August 12, 2010
I’m working on something about child-free zones, etc. But I don’t have time for that now, because work wants me to work, condo wants to be cleaned, friends want to be visited, and pool wants to be played. And, also, dinner wants to be cooked.
So I’ve been having much success with Trainer, who finally got around to measuring my body fat %. According to my Evil Scale of Doom, I’d lost only 8 pounds, but about 4% body fat since I’d last measured. According to Trainer’s (theoretically) more accurate apparatus, it’s closer to 6% since I started working with him (I did not disclose my previous measurement). All of which makes me feel great.
Though, this percentage? Does not look like I thought it would. At least, it doesn’t to me. I can still see things I’d rather not, still don’t fit into things I could wear 6 years ago. But the facts are there. I am in the “athletic” range for my height and age, and this is what I look like now.
It’s not an easy thing for everyone, accepting what they look like even when they’ve done everything they’re supposed to, even when the numbers say they should be thrilled.
So, yeah. I’m not going to worry about it, and I’ve been enjoying making myself healthier, fresh-food dinners, and working out really hard, and pushing myself farther than I thought I could go. I’ve been enjoying letting go of my expectations, too. Aspirations will always be welcome here, but expectations are another animal altogether, I think.
August 3, 2010
A long weekend of pure indulgence and somehow, my suit fits better than it did before I left. Perhaps standing around in 4″ heels for 6+ hours a night is a decent substitute for an hour or so of cardio?
I think I prefer Vegas weather.
I do not prefer Vegas cabdrivers.
Also, hanging out at places where you cannot see outside at all can lead to some disconcerting realizations – like how you somehow managed to leave at 7:30 in the morning, some 5 hours after you really, honestly intended to get back to your hotel.
The gold lamé dress was fantastic.
So were these boots – not at the same time, I assure you.
There are no photos – which might be for the best. I am, apparently, the kind of person who goes to Vegas and forgets her camera. But the beauty of Vegas is that the experience can be everything. When you leave, you have this vague, blurry sense of awesomeness, and the thought that it might be fun to go back… just as soon as you’ve had enough time to recover.
July 28, 2010
Trainer has decided to get creative. And by “get creative”, I mean “indulge his long-denied fantasy of being a drill instructor”.
He’s been cribbing moves from special forces training manuals, apparently. Which is why I was crawling like there was barbed wire a few inches above my body, crouch-walking the length of the exercise room several times over, and various other things that had my legs shaking with exhaustion by 15 minutes into the workout.
If I had wanted to be special forces, I probably would have, you know, SIGNED UP TO BE IN THE MILITARY. As it is, it will probably TAKE special forces to get me up the stairs to my condo by the time I get home this evening.
On the plus side, the gold lamé dress is going to look fantastic, and I’m pretty sure that’s not something they let you wear when you’re special forces. Not unless The Nanny is their new wardrobe consultant.
July 27, 2010
I may have left you with the impression that my spa experience was made significantly less enjoyable by the “rain shower” treatment, which was the first one I did.
And thankfully it was the first, because it made me appreciate the second so much more. It was a Milk and Honey soak, and if there is anything more appropriate for me, I’m not sure I want to know what it is. It’s possible that this experience was only sweetened by the previous… treatment, and it was relatively simple.
The technician simply ran me a bath and poured some lovely goo into it. But the tub was constant flow, with an accessible panel of buttons that let me control the whirlpool jets. The controls kept it within half a degree of 103º F. Once I’d entered the room and drawn the curtain, the technician dimmed the lights, and made sure I was aware of the handful of Hershey kisses next to the tub.
Soft, nondescript music played. And even though the tub was just a few inches shy of perfect length, I relaxed, thoroughly and perfectly, for the next 15 minutes. I’d have been happy to stay there forever, but they have rules about dehydration and sous-viding the clientele, I’d imagine.
Still – I’ve always looked at baths as a time to open a good book and sip some wine, but I think my next will involve a few tea lights and something soothing and instrumental on the iHome. Because tranquil is a very good word, and I should start using it more often.
July 26, 2010
Lord & Taylor dressing room lighting and mirrors. I have a theory about this, actually – they light & mirror the rooms to make you look as hideous as possible when naked, so that when you put clothes on your body, the contrast is so remarkable that you are grateful to no longer look like a wildebeest and you buy the clothes.
Things that are not fired:
OPI color-naming people (Coz-u-melted in the sun? heheheeeee)
W, for finding me a way home that did not involve I-95 or the B-W Parkway, and for taking me to churrascaria after I got back. 😀
July 19, 2010
You might think that a hyperindulgent weekend would result in one feeling terrible on Monday. You might think that six women in a condo 500 feet from tax-free outlet stores and .5 miles from a cocoa-centric spa would result in excessive purchases of clothing that would refuse to button the following week.
You might be wrong.
I’d been apprehensive about the weekend – I tend to feel gargantuan around most of my female friends anyway, as I am 3.5″ taller than the next tallest (who, it might be noted, wears clothes 3 full sizes smaller than mine), and they are all athletic and gorgeous. Not to mention smart and funny. Lovely and intimidating.
Also, I’d never been to a spa before. I signed up for one of the packages, thinking that the people who put these things together probably know a thing or two about producing enjoyable spa experiences. And we’ll talk more about the “rain shower” another time. But the massage? The massage induced the most blissfully languid epiphany:
I want to take care of myself.
I’ve had this body for kind of a while now, and I’ve hated it since I was six. For a while, I hated it passively, making it sit around on couches while I fed it all manner of junk food. Then I hated it slightly more actively, engaging in mild exercise while swearing off almost all foods, