And Now Yoga?

I have always wanted to take yoga classes. When we lived in Virginia, there weren't many options to do so. I ran quite a bit (even did one (1) and only one (1) marathon) and worked out at the gym. I took some Bodyflow classes, which incorporated some yoga moves. But never a real yoga class.

When we moved to the PNW, my yoga opportunities increased a thousand-fold, it seemed. There are probably ten yoga studios in our town, with choices of Bikram, Iyengar, Viniyoga, Hatha, and more.

I figured when my schedule settled down some (as in not working 60-hour weeks) I'd be able to fit in the luxury of ninety-minute mid-morning classes.

This week, my husband started taking yoga. As my upset nine-year-old niece said when her older sister got her ears pierced, "You don't understand. . . you're living my dream!" He's living my yoga dream. Of course, I didn't get off my ass and go--he did. I thought it would be too much with my three-times-a-week boot camp, NaBloPoMO, and NaNoWriMo, Thanksgiving, trip back east, and my regular work schedule--and I was right. I can't do everything.

But I'm going with him tomorrow morning. And I'm really excited! Maybe I can fit in two or three classes a week. . .

Six Pounds of Butter

Imagine six packages of butter. Bulky, yellow, squishy, fatty, mushy globs of slick, shiny butter. Imagine it all balled up in, well, a ball. Imagine that ball attached to your back, or your ass, or your thighs.

Since I started doing Boot Camp, I have lost that six pound ball. Of butter. Of fat. Of flour. Of rice. Of beer. Of wine. Of those little Kashi TLC crackers that I adore so very much.

Six pounds, ladies and gentlemen. I did not diet. I never thought that I overate all that much anyway (hello? Denial? Yes, Claire B calling). But I am more aware of what I eat without the self-loathing that might, just might, have led to an overdrinking/munching episode or twelve.

Now, in Phase Deux of BC, I am doing so much better! I can do just about all the reps without wanting to turn and run from the room. I did four hundred jumping jacks and a jazillion lunges and squats on Monday (aptly named "Legs" day) and I did not fall down weeping. I feel it today, mind you. But I am just fine. I can help myself up from a seated position and everything, which was not the case during Boot Camp Round One.

It's exciting and satisfying and it is really HUGE for me. To see and feel changes in my body as a direct result of working hard and feeling pain and not quitting--it's a big deal and I'm proud of myself.

To see the scale move down was an unexpected bonus. I guess I had psyched myself into not hoping for that. Funny how a lifetime of battling weight will do that to a person.

Gotta keep on moving, keep on pushin', as Professor Klump would say. Now is NOT the time to stop--no way. Can't wait for tomorrow's session.

Real Progress

Today was Day 1, Week 1, of Round 2 of Boot Camp. A new, improved version of Boot Camp for me. Again with the hundreds of lunges, jumping jacks, squats, over-arm claps, sadistic mountain climbers, and 8-count pushups.

But today, AMAZINGLY and very surprisingly, I was able to do every effin' repetition of every effin' exercise as the uberfit (what is wrong with me today? I hate the fad of using "uber" to describe just about every single feeling, emotion, object, person, place and thing, which in itself negates the term) instructor barked them out to us. I did them all, not effortlessly, mind you, but without pain. WITHOUT pain. This is real progress.

After class, I walked briskly to my car, easily lowered myself into the seat, and went about my drive home and the rest of my day without a thought of my burning muscles. I felt good. No, great.

Compare this to my description of this same class eight weeks ago.

I am making real progress. My body is adapting and getting stronger. And I'm thrilled about it. Now if it would only reward me by losing a few pounds, I'd be ecstatic. Not too much to ask, izzit??

You Want Me to Do How Many Push Ups?

On the first day of Boot Camp, we measure our fitness levels, or yes, the obvious lack thereof, in five exercises: Push Ups (real ones--Boy Push Ups), Crunches, Squats, Knee Push Ups (I call them Girl Push Ups without shame) and Steps. This is my second round of Boot Camp, thus the second time I've established my base line of fitness.

How did I perform? Do you care? Of course you do!

