The Workout is the Easy Part Today

What happens when you sprinkle three feet of fresh snow on the ground, and add 100,000 tourists to it? Madness. 

Think narrow, winding roads bumper to bumper with thousands of mini-vans; a cluster of families parked in every crevice the snow plow has carved out, each with a father's butt protruding into traffic as he bends over adjusting the chains on the back tires of his front-wheel drive; gloved hands and beanied heads of all shapes and sizes spill out of the windows and doors, sliding on on the snow berms into oncoming traffic, tossing snowballs at grandmas toddling on the ice in dark dresses and heeled dress shoes, heads wrapped in colorful scarves. 

These visitors set up camp for the day on the roadside, and they sled and frolic and pee in the great outdoors, side by side, packed in like spectators with stadium seating. The rest of us shimmy our ways around them as we try to go about our daily lives. 

Staying sane is the goal today. I make it into the gym early enough, before the onslaught of tourists arrives. After I finish my chest workout though, I linger too long. I perch myself on the treadmill and run a few miles. My view is the highway and gym parking lot, nothing to see on a normal day, but this is the weekend between Christmas and New Year's, AND we have lots of fresh snow. The highway looks like the 5 Freeway at 8:00 AM on a weekday--no one is moving. 

The gym parking lot quickly becomes a hot spot. By the time I am done with my business, throngs of multi-generational family units are having tailgate parties, double parking, slipping and sliding, throwing snow, laughing, and yelling in shrill foreign languages. Within a short span of time, the place is wall to wall humans. I am in awe of the sheer volume of bodies occupying space.

Exiting the gym will take some serious perseverance. I pack my gear up, pull on my jacket and tell myself I will be kind. I will be patient. I should admire these people for making an effort--they could be sitting in front of a television with a bag of chips. I walk out the door and to the back of my truck, tap a young man on the shoulder and motion for him to move his grandma out of the way so I can back up. He has kind eyes, and puts his arm around her shoulder to guide her away from my vehicle. 

Before I can get in the truck and pull on my seat belt, the space vacated by the kind young man and his grandma is filled with more people. I turn over the engine and rev it to indicate my intentions and the crowd slowly parts. I inch my way in reverse, hoping not to squash a wayward toddler, then slowly, in starts and stops, inch past a sea of over-insulated, crazed Weebles. My disappearing patience is the only thing moving at a measurable speed. 

The two mile journey home takes over 30 minutes; I creep along--one sluggish blood cell struggling through a clogged artery. Once in my house, I remain seated on the couch in my coat and boots, stunned. I am Ralphie Parker after his mom pulls him off Scott Farkus in the movie A Christmas Story. I have a vague recollection of the string of obscenities that I uttered in the last half hour, but I am otherwise numb. 

Post-gym exhaustion. And it wasn't the workout this time. 

Every Last Crumb

Really good cookie...

Carpe Diem...tomorrow?

My weight is up, my resolve is down, my lips are in winter state of permachap, and the artificial sweeteners I have recently consumed are having a raucous party in my large intestine. My three week long head cold has evolved into a sinus infection, just on the left side, mind you. Which means behind my left eye it feels like someone hit me with a small finishing hammer.  Right side is just fine. My workouts over the last few days have gone like this:

1. Pick up really heavy weight and do ten reps of (fill in the blank) while I wonder if the pressure in my head might cause my head to pop off my body.

2. Set weights down, go directly to the bathroom to blow nose. Marvel at three pounds of substance I expel (left side only) so vivid in hue that it could be a new Crayola color. 

3. Wash hands, return to station, pick up really heavy weights, and do it all over again. 

It has not been a week of triumph. In fact, tomorrow is cheat day, and I plan to let it fly. I have gingerbread cookie in my bag as we speak, and I intend to eat it with my morning coffee. My house is filling up with sweets; they are coming at me from every angle now that we are less than a week away from Christmas. 

And I am tired of being good, of protein, of feeling hungry. I am tired, period. With 20 weeks to go, I cannot see how it is possible that I will be ready to step on stage in a bikini. The last public viewing of my stomach was around the time Chaka Khan was cranking out the hits. Things have not gone well for my stomach since then, and I am not sure there is enough time to reverse it. 

