In a recent blog post about being an introvert, I mentioned a three-day-a-week P90X fitness class I was attending at the time. I wrote about sticking out in that mostly housewife crowd but still managing to find a pleasant bubble of solitude in the far back corner of the gym. I persevered despite my general discomfort with big group dynamics.
But now that my February class is over, I can't deny that the group experience itself benefitted me in my winding road toward a state of better health. Being a reformed gym class loser, the kid who never tried and was always picked last for team sports, I never imagined myself willingly partaking in a communal fitness endeavor. Had I inexhaustible funds at my disposal, I would certainly prefer to hire a personal trainer and have them run me ragged every day instead. Alas, that is not my situation. I have, however, worked with trainers on a very occasional basis, the first of whom was Mr. T (not the one from the A-Team, though I'm sure he'd appreciate the reference). He easily convinced me that taking this course would be a good idea. When I think of him, I'm reminded of Liz Lemon's response to a question about her religion - "I pretty much do whatever Oprah tells me to." T is my fitness Oprah. I trust whatever he says is right and follow his lead. He works his students very hard but he's also a positive, funny, precise communicator who has never once told me how I should eat. He's the best.
I attended his first P90X session in the fall, which was just two days a week at 6am. It was an undeniable ass-kicker, especially because it required a 4:45am alarm. But the February session was much tougher. There were more people, with a dozen regular attendees instead of just two or three. Some of these ladies were mega fit, so naturally T was going to push past their ability. Also, everyone was more awake at 9am. I could immediately see that the bar was set much higher.
This is beside the fact that the P90X system is quite rigorous and always painful by design. It's an ever changing mix of cardio, core and weight training, which prevents you from developing muscle memory. The worst thing about it was that I always felt sore. The best thing about it was that I felt ten times more agile after the first two weeks and I never know what to expect. It would definitely be torture, but there's much to be said for the element of surprise. I didn't know what to dread.
Another weird perk is that it humbles nearly everyone. No matter how fit you are, you probably suck at some aspect of this system. I don't even mean that out of spite. I truly admire the rare individual who can approach every exercise with grace and ease. There's one woman in the class who was such a goddamn powerhouse, I overheard her describe it to a non-attendee as "fun" and not fun like, "Oh my god we just went skydiving and it was so fun!" more like, "Yeah, I ate some cotton candy at the carnival. It was fun." I don't think anything was too tough for her, but that just made her an ideal model. She usually stood in front of me and I always looked to her for some notion of proper form.
But for everyone else, there was some degree of struggle and for most of us it was intense. There's something comforting in hearing five other people grunt "Ugh!" just as you feel your body collapse. We were like war buddies, our bonds forged in battle against our own decrepitude. And BONUS - sometimes, I wasn't even the worst at some exercise. I can't tell you how exciting that was for me. I don't mean that as a dis to the person who struggled more than I did. I'm seriously okay with being the worst all the time, it was just exciting to be in that unexpected place of relative superiority because it has NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE.
The only activities I passionately hated were sprinting and monkey drills, which are weird, sideways, squatty, jumpy things we would do across the gymnasium floor. While one half of the group did wall sits, the other half did drills. When it was my turn for the latter, I was always last. The wall sitters couldn't quit until I got to the finish line, which made me self conscious and gave me awful flashbacks to elementary school. But there's a big difference between then and now. I actually try now. I don't mind looking like a jackass and I don't think anyone resents my inability. It was a good opportunity to face a neurotic fear.
I've been extremely pleased with the results, though they're difficult to communicate in metrics. I don't pay much attention to my weight. It's somewhat irrelevant when I'm building muscles. I can say my belt is looser. My limbs are stronger. My belly is flatter and I have more energy. My body feels like a tighter, more efficient operation and I love it. This sense of vitality is something I want to feel more, and all the time. But it only comes with hard work.
So that was my February. I'm skipping the March session as my upcoming travel plans make it impractical. Returning to the April class will be the perfect 36th birthday gift to myself. In the meantime, I've implemented a strict five-day-a-week schedule that combines a weight and cardio workout at the gym with core workouts at home. I have to exercise that often to make up for the relative ease of my regimen. With T at the helm, the group environment is inevitably more challenging. I don't yet have the knowledge and discipline to push myself that hard all on my own, but I'm trying to get to that point. I'm excited for this month of solitude because it's good for me. Embracing the benefits of group support was a crucial step in this fitness journey. Taking responsibility for my education and diligence is the next step.
Showing posts with label reformed gym class loser. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reformed gym class loser. Show all posts
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Baby Boot Camp
Cross training tool for new parents?
But in just the past week or so, I've found fresh inspiration for resuming my fitness regime. This increasingly mobile baby is kicking my ass! Bernadette hasn't figured out the arm part of crawling, but I predict that she'll be on the move within days. I am half proud, half terrified. Presently, she can scoot like a mofo, but that ain't the half of it. She rolls, lunges, flails, grabs and twists. It's all my fault. I wished for her to be athletic. I didn't consider how her ability and ambition would affect me. Preventing her from hurting herself has made me a contortionist. At least a couple times a day, I find myself standing up from a cross legged floor position as I hold a squirming baby who is clenching my hair with her tiny fists. I'm worn out! I've worked with two incredibly fit personal trainers, and neither of them were this hard on me.
As she gets bigger and stronger it's only going to get tougher. I need to lift weights, work my core and run several times a week so I don't hurt myself while taking care of her. I'm up for the challenge. Hell, I consider it physical therapy. It's the best remedy for utter physical depletion. I got a flavor of that feeling during my first trimester of pregnancy, but I wasn't working this hard. As I mentioned in a post from a year ago, I'm used to having a natural font of energy. Being zonked bums me out.
Having just turned 35 and considering the years ahead of me, I now regard energy as a precious resource. I'm investing most of it in this kid, but I'd like to have a bit left over at the end of the day for myself. So, it's time to front plank, shoulder press, and stationary bike my way to a greater sense of wellness. I gotta do my homework if I'm gonna survive baby boot camp.
*I've had a prominent paunch for years. The fleshiness is the strange new part of it.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Planning for Peanut: Frequently Asked Questions
Is it true that you're expecting? Congratulations!Yup, it's true. Thanks : )
Is it a boy or a girl?
It's a girl! Here name is Bernadette. She's due mid-October.
Why did you pick that name? Is there someone in your family with that name?
The Four Tops song was the inspiration. It is beautiful and intense, as she will certainly be.
I will warn her, however, that if any suitor should express their love in such insanely jealous terms, she ought to run the other direction.
I don't think Dan was completely on-board with this name until he discovered it means "strong, brave bear." That seemed to seal the deal.
Oh, and it turns out that my great-grandfather's sister was Bernadette Rousseau! What a coincidence. Coming from the French explorer/Detroit pioneer side of the family, it's a fun one.
How are you feeling?
Still feeling pretty good. I'm definitely transitioning into that third trimester state of periodic anxiety. I had a couple sleepless nights this week that messed me up for a few days. When I was watching a recent Mavericks/Heat game, I recalled a sad scene I witnessed at The Palace of Auburn Hills three and a half years ago and that made me cry. I guess these experiences will become more common in the next four months. I'm trying fall back on that coping mantra I learned from menstruation - "These bummer feelings arise from physical changes, not actual problems."
Are you still training at the gym?Why, yes I am - thanks for asking!
Okay, no one asks me this. But, I'm going to pretend because I'm proud I've kept up with my routine and I think it's done me a lot of good. A brisk workout is the best way to turn around an anxious mood. Since my current trainer doesn't spoil me with homework the way my old trainer did (shout out to T!), I've had to be more proactive in designing my program. At the end of the week, I don't tend to workout as often or as rigorously as I used to and that's okay. I'm still keeping up a good pace and challenging myself in little ways. Right now it's more about maintaining the less pregnant parts of my body and letting my belly do it's thing. Also, my generally liberal OB cautioned me against crunches, to which my response was, "You're giving me a medical reason to not do sit-ups? Yes, sir!"
I read "Exercising Through Your Pregnancy" by James F. Clapp, a very upbeat and carefully worded report on the author's study of physically active expectant mothers. His evidence suggests that working out throughout pregnancy can benefit the mother during labor and after pregnancy, and even bolster the health of the child on a long-term basis. Also, he found that a relatively high percentage of active women experience safe, early births (less than three weeks before the due date) - BOOYAH! That would be great, but of course baby can take all the time she needs (I say now). I already feel the benefits of exercise. It's energizing.
Have you had any of those weird, wacky cravings?