Boy Push Ups: 21 in 1 minute (First round of Boot Camp I did 10)
Crunches: 209 in 2 minutes (First round I did 80 or something)
Squats: 104 in 2 minutes (First round I did 68 or something)
Girl Push Ups: 41 in 2 minutes (First round, I think I did 18)
Steps: 201 up, up, down, downs in 5 minutes. (First round, 163)

We (the proverbial "we") are progressing nicely! I am certainly doing, feeling, performing much better than week one of round one. Baaaad memories. I can perform all of my daily hygiene by myself, without pain! Including brushing my teeth without needing to rest between upper and lower. I'll let you know where things shake out at the end of this thing, 8 weeks from now.

Even more frightening is that I also have a baseline weight (aaaaccckk) and measurements for every available body part. Subjecting myself to that was quite unpleasant, but I want some results at the end of this--good, bad or just plain ugly. The next measurement happens in three weeks: oh, perfect--the peak of the holiday eating and drinking extravaganza. The thought of being weighed and measured will be enough to make me give up at least a couple of pints or the third glass of wine with dinner.

And that will make all the difference. It will! It will!

It's all I can do, get off me.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll share the results. Bwah ha ha! Yeah, right.

Bring it On!

If you read the blog lately, you may have determined that I'm a bit overscheduled at the moment.

I am not under the illusion that busy equals happy. I do not believe that doing more in a day makes me a better person or even a good person. I used to do more for others (people, organizations) than for myself (and my family). I thought I was doing good things, but I was not happy and my husband was not happy and my animals were not happy. Turns out all of us needed more of me, even if that meant I was *just* sitting on the couch with a book (provides ample lap area for two needy felines).

So, while I am currently juggling a few balls of various shapes, weights and materials, I'm feeling pretty, pretty, pretty good about it (props to Larry David on that one). Here are my haps:

NaBloPoMo: writing every day. What could be better?

NaNoWriMo: writing every day. Again . . . better? What?

Boot Camp, Round 2: Hey, I wore a skirt Saturday night that I couldn't fit my ass into last winter. Damn straight I'm signing up for another 8 weeks of this magic disguised as torture.

Starting a copywriting business on the side while running a business: getting paid to write. . . even better than just writing every day!

This is what is not happening in my life:

Making a big deal out of having twelve people for Thanksgiving: I'm over the "all must be perfect" stage of my life. I was driving myself and everyone around me nuts. We're just going to relax and enjoy, whether the house is immaculate or not.

Volunteering for anything: Sorry, community, I need a break!

Cleaning: The house is messier than it used to be. Get over it.

Everything I'm doing is for ME! Yay! For Me! I'm giggling over here.

I'm a NaBloPoMo ER Too

Am I seriously deranged? Do I not have enough going on in my life? I'm writing close to 1700 words a day in my *new* novel for NaNoWriMo, (uh, what happened to the one I started a year ago??) and now I've taken a vow to post to my blog every day in November. Oh, what the hell.

It's all about the writing. I want to write, don't I?

So what if I have a trip planned to NY for six days, and then family visiting for Thanksgiving for five days, a business to run and Boot Camp to attend (I signed up for another eight week session despite my back, which is currently attached to a heating pad and my knee, which I hit with a dumbbell on Friday), movies to watch, books to read, a business to run, dinners to cook, a dog to feed, a business to run. . . something is going to be neglected. It will be interesting to see who or what it is.

I hope it's the business, my least favorite activity of the lot.

Who wants to work for a living when one could be reading, writing, taking the dog for long walks and hikes, doing yoga, learning to sail, making fabulous meals, keeping the house clean, watching movies? Work sucks! Let's blog instead!

I have a list of things to blog about, something I didn't expect to need to do, but I can't remember shit, so writing the thoughts down as they arrive in the sad brain is helping.

So what the hell, why not? Let's write this beeeyotch!

Everything Changes So Fast

What a long while since I last posted. It has been nuttier than usual around here. I've had houseguests galore: my sister, nieces, brothers, and assorted in-laws. I even met my adorable great-nephew (although I am far too young to be a great aunt) on his very first birthday. Loads of family time and we loved almost every minute of it. Quite a difference when it's MY family, and not D.'s, whom I like but have a hard time relating to. (It's not them, it's me, and I need to try harder.)