When I really want to shake my head at my insanity, I turn around and crane my neck for a look at my rear end. For the most part, my derriere is still a nightmare. Yes, I can now wear jeans with some degree of confidence, but I have to be able to crack nuts with this thing by May. There cannot be dimples. There are dimples. 

I missed a workout this week due to this crazy three-day storm, so I am scheduled for a back workout tomorrow, on Sunday, when I normally take a run outside and take a day away from the gym. I may run anyway. I think it may do me more good in the long run--mentally at least.

One story I heard in the gym this week has helped me keep a stiff upper lip in an odd way. A member came in talking about her daughter's recent hire as a snowboard instructor at the local ski hill. The daughter showed up for training of the first day, and among her new colleagues was a mother and daughter duo who had never snowboarded before. They intended to be instructors, skip the learning curve, experience be damned, and jump right in.   

Well, now that is some bucket of confidence. I hope to wake up tomorrow with a little more of that, a little more resolve, and a need for fewer Kleenex. 

I am eating that cookie, though, first thing in the morning.

Come hell or high snow drifts...

It is officially winter here in Running Springs. Yards have filled up with snow, releasing ecstatic dogs who are now able to step over their fencings, tails wagging, and hold their annual hind-sniffing sessions in the middle of the road. School has been called off for the second day in a row--a Christmas miracle to the children of the town, a headache for their parents who began the battle of snow removal at the first flake and now meet in the street to borrow each other's milk, ibuprofen, and Ben Gay. 

Cars are silent white lumps. It smells of cold air and the diesel fumes of the skip loader moving snow at the end of the street. Every few seconds, the sound of its backup warning bell chimes in with the scrape of shovels and the squeal of the neighborhood kids sledding down the other end of the our street. 

Today I would bake cookies. I would drink hot chocolate and stay on the couch under a blanket, unshowered and unbrushed. I would make biscuits to go with the chili in the Crockpot or maybe some cornbread with honey butter. 

I would do all those things, but instead I battle my way into the gym. 

The gym is empty. Except for Tina. She arrives and looks at me, "What do you want to do?" She has a way of directing me and letting me lead myself at the same time. 

Go home, eat cookies on the couch under a blanket, watch an old movie... 

"It is ab day," I reply.

I make eye contact with her, hoping she might suggest I have gotten enough of a workout shoveling today, hoping she might notice that I have had this head cold for three weeks now and today might be a good day to rest, hoping she might not want to be here anymore than I do. No doubt she could be a cozier place right now too. 

"Okay, let's start with reverse crunches."

Damn.

Sentenced to workout, I lay down on the cold, black vinyl of incline bench and begin my reps, counting out reverse crunches. 

Once again the result of initial effort is stunning. My body warms. It feels good. I can tell I am stronger today than I was last week. I have more control in my movements, and my muscles know what they need to do. 

In between sets, Tina and I share our war stories over the battle to get to the gym today; we look outside and marvel at the wind swirling the snow, forcing it to circle fiercely before coming down to rest. I can relate to that snow. 

The gym remains a ghost town. Without other bodies, the room stays cold, and it is silent--the cable to the satellite radio is hopelessly frozen. Without the sound of music, I have to listen to myself breathe as I push through my reps. But I am glad to be here. Tina is game for life, and she rubs off on me. 

An hour later we part ways. I thank her for coming in today, but she waves her hand and says, "Not a problem, I am coming back this evening for my own workout."

Two hours later, after getting the truck stuck twice, I give up, park it next to another abandoned vehicle and walk home. I grab my backpack out of the cab, and the shovel from the bed, throw each over a shoulder and let the snow collect on my eyelashes as I wind through the streets and wave at people leaning on shovels, taking cigarette breaks. There is a sense of pleasure and contentment in the air that is not limited to freed dogs and children.

The rest of the day I will spend curled up under a blanket drinking tea instead of hot chocolate. Tomorrow I will rescue the truck. I have to get it unstuck. I have a workout scheduled in the morning. 

Holiday Hell

The holidays are killing me.

