Dear Renee, I Kinda Hate You Too

Obviously, it's been a while.

Since June 2010, I:

• Worked endless hours in summer cooking camps
• Got one kid started in high school and another in middle school
• Survived a family vacation (which was nice, but still, it's family, so its' stressful...agreed?)
  
• Started getting really, really busy at work
• Lost my dad after a lifetime of smoking, inactivity, and poor eating habits
• Hired two new employees, at my cooking school
  
• Made it through the holidays, just barely

So yeah, I've been busy.

But after a fall of stress and anxiety and grief, I've found myself drowning in cupcakes and Oreos, salted caramel hot chocolates, bacon sandwiches, and any kind of snack food available at Arby's.

I've found myself rubbing my ever-expanding jelly-belly and patting it like I'm a goddamned Buddha, pound of my girth. Acting like fat doesn't matter to me anymore because Hey, it's who I am.

I'm 43, my dad died, I'm sad, and I don't know how to get out of it. I don't really want to be around people and I think my friends are tired of my moping. I like to work, and I like the people at work, but other than that, socializing has become painful and I have no interest in doing it.

So I'm going to try the working out thing...again.

Two years ago I felt great. In control. Like I was starting to look good and feel even better.

So if I can drag my fat ass off the couch again, I'll try a bit of exercise. No lofty marathon goals (been there, done that), no "work out every single day" commitments. Just me, trying to move. Did I mention the again part?

Which brings me to Renee. Who I hate. But not really.

Because today Renee posted a comment on my long silent blog, telling me how much she likes the Jillian Michaels work out too. And how it has helped her to shed numerous pounds.

And so I got off the couch.

And I worked out.

With weights.

My poison this time?

This.

The Firm's new Thin in 30.

There's a whole lot more of me to love than before (194 pounds thankyouverymuch), so I'm doubting the whole Thin in 30 thing, but maybe thinner in 30 could be more accurate

So Renee, if you're still out there, and if you ever want to come visit and leave me a comment or a bit of motivation, well, I'd love that.

Because you my new friend, got me moving today. And I thank you.

Uh, yeah, Jillian?

I still hate you.

But today, not as much. :)

Because if working out with you this summer means that in the next month or so I'll be able to wear this, then I am all in.

Just found a new Lands End site, called Land's End Canvas, and man oh man, am I in love. The clothes are current with a more modern fit and style, and a little less, shall we say, middle-aged. But not too young either. And I love every piece of women's clothing I've seen, from dresses and skirts to cute little tops.

But guess what?

The biggest women's size? 14. And I am not.

Yet.

I Kind of Hate You Jillian Michaels

Here's the deal: I'm fat (none of my clothes from last summer fit) and I'm staring to watch my diet and exercise.



This morning, exercising consisted of heading down to Cafe Nola with my dog and getting a big 'ole cappuccino, whole milk 'natch, and walking back home, where I started my day by pounding away on the laptop to get some work done.



Not exactly enough to get your heart moving, right?



So I decided to do this:

And it sucked.

The dvd is one of JM's focused on the cardio side of things. Cardio is not my favorite, but definitely a way to get moving. One thing is for sure here - when you do one of Michael's workouts, there's no chance for wussing out. Girlfriend makes you pound, and in a good way.

The dvd is broken into 9 segments: warm-up, 7 5-minute cardio sections, each progressively more difficult, and then finally the cool-down.

Since I'm just getting started, and because yes, I am a little wussy, I set myself with the challenge of completing the warm-up, 3 sections and the cool-down. Which I did. Kinda.

I got a bit tired on all of the burpees (suck) and jumping jacks (double suck) and may have half-assed it a bit here or there, but only because I thought I might die.

I've decided that I'm going to break it into weeks. This week, I'll go ahead and stick to the original plan, w-u, 3 segments, c-d, aiming to be stronger each time. Next week, I'll bump it to 4 segments, the next week 5, and so on.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll hate her a little bit less. Because deep-down, I really kinda like her. And her no bs approach. A lot.

Have You Ever Seen a Sausage Zumba?

If you were peeking in the windows at Dance Works on Patrick St (above the pawn shop) this morning, you may have seen one. A sausage that is, shaking and baking its stuff to Latin music.

Ok, ok, the sausage is me.

It's been more than a decade since I've taken any kind of group fitness class. I used to looooove them. When I lived in NYC a lifetime ago, my sister-in-law Mo and I would book our space on the floor two days in advance for our favorite instructor Mark's class at Crunch on W. 83rd St. It was serious business taking a class in New York, and a total blast too. We would sweat, silently acknowledge our own greatness, then laugh and giggle with Mark after every class.

I was in great shape, fit but not ridiculous, and enjoyed every aspect of the experience, except for those advance reservations.

Fast forward 15 years and 50 pounds, and here I am.

When a friend suggested getting a group together to try Zumba, a Latin-inspired dance workout, I thought it might be just the thing for me. I've recently purchased a few new dance/workout dvds, trying to hearken back to my flexible dancey college days, and find something I enjoy.

I took my first class Monday, the second today. I really, really like it. The only problem is that I'm used to working out in my tv room. Alone. So it doesn't really matter what I wear. I tend to be a little warm once I get things going, so I'm not necessarily wearing tons of clothing. I like fitted workout tops especially, because I don't like t-shirts flapping around with my bat wings.