Our latest houseguests were a dream: they were easy, they made being the hostess easy, they were no trouble at all. Seven people sleeping all over my house and I didn't stress out a single moment. I didn't have to escape to my secret room overlooking the park where no one can find me. My peeps are so mellow and chill that I felt like I was on vacation. They didn't require entertaining. They didn't require waitress service. They didn't require a maid. They helped cook and clean, and my brother even folded my laundry. They didn't make us take them all over the place to see every fern, Douglas fir tree and mountain stream within fifty miles. In fact, they didn't want to do anything. We didn't go anywhere except restaurants. We didn't check out any local attractions besides the bookstore. We hung out. We walked. We ate. We yakked. And yakked. Oh, and we drank beer. It was good. It was very good. Relaxing and reconnecting. What more could I want from a family visit?

Certainly not the cold that someone brought me from the germ-infested planes they flew in on. What started as a series of loud dramatic sneezes turned into a nasty head and chest cold that I'm still not over. I was amazed at the amount of stuff that came out of my head every morning. Eeeeewwwwww! Boxes of tissues later, it's now permanently lodged in my lungs, keeping me up and coughing every night. Thank god for Nyquil, my new best friend.

Thus, I have missed two sessions of Boot Camp. And, I missed two sessions due to my family visiting. I'm starting to feel guilty. I hope I'm well enough Wednesday to go. Despite the pain and soreness, I really really am enjoying it. And I'm seeing results. And I feel better--physically and emotionally. I have not bitched about how fat I am even once since I started this program. That in itself is worth every moment I spend gritting my teeth and wincing in pain.

So on to better health for me (although a cold is hardly worth lamenting) and better days ahead for some of my friends who've had great and terrible losses recently.

I'm feeling very fortunate tonight that I'm not suffering the way my friend K. is. That I'm not facing the rest of my life without my mate. That I can look across the room and see D.'s beautiful face and hear the voice that still makes me weak in the knees. And I remember K.'s husband with love in my heart and smile on my face--because he made me laugh every single time I saw him. Rest easy, J. Wherever you are, I know you're stirring things up.

Random Boot Camp Thoughts

I really, truly, totally enjoyed Boot Camp today! How far I have come. I like my classmates (teammates? cell mates?) quite a bit--they're all nice and encouraging and all. One guy, however, is difficult to be near, due to his *odor*. Ick. Like not breathing through my nose when I'm within ten feet of his visible aura.

Today we had to run, one at a time, up a very long staircase. When I reached the top, I threw my fists in the air and jumped up and down. I'm such a cheeseball.


I think I have muscles growing. It's been a really long time since I felt them. Maybe five or six or eight years, even. Did I have muscles when I met D.?

Me: "Did I have muscles when we met?"

D: "I can't say that I remember."

Hmmm. Is that good or bad?

Me: "Do I have muscles now?"

D: "I'd say you're getting some muscles."

I'd say, a bit guarded, yes? If he would say or could not say, then why not say or not say?

Besides, it wasn't that many hours ago that I made him feel my biceps. "Feel this, feel this!"

Correct answer: "You were a babe when we met, and are even more so today with your ripped and cut musculature."

One Boot at a Time

Surprisingly, Boot Camp is going well. I'm no longer in complete and total pain all day and through the night. I can roll over in bed with one easy, pain-free motion, instead of a slow, calculated and complicated series of moves with rest periods in between. I can raise myself from the toilet without using the handicapped grab bars. I can reach for something on the floor by either squatting down or bending over. I relish the joy of having two means of accomplishing a task! And I can walk up and down the stairs quietly (no "oooowwwwww!s") again. This is progress.

I imagine how much better my results would be if I laid off the beer pints and red wine. Hmmmmm. . . I'll have to try that soon.

Just tonight, after meeting friends for a couple of pints after work, I tore myself away before the third round with "oh, no--I have boot camp tomorrow morning," and home I went, as they cheerfully ordered more IPAs, ESBs and Single-Hopped Ales.

"Your priorities are out of whack," one friend said.

"I don't want to look like you," I thought, as I quickly and easily skipped out to my car and lowered myself into the driver's seat without assistance.

Boot Camp, Day 2

Friday was my second Boot Camp session. Our very nice and incredibly fit trainer guy was just as smiley and encouraging as he was on Wednesday--although his audience, me included, was a little less cooperative. We were in pain, dammit! Comparing notes with my classmates revealed that I was not the only one who spent Thursday inventing new ways to lower the tush to the toilet in an effort to avoid taxing my screaming quadriceps. But we were still in good humor and anxious to get on with the day's exercises--if only to make the hour pass so we could go home.