It is challenging enough -- the strict eating plan, the daily workouts -- but deep into the month of December, it simply becomes torture. Family and friends come into town, bearing mind-blowing dishes that are totally off limits. Additionally, I bite my nails wondering if I will be able to sneak away for my workout without appearing too rude.

The visitors snuggle up next to a fire with glasses of grog and eat savory dips and rich cheeses. I sit down next to them with a glass of soda water and try to concentrate on their words, but I find myself focusing more on the food waving in my brother's hand as he explains the frustrations of his job. In the jaws of my company, the crunch of chips loaded down with cheese dip is deafening. I salivate, smile, try not to stare. 

I suddenly understand the pain of my airedale, Elmo, who can sit on his haunches at the edge of the dinner table and track our forks from plate to mouth, bite after bite, hoping a morsel will escape and through some fortunate physics land before him on the ground. 

I lose track of the conversation in the room, and catch myself negotiating with my own conscience. One bite of pumpkin cake cannot possibly hurt. DON'T DO IT...When is the next time I will get to eat those cheesy biscuits? NO! YOU WILL START AN AVALANCHE... I shake it off, bite viciously into a carrot, and try to reconnect with the conversation about the recent election.

Just as I begin to wallow in self-pity, it strikes me that the holidays have always held discomfort. In years past, they ended in a crescendo of intestinal abuse, with me struggling to sit and breathe at the same time after eating for hours on end. In the past the holidays ended with promises that I made silently to myself in the darkness as I undressed to go to bed -- to start fresh tomorrow, to gain control over my eating, to be happier with myself, to end the despair of having to find clothes to put on each day. 

Yep, the holidays have a whole different feel this year. Amid the memories of self-yuck, I find the strength to forego the pie. Twenty-one weeks of training to go. I'm still in. 

A Certain Uncertainty

I am wrapping up week 5 of my training program. It seems like no time has passed since Tina and I looked each other in the eye and agreed to reshape this body. It also seems 5 whole weeks should produce some miracles. It hasn't. In other words, I am entering a new phase, with heightened concerns.

With 21 weeks before the competition, there are very few things I hold onto for certain. What I am certain of is that I cannot predict how strong I will feel tomorrow. My body feels tired overall, yet I am still willing and ready for each training. 

I am certain that my food cravings, or lack there of, will be a surprise. Some days I have the resolve of a old mule, and other days I open the pantry compulsively hoping for magic--a chocolate caramel treat that is pure protein and wrapped in silver foil with a card that says, "Yes, you can eat this, Kathleen." So far I have been let down each time. 

I am also certain to feel both confident and utterly defeated, ready to give up, possibly in the same hour. 

What I am uncertain of is that after 5 weeks, why more muscle isn't showing. I am lacking confidence that I am really giving each rep my all; maybe I could be pushing myself harder; maybe I am slacking on my water intake, or shaving off a few minutes of cardio. Are tiny shortcuts going to affect outcome 5 weeks into the program?

I look in the mirror at my shoulders just before I pull my shirt over my head each morning. I see scrawny upper body definition. Laughable when I consider how much mass I still need. I think of Olive, the main character in the movie Little Miss Sunshine, who enters a beauty contest oblivious to the much more sophisticated competition around her. I may be walking into a snake pit of humiliation on May 9th. 

So what are my options? To move ahead. I still have over 20 weeks to dole out to myself in this journey. I'd like to think there will be more growth in that time, and I try to remind myself that the big lesson in this quest is one of patience. 

I have heard if driven by a dream, you should do something every day to move closer to it. Sound advice only because you get to a point where you have invested so much time and energy that you cannot go back. The destination, the goal, may begin to look ridiculous, but quitting stops being an option. 

So I am moving forward. When I wake up each morning, this is still what I want to do. Of that I am certain. 

Unsubscribe

Curled up with my coffee this morning, checking email, absentmindedly rubbing sore spots in muscles worked days ago, I came across an email with the subject line: Lose 15 Pounds Before the Holidays! I expelled a disgusted lung full of air into the quiet living room. It is December 10th. What holidays are they talking about? 2009?

