seriously? What the hell - to say the least.
Now, please before anyone gets all up in arms that I am against their religion - that is not what I am saying. Not here, anyways. I believe that all music, even gospel, has its place. Just not at the gym. I think even the most filled with the spirit, shall we say?, can see the logic of this. It's like fish tacos. Two things that just don't go, in my opinion.
When I go workout I like to here me some Black Eyed Peas, some Flo Rida, hell - even some damn Brittany Spears is better than this stuff. I'll freely admit it. I don't hate the post post breakdown Brittany stuff. In fact Womanizer and Circus are fairly excellent workout tunes. But how am I expected to work up a sweat to a tub-thumpin' version of Amazing Grace? The ridiculousness of it almost made me lose track of where I was in the circuit. That's the worst part of it. Not only is the God Rock awesomely inappropriate but it's downright distracting.
So while I may be over in the corner moaning "Oh, Jesus!" after any given workout, that should certainly not be taken as a request to the DJ.
So here it is. For the past two morning in a row I have entered my gym only to be greeted by dance mix versions of church hymns. No, don't adjust your screen, you read it right. Dance mix church music. Seriously? What the hell - to say the least.
Now, please before anyone gets all up in arms that I am against their religion - that is not what I am saying. Not here, anyways. I believe that all music, even gospel, has its place. Just not at the gym. I think even the most filled with the spirit, shall we say?, can see the logic of this. It's like fish tacos. Two things that just don't go, in my opinion.
When I go workout I like to here me some Black Eyed Peas, some Flo Rida, hell - even some damn Brittany Spears is better than this stuff. I'll freely admit it. I don't hate the post post breakdown Brittany stuff. In fact Womanizer and Circus are fairly excellent workout tunes. But how am I expected to work up a sweat to a tub-thumpin' version of Amazing Grace? The ridiculousness of it almost made me lose track of where I was in the circuit. That's the worst part of it. Not only is the God Rock awesomely inappropriate but it's downright distracting.
So while I may be over in the corner moaning "Oh, Jesus!" after any given workout, that should certainly not be taken as a request to the DJ.
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