The unusual cravings are starting to kick in. I asked Dan to get me ice cream sandwiches the other night and all I want right now is a cinnamon roll. Those yearnings aren't that wacky, though I don't tend to have this much of a sweet tooth. For the past two months, the chief "want" has been red meat. Can't get enough of it. And it doesn't even upset my stomach like it used to. I was sampling sirloin at work last week, and when I tasted a juicy rare bit from the center I felt a warm fuzziness light up my whole body. It was like drugs!! I'm having fun with it.
But so far, no pickle and peanut butter sandwiches, or whatever. I'm kinda glad. That stereotype reminds me of a Cathy cartoon.
Are you going to have a baby shower?
Yes. We will definitely have one here in Chattanooga. Note the "we" - there shall be no gender sequestering. Nor will there be any silly games. I'm thinking Sunday brunch at our local karaoke bar. Dan and guests will be encouraged to imbibe.
I may want to do something extremely low-key when we visit Michigan in mid-July. In any case, we'll be registering online. This is weird for me because I don't like shopping and hate asking people to spend money on me (this is why I didn't do a wedding registry), but it isn't really about me. I will gladly cash in for my kid.
Will you buy sweatshop-produced clothing for your kid?
I should explain why this is a frequently asked question. At the start of 2010, I resolved to buy only sweatshop-free clothing or used clothing, and then blogged about my progress quarterly. I kinda regret writing about it, because documenting your principals can make people uncomfortable and act weird with you, and I'm pretty weak when it comes to dealing with that stuff. Nevertheless, these principals have made a big impact on how I shop for everything and I see that as a positive change.
I've always tried to acknowledge that this effort can be expensive and time-consuming, and that it's way more difficult for families and poor people. So, the short answer to the question is, yeah, probably some of it. I've already made exceptions for maternity clothes. I'll try to avoid buying sweatshop-produced goods for my kid, but more so, I'll opt for second-hand. I'm a huge fan of reusing. It's the most economically and ecologically sound option.
I think the best thing about shopping with a sweatshop-free mindset is that I just have less shit. I don't want to deprive my kid of any need, including fun and enjoyment. But, my mom taught me to appreciate minimalism and I'd like to pass that value down to her, as well. Or maybe she'll be a mall rat. That's fine, too.
Will you take a Lamaze class?/ Are you going to have a natural birth?
Yeah, I'm going for natural-as-possible. I'm looking into the Bradley method. The Lamaze breathing pattern seems weird to me.
Are you reading "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth?"
Yes, yes, but slowly. I like the birth stories - it's good to know what I can expect and to be reassured that I can handle it - but it's a lot to wade through. And then there are those wild hippie chicks. My favorite is the lady who said that when she started having contractions, she envisioned her yoni as "a big, open cave beneath the surface of the ocean, with huge, surging currents sweeping in and out." She continues -
Whoa, lady! Is that some trippy shit, or what? I admit, I'm jealous. I will never be "far out" enough to have such a great time giving birth.
We thought about working with a midwife, but that just isn't where I want to put my money right now. I really like my OB. He's very relaxed and he works with midwives, which was one of the reasons I chose him. He knows that I want to go natural, but like me, he's into having a backup plan.
Will you nurse?
Yes. It's great for the baby and it's thrifty as hell.
Hmm, five months pregnant? ((stares at my body)) How much weight have you gained?
Let me answer your question with another question - where on Earth have your manners gone?!
Did I tell you about that horrible, scary thing that happened when my otherwise healthy kid was born?
No. Please don't. Why are you trying to freak me out?
Isn't it great to be getting all this attention?
Er, not really. Don't get me wrong, I love when family and friends check up on me and that everyone is so excited. But I've always hated situations in which lots of people are staring at me and/or I'm being interrogated; such experiences increase exponentially when you're getting married or having a baby. But I'm pretty good at protecting myself from that kind of thing. I stay at home a lot. And I'm lucky to live in a town where my condition is a cliche. Seriously, I see, like, ten pregnant women every day at work. Oh, and my boss is pregnant, too.
I've heard that the transition from center-of-attention pregnant lady to socially-isolated new mom can be really rough. Maybe it will help that I'm already such a homebody. We'll see. I never know exactly what's coming, but I trust that it will all be okay.
Is it a boy or a girl?
It's a girl! Here name is Bernadette. She's due mid-October.
Why did you pick that name? Is there someone in your family with that name?
The Four Tops song was the inspiration. It is beautiful and intense, as she will certainly be.
I will warn her, however, that if any suitor should express their love in such insanely jealous terms, she ought to run the other direction.
I don't think Dan was completely on-board with this name until he discovered it means "strong, brave bear." That seemed to seal the deal.
Oh, and it turns out that my great-grandfather's sister was Bernadette Rousseau! What a coincidence. Coming from the French explorer/Detroit pioneer side of the family, it's a fun one.
How are you feeling?
Still feeling pretty good. I'm definitely transitioning into that third trimester state of periodic anxiety. I had a couple sleepless nights this week that messed me up for a few days. When I was watching a recent Mavericks/Heat game, I recalled a sad scene I witnessed at The Palace of Auburn Hills three and a half years ago and that made me cry. I guess these experiences will become more common in the next four months. I'm trying fall back on that coping mantra I learned from menstruation - "These bummer feelings arise from physical changes, not actual problems."
Are you still training at the gym?Why, yes I am - thanks for asking!
Okay, no one asks me this. But, I'm going to pretend because I'm proud I've kept up with my routine and I think it's done me a lot of good. A brisk workout is the best way to turn around an anxious mood. Since my current trainer doesn't spoil me with homework the way my old trainer did (shout out to T!), I've had to be more proactive in designing my program. At the end of the week, I don't tend to workout as often or as rigorously as I used to and that's okay. I'm still keeping up a good pace and challenging myself in little ways. Right now it's more about maintaining the less pregnant parts of my body and letting my belly do it's thing. Also, my generally liberal OB cautioned me against crunches, to which my response was, "You're giving me a medical reason to not do sit-ups? Yes, sir!"
I read "Exercising Through Your Pregnancy" by James F. Clapp, a very upbeat and carefully worded report on the author's study of physically active expectant mothers. His evidence suggests that working out throughout pregnancy can benefit the mother during labor and after pregnancy, and even bolster the health of the child on a long-term basis. Also, he found that a relatively high percentage of active women experience safe, early births (less than three weeks before the due date) - BOOYAH! That would be great, but of course baby can take all the time she needs (I say now). I already feel the benefits of exercise. It's energizing.
Have you had any of those weird, wacky cravings?
The unusual cravings are starting to kick in. I asked Dan to get me ice cream sandwiches the other night and all I want right now is a cinnamon roll. Those yearnings aren't that wacky, though I don't tend to have this much of a sweet tooth. For the past two months, the chief "want" has been red meat. Can't get enough of it. And it doesn't even upset my stomach like it used to. I was sampling sirloin at work last week, and when I tasted a juicy rare bit from the center I felt a warm fuzziness light up my whole body. It was like drugs!! I'm having fun with it.
But so far, no pickle and peanut butter sandwiches, or whatever. I'm kinda glad. That stereotype reminds me of a Cathy cartoon.
Are you going to have a baby shower?
Yes. We will definitely have one here in Chattanooga. Note the "we" - there shall be no gender sequestering. Nor will there be any silly games. I'm thinking Sunday brunch at our local karaoke bar. Dan and guests will be encouraged to imbibe.
I may want to do something extremely low-key when we visit Michigan in mid-July. In any case, we'll be registering online. This is weird for me because I don't like shopping and hate asking people to spend money on me (this is why I didn't do a wedding registry), but it isn't really about me. I will gladly cash in for my kid.
Will you buy sweatshop-produced clothing for your kid?
I should explain why this is a frequently asked question. At the start of 2010, I resolved to buy only sweatshop-free clothing or used clothing, and then blogged about my progress quarterly. I kinda regret writing about it, because documenting your principals can make people uncomfortable and act weird with you, and I'm pretty weak when it comes to dealing with that stuff. Nevertheless, these principals have made a big impact on how I shop for everything and I see that as a positive change.
I've always tried to acknowledge that this effort can be expensive and time-consuming, and that it's way more difficult for families and poor people. So, the short answer to the question is, yeah, probably some of it. I've already made exceptions for maternity clothes. I'll try to avoid buying sweatshop-produced goods for my kid, but more so, I'll opt for second-hand. I'm a huge fan of reusing. It's the most economically and ecologically sound option.
I think the best thing about shopping with a sweatshop-free mindset is that I just have less shit. I don't want to deprive my kid of any need, including fun and enjoyment. But, my mom taught me to appreciate minimalism and I'd like to pass that value down to her, as well. Or maybe she'll be a mall rat. That's fine, too.