My eyes narrowed, and I hovered the cursor over the email. I DID NOT want to click into this. It gives attention to ridiculous, money-hungry opportunists capitalizing on the desperation of the helpless weight-challenged. I know. I have tried it all (in college I subscribed to weekly vitamin B shots in the hind region guaranteed to help melt away the pounds--they worked--temporarily). 

Yet I could not resist. Almost involuntarily my finger clicked the link and up popped a horrifying website. I was greeted by an image of a flawless female body in sports bra and biking shorts. The face was blotted out and the caption read: Your face here! In another sidebar the text said: Get the slim, sexy body you want, right now!

And therein lies the problem: RIGHT NOW! The dollars we in this country throw at instant weight loss and quick fixes could probably put a respectable dent in our national debt. If I could reel in the money I have spent over the years on gimmicks--from weight loss schemes to tummy tucking clothing--and invest that money in my retirement, well I am certain there would be room for more than a few Carribean cruises in my golden years. 

So why do we keep falling for stuff like this? Why do I even look at sites like this anymore? Unless you chop off a leg, or strap yourself to the elliptical trainer continuously between today and Christmas, it is utterly impossible to drop 15 pounds in 10 days. 

Hope springs eternal in our skinny souls, I suppose. The problem is that when you even entertain the idea of this kind of radical weight loss, it warps your understanding of what is healthy, what good progress is. We believe we are failures when we cannot attain what is actually unattainable. Crazy making. And it opens the door wide open for that nasty voice inside us that says, "You are worthless and weak."

It is for these reasons that I get so incensed by these messages in my inbox, in all media that tells us there is still time to get into our skinny jeans by Saturday. 

It took me years to finally sign up for the long haul and give myself the gift of time, and only then, after a lot of time and true focus, did physical change occur. I did the workouts with effort. I stopped just going through the motions and grumbling about how unfair it was that my body wouldn't listen. I stopped berating myself when I digressed or slipped. I forgave myself. I kept going back to the gym for more. It worked. Period. And it took years.

I stared at the images on this website and found at the bottom, in small words, the direction I was looking for: Click here to unsubscribe. I followed the directions and received the message I'd been seeking: 

You have been unsubscribed.

And I say we ALL get unsubscribed to this mindset.

On Cheating...

Today I am allowed to cheat. 

When I started this program, Tina told me that once a week I could eat anything without attention to protein, carb, or sugar content. Initially, the idea of cheat day was more frightening than hugging a 45 pound plate while doing back extensions. To do this program I had locked into a mindset about food, squeezed my eyes shut and not allowed any visions of buttery, deep-fried, sugar-coated, sizzling savories. Did she realize what would happen if I let go of that control for one day, and then tried to get it back!?! Have you ever tried to chase after a frightened cat after it has escaped your arms?

But Tina said to do it. It was good for my mind and my body.

Okay.

I have had four cheat days since starting this journey. Before noon on the first cheat day I ate sweetrollsjalapenocheesebuscuitschipsReesescandybarscookiedoughcookiesandmorecookies...until my stomach was in turmoil. It was a free for all, and when I told Tina about it the next day, she smiled and nodded.

"That will stop happening over time." Naive woman. She seemed so confident.

I wondered if she really knew who she was dealing with. There have been times when my caloric marathons have shocked even me.

The next cheat day rolled around and I started off with two bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios. Ominous. I waited for the tidal wave of double fisted consumption to hit. But it never did. In fact, most of the day I walked past a square of good chocolate I had been saving for that day. Hours later I popped it in my mouth just because I couldn't believe I didn't want it. It tasted fine, but I was not instantly awash in the pleasure of chocolate melting in my mouth.

Today is my fourth cheat day. I started with a splash of real cream in my coffee. I fixed eggs like I do on an "on" day. Since it was a cheat day, I had toast with my them. Oddly, I am not planning my next pantry raid, and I am not currently craving chocolate. 

Weird.

This whole feeling is something of a miracle. After a lifetime of keeping me in handcuffs, food is losing its power. What a welcome and unexpected side effect. The more weeks I spend eating healthy food, the more I crave healthy food. The longer I spend away from junk, the less appealing it becomes. In addition, I just feel unwilling to sacrifice a week's worth of hard work over a box of Oreos.

I am fully expecting that as the competition approaches, when cheat days are suspended and food restrictions become more extreme, that I will be once again be pacing the cage, but today I am in a place of calm, where I am shaking my head at the power of our own minds.

Roadblocks

Busy days. This week I have trained through a sore shoulder, a head cold that turned into an throbbing earache, a truck that broke down as I was driving it (picture benevolent folks pushing me off the road), and the variety of distractions in the life of a mom (from doctors' and DMV appointments to baking cookies for the Girl Scout troop). What I have learned from this week is that 1) in the past I would have been justified in missing workouts in the midst of unexpected roadblocks and 2) that my training sessions have allowed me to temporarily release my responsibilities and just be in the moment. 

Even when cranky, sore, or anxious I find myself at peace ten minutes into my workout. When you really have to concentrate on pushing your physical limits, other thoughts and worries are crowded out. Your main focus is in asking your body to do more than it is capable of doing. If your thoughts are in the past or in the future, you lose the strength of the moment. 

Recently, at the end of some of my sets, Tina has had me hold the weight in a partial lift for as long as I can. First the muscle group I am working shakes, then my whole body shakes, and eventually I can no longer hold it at all.  But the length of time I do hold the position is determined by my head, not my biceps or triceps. When I place my mind in the immediate moment, I last longer in my pose. When my mind strays, I hear my phone ring, or I am distracted by an outside thought: how will I pay for a new transmission, why didn't I find time to read to my daughter last night...I lose my strength. 

When I stay in the moment during my training, embrace the discomfort of a hard lift in my mind, my body responds, and I achieve more. And an hour later, when the training session is over, and I return to the managing of money and time, tasks of my real life are waiting for me, but they are no longer red siren problems. 

The image of people pushing me out of the road becomes a little humorous, and I realize that the truck breaking down created an opportunity for my older daughter and I to walk home together hand in hand.

Sleepless in the Springs

It is 2 AM and I am sleepless despite a dose of melatonin. I fear in this quest to reach my goal, sleep is going to be my kryptonite. In recent years, sleeping through the night has been a rarity unless I whack myself out with Tylenol PM or Simply Sleep, and even then I tend to wake up at the same dreaded hour, 2 AM. With drugs I fall back asleep, without them, I stare at the ceiling in the dark, my eyes open, my mind churning. 

Melatonin seemed to be a good answer, and the side effects--crazy dreams--have been entertaining. Heck I'll take them. But tonight, er, this morning, even melatonin is failing me. I don't get it. I have done all the things every article on insomnia says to do: vigorous exercise, healthy food, bedtime rituals and schedules, all to no avail. 

So time to make lemonade. I hadn't time to post yesterday, and now I do. The house is quiet. 

I worked lower body yesterday doing lunges up and down the parking lot outside the gym to begin with and then one legged squats, side squats, squats in the smith machine, hamstring curls, calve raises... you name it. Lower body is the day that I feel the sweat trickle down my back like a cardio day. 

And progress is coming. Though imperceptible to the naked eye, and no shift in the scale (138 and holding), my jeans are more comfortable. This is week four of my regimented training. Six days of seven, sugar and white flour is off limits, and protein has become my central focus in meals. One of many lessons I have learned is that I was seriously lacking in protein rich foods before. Can't rebuild muscles without it, and I probably had under 10 grams a day before now. 

All the elements I need for this competition: a great trainer, a good gym, the right diet, and enough time, are skipping along arm-in-arm like Dorothy and her motley crew. But sleep--sleep has taken its ball and gone home. Can't play the game without it. 

I am headed back to bed. Wish me luck. 

Getting it Done

Skipped the ab workout, but got the run in yesterday. By the time I dragged myself out, it was 72 degrees in Highland where I do my Sunday runs. The temp was 80 when I finished. My punishment for not getting out the door sooner. I realize though, that the beauty of living in southern California is that I can take a run in 80 degree weather, even when the picture on the calendar shows a snowy scene. 

Just finished training with Tina, and she made up for my missing ab work yesterday. It is good to feel spent. Time to clean the gym.