A nice piece of humble pie…

For someone who enjoys eating as much as I do, one would think it wouldn’t be too difficult to swallow a huge chunk of reality.  Let me be the first to admit, nothing could be further from the truth.  Wednesday evenings has kind of started to be the night I meet with my personal trainer.  This week, however, he had been double-booked with an intro class for personal training and asked if I would be willing to sit in on it with them in lieu of a personal session.  I didn’t mind at all.  There were two reasons for this.  The first reason being that he is actually working with me a little more frequently then we had agreed.  The second reason was that this was going to be the first session for these ladies, and frankly, I’ve progressed enough to totally rock.

So, I did my twenty minutes of cardio before hand and then met with them in the back of the gym where the training sessions usually take place.  The three other ladies consisted of one in her mid forties, probably 50 lbs overweight, a young woman in her early twenties and seemed to be in good shape and another young woman in her mid-to-late twenties about 50 lbs overweight.  So, we started with planks (not to be confused with the fad-of-the-moment: planking) and I did great.  I’ve been working on those the past week and when we first did them last Wednesday I could barely do 10 seconds.  I have worked my way up to 3 reps of 15 seconds.  Then we did kicks where I lie on my back, hands behind my lower back and raise each leg.  Once again, I did well…at first.  It was at this point that I noticed that I was breathing much heavier than the other three ladies.

We moved on to lunges which he and I had worked on last week but I hadn’t done any since our session.  By now I’m starting to slow and am having visible difficulty maintaining my balance.  After the lunges he gives us 10 lb weights and we do various arm exercises and by then, I’m straining so much I’m having difficulty remembering to breathe.  The other ladies appear to be doing very well.  We then move to squat-jumps and by now they are having to wait on me to finish.  When we finally finish these, we once again return to our mats and do a little more of the planks, and then the kicks.  By the time I get to 25, they are done and talking with him.  He asks me what number I’m on and I tell him that I’m on 25.  He reminds me to finish and I tell him that I will, and I do.

I knew I was in bad physical shape when I started this leg of my journey.  I knew that I was morbidly obese.  I knew that walking up a flight of stairs winded me.  I knew that my knees hurt. I knew that I had fat rolls.  I knew that I was at exponential risk for diabetes and heart disease.  I knew these things.  I KNOW these things.  What I had not realized, not really, was HOW out of shape I really was when compared to others.  Of course, these other women complained about how their legs hurt and how tired they were.  It was a hard workout.  None of them struggled like I did and I struggled.  I pushed.  Every muscle I had strained and shook.  My shirt was soaked, my hair was soaked and my face was beat red and covered with sweat.  I struggled.

Yeah, I choked on this big hunk of humble pie. I was in complete denial at first but then the more I saw, the more I watched, the more I understood how poorly I had treated my body.  Does this change my level of motivation?  Hell yes!  If I am struggling this much after almost a month of going to the gym and working out, where am I going to be if I don’t keep doing this?  I have NO desire to find out.


Gettin’ Bored…

already.  It’s been almost 4 weeks now, and I’m getting bored with the routine.  It has been approximately 30 minutes on the elliptical/cross trainer then weights, but the 30 minutes have started to feel like F…O…R…E…V…E…R, so I’ve split it up and am doing the first half before the weights/machines and the last half afterwards.  It has made it better.

I find it very ironic, that I’ve always been one to crave routine, but when I get it, I’m bored to tears by it.  I’m sure part of it has to do with appreciating the stability that routines provide, which I think directly conflicts with my complete lack of focus and attention.  😛

I have upgrade to an official (goodwill purchased) duffel bag that has the logo of a hospital I never worked at on it.  Although I did have one of my girls there, so maybe THAT counts.  Anyway, I did get tired of carrying around my clothes in the official luggage of rednecks everywhere, aka, a Walmart bag (collect the whole set!).  I do think my shoes have sprung a leak because when it’s really quiet, I can hear this ever-so-faint whistle coming from my feet when I walk, and I KNOW I’m not lighter than air…yet.

I do go to two different gyms (two locations of the same company), and I must say I do prefer the one I signed up at.  It is under construction and they keep moving the machines–there they go, messin’ with my routine–but they seem so much friendlier.  Plus, every time I go to the other one, I feel like I’m crashing someone’s family reunion.  Now, don’t get me wrong, they aren’t mean or anything, but they aren’t high-fivin’ me and yellin’ at me for not sitting correctly when working with weights.  Either way it goes, though, it’s really not their job to keep me interested is it?

So, I’m always on the lookout for new music, new ideas to keep me interested.  Winter is coming up quickly and frankly, I don’t want to let it set me back at all.

Betrayed by the Checkout Lane

There’s a grocery store close to where I live and it’s very convenient to rush through, grab a couple of things and then head home.  I find it ironic considering how much I love to eat, that I absolutely abhor going grocery shopping.  Anyway, I love the self-service check out lanes.  Honestly, I prefer the lack of disingenuous conversation, and greatly prefer them to the cashier that hates life and sucks every bit of mine out as I stand there paying for my impulsive shopping.

So, every time I go through this check out line, there is a beautifully decorated table, brightly but not garishly garnished.  I don’t remember, but I swear that it may even have a soft light falling delicately upon it.  On top of this table: French Twist Pastries (aka creme horns).  I go through this check-out lane once, maybe twice a week, giving this table a cursory glance.  Frugality often wins against true impulsive shopping, and in this economy even the most generous price-tag is often forbidding.

Yet, for some reason, on this day I didn’t see the price tag.  I looked at those little spirals of puffy joy and felt the way the pastry crumbles in my mouth.  I saw the way the filling would slide out the other end if I were not careful.  I noticed how some were more abundantly filled than others, and remembered how Shari  and I, while in 6th grade, would mark our cafeteria calendars for creme horn day.  A day which did NOT come often enough for us.  So, I picked up a pack of four, threw them in the basket and went home.  That was on Friday, and of course I ate one on the way home, followed by a second before bed.  Saturday I ate another and on Sunday, I, with great dismay, ate the fourth and last one.

It just so happened that later on Sunday evening, my youngest daughter (who is 7) and I were standing in that same checkout line, gazing at that same table and thinking intently of purchasing another package.  Somehow, a small sliver of logic weaseled its way in and said, “Don’t you think it might be a good idea to see how many calories are in these?”.  So I turned over the package and was greeted with an almost Alfred Hitchcock-like vertigo as the nutritional content zoomed up to my ill-prepared eyes.  There are 330 calories in each french twist.  I don’t even know what the fat and carb content was but considering how that’s all a french twist is, I’m sure it was not good.  The 330 calories was bad, but it only took a split second for my mind to go, “wow, and you ate FOUR of those bad boys!” That would be 1320 calories EXTRA over two days (don’t even think I offset those additional calories with not eating something else…ohhhhhhhh nooooooooo, not me).  And as my mind is turning this over and over, my daughter goes, “Yup!  Three-three-zero!  That’s what it says.  Three-three-zero.  Hey Mommy, this says FAT on it.  If you eat fat, do you get fat?  Three-three-zero, yup.”

And I realize that I consistently underestimate the caloric content of foods, and if I decide to ‘splurge’  I do so in all caps.  I ‘SPLURGE’.  I’d like to blame to checkout line for those additional 1320 calories in a 48 hour time period.  Somehow, I think it’s my fault.