Will you take a Lamaze class?/ Are you going to have a natural birth?
Yeah, I'm going for natural-as-possible. I'm looking into the Bradley method. The Lamaze breathing pattern seems weird to me.
Are you reading "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth?"
Yes, yes, but slowly. I like the birth stories - it's good to know what I can expect and to be reassured that I can handle it - but it's a lot to wade through. And then there are those wild hippie chicks. My favorite is the lady who said that when she started having contractions, she envisioned her yoni as "a big, open cave beneath the surface of the ocean, with huge, surging currents sweeping in and out." She continues -
I surrendered over and over to the great oceanic, engulfing waves. It was really delightful - very orgasmic and invigorating. Michael, my husband, was lying with me, and we experienced the wonderful rushing together for some time.
Finally, when it came time to call the midwives, the phone didn't work, so Michael delivered Jon himself. It all went very smoothly, and Michael and I were very clear, focused, and very high.
Whoa, lady! Is that some trippy shit, or what? I admit, I'm jealous. I will never be "far out" enough to have such a great time giving birth.
We thought about working with a midwife, but that just isn't where I want to put my money right now. I really like my OB. He's very relaxed and he works with midwives, which was one of the reasons I chose him. He knows that I want to go natural, but like me, he's into having a backup plan.
Will you nurse?
Yes. It's great for the baby and it's thrifty as hell.
Hmm, five months pregnant? ((stares at my body)) How much weight have you gained?
Let me answer your question with another question - where on Earth have your manners gone?!
Did I tell you about that horrible, scary thing that happened when my otherwise healthy kid was born?
No. Please don't. Why are you trying to freak me out?
Isn't it great to be getting all this attention?
Er, not really. Don't get me wrong, I love when family and friends check up on me and that everyone is so excited. But I've always hated situations in which lots of people are staring at me and/or I'm being interrogated; such experiences increase exponentially when you're getting married or having a baby. But I'm pretty good at protecting myself from that kind of thing. I stay at home a lot. And I'm lucky to live in a town where my condition is a cliche. Seriously, I see, like, ten pregnant women every day at work. Oh, and my boss is pregnant, too.
I've heard that the transition from center-of-attention pregnant lady to socially-isolated new mom can be really rough. Maybe it will help that I'm already such a homebody. We'll see. I never know exactly what's coming, but I trust that it will all be okay.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Busy Body
About four months ago, I embarked on a body-changing adventure which will hopefully lead to positive, lifelong ramifications. Surprise! I'm not talking about pregnancy. Suck on that, pals.
Please pardon that flash of hostility. I blame the hormones. It's just that ever since I announced my pregnancy, I've had this sinking feeling that my new motherhood status is quickly becoming the only thing anyone cares to know about me. Granted, slow-cooking this kid inside my loins is the most important thing I'm doing right now. It makes sense that it's the number one subject that most everyone wants to discuss with me. But I do have a couple of other things going on. Obviously, I still write; it may not make me any money, but I try to treat it like a job (I've never had as much passion for an actual job). Anyone who knows me well enough to bother reading this blog probably gets that. In regard to the rest of my life... though I've touched on the subject in the past, I guess I haven't been entirely forthcoming about the other major use of my time.
I workout. Lots. Certainly not as much as C, the young woman at my gym who first convinced me to get a personal trainer, or T, the trainer who has taught me almost everything I know about fitness. But I've definitely worked out more often in the past four months than I did during the entirety of my 20s. More importantly, I've worked out intensely, using a combination of weight-training and increasingly difficult cardio routines. I push myself, I don't allow many excuses, I willingly look like a fool in front of my more skillful gym-going peers, and sometimes - though not often - I cry from sheer frustration. I'm far from my optimal physical shape (though I'm still unsure of what that is, I know I definitely want a much lower body fat percentage) and I'm still overweight. Nevertheless, I'm enormously proud of what I've accomplished in this time, and I'm excited that this is only the beginning.
I wish I had some simple measure to tell you how far I've come, like, "I've lost twenty pounds!" My weight hasn't changed that much, probably because my muscles are much bigger as a result of, um, usage. I can say that I've moved a comfortable notch down the belt (two notches if I want to hike my jeans up to my waist, which I don't). I now have plenty of breathing room when I button my favorite blazer; there's a third button by the lapel that I just discovered last week! Best of all, I've subtracted 2.5 points from my body fat percentage, and T assured me that such a difference is "huge". I don't know enough to make that assessment on my own, but I trust his judgement.
That trust has been the foundation for all of my progress. I was incredulous the first time T assigned me a mile run on the treadmill. I was okay with every other cardio device, even the upright bike and the stepper, but I feared the treadmill. I had Looney Toons-style visions of being flung through one of the plate glass windows, leaving just a jagged, Tara-shaped outline as a reminder of my prematurely dead self. So when I first got on that treadmill, I very gingerly worked my way up to a 4.2 mph jog. I didn't get thrown, but more impressively, I did the whole mile without stopping or slowing down. I ran into C in the locker room after that and told her the news. I'll never forget what she said. "Tara, you're working hard!" I was just about a month into my new regimen, but that recognition felt like a diploma.
When I spoke to T about it a few days later, he congratulated me, then asked what my mile time was. "That's good, but next time I want you to run fast. I don't care if you slow down to jog or walk, but I want you to go faster. See what your time is then." I did exactly what he said, and knocked no less than five minutes off my mile time. And I didn't slow down, either.
T has taught me so many exercises that I simply couldn't do the first time. He included most of those in my assignments anyway, and I just had to trust that I could succeed eventually. The mantra that I run through my mind in these situations is, "The only way there is by trying." I'm surprised by the number of times I've actually gotten "there". My favorite example is the full-body crunch. I think I laughed when T told me how to do it. I was to lay on a weight bench, with my bum near the edge and my legs stretched out in the air. Then I was to hold the edge of the bench and pull my chest and knees together. I've got a lotta leg and I couldn't keep those limbs taut for more than a couple seconds, much less lift them and my upper half into a crunch. T still made it part of a five day workout, which I was supposed to do for four weeks straight.
My first effort to do a set of full-body crunches was humbling. I huffed and puffed as I struggled to hold my balance; I doubt that I got my back even an inch off the bench. I had to look pretty funny to bystanders, but no one laughed, if they noticed at all. Sloppy as my form was, I counted each mangled attempt as a rep and repeated fourteen times. As I tackled each set (I did three total, with sets of dumbbell flies in between), I cared less about how I looked. I was doing my best, as my sweat-drench shirt could attest. I got better at it each week. Even knowing how hard I tried, it seems a miracle that by week four, I could do a solid set of fifteen full-body crunches with a modicum of grace. That makes me proud.
These long-term assignments have been instrumental in getting all that I can from my limited training schedule. I can afford only two training sessions a month. When I signed up for this, I had no expectation that T would provide me with all this detailed homework and I can't really express how much I appreciate it. At first, a twice-a-month consultation seemed like it could be a waste of time. But I've been able to work so much on my own, that I've actually built up three unused training sessions since the last time we met.
About a week and a half ago, the need to meet with my trainer became apparent. I'd known for several days that I was pregnant and of course I'd been wanting a fitness professional's opinion on how I should adjust my regimen. The timing was good, as I'd started to tell my friends and family the big news. I was a little over two weeks into the new assignment - two days of mixed cardio and weights, a 5k run on day three, rest on day four, repeat for six weeks - and then the morning sickness hit. Instead of getting easier, my routines were wiping me out. The running seemed to increase my sense of nausea. I found myself slacking. I skipped working out one day, then again a couple days later, then two days in a row. By the beginning of last week, the almost constant nausea and fatigue left me feeling bonkers. I made myself workout on Monday and though I found myself skipping again on Tuesday, I had to acknowledge that exercise was the only way to restore some of my energy. I was determined to get back on track. I just needed to learn how to tailor my workout to my first trimester symptoms. I guess I needed a kick in the ass, too.
That was the same day I found out C and T no longer work at my gym. I have no idea what the details of that change are (I get the feeling they went out in an awesome blaze of glory, and since I've starred in a couple of those departure stories myself, I can only hope they are well and continuing to enjoy themselves... I have a strong feeling that they are). I wasn't prepared for the initial sense of devastation. Dan could hardly believe my teary-eyed reaction to the text message news. "You did all this work, Tara. You're going to be fine!" Of course the gym would have to provide me with a new trainer - we do have a contract after all - but would that person be willing to give me multi-week homework assignments? Would they get the fact that I came into this clumsy and atrophied, very recently and with a non-specific desire to be stronger and healthier? Would they know anything about training a newly pregnant woman?
