Stories

CODE RED

~ fitnessdammit ~ 4 Comments

I learned a valuable lesson at the gym last week and that is to not put all your gym crush eggs in one basket. Gymger, my (usually) trusty ginger gym crush, was MIA for several days and it set off a panic of epic proportions as I feared I’d lost my favorite fitness motivator forever. Sure, it’s summertime, and the likely explanation is that he went on vacation. Or he was away on business. Two things that take me out of town fairly often, but still… he’s not watching me so it’s not a big deal when I’m out of town.

So there I was, showing up every day and not seeing that beautiful red hair, those Wreck-It Ralph arms (when did I start liking muscles?) or his intense, mysterious gaze that every so often drifts in my general direction. I was lost. I felt like a ship with no captain. A woman with no gym crush. And for that long, miserable week, my heart just wasn’t in it. But then something unexpected happened.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. You know what else it does? It allows you to notice other cute guys around you. That’s right. Without my Gymger blinders on I noticed a man who, in my book, was very gym crush-worthy. He’s tall-ish and fit with dark curly hair and reminds me of British hottie, Rufus Sewell. And with one look there it was – my back-up gym crush. Or, as my gym BFF likes to call him, “SHIFT CHANGE!”

This adorable new man got me through some tough times and has earned a special place in my heart. It doesn’t mean I’m crushing any less on Gymger, it just means he doesn’t have to shoulder the responsibility (of which he is completely unaware) of keeping me motivated all by himself when he returns from wherever it is he disappeared to.

And return he did. I was over the moon to see he was back at it when I walked in yesterday. But now, with Shift Change in the rotation, I got to experience a whole new level of joyous gym crush-dom. As I made my way up the stairs to the workout room, Gymger was the first person I saw (Eeeeeeeeee!) before I realized that Shift Change was standing right behind me. Oh my lucky stars! Talk about thrilling. High atop my stair master perch, my attention was wonderfully diverted between the two of them and then my head nearly exploded as they passed each other on their way to various equipment.

It was a true feast for the eyes and I didn’t notice all the minutes ticking away on my own machine and felt zero pain as I burned a million calories. So I say to all you gym-goers out there, “Stack the deck.” You never know when you’ll need a backup or two to help you maintain that gym high. It’s not all endorphins you know. Sometimes the scenery is just as intoxicating.

 

It’s Working.

~ fitnessdammit ~ 1 Comment

Adages are old for a reason. Turns out universal truths are fairly spot on. At least I’ve found that to be the case when it comes to fitness. If you work hard and eat right, you’re going to see some positive results.

I’ve been at this whole fitness game for a few months now and I’m starting to see some major changes. Since my last (somewhat frustrating) “Results” post, things have really turned around. I’ve lost 13 pounds. And while I’ve still got a way to go on the scale, the real difference is in my body composition. I’ve lost fat and gained lean muscle. I’m smaller, faster, fitter. (Is that even a word? I hope so.)

Those fitness goals I devoted my second post to? I’m ticking them off one by one. I’ve shaved 30 seconds off my mile and have worn a bathing suit in public. While I’m not quite ready for a bikini contest, I now feel comfortable enough to walk around one of the chicest pools in town in a two piece.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’ve conquered fitness fears I didn’t even know existed until I found myself doing them with ease and confidence – like becoming a regular on the free weights benches and navigating the circuit training area like a pro. I might be a disaster when it comes to step aerobics but I know six ways to Sunday using the TRX bands, how to load up a squat bar, and just recently blew my own mind by doing one-armed burpees. Whaaaaaaaaaaat?

And the real kicker? I didn’t flinch at my last weigh-in/measurements session when Trainer said “off with the tank top!” and broke out the fat calipers. Why? I knew there’d be less fat for him to pinch. And there was. When he did the math and delivered my results his exact words were, “Absolutely crushing it and doing it the right way!” It’s one thing to feel like you’re making progress but to have that progress validated by your favorite fitness guru is another thing entirely.

Which brings me to the Oscar speech portion of this entry where I thank the people who’ve helped make my success possible. In no particular order, because they all play a valuable role, I’d like to thank:

Trainer, for his brutal – but still kind – honesty, showing me the way and believing in me. He’s even started doing me a major solid when Gym Crush is nearby and I’m working out on my own by chatting me up and making me look good in front of him. Bonus!

Which brings me to Gym Crush. He may not know it but he has provided some serious motivation for getting my ass to the gym and working out like a champ when I’m there. My goodness, the man is perfection. *swoon

And last but certainly not least, my Gym BFF. She is my rock. Everyone should be so lucky to have a gym buddy like her. Not only is she my constant companion through brutal workouts and every type of fitness class you can imagine, she is my comic relief. She makes me nearly cry laughing as we plié and plank our way around the gym. (Seriously, she deserves own post and will have one soon so the world can learn all about our gym antics.)

So there you have it. A few of the keys to my success so far . I used to feel like the first image was an accurate depiction of what I looked like when I ran. But the pic that follows is actual proof of where I am now. And it feels pretty great.

little girl running meme    hb running

Stepping Up My Game

~ fitnessdammit ~ 1 Comment
998150_10152176311933490_1644214550_n
SPOILER ALERT: Sixth grade was the year I gave up on becoming a dancer. I couldn’t follow choreography then and I can’t follow it now.

When it comes to getting and staying fit, it’s important to know your strengths and weaknesses. Strengths for obvious reasons and weaknesses, presumably, so you’ll know where to focus on improvements. But I’ve learned recently there are some weaknesses that cannot be turned into strengths and should just be left well enough alone. For me, that weakness is Step Class. Yes, it’s still a thing and it’s still fairly popular in gyms across America.

The last time I attempted a step class was sometime in the mid-2000s and I’m pretty sure someone made a joke about 1994 calling and wanting its step class back. But despite people thinking it’s a thing of the past, it is very much alive and well. And it chose 2016 to come back to haunt me. You see, that first foray into Step was with my best friend and her mother and I thought we’d all be equally ok at this but I couldn’t have been more wrong. A friend who I’d never seen work out or dance and a woman with 30-ish years on me completely left me in the dust. Dust I’d managed to kick up by flailing about with no sense of direction for the whole miserable hour. While they were having a blast, I never got the hang of it and vowed to never, EVER, take another step class.

Cut to present day. A Tuesday to be exact. I had big plans to bust out some cardio and follow it up with arms and ab work. My gym BFF and I had just started up our treadmills when Trainer came by and begged us to go take a step class with him (he wasn’t teaching it, just wanted to try it out). Oh. Holy. NO. Memories of tripping over that black, green and purple step nearly made me trip on the tread. I had to hold onto the rails to steady myself. And you would think that, coupled with my sharp intake of breath and look of absolute horror, would have clearly conveyed my disinterest but no, he pressed on.

Trainer: Come on, it’ll be fun!

Me: But I am TERRIBLE at step class.

Trainer: So am I! We can hide in the back. Come ON. Let’s try something different!

I shot a look at Gym BFF who simply shrugged and said ok. Shit. Now what? How could I get out of this? I tried saying again how really, really awful I am and that I should probably just stick to what I know. But by then he’d talked a couple other folks into it and I caved under the peer pressure and followed along, hoping – praying – there would be safety in numbers.

There wasn’t. With mirrors on two walls and floor-to-ceiling windows on the other two walls (one looking outside, the other into a busy lobby) it didn’t matter that I was in the back. There was nowhere to hide. And if you were to guess that a Step Class instructor would be very excited about a handful of new students in class, you would be right. He was thrilled and very welcoming which put me at ease thinking he might actually take it easy on us. His sweet smile lulled me into a false sense of security as he started us off with a few simple moves and pleasant small talk.

Yeah, that only lasted about five minutes. Then I was lost for the next hour and ten minutes. He picked up the pace and started yelling words and combos I’d never heard before. Then I tried to concentrate on watching his feet to mimic his footsteps but he started moving around the room. With no step under his steps I spiraled quickly into a code red disaster. To make matters worse, he came over to try and help me which had the opposite effect. Standing directly in front of me yelling words that I didn’t understand while pointing at my feet wasn’t helping me correct my  mistakes, it was only drawing even more attention from the rest of the class that everything I was doing was wrong.

I tried to laugh off my missteps (I’ve had plenty of experience, being a total goon and all) and tell him I just wasn’t cut out for this sort of class but that I would keep trying and not to worry about me. Which seemed to work because he smiled, said “YESSSSS” and danced across the studio to focus on some other folks. Unfortunately, my break was short lived as I kept screwing up and he kept coming over to me. And the more he yelled words like “flamingo! horseshoe! revolving door!” in my face as I  stumbled over my own feet, the more panicked and trapped I felt. I was so painfully aware of my lack of coordination, grace and rhythm, but knew I couldn’t leave the class without making a scene and making a bigger fool of myself than I already had with the ridiculous flailing.

I was on the verge of tears but somehow managed to get through the rest of that horrible class by repeating the handful of moves I knew, staring at the clock and shutting down the instructor’s attempts to help by smiling and saying, “All I can do, man.” It was the longest and most humiliating hour and fifteen minutes of my life. I’ve flubbed a presentation in front of a room full of 150 people before and that paled in comparison to the anguish I felt just trying to survive that class.

Step Class just isn’t my thing. I truly admire and appreciate the hop-turn-grapevining gurus of the world but I have accepted that there are just some things I will never be good at. So if 1994 calls again asking for its step class back, I won’t hesitate to say, “It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

Taking My Act On the Road

~ fitnessdammit ~ Leave a comment

Hello friends! I haven’t posted in a while because I’ve been traveling. Some personal, some business, all taking me away from the comforts of my city, gym and routine for nearly three weeks. I knew these trips were coming up and was a bit anxious about keeping up with my training without trusty Trainer or my dedicated gym BFF by my side (more on her later – our gym shenanigans deserve their own post), but did my best to plan ahead and pack more active wear than real clothes for both trips so I’d be forced to be more, well, active while I was away.

The first trip was to my home town for the best reason ever – MY TWIN SISTER HAD A BABY!!! She went a little past her due date but wanted me home before she went into labor because she was kinda freaking and then, of course, I wanted to be around for a little while to help when that magical little creature finally made her appearance.

It’s good for me is that 1) my sister understands my compulsion to exercise (she is a longtime marathoner) and 2) my hometown is loaded with steep hills so you can get a lot of bang for your workout buck… quickly. I was able to sneak out for quick 30-45 minute hill runs that kicked my butt and didn’t make me miss out on too much time with my family. The hill runs are also great for counter-balancing all of the food I eat when I’m there. I’m from the South and, well, it’s where my sometimes unhealthy love of food comes from. I have at least three favorite taco joints that I have to hit when I’m home, plus all the BBQ and other delicious whatnot the South is famous for cooking up. Fortunately, my hometown rewards these demanding penance runs with stunning trails and gorgeous views so staying on the fitness track isn’t so tough.

IMG_5599   IMG_5600

The second part of my extended stay away from home was a work trip that took me to our nation’s capitol for a HUGE science festival sponsored by a client of mine. I was super pumped about the trip because, SCIENCE! and I thought I would get to log a ton of miles exploring the city in my running shoes. Running is one of the best ways to explore a new city without looking like a tourist and I hadn’t been to DC in like 15 years so, essentially, it was like going for the first time.

I was all, “I’ll be in DC for a week so I’ll get to run and play and explore and it’ll be great!” But then the realities of work travel set in and I found that the only actual running I did was for and at the event. We had the largest exhibit there (36,000 square feet to be exact) and the miles I logged that week came from running end to end of our space.

Then I became one of those “steps” people. We all did. Because we were blowing the recommended 10,000 steps per day out of the water, logging between 20,000 and 30,000 each day. And those weren’t leisurely stroll steps either. We walked/jogged with purpose and almost always pushing a dolly or carrying something heavy. The work days became our own special manual labor form of Cross Fit.

 

IMG_5685

And the best workout I had the whole trip ended up being a very special treat I like to call VACUUMING NEARLY 20,000 SQUARE FEET OF CARPET. Yep, three hours of straight vacuuming. It started as a smaller project of vacuuming the “runway” section of the exhibit and then something took over and I was a woman possessed. By what I have no idea. I barely even vacuum my own home (hardwoods, baby, hardwoods) so I really don’t know what got into me. Perhaps it was a sense of accomplishment or some hidden OCD I have for clean floors. Either way, I had to have burned a million calories that day alone. (Seriously, I must have because I almost fainted near the end of the day and was told to leave and get some rest.)

But I have no regrets. That carpet shined like the top of the Chrysler Building and, despite my “sight-seeing” running hopes getting dashed, I managed to get a hell of a workout pulling off one of the coolest events I’ve ever had the privilege of working on. Also, much to my delight, all sight-seeing dreams were not lost. I managed to sneak in a couple leisurely walking tours of DC – one with a cute new scientist friend and the other, on our last night, with my brilliant team. What can I say? When I want to see monuments, I am going to see some damn monuments.

IMG_5728    IMG_5729

IMG_5753   IMG_5796

Gym Crushes

~ fitnessdammit ~ 1 Comment

Ah. Amour.

It is a wild and wonderful force that compels us to make grand gestures. Some noble. Some foolish. And some… exhausting.

I’m talking about gym crushes. Those guys or girls at your gym that motivate you to run a little faster on the treadmill or do an extra set of squats just so you can stay in the area where they’re working out a little longer. You also secretly hope they’re watching you and appreciating your hard work and dedication.

For me, a good gym crush is an important part of the recipe for fitness success. I’ve been around a while and tried several gyms in my day but no membership ever really stuck and I came to think that I just don’t like gyms. (When I said I was a reluctant gym rat I meant it with all my heart.) I just wasn’t one of “those” people. I preferred the freedom of exercising outside (emphasis on free). I also thought running and riding my bike on real pavement made me more hard core and legit.

Then I got a great deal on a fancy gym across the street from my office and signed up when all my work buddies did. It was a cool gym with even cooler people inside so to say I was intimidated when I started is a huge understatement. But then I saw “him.” Dreamy in an artsy way with black-rimmed glasses and an intellectual look about him, this guy was not your typical gym bro and I was immediately at ease (and a little bit in love).

As fate would have it, and much to my delight, we ended up on the same workout schedule. My heart soared every time I saw him and I knew I was going to have a great workout. Why? Because I was out to impress him – subtly, of course. On the treadmill, my form was graceful and my speed matched his, and I could hold planks forever if he was lifting nearby. It was the perfect set up and I got into wicked shape in just a few short months.

Now, you might be wondering, “Did you ever talk to him??” And the answer is, “God no.” I could never. First of all, I’m way too shy for that sort of thing. Second, it’s a little cliche to hit on people at the gym if you ask me. And third, I couldn’t risk bursting the bubble I’d created around him. If it turned out he had a really high pitched voice or said “uh” after every third word, my gym crush dreams would have been shattered. No way I was gonna let that happen.

And, turns out, fate wasn’t going to let that happen either. I got a job offer across town (closer to home) and I left the gym without ever saying a single word to him. Au revoir, mi amour. *sigh

Cut to a year later when my best friend/neighbor talked me into joining an even fancier gym because it was half a mile from where we lived and she was on a health kick. What’s funny is that as much as I’d scoffed at gyms in the past, I secretly coveted belonging to this one. It was the gem of gyms and membership carried an air of prestige. So, naturally, I was nervous to start, but having my best girls by my side helped me tackle my fears and enjoy the spoils of this magical place. And for about the first year I was there, the gym itself was my actual gym crush.

But of course it eventually began to lose its luster and I started to stall fitness-wise. I was going less frequently and had almost decided to quit it outright because it was ridiculous to spend that kind of money on something I wasn’t using.

Then I saw another “him.” A new gym crush! He was adorable! And for a month we were on the same schedule and it kicked me right back into gear. I got serious again and that’s when I started working with Trainer. But then gym crush disappeared. But I found a new one! Then he disappeared too. What was happening? Where were they going? Oh. Right. It was February. Silly girl. I should have known better. I’d fallen victim to the short-timers, the resolutioners. Damn it.

So I drifted along for a few weeks, lost in a sea of equipment without a gym crush, but managed to stay on track and do well with my training thanks to trusty Trainer.  And my dedication paid off because I eventually noticed someone who I think had been there all along. Distracted by the short-timers, I had somehow missed him. A quiet, gorgeous ginger who lifted near my favorite treadmill. He must have walked by me a million times before the day we made eye contact and I gotta say, for me, it was electric. How had I not seen him before?

Fortunately, he’s no short-timer. And we’re on the same schedule. But this one’s different. This is the gym crush to end all gym crushes. While he motivates me to go every day and give my workouts my all, he also makes me blush and makes my heart race every time I see him. And he has no idea. (Thank God.) I’m like a damn teenager now. It’s both thrilling and a little nauseating. You know, like love.

But I keep reminding myself it’s just a gym crush and to chill the F out. I’m the one who made these gym crush rules anyway. I just happened to find someone who fit the requirements to a T. He’s beautiful. He’s super fit. He’s quiet and keeps to himself so I have no way of knowing what his personality is like. And he’s way out of my league. Which is crucial to following my “no talking to gym crush ever” rule. The bubble shall remain intact.

The good news is that I am killing it at the gym these days. It is exhausting but I am going to destroy my fitness goals because I have never been so motivated in my life. And before anyone gets up in arms about me getting fit to impress a man, cool your jets because of course this isn’t about him. I am definitely doing all of this for me. But it never hurts to have some extra motivation to get yourself to the gym and put more effort into your workouts – and to do it all with a smile. Every little bit helps. Just sayin.

Results. Are. In.

~ fitnessdammit ~ Leave a comment

I love “All I Do is Win” by DJ Khaled. It’s been a staple on my workout mix for a few years now. It’s got Luda. It’s got Snoop. It’s got everything a girl trying to shed some serious pounds needs. And for the first two months of my training, it was practically my theme song because I was winning this fitness game. Little did I know “up-down-up-down-up-down” would end up being the part of the song that resonated most with this journey.

Let’s start with the first “measurements” day that happened one month into training. (Remember the horror of the initial assessment? Scale + shirt removal + fat calipers = mortified reality check.) So I approached this office visit with an interesting mix of PTSD and hope. I’d been working hard, watching what I ate and had become damn near intimate with MyFitnessPal.

Then I stepped on the scale and watched as he moved the slider. To the right. Two pounds to the right. I looked at the scale. Then at him. Then back at the scale. Then back at him.

Me: exCUUUUUSE ME? I’VE GAINED WEIGHT? WHA?

Trainer: Hold on! Don’t panic! You look smaller so let me do measurements and I’ll show you we’ve made progress.

Me: (no words, just look of disbelief, defeat and despair)

Off went my shirt. Out came the calipers. Pinch, pinch. Measure, measure. MATH. And ahhhhhhhhhhh yeah…. he was right. Sure, I’d gained two pounds on the scale but the important numbers were the percentages. I was down 2.55% in body fat. His fancy equations showed that I’d lost four pounds of fat and gained six pounds of muscle, which he assured me were incredible results so my blood pressure returned to normal. Whew.

Fueled by my progress and motivated to move the scale in the other direction, I decided to up my game a bit and start taking some classes I’d been afraid of before but now had the confidence to at least try. The weather was starting to break as well which meant I could ditch the treadmill for my beloved sidewalks and park. And that’s when I started to notice other results that weren’t tied to weight or fat percentages. I had gotten faster. I had shaved nearly 30 seconds off my mile and it didn’t feel like extra work. I was running comfortably at a faster pace. I could also do high impact cardio and weights classes without feeling like I was going to die. I was actually getting FIT. I was like a Daft Punk song! Harder. Better. Faster. Stronger.

And the high continued for a while as I had a doctor’s appointment two weeks later and had lost four pounds. Then another appointment two weeks after that and was down another four pounds. I was losing two pounds a week! It was working! So when Trainer wanted to do another check-in a few weeks later I was super confident I’d have more impressive results for him. I’d go so far as to say I felt cocky as I stepped on the scale. Then, disaster. I had only lost one pound in the last three weeks. What happened to my two pounds per week? I should have lost more weight. Ok. breathe. I was distraught but still hopeful that the calipers would reveal a higher fat percentage loss and then the stalled weight loss would be less of a blow. But that barely budged too. I was only down a quarter of a percent in fat. Ugggggghhhhhh. This was so depressing and I actually felt myself shutting down.

Trainer was telling me I’d lost almost ten pounds and three percent body fat since we started, which was great progress, but my brain wouldn’t hear it. It was in panic mode and drowning out his encouraging words with questions about why I’d stalled. What went wrong?  What’s a girl gotta do to lose 30 pounds around here? Surely it’s not go home and drown your sorrows in a bottle of wine but that’s what I did. It was kinda pathetic actually. What was I thinking? “I’ll show you FitnessPal… calories be damned!” Fortunately, I realized I was just feeling sorry for myself and only allowed one day of wine-y wallowing.

A lot of good has happened in these two months. I’ve lost ten pounds! That is huge and I should celebrate it with more hard work, dammit. No more sulking and throwing myself pity parties if I have an off day. The highs, the lows, the good days, the bad days. They’re all part of the deal.

It can be an emotional roller coaster, especially since food is involved. (Or, rather, a lack thereof.) People who are hungry are not rational. I’m a basket case with an empty basket so please be patient with me, and I will try my best to be patient with my results. Besides, if all I really did was win I’d probably stop appreciating it so much.

The Sleep Diet

~ fitnessdammit ~ 3 Comments

 

In order to lose 30 pounds by pool season (fitness goals 2 and 3), Trainer mapped out a workout regimen and put me on what he called a “conservative” calorie count of 1550 cals a day. At that rate (I started in January) I would lose 1.5 pounds per week and hit my goal in time for summer.

At first I thought, ok, 1550 isn’t so bad for a weight loss plan. In fact, it sounded almost decadent given that I’d worked with a trainer a few years back who had me on 1200 cals a day which made me think I was dying. Working out that hard and eating so little made me ravenous and a wee bit insane. Things got weird. I had to apologize to friends and coworkers when they caught me staring and drooling, and explain that everyone around me was turning into turkey legs, bowls of spaghetti and pieces of pie. You know… like in the old cartoons where two people are marooned on an island and they’re both starving so they imagine the other person is food and they end up chasing each other around with a knife and fork that appears out nowhere? Yeah. That.

So, clearly I was a bit nervous that might happen again but had high hopes the extra 350 cals a day would feel luxurious this time around. And they did. Sort of. For the first few days I found it was pretty easy to stay under 1550. Turns out managing calorie intake is a piece of cake (CAKE!) if you prepare all of your meals at home and avoid alcohol. Then the weekend came. Whoops.

“It’s ok,” Trainer said. “Think of your calories in three day increments. If you blow it one day, just make up for it with low cals the next couple of days so your total count works out overall for those days.”

Hmm… more math. But it sounds a little more forgiving and doable as I attempt to find some will power. It’s tough. When every calorie counts, you end up obsessing over everything you ingest and there’s a number in your head that climbs all day long as you get closer and closer to your limit.

One day I’d underestimated something I ate for lunch and by the time I had a snack and saw my mistake, I realized anything I ate for dinner – no matter how healthy – would put me over for the day. Oh no. Panic. Despair. What to do? I was trying so hard and thought I was being so good. Then I had a terrible thought. Brilliant. But terrible.

What if I take a sleeping pill when I get home from work? Then I could skip dinner and just go straight to bed! GENIUS!

Yep. That was an actual idea from my brain. Desperate times were calling for desperate measures and I’d been reduced to thinking I could knock out my hunger by knocking myself out. What had my world come to?

Fortunately, the more mature and wise part of me that wants to be healthy about losing weight didn’t let me to do that. So, instead, I had a ton of roasted vegetables and a small piece of grilled chicken for dinner and didn’t go to bed hungry. I did have a good laugh though because, come on, I almost invented a horribly unhealthy “sleep diet.”

And I’ve heard laughing burns like four calories a minute. But who’s counting?

 

Goals

~ fitnessdammit ~ Leave a comment

A wise prostitute once said, “You gotta have a goal. Do you have a goal?”

kit deluca

Yeah, Kit DeLuca, underrated hooker sidekick from Pretty Woman, I do. In fact, I have three.

I was surprised at how quickly my first fitness goal came to mind when Trainer asked. “A faster mile,” I said. I’ve never been a fast runner by any stretch of the imagination but I’d noticed about a year ago, when I started training for the Brooklyn Half Marathon, that I was moving like molasses. I’ve also never been one to knock anyone’s pace because a mile is a mile in my book and good on ya for getting out there and doing it, but still I wanted to pick up the pace. At the very least so I could pretend to keep up with some of my friends who are, let’s face it, really just gazelles pretending to be human.

Anyhoo, I digress. Goal 1: FASTER MILE. 

I’m using my time in the BK Half as my base because it’s my best time since I started counting. I averaged a ten minute mile for the first ten miles and didn’t drop much for the last 3.1, which isn’t fast for some but was like lightning for me.

Goal 2: LOSE 30 POUNDS.

I know. Sounds like a lot. But keep in mind I’m 5’11 so I can gain a bit of weight without anyone really noticing. Which is a good and bad thing. A 5-10 pound weight gain isn’t going to result in a drastic change and likely won’t affect clothing sizes, so by the time I notice I’ve put on weight, I’ve actually put on quite a bit of weight. It’s terribly cruel math but there you have it.

And I don’t know if you know how hard one has to work to lose 30 pounds, but trust me, it’s hard work. Losing two pounds a week is really ambitious and at that rate it will take me 15 weeks to lose it. That’s nearly four months. MORE MATH. But hey, I didn’t gain it overnight so I won’t lose it overnight either. Must be patient. Or start doing meth. KIDDING. I’ll be healthy and take the patient, “slow and steady wins the race” path.

Goal 3: BIKINI READY BY POOL SEASON!

Now this is one of the most vain statements I’ve ever made but I really would like to, for once in my life, not be self conscious in a bathing suit in public. I was a chubby kid and teenager who was painfully aware of how ridiculous I looked in a swimsuit and, like most of us, carried that body image into adulthood. Sure, I can laugh about it now, but there were a lot of years there that just weren’t kind. I have a hilarious yarn from a Florida beach trip where I spent probably ten minutes wedging my roly poly five year old body into an inner tube that was clearly designed for a much smaller child. The plastic made horrible sounds as I inched that tube up and around my belly but I was determined. I was also oblivious to the audience I’d attracted who was watching and chuckling at my struggle. I finally heard the giggles when I’d gotten the tube situated so my triumph was short-lived as I, mortified as a kindergartner can be, jumped into the pool and paddled and splashed my way to the other side to pout.

So, yeah, bikini ready by pool season. If we want to examine the actual fitness behind my bikini goal it’s this: I know getting in shape isn’t just about getting thin and that there’s a huge difference between being skinny and being fit. I’m working toward the latter and hope that poolside confidence is just one of the many benefits that comes with the territory of being fit. If not, I’ll be working through that Florida poolside trauma with a therapist.

The Trainer

~ fitnessdammit ~ 1 Comment

It all started with a text. From him. I’d heard about him for sure. The brutal personal trainer at my gym who kicks your butt and pinches your fat. And now here he was on my phone screen, an unknown number offering his services.

My own friends had sold me down the river saying, according to the text, that I “would be able to benefit from (his) help.” What the hell did that mean? Did they just call me fat? Ugh. But they were right. I could use some help in that department because I had kind of let myself go in the last several months. They knew it. I knew it. And now this trainer knew it.

So after firing off a “how dare you?!” text to my once beloved girlfriends, I hit Trainer back and set up a fitness evaluation for early the next week. I even introduced myself when I saw him at the gym later that night because now that the cat was out of the bag there seemed to be no sense in hiding.

Well, that was, until I heard how the other girls’ fitness evaluations went. Friend One said he called her “squishy,” and he told Friend Two something along the lines of her having the “gait of a toddler.” These are two of my tiniest friends and women I consider to be quite fit. I am nearly twice their size and had fallen far out of anything resembling a workout routine. What on earth would he say to me? Actual fear started to sink in and I became a nervous wreck as I got closer and closer to judgment day.

It was a Tuesday. Trainer and I were sitting at a desk in an office, discussing my fitness history, goals and whatnot. It was, surprisingly, a pleasant conversation and a good reminder that I’d actually been a fairly fit person in the past – I was a college soccer player, I ran half marathons, and I’d logged thousands of miles as a cyclist in my day.

Trainer: So what happened?

Me: I dunno.

But I did know. I love food. I love drinks. And as much as I love running and jumping and climbing trees, there was no way I could do enough of that to counterbalance my love of mac n cheese, tacos and craft beers. (To be fair though, most days I eat pretty healthy. It’s just that when I go off the rails, I GO OFF THE RAILS.)

So there I was. Time to face the music and step on that scale. Ho-LEE shit. Actual proof that I’d let myself go. I’m way too embarrassed to say what it said and I know that flies in the face of fitness blogging but TRUST ME. It was the highest number I’d ever seen on my end. However, before I could let that sink in, Trainer asked me if I had a sports bra under my shirt.

Huh? Yes. Why?

Because it was time to pinch the fat. Mortified, but committed to this journey, I took off my shirt and finally understood how contestants on Biggest Loser must feel at the weigh-in wearing only a sports bra and pants, with their fat rolls exposed for all the world to see. In my case it was just Trainer but STILL.

Oh, and have I mentioned that Trainer is hot? Well he is. Like, super fit and really cute. And if I’m going to take my shirt off for a hot dude, I certainly don’t want him pinching or otherwise acknowledging my fat. Miserable. So I just kind of pretended I was somewhere else while he used fat calipers to assess my body fat percentages.

When it was finally over, I put my shirt back on as he did the math on my Body Mass Index. It wasn’t pretty: 36.56% body fat. That’s borderline obese. OBESE? I’m not obese. I don’t look obese. I’m not sitting on a Hoveround in Walmart. How am I obese?

But I guess the numbers don’t lie and I have a lot of work to do. The good news is, Trainer says it’s doable and that I’ll be surprised how quickly I can turn things around and get myself back into college athlete shape. That last part is the extreme dream but he says it is possible. And I believe him. Now that we’ve been through all this ugliness together I trust him and am willing to put my fitness in his hands.

Now, if someone would just slip a ton of money into my hands so I can afford him. It ain’t cheap but I guess you can’t really put a price on health and happiness, eh?