My session started early, as trainer guy needed to record my weight and measurements so we will have a basis for comparison when the eight-week camp is (finally and thankfully) over. And I was okay with this semi-public humiliation. I have gained some acceptance of my weight, which does not mean that anyone other than the trainer and I will ever know it. Not even D. And as long as the number is as high as it is, he never will.

And as luck would have it, my weight was higher than it had been all week. "I'm up three pounds from yesterday," I exlaimed weakly to the trainer, who nodded and explained how much weight can fluctuate, and therefore measurements are a better indicator of progress, etc etc. Well, the measurements were pretty effin' high, too. Interestingly, my left thigh is slightly smaller in diameter than my right, which is roughly equal to D.'s waistline. I love you, left thigh.

So yes, I have lots and lots of work to do. What did I expect? My body has changed muchly over the past four years, since our business started consuming our lives (and I started consuming large amounts of the incredible local microbrews I love so much).

And so Friday's session, Intro to Core Conditioning, began, on the floor, with thick comfy mats. Excellent! My secret weapon: realizing that my "be a good girl and perform every last rep" desire would only lead to great pain and possible injury. So, I did what I could when I could and didn't force my body to contort more than it wanted to.

Repeat often: Easy does it. Be patient. Love your body. You will get through this.

Beauty Through The Pain

Day One of Boot Camp: 500 jumping jacks, interspersed with a thousand lunges (right foot, left foot, backward, three-quarters), 300 squats (regular and "sumo"), at least 675 arm raises, which looked easy and harmless until I did a hundred of them (arms out at shoulder height, palms up; raise arms over your head until they meet with a delightful clap!; lower arms and repeat fifty times, then forty, then thirty. . . you get the idea), then tens of 8-point push ups (on a wood floor, and I'm a knee push up girl so my knees are COMPLETELY bruised), and sadistic, painful "mountain climbers," which can only be demonstrated, not described. They are not ladylike.

And some other stuff which I have, thankfully, forgotten. By the time I left the gym ALL of my muscles were entirely spent, meaning I could barely lower my ass into the driver's seat of the car. And thank christ I didn't ride my bike to the gym, as I had thought about doing; I'd STILL be riding home.

Throughout the day, the pain settled in. Never had I experienced muscle soreness the day of the over-exertion; this usually happens to me the next day, after, say weeding the garden or embarking on a new leg-lift routine. But to be sore and hardly able to walk down a flight of stairs the same day? Never happened before. I was NOT looking forward to today.

For good reason. Heaving myself out of, or lowering myself into a chair takes all my effort and about five whole minutes. At times today I needed help getting up out of the chair, and I'm not kidding. I tried stretching, doing more squats, clasping my hands behind my back and raising up my arms (just a little), and more stretching. Last evening, I went for a 45 minute walk with my dog, allowing her to pull me up the hills. All of this was my determination to keep the blood pumping and get the lactic acid out of those muscles!

Didn't work. I have not been in this much pain in many a year.

I have never been more thankful for the disabled grab bars in the bathroom at work. I needed them today, and was reminded--painfully, but thankfully--that my pain and soreness was a result of my fully-functioning body going through a wide variety of strengthening exercises. And I have no complaints. Whatsoever.

Tomorrow I get to go back. We're doing core conditioning. On the floor. I hope I can put myself down upon it.

And Hello, Booty Camp!

It begins tomorrow morning, 7 a.m. Think of me, please, and send little thoughts of sympathy as I start doing crunches, or leg lifts, or running in circles--really, only the trainer knows what's in store as I try to survive Boot Camp. I was coerced into attending by a nice-sounding guy at the gym, who just happened to call my business today. He must have heard a cry for help in my voice, because he not only seemed to understand that I needed a little kick in the ass to get myself to the gym again, but he had me signed up before I could say "drop and give me twenty."

It's an 8-week, 3-times-a-week class. That's only 24 hours. I can do it. Only trouble is, I think I heard him say something about a "cleanse." I don't know what their idea of cleansing is, but if it requires me to give up caffiene and/or alcohol, I will not be partaking of that part of the program. My life is nothing without coffee and wine.

And suddenly, I'm remembering boot camp scenes from An Officer and a Gentleman in which Richard Gere is weeping. Dear lord.

Updates to come. Painful, sore, can't-walk-normally updates. Hopefully, the weeping will be quick and quiet.