I've calmed down in the days since. The gym manager assures me that my new trainer is experienced and educated. We meet on Thursday morning. In the meantime, I will stick with the current assignment, but at a more moderate pace (I most definitely slow down and walk during those 5k runs). I've come to realize that what I actually miss most about C and T is the subtle yet frequent encouragement they offered - the approving smiles when they would see me check in day after day, the high fives and the goofy nicknames ("Hey, Champ" - I've never been a "Champ" before!). Just like working at a job, I workout better on my own. I enjoy the solitude of the run, the silent number-Mississippi timekeeping, the internal mantras that keep me from giving up when my body is screaming, "Enough!" But just like a job, I need to poke my head up every once in a while and see that someone other than me is aware of my progress. In lieu of a stunning and obvious measurement, I need that occasional reassurance that I have made a different person of myself. After all, I'm with me every minute of every day. It isn't always so easy to tell.
Please pardon that flash of hostility. I blame the hormones. It's just that ever since I announced my pregnancy, I've had this sinking feeling that my new motherhood status is quickly becoming the only thing anyone cares to know about me. Granted, slow-cooking this kid inside my loins is the most important thing I'm doing right now. It makes sense that it's the number one subject that most everyone wants to discuss with me. But I do have a couple of other things going on. Obviously, I still write; it may not make me any money, but I try to treat it like a job (I've never had as much passion for an actual job). Anyone who knows me well enough to bother reading this blog probably gets that. In regard to the rest of my life... though I've touched on the subject in the past, I guess I haven't been entirely forthcoming about the other major use of my time.
I workout. Lots. Certainly not as much as C, the young woman at my gym who first convinced me to get a personal trainer, or T, the trainer who has taught me almost everything I know about fitness. But I've definitely worked out more often in the past four months than I did during the entirety of my 20s. More importantly, I've worked out intensely, using a combination of weight-training and increasingly difficult cardio routines. I push myself, I don't allow many excuses, I willingly look like a fool in front of my more skillful gym-going peers, and sometimes - though not often - I cry from sheer frustration. I'm far from my optimal physical shape (though I'm still unsure of what that is, I know I definitely want a much lower body fat percentage) and I'm still overweight. Nevertheless, I'm enormously proud of what I've accomplished in this time, and I'm excited that this is only the beginning.
I wish I had some simple measure to tell you how far I've come, like, "I've lost twenty pounds!" My weight hasn't changed that much, probably because my muscles are much bigger as a result of, um, usage. I can say that I've moved a comfortable notch down the belt (two notches if I want to hike my jeans up to my waist, which I don't). I now have plenty of breathing room when I button my favorite blazer; there's a third button by the lapel that I just discovered last week! Best of all, I've subtracted 2.5 points from my body fat percentage, and T assured me that such a difference is "huge". I don't know enough to make that assessment on my own, but I trust his judgement.
That trust has been the foundation for all of my progress. I was incredulous the first time T assigned me a mile run on the treadmill. I was okay with every other cardio device, even the upright bike and the stepper, but I feared the treadmill. I had Looney Toons-style visions of being flung through one of the plate glass windows, leaving just a jagged, Tara-shaped outline as a reminder of my prematurely dead self. So when I first got on that treadmill, I very gingerly worked my way up to a 4.2 mph jog. I didn't get thrown, but more impressively, I did the whole mile without stopping or slowing down. I ran into C in the locker room after that and told her the news. I'll never forget what she said. "Tara, you're working hard!" I was just about a month into my new regimen, but that recognition felt like a diploma.
When I spoke to T about it a few days later, he congratulated me, then asked what my mile time was. "That's good, but next time I want you to run fast. I don't care if you slow down to jog or walk, but I want you to go faster. See what your time is then." I did exactly what he said, and knocked no less than five minutes off my mile time. And I didn't slow down, either.
T has taught me so many exercises that I simply couldn't do the first time. He included most of those in my assignments anyway, and I just had to trust that I could succeed eventually. The mantra that I run through my mind in these situations is, "The only way there is by trying." I'm surprised by the number of times I've actually gotten "there". My favorite example is the full-body crunch. I think I laughed when T told me how to do it. I was to lay on a weight bench, with my bum near the edge and my legs stretched out in the air. Then I was to hold the edge of the bench and pull my chest and knees together. I've got a lotta leg and I couldn't keep those limbs taut for more than a couple seconds, much less lift them and my upper half into a crunch. T still made it part of a five day workout, which I was supposed to do for four weeks straight.
My first effort to do a set of full-body crunches was humbling. I huffed and puffed as I struggled to hold my balance; I doubt that I got my back even an inch off the bench. I had to look pretty funny to bystanders, but no one laughed, if they noticed at all. Sloppy as my form was, I counted each mangled attempt as a rep and repeated fourteen times. As I tackled each set (I did three total, with sets of dumbbell flies in between), I cared less about how I looked. I was doing my best, as my sweat-drench shirt could attest. I got better at it each week. Even knowing how hard I tried, it seems a miracle that by week four, I could do a solid set of fifteen full-body crunches with a modicum of grace. That makes me proud.
These long-term assignments have been instrumental in getting all that I can from my limited training schedule. I can afford only two training sessions a month. When I signed up for this, I had no expectation that T would provide me with all this detailed homework and I can't really express how much I appreciate it. At first, a twice-a-month consultation seemed like it could be a waste of time. But I've been able to work so much on my own, that I've actually built up three unused training sessions since the last time we met.
About a week and a half ago, the need to meet with my trainer became apparent. I'd known for several days that I was pregnant and of course I'd been wanting a fitness professional's opinion on how I should adjust my regimen. The timing was good, as I'd started to tell my friends and family the big news. I was a little over two weeks into the new assignment - two days of mixed cardio and weights, a 5k run on day three, rest on day four, repeat for six weeks - and then the morning sickness hit. Instead of getting easier, my routines were wiping me out. The running seemed to increase my sense of nausea. I found myself slacking. I skipped working out one day, then again a couple days later, then two days in a row. By the beginning of last week, the almost constant nausea and fatigue left me feeling bonkers. I made myself workout on Monday and though I found myself skipping again on Tuesday, I had to acknowledge that exercise was the only way to restore some of my energy. I was determined to get back on track. I just needed to learn how to tailor my workout to my first trimester symptoms. I guess I needed a kick in the ass, too.
That was the same day I found out C and T no longer work at my gym. I have no idea what the details of that change are (I get the feeling they went out in an awesome blaze of glory, and since I've starred in a couple of those departure stories myself, I can only hope they are well and continuing to enjoy themselves... I have a strong feeling that they are). I wasn't prepared for the initial sense of devastation. Dan could hardly believe my teary-eyed reaction to the text message news. "You did all this work, Tara. You're going to be fine!" Of course the gym would have to provide me with a new trainer - we do have a contract after all - but would that person be willing to give me multi-week homework assignments? Would they get the fact that I came into this clumsy and atrophied, very recently and with a non-specific desire to be stronger and healthier? Would they know anything about training a newly pregnant woman?
I've calmed down in the days since. The gym manager assures me that my new trainer is experienced and educated. We meet on Thursday morning. In the meantime, I will stick with the current assignment, but at a more moderate pace (I most definitely slow down and walk during those 5k runs). I've come to realize that what I actually miss most about C and T is the subtle yet frequent encouragement they offered - the approving smiles when they would see me check in day after day, the high fives and the goofy nicknames ("Hey, Champ" - I've never been a "Champ" before!). Just like working at a job, I workout better on my own. I enjoy the solitude of the run, the silent number-Mississippi timekeeping, the internal mantras that keep me from giving up when my body is screaming, "Enough!" But just like a job, I need to poke my head up every once in a while and see that someone other than me is aware of my progress. In lieu of a stunning and obvious measurement, I need that occasional reassurance that I have made a different person of myself. After all, I'm with me every minute of every day. It isn't always so easy to tell.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The "F" Word
I'm not sure exactly when the enjoyment of food became a competitive sport, but I'm way past wanting to be a contender. Working at Foodie Deluxe in Ann Arbor was oddly reminiscent of my 1998 trip to Ireland - just as that humbling experience taught me that I'm not really Irish (I'm American), this more recent experience taught me that I cannot call myself a "foodie" (I'm just a person who likes eating - there are literally billions of us). Of course, I also refrain from describing myself with the "f" word because it's terrible and I don't like the flavor of my own vomit. But even if I were to choose a slightly less obnoxious word like "connoisseur", I would still feel like a fraud because I know too many people who have far more sophisticated knowledge, taste and skill when it comes to making and eating food.
Nevertheless, I do love cooking and feasting. When I left my job in Ann Arbor and moved to Chattanooga, I was looking forward to embracing my new kitchen (with its restaurant-style stainless steel counters) in a more modest and less food-obsessed town. I've been having fun, especially now that I have some cool new toys, like my crock pot and immersion blender. But I didn't anticipate that my relationship with food would be so different from what it was when I lived and worked in Michigan.
The biggest food-related change came with my new fitness regimen. Now that I workout more than I ever have in my life (I actually run miles!.. without stopping!.. of my own volition!), I worry less about restricting this or that type of food. The only dietary advice that my trainer T gave me was this - get three servings of fruit and three servings of vegetables every day. This albeit simple rule is actually the goddamned revolution. For one thing, it's brilliant to give food advice in the form of a "do" instead of a "don't" - "don't" just isn't that motivating in the long term. I follow this "do" slavishly and I inevitably eat more healthfully. The only way I can make the 3/3 diet work is by snacking on bananas and raw carrots, which means I'm not often snacking on potato chips and cheesy things. I definitely have more energy, I'm less reliant on caffeine and I don't crave greasy food as much.
That being said, I have learned that my addiction to dairy fat cannot be denied. If I go a couple days without cheese or sour cream or half and half in my coffee, I get really crabby and start wondering why this miserable world has to be populated with so many IDIOTIC JERKS. I'm not my best self without lactose.
This new food routine is fine, but figuring out how to get three fruits, three vegetables and a little dairy fat in my body every day takes a lot of concentration. That means I have less energy for planning elaborate entrees or trying new recipes, which brings me to the second biggest change in my relationship with food. I'm no longer as interested in cooking. This is why I love my crock pot. With minimal prep, I make a big ass heap of food that I can turn into several meals. Overnight grits become breakfast, then grits casserole, then grits muffins, etc. It isn't a very sexy approach to culinary arts, but it is efficient.
I think the other major difference in the way I approach food concerns my favorite pastime, going out to eat. Chattanooga is not prime for this activity, though not for lack of fancy restaurants. This town has plenty of places where you can buy an expensive steak, but there isn't much variety when you examine the spectrum of choices. I couldn't have anticipated how much I would miss metro Detroit's sundry culinary options (a reflection of its mixed population), including Mexican, Middle Eastern, Greek, Indian, Polish, Chinese, Thai; I'm confident that you can find excellent versions of each one of these cuisines in the D. Chattanooga, unsurprisingly, is more culturally homogeneous. I thought this town would boast some great barbecue, but I've had trouble finding places that really smoke the hell out of some meat. I haven't yet found that "native" cuisine that's special to this place, and I'm beginning to wonder if it exists. I keep going to the same few dependable restaurants but longing for more adventure.
Yet, within footsteps of my home, I can purchase fresh-roasted coffee, handmade sausage and artisan bread. This winter, Dan and I purchased an 18-week lettuce CSA and now we get to eat fresh greens every day. These small local farms and businesses are where you find the best flavors in Chattanooga. I'm glad that so many of these vendors are represented in our city's restaurants, but for the sake of thrift and control, I prefer to eliminate the middle man and just deal with these businesses directly. Living here, I just don't have as much motivation to go out to eat.
Despite my waning interest in living a food-focused life, it turns out that I'm really good at selling the stuff. My only goal at work is to get people to put whatever item I'm pushing in their basket and I'm a little shocked at how often they do. We aim for a 400% increase in sales of that item. Two weeks ago, I was demoing an obscure salami that I was sure no one would buy; we saw a 1500% lift in its sales. I'd call it a fluke, but my coworkers are always shocked when I run out of whatever I'm sampling. I must admit that I find this success very satisfying. I'm excited about this new facet in my ever-changing relationship with food. Food and I may not be best friends anymore, but we make great business partners.
Nevertheless, I do love cooking and feasting. When I left my job in Ann Arbor and moved to Chattanooga, I was looking forward to embracing my new kitchen (with its restaurant-style stainless steel counters) in a more modest and less food-obsessed town. I've been having fun, especially now that I have some cool new toys, like my crock pot and immersion blender. But I didn't anticipate that my relationship with food would be so different from what it was when I lived and worked in Michigan.
The biggest food-related change came with my new fitness regimen. Now that I workout more than I ever have in my life (I actually run miles!.. without stopping!.. of my own volition!), I worry less about restricting this or that type of food. The only dietary advice that my trainer T gave me was this - get three servings of fruit and three servings of vegetables every day. This albeit simple rule is actually the goddamned revolution. For one thing, it's brilliant to give food advice in the form of a "do" instead of a "don't" - "don't" just isn't that motivating in the long term. I follow this "do" slavishly and I inevitably eat more healthfully. The only way I can make the 3/3 diet work is by snacking on bananas and raw carrots, which means I'm not often snacking on potato chips and cheesy things. I definitely have more energy, I'm less reliant on caffeine and I don't crave greasy food as much.
That being said, I have learned that my addiction to dairy fat cannot be denied. If I go a couple days without cheese or sour cream or half and half in my coffee, I get really crabby and start wondering why this miserable world has to be populated with so many IDIOTIC JERKS. I'm not my best self without lactose.
This new food routine is fine, but figuring out how to get three fruits, three vegetables and a little dairy fat in my body every day takes a lot of concentration. That means I have less energy for planning elaborate entrees or trying new recipes, which brings me to the second biggest change in my relationship with food. I'm no longer as interested in cooking. This is why I love my crock pot. With minimal prep, I make a big ass heap of food that I can turn into several meals. Overnight grits become breakfast, then grits casserole, then grits muffins, etc. It isn't a very sexy approach to culinary arts, but it is efficient.
I think the other major difference in the way I approach food concerns my favorite pastime, going out to eat. Chattanooga is not prime for this activity, though not for lack of fancy restaurants. This town has plenty of places where you can buy an expensive steak, but there isn't much variety when you examine the spectrum of choices. I couldn't have anticipated how much I would miss metro Detroit's sundry culinary options (a reflection of its mixed population), including Mexican, Middle Eastern, Greek, Indian, Polish, Chinese, Thai; I'm confident that you can find excellent versions of each one of these cuisines in the D. Chattanooga, unsurprisingly, is more culturally homogeneous. I thought this town would boast some great barbecue, but I've had trouble finding places that really smoke the hell out of some meat. I haven't yet found that "native" cuisine that's special to this place, and I'm beginning to wonder if it exists. I keep going to the same few dependable restaurants but longing for more adventure.
Yet, within footsteps of my home, I can purchase fresh-roasted coffee, handmade sausage and artisan bread. This winter, Dan and I purchased an 18-week lettuce CSA and now we get to eat fresh greens every day. These small local farms and businesses are where you find the best flavors in Chattanooga. I'm glad that so many of these vendors are represented in our city's restaurants, but for the sake of thrift and control, I prefer to eliminate the middle man and just deal with these businesses directly. Living here, I just don't have as much motivation to go out to eat.
Despite my waning interest in living a food-focused life, it turns out that I'm really good at selling the stuff. My only goal at work is to get people to put whatever item I'm pushing in their basket and I'm a little shocked at how often they do. We aim for a 400% increase in sales of that item. Two weeks ago, I was demoing an obscure salami that I was sure no one would buy; we saw a 1500% lift in its sales. I'd call it a fluke, but my coworkers are always shocked when I run out of whatever I'm sampling. I must admit that I find this success very satisfying. I'm excited about this new facet in my ever-changing relationship with food. Food and I may not be best friends anymore, but we make great business partners.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Abdominal Muscle Building and Other Lessons in Humility
When it comes to physical fitness, I guess I'm sort of like a baby - a rusty, aged baby. I've never been "good" at fitness, but I've also been lucky to avoid any serious, long-term-impact maladies. My personal trainer, a young man named T, seemed surprised that I signed up for his services without some dire impetus, like an injury or an illness. "No allergies, never broke any bones, nothing I need to know about?" he asked.
"Nope."
"So you're perfect?"
Ha! Sure, except for the fact that I have no aptitude for these workouts. I never played sports as a child (this culture of music lessons and team sports and other after-school activities just wasn't a thing when I was a kid; most of the children I knew just watched TV and played with toys). I went through the minimal motions in gym class and my harried teachers did their best to encourage a greater effort in me, but I was stubborn. I was sure that if I couldn't get a certain exercise right the first time that I would never succeed, so I never tried. The academic part of school was so easy for me, I didn't understand that trying is an essential part of learning.
As a thirty three year old woman struggling to get through basic activities like balancing on one leg while side-stretching the other, I've gained a new perspective on those old school days. Now I see that I viewed school more as an arena for recognition than an institute for learning. I just wanted other people to think I was smart and to reward me for it. That attitude carried me through high school (though my know-it-all indifference earned me some pretty awful grades during the last two years) and community college, until I hit a humbling wall called The University of Michigan. All "hail to the victors" obnoxiousness aside, few can succeed at UM without concentrated effort.
I don't regret dropping out of UM, but I do regret the attitude that set me up to fail. Fortunately, I'm not big on regrets. All I can do now is be a better person, and try. It isn't easy on my ego. I mostly enjoy my sessions with T, but this past Monday nearly took me to my limit. I know I looked like a complete ass, trying to do this exercise with my sweaty t-shirt riding up my back while my flabby belly dangled over my pants -
The worst was trying to do stomach crunches on a weight lifting bench. I couldn't even master the at-rest form, much less the crunch itself. I'm always a little embarrassed when T counts my sad and mangled attempts as legitimate reps, but what else can we do? Only through much diligent "wrong" will I ever get these things right.
I find some satisfaction in the torn-muscle pain that I feel later. I must be doing something useful for my body if my belly hurts when I cough. Sometimes it's just so hard to imagine that I will ever be able to do a proper crunch or push-up, but I know that I can and eventually will. Honestly, I've never worked so hard to be good at something for which I have no talent... yet. I must remember to always give myself the benefit of a "yet".
"Nope."
"So you're perfect?"
Ha! Sure, except for the fact that I have no aptitude for these workouts. I never played sports as a child (this culture of music lessons and team sports and other after-school activities just wasn't a thing when I was a kid; most of the children I knew just watched TV and played with toys). I went through the minimal motions in gym class and my harried teachers did their best to encourage a greater effort in me, but I was stubborn. I was sure that if I couldn't get a certain exercise right the first time that I would never succeed, so I never tried. The academic part of school was so easy for me, I didn't understand that trying is an essential part of learning.
As a thirty three year old woman struggling to get through basic activities like balancing on one leg while side-stretching the other, I've gained a new perspective on those old school days. Now I see that I viewed school more as an arena for recognition than an institute for learning. I just wanted other people to think I was smart and to reward me for it. That attitude carried me through high school (though my know-it-all indifference earned me some pretty awful grades during the last two years) and community college, until I hit a humbling wall called The University of Michigan. All "hail to the victors" obnoxiousness aside, few can succeed at UM without concentrated effort.
I don't regret dropping out of UM, but I do regret the attitude that set me up to fail. Fortunately, I'm not big on regrets. All I can do now is be a better person, and try. It isn't easy on my ego. I mostly enjoy my sessions with T, but this past Monday nearly took me to my limit. I know I looked like a complete ass, trying to do this exercise with my sweaty t-shirt riding up my back while my flabby belly dangled over my pants -
The worst was trying to do stomach crunches on a weight lifting bench. I couldn't even master the at-rest form, much less the crunch itself. I'm always a little embarrassed when T counts my sad and mangled attempts as legitimate reps, but what else can we do? Only through much diligent "wrong" will I ever get these things right.
I find some satisfaction in the torn-muscle pain that I feel later. I must be doing something useful for my body if my belly hurts when I cough. Sometimes it's just so hard to imagine that I will ever be able to do a proper crunch or push-up, but I know that I can and eventually will. Honestly, I've never worked so hard to be good at something for which I have no talent... yet. I must remember to always give myself the benefit of a "yet".
Friday, November 12, 2010
Cheese, a Good Pain, and the Horizon
Saturday was a dark day. After spending too many hours on Facebook, I saw that my friend M had linked to this New York Times article entitled "While Warning About Fat, U.S. Pushes Cheese Sales". I don't know why I clicked it, as I suspected it would say terrible things about my good friend cheese; maybe it was because I had already sucked that day's entertainment value out of Facebook (which, more and more, felt like a substitute for the friends I haven't made in Chattanooga).
Anyway, I found the first several paragraphs quite alarming ~
No one likes to think that they're a dupe for "the man" but I clearly am. I considered the last four cheese-laden meals I'd consumed, and why ~
It happens that lately I've been extra concerned about my gut, especially when I catch the least flattering view of it in the mirror. I don't feel unattractive but my current shape isn't my ideal. I could blame it on so many things - my love of nearly all food (excluding only hot dogs and sugary junk foods in the style of Hostess or Little Debbie), a general decrease in physical activity since moving to Chattanooga, beer. I certainly knew that cheese accounted for some of my girth, but might my favorite of all foods make up the bulk of it?
I sighed at the thought of a new food rule. I'm not opposed to lifestyle changes. In the spring and early summer I worked out four hours a week and ate way less fried food, red meat and pork. The frustrating thing is that it doesn't make much difference in terms of my weight. Sure, I felt better when I lived that way, but I wasn't any smaller. The rewards just didn't match the work and sacrifice that went into that lifestyle, which makes laziness and indulgence more attractive options. Would I really subject myself to new cheese parameters? Could I really make it last beyond Thanksgiving?
In considering ways to limit my cheese consumption, I became dejected. At least I could be grateful that last Friday, I accidentally answered my phone and spoke to a trainer from my gym. Her name was C and she was calling about my freebie training session that I had yet to redeem. We decided to meet on Tuesday morning. The anticipation of this workout made me feel a little better on Monday afternoon, when my friend S and I ordered a bowl of cheese dip at the pub down the road.
When I got to the gym on Tuesday, I found C to be a very serious and very fit young woman with smart eyes and a razor sharp glance. She had me complete a form that asked questions about my weight, my desired weight, the parts of my body I wanted to work on, etc. Then she handed me a small electronic device that looked like something a Star Trek doctor would use.
"This is to check your body fat percentage. Have you used one of these before?"
"Um, not since elementary school and it was one of those creepy scissor-like thingies."
"Oh, with the pinchers?" She smiled, which seemed out of the ordinary, which made me proud. "Yeah, those were weird." She demonstrated how to use the device and handed it to me. "The bottom number is your BMI, but I'm not paying attention to that. We're just going to look at the top number. That's your body fat percentage."
It wasn't pretty. Turns out, I am over 1/3 fat.
We sat down and she looked at my form. She wrote down the percentage next to the columns where I had listed my current and desired weights, which she covered with her hand. "We're not going to look at those numbers. We're only going to look at this percentage. You really need to be here," she said as she scrawled "21% - 23%". I appreciated her discretion, but not as much as her honesty.
We talked a bit about the kind of workout I've been doing, which is almost all cardio. "That's the problem," she said as she drew a triangle. "Building muscle tissue has to be the foundation." She wrote that at the bottom of the triangle. "On top of that you have cardio activity. At the top of the pyramid, you have food and diet. But I'm not going to tell you how to eat."
"Yeeeeeesssss!" I said with a gleeful arm pump. Hello, cheese!
She smiled as if she really wanted to roll her eyes. "You know how you should be eating." Then she launched into the most articulate, informative explanation about why it's important to build muscle tissue and approach weight training holistically (as opposed to focusing on one region of the body), and how this can be done effectively. I'm not going to repeat everything she said, because I would probably say it all wrong, but let's just say that for the first time I got it. Sure, I've heard that it's important to build muscle if you're trying to lose weight, but I always found the message vague, and it got lost in the midst of those thousand-and-one other vague messages we hear every day about fitness and health. Most importantly, C focused on the lifelong benefits of muscular fitness (so you don't wear out your joints, so you can lift things when you're old, so you can increase your metabolism), which really got to the heart of my belly fears. As she said herself, it isn't about getting skinny - after all, muscle weighs more than fat. It's about health.
Then she had me work out. I began with five minutes of cardio - easy enough. Then came the regimen that has left me sore in places I've never felt before. It hurts to sneeze, and I know that comes from all that core-building stuff she had me do with a strange object that looks like this
I was honestly stunned by my capabilities. I didn't know I could use my gut, forearms and tippy toes to support the length of my body. I pushed myself in a way that I never have before and I didn't even care if I looked weird while I was doing it (even when I rolled over on my side doing that forearm thing). The sometimes painful exertion felt good.
She had me work out for a half hour. Then came the hard sell. "Have you ever considered a personal training program?"
In my winded state, I couldn't help being honest. "No."
A bitter smile. "And why not?"
Because that's something movie stars do was what I was thinking, but I said, "I guess I just never thought I could afford it."
She offered the customary sales pitch, broken down into my various options - I spend a little less per session if I sign up for more sessions per month, and I'll get a great deal if I sign up immediately. If I could afford it, I would have signed up for weekly sessions right then, but I knew I needed to think about it and look at my budget.
Perhaps misinterpreting my hesitation for a lack of interest, C said something that I would have chalked up to a down and dirty sales tactic if it weren't so obviously true. "You can't do this alone."
Doing it alone is always my first inclination, but then I remembered those weak solo attempts to improve my mental health before I got into therapy. Just as deep breathing is no replacement for a shrink, I doubt that even the most extensive internet research is a replacement for an educated physical trainer.
So, I'm gonna do it. Two sessions a month. I'm geeked. This seems like the perfect next step after many years of therapy (from which I finally "graduated" in July - hooray!!). I'm ready to make some dietary changes too but this decision feels like the revolution. I also find it exciting, because even though it really sucked to learn that I'm over 1/3 fat, I finally feel thrust into this new life in Chatttanooga. Something about the fall weather and the mild loneliness has made me incredibly nostalgic and I find myself too often on Facebook, or daydreaming about my December trip to Michigan. Now, me and my belly have a new thing, and it's focused on progress.
Anyway, I found the first several paragraphs quite alarming ~
Domino’s Pizza was hurting early last year. Domestic sales had fallen, and a survey of big pizza chain customers left the company tied for the worst tasting pies.
Then help arrived from an organization called Dairy Management. It teamed up with Domino’s to develop a new line of pizzas with 40 percent more cheese, and proceeded to devise and pay for a $12 million marketing campaign.
Consumers devoured the cheesier pizza, and sales soared by double digits... But as healthy as this pizza has been for Domino’s, one slice contains as much as two-thirds of a day’s maximum recommended amount of saturated fat, which has been linked to heart disease and is high in calories.
And Dairy Management, which has made cheese its cause, is not a private business consultant. It is a marketing creation of the United States Department of Agriculture — the same agency at the center of a federal anti-obesity drive that discourages over-consumption of some of the very foods Dairy Management is vigorously promoting.
Urged on by government warnings about saturated fat, Americans have been moving toward low-fat milk for decades, leaving a surplus of whole milk and milk fat. Yet the government, through Dairy Management, is engaged in an effort to find ways to get dairy back into Americans’ diets, primarily through cheese.
Americans now eat an average of 33 pounds of cheese a year, nearly triple the 1970 rate.
No one likes to think that they're a dupe for "the man" but I clearly am. I considered the last four cheese-laden meals I'd consumed, and why ~
Cheese pizza with crumbled sausage - Duh, it's pizza. I'm not eating pizza without cheese
Bagel with cream cheese and lox - Okay, maybe I would eat a buttered bagel, but there was lox. I'm not eating a bagel and lox without cream cheese
Turkey meatloaf with cheddar cheese, with a cheddar corn muffin on the side - I guess corn muffins and meat loaf don't have to have cheese, but cheese makes it so much better!
Welsh rarebit - It's cold outside
It happens that lately I've been extra concerned about my gut, especially when I catch the least flattering view of it in the mirror. I don't feel unattractive but my current shape isn't my ideal. I could blame it on so many things - my love of nearly all food (excluding only hot dogs and sugary junk foods in the style of Hostess or Little Debbie), a general decrease in physical activity since moving to Chattanooga, beer. I certainly knew that cheese accounted for some of my girth, but might my favorite of all foods make up the bulk of it?
I sighed at the thought of a new food rule. I'm not opposed to lifestyle changes. In the spring and early summer I worked out four hours a week and ate way less fried food, red meat and pork. The frustrating thing is that it doesn't make much difference in terms of my weight. Sure, I felt better when I lived that way, but I wasn't any smaller. The rewards just didn't match the work and sacrifice that went into that lifestyle, which makes laziness and indulgence more attractive options. Would I really subject myself to new cheese parameters? Could I really make it last beyond Thanksgiving?
In considering ways to limit my cheese consumption, I became dejected. At least I could be grateful that last Friday, I accidentally answered my phone and spoke to a trainer from my gym. Her name was C and she was calling about my freebie training session that I had yet to redeem. We decided to meet on Tuesday morning. The anticipation of this workout made me feel a little better on Monday afternoon, when my friend S and I ordered a bowl of cheese dip at the pub down the road.
When I got to the gym on Tuesday, I found C to be a very serious and very fit young woman with smart eyes and a razor sharp glance. She had me complete a form that asked questions about my weight, my desired weight, the parts of my body I wanted to work on, etc. Then she handed me a small electronic device that looked like something a Star Trek doctor would use.
"This is to check your body fat percentage. Have you used one of these before?"
"Um, not since elementary school and it was one of those creepy scissor-like thingies."
"Oh, with the pinchers?" She smiled, which seemed out of the ordinary, which made me proud. "Yeah, those were weird." She demonstrated how to use the device and handed it to me. "The bottom number is your BMI, but I'm not paying attention to that. We're just going to look at the top number. That's your body fat percentage."
It wasn't pretty. Turns out, I am over 1/3 fat.
We sat down and she looked at my form. She wrote down the percentage next to the columns where I had listed my current and desired weights, which she covered with her hand. "We're not going to look at those numbers. We're only going to look at this percentage. You really need to be here," she said as she scrawled "21% - 23%". I appreciated her discretion, but not as much as her honesty.
We talked a bit about the kind of workout I've been doing, which is almost all cardio. "That's the problem," she said as she drew a triangle. "Building muscle tissue has to be the foundation." She wrote that at the bottom of the triangle. "On top of that you have cardio activity. At the top of the pyramid, you have food and diet. But I'm not going to tell you how to eat."
"Yeeeeeesssss!" I said with a gleeful arm pump. Hello, cheese!
She smiled as if she really wanted to roll her eyes. "You know how you should be eating." Then she launched into the most articulate, informative explanation about why it's important to build muscle tissue and approach weight training holistically (as opposed to focusing on one region of the body), and how this can be done effectively. I'm not going to repeat everything she said, because I would probably say it all wrong, but let's just say that for the first time I got it. Sure, I've heard that it's important to build muscle if you're trying to lose weight, but I always found the message vague, and it got lost in the midst of those thousand-and-one other vague messages we hear every day about fitness and health. Most importantly, C focused on the lifelong benefits of muscular fitness (so you don't wear out your joints, so you can lift things when you're old, so you can increase your metabolism), which really got to the heart of my belly fears. As she said herself, it isn't about getting skinny - after all, muscle weighs more than fat. It's about health.
Then she had me work out. I began with five minutes of cardio - easy enough. Then came the regimen that has left me sore in places I've never felt before. It hurts to sneeze, and I know that comes from all that core-building stuff she had me do with a strange object that looks like this
I was honestly stunned by my capabilities. I didn't know I could use my gut, forearms and tippy toes to support the length of my body. I pushed myself in a way that I never have before and I didn't even care if I looked weird while I was doing it (even when I rolled over on my side doing that forearm thing). The sometimes painful exertion felt good.
She had me work out for a half hour. Then came the hard sell. "Have you ever considered a personal training program?"
In my winded state, I couldn't help being honest. "No."
A bitter smile. "And why not?"
Because that's something movie stars do was what I was thinking, but I said, "I guess I just never thought I could afford it."
She offered the customary sales pitch, broken down into my various options - I spend a little less per session if I sign up for more sessions per month, and I'll get a great deal if I sign up immediately. If I could afford it, I would have signed up for weekly sessions right then, but I knew I needed to think about it and look at my budget.
Perhaps misinterpreting my hesitation for a lack of interest, C said something that I would have chalked up to a down and dirty sales tactic if it weren't so obviously true. "You can't do this alone."
Doing it alone is always my first inclination, but then I remembered those weak solo attempts to improve my mental health before I got into therapy. Just as deep breathing is no replacement for a shrink, I doubt that even the most extensive internet research is a replacement for an educated physical trainer.
So, I'm gonna do it. Two sessions a month. I'm geeked. This seems like the perfect next step after many years of therapy (from which I finally "graduated" in July - hooray!!). I'm ready to make some dietary changes too but this decision feels like the revolution. I also find it exciting, because even though it really sucked to learn that I'm over 1/3 fat, I finally feel thrust into this new life in Chatttanooga. Something about the fall weather and the mild loneliness has made me incredibly nostalgic and I find myself too often on Facebook, or daydreaming about my December trip to Michigan. Now, me and my belly have a new thing, and it's focused on progress.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Self-Judgment Free Zone
For several unfortunate reasons, I grew up thinking that exercise was something you were either good or bad at and that I just happened to be really bad at it. So of course I never tried to get better and was a perennial gym class failure, which made me dread that portion of the school day. Until a few years ago I associated the word "workout" with "humiliation", because it made me think of gym. I fell into that trap of believing that a brainy nerd like me couldn't be athletic as well. I'm afraid the Dearborn Public Schools didn't help to dispel that notion. My high school curriculum included freshman and junior year phys-ed classes but if you were in the "gifted and talented" program, you could skip it in the eleventh grade. I found out about this loophole in elementary school and made it my goal over the next several years to swap good grades for required physical activity. I succeeded. And while I know that I'm about to reveal a part of myself that I should perhaps keep reserved, I can't help being completely honest - when my father ran over my foot with the car in the spring of my freshman year, my first thought was, "OUUUCH!!!" and my second thought was, "Oh my god. I bet I can be done with gym class forever." And I was.
Nearly fifteen years after my last phys-ed class, Dan made me get a membership to the Boll Family YMCA in downtown Detroit. This is a heavy testament to my love for him. I didn't even argue; he just wore me down with care and charm. It turned out that the Boll provided a great reentry into the gym world. My biggest fear was that the other customers would make fun of me, like the mean kids who pointed and laughed when the volleyball hit me in the head. Of course, I didn't encounter that at the Y because everyday life isn't that much like junior high school, or not at the Boll, at least. There were a lot of families and fat people there, and very few of the vain, glistening hotties and musclebound freaks that you hear about at Bally's Vic Tanny. Also, the Boll features a rock-climbing wall and a pool and a lot of other cool stuff I didn't use, floor-to-ceiling windows that face the Woodward skyline, a sweet second floor track that wraps around a basketball court where I got to watch a lot of really intense games, and complimentary towels. It was just a nice place to be. Also, I learned right away that few people watch each other at the gym. They watch TV. All the machines are arranged facing a row of flatscreens, and the patrons form this mechanical band of zoned out exercising robots. Some people listen on their headphones and others stare into space. It's pleasantly anti-social.
After we moved to Ypsi, we joined Planet Fitness, which has just machines, weights, and the all-important TVs. But it's also just $10 a month! Their schtick is that they offer the "judgment free zone". They claim that they will kick you out if you "judge" others, and if you drop your weights like douchebags sometimes do, they sound the "lunk alarm" (for the first year and a half, I thought the lunk alarm was just a dead siren for show, but I've actually heard it go off a few times recently; I think it's just an employee testing it out for fun). It's a pretty corny atmosphere and their purple and yellow paint job makes me feel like I'm on the set of "Saved by the Bell", but I've grown quite fond of the place and actually look forward to being there. In fact, I've recently started to enjoy exercise for itself, instead of just the good feeling it brings afterward.
This is a big turning point for me. I used to do just a forty minute workout on a single machine a few times a week. That was all I had to do to not gain weight and maintain a lifestyle that included lots of cheese and fried foods. I did it dutifully, but I didn't get excited for it. I would try to distract myself from it by reading because I just wanted to get it over with. But then Dan started working out longer and I didn't see any point in sitting around while he exercised, so I switched to an hour workout on two different machines. I felt less bored with the repetition. I noticed how many more calories I was burning, which made me feel proud and that made me want to push harder. But the only way I could do that was to let go of the reading. I noticed that it was keeping me from burning as many calories.
It's true. Thinking too hard gets in the way of my workout. This is why TV is a wonderful workout companion - it doesn't make you think. But I've come to appreciate my workout as a fun time for my brain . It isn't a great opportunity to work out a problem in my head; usually I just get obsessed with simple fractions, as in "I'm three fifths of the way through my workout. If I divide the number of calories I've burned so far by three, double that number and add it to the original, I will burn x calories." But I also find that exercise clears my mind to the point that I realize that whatever had been stressing me out earlier in the day wasn't really such a big deal. It's these mental health benefits that I enjoy the most.
I was working out an average of three days a week throughout the winter. Then we went on vacation at the end of February and ate a ton of southern fried foods. It was a great trip, but I gained several pounds. Since we got back in the first week of March, I've been doing one hour workouts four days a week and for the first time in years, I'm really losing weight! And it isn't because I'm smoking a pack a day and not eating while working a job that keeps me on my feet all day. It's because I'm exercising and consuming way less fried food, sweets, pizza, beef and pork (and just like the one-hour workouts, I have Dan to thank for the positive influence). I still eat lots of cheese, but I'm letting my combined snobbery and thrift save it for the $30 - $40 a pound delicacies that I can buy with company store gift certificates. Mmm, I'm thinking about the salty Spanish goat's milk cheese I'm going to buy next...
I have a ways to go before I get down to my ideal weight, but that would just be gravy. I feel healthier than I ever have before. I do smoke occasionally, but the negative effects are more noticeable now and that makes me want to avoid it. That good feeling in the morning has become so dear. Anyway, I made it through a tough work week without lighting up, and didn't even indulge at karaoke the other night. I'm excited for the ban the begins next weekend. I'm excited for a lot of things.
Nearly fifteen years after my last phys-ed class, Dan made me get a membership to the Boll Family YMCA in downtown Detroit. This is a heavy testament to my love for him. I didn't even argue; he just wore me down with care and charm. It turned out that the Boll provided a great reentry into the gym world. My biggest fear was that the other customers would make fun of me, like the mean kids who pointed and laughed when the volleyball hit me in the head. Of course, I didn't encounter that at the Y because everyday life isn't that much like junior high school, or not at the Boll, at least. There were a lot of families and fat people there, and very few of the vain, glistening hotties and musclebound freaks that you hear about at Bally's Vic Tanny. Also, the Boll features a rock-climbing wall and a pool and a lot of other cool stuff I didn't use, floor-to-ceiling windows that face the Woodward skyline, a sweet second floor track that wraps around a basketball court where I got to watch a lot of really intense games, and complimentary towels. It was just a nice place to be. Also, I learned right away that few people watch each other at the gym. They watch TV. All the machines are arranged facing a row of flatscreens, and the patrons form this mechanical band of zoned out exercising robots. Some people listen on their headphones and others stare into space. It's pleasantly anti-social.
After we moved to Ypsi, we joined Planet Fitness, which has just machines, weights, and the all-important TVs. But it's also just $10 a month! Their schtick is that they offer the "judgment free zone". They claim that they will kick you out if you "judge" others, and if you drop your weights like douchebags sometimes do, they sound the "lunk alarm" (for the first year and a half, I thought the lunk alarm was just a dead siren for show, but I've actually heard it go off a few times recently; I think it's just an employee testing it out for fun). It's a pretty corny atmosphere and their purple and yellow paint job makes me feel like I'm on the set of "Saved by the Bell", but I've grown quite fond of the place and actually look forward to being there. In fact, I've recently started to enjoy exercise for itself, instead of just the good feeling it brings afterward.
This is a big turning point for me. I used to do just a forty minute workout on a single machine a few times a week. That was all I had to do to not gain weight and maintain a lifestyle that included lots of cheese and fried foods. I did it dutifully, but I didn't get excited for it. I would try to distract myself from it by reading because I just wanted to get it over with. But then Dan started working out longer and I didn't see any point in sitting around while he exercised, so I switched to an hour workout on two different machines. I felt less bored with the repetition. I noticed how many more calories I was burning, which made me feel proud and that made me want to push harder. But the only way I could do that was to let go of the reading. I noticed that it was keeping me from burning as many calories.
It's true. Thinking too hard gets in the way of my workout. This is why TV is a wonderful workout companion - it doesn't make you think. But I've come to appreciate my workout as a fun time for my brain . It isn't a great opportunity to work out a problem in my head; usually I just get obsessed with simple fractions, as in "I'm three fifths of the way through my workout. If I divide the number of calories I've burned so far by three, double that number and add it to the original, I will burn x calories." But I also find that exercise clears my mind to the point that I realize that whatever had been stressing me out earlier in the day wasn't really such a big deal. It's these mental health benefits that I enjoy the most.
I was working out an average of three days a week throughout the winter. Then we went on vacation at the end of February and ate a ton of southern fried foods. It was a great trip, but I gained several pounds. Since we got back in the first week of March, I've been doing one hour workouts four days a week and for the first time in years, I'm really losing weight! And it isn't because I'm smoking a pack a day and not eating while working a job that keeps me on my feet all day. It's because I'm exercising and consuming way less fried food, sweets, pizza, beef and pork (and just like the one-hour workouts, I have Dan to thank for the positive influence). I still eat lots of cheese, but I'm letting my combined snobbery and thrift save it for the $30 - $40 a pound delicacies that I can buy with company store gift certificates. Mmm, I'm thinking about the salty Spanish goat's milk cheese I'm going to buy next...
I have a ways to go before I get down to my ideal weight, but that would just be gravy. I feel healthier than I ever have before. I do smoke occasionally, but the negative effects are more noticeable now and that makes me want to avoid it. That good feeling in the morning has become so dear. Anyway, I made it through a tough work week without lighting up, and didn't even indulge at karaoke the other night. I'm excited for the ban the begins next weekend. I'm excited for a lot of things.
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