Did I mention that when you take Zumba at Dance Works (a ballroom dance studio) you get to watch yourself in full length mirrors? Which is awesome. Especially when your wubby (you may call it a baby belly, but hey, my youngest just turned 11, so I'm thinking this may be beyond the baby belly) sort of flops over the waistband of your very attractive capri (not a good cut on anyone) workout pants and your fishbelly white wubby starts bouncing around on its own.

Good times people, good times.

Not.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was just people I know. They know me, they know my job, they know my excuses. No, no. There's the dude. One guy. Trim. Seems to be in good shape. And he stands right in front of me. So all I can see is the fit, trim dude doing his thing while my wubby and other super-sized parts take on a rhythm all their own.

I think I may need new workout clothes.

Fit Chef? Think Fat Chef Instead

It's been a long winter.

A long, snowy winter.

Full of warm, comfortable clothes.

And warm, gooey, delicious snow-day comfort foods.

And my pants don't fit.


Despite feeling that perhaps I had licked this chubby thing for good (see here), I have buried myself in an avalanche of doughnuts (homemade), brioche (homemade), mac & cheese (homemade) and food that as it passes my lips, I know, just know is not doing me a lick of good.

I can go days without vegetables. Green salad? The hell you say! Fruit? Only if it's fruit-flavored ice cream my friend. I have descended in food hell, and I kind of liked it.

I gave up exercising because it's too much effort. And with all that yummy food sitting like lead in my belly, it's been hard to get up and get moving again. I have an entire new wardrobe of stretchy pants (thanks to Costco & Target!) girding my loins now.

When you have lost a bit of weight and start feeling a little cocky, that's when you know that trouble is afoot. Because you know that you're not making the right choices. If you're really honest with yourself, you just know. And despite making these bad, bad choices, you're almost powerless to stop it.

Damn.

But this time, I will not be defeated.

No really, I won't.

Because I don't like living like this and using food as my excuse ("I cook for a living. How could I say no?"). I don't want to be the fat sister-in-law. Or the mom who can't keep up with her kids. Or the person who would rather sit on the couch than go for a walk on a gorgeous spring evening.

I'm pulling it together in my simple 3 step program:

Step #1: Sign up for a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) program. Check. Summer Creek Farm is all set to provide me with tons of lovely little veggies all summer long.

Step #2: Give up fast food, because even though it's all kinds of wrong, it's fast and convenient. (Notice that I didn't mention the word tasty there). This one is a work in progress. Don't hate me - it's an ugly secret among a lot, but certainly not all, of the folks in the food biz. I learned that one from my chef at cooking school.

Step #3: Move my butt. Moving is mandatory if you still love to eat, which I do, this one is a given, so I bought some dance workout dvds. Want to see me shake my bon bon? Yeah, I don't either.

The Ugly Truth:
April 13, 2010
Weight: 189.5
Upper Chest: 38.5
Bust: 42 (yowsa!)
Midriff: 35.75
Waist: 38.75
Hips (don't lie): 43
Upper (thunder) Thigh: 25
Thigh: 22.75
Calf: 16
Bicep: 13

And no, I don't want to hear anyone chanting "tubby tubby two by four..." when I walk down the street. We all have our issues 'yo, and this is mine.

CVB = FAIL

That's right, the queen of no willpower or motivation has failed again.

Yeah, like I didn't know THAT would happen.

No only am I getting my butt kicked by work this summer, but I let it influence how I exercise.

And eat.

And eat some more.

Darn.

My trip to New Orleans was capped by eating at fab restaurant after fab restaurant, with rabbit (sooooo good) deep-fried and not, fried crab, liver, sweetbreads, etc. etc. etc. I seriously have no idea how those people are not all 600 pounds.

I feel doughy. And soft. And lumpy. Yuk.

Plus, now I want to swing by Arbys and get a million different deep-fried lovelies. And eat them alone in my car. And this is during the height of the summer, with bathing suits, fresh fruits and veggies, and glorious other foods readily available.

Where does the motivation come from? How do you keep it? Is it general sadness that's attacking me, or am I feeling low precisely because I'm not exercising regularly?

Last summer was so fantastic, and I was sure I'd go back to that place this summer too. But I haven't, and I just don't know how to get there. I suppose it's something you have to pull from your gut. I try to remember how it felt, buying new clothes in a smaller size. Feeling good. Eating well. Maybe I'll be able to find it again, but I'm having doubts. **sigh**

Wow - This is Hard

I haven't missed a day yet, and let me tell you, I. Am. Tired.

I'm really happy that I'm doing this and I do feel stronger, but I'm not only tired, I'm whiny.

Maybe it's that it has been so nice at night that we've been sleeping with the windows open and the bird start in really early.

Maybe it's that I'm working incredibly hard with the summer camps and have a lot on my plate right now.

Maybe it's that I'm remarkably stressed out with no relief in sight.

**sigh**

I do feel better. And a little stronger. And seriously? My arms and shoulder are starting to have, well, some definition. Cool. Right?

So I'll keep working on Jillian, and I will not give up this challenge or on trying to get my physical life under control. Because one of the only things worse than being whiny? Being fat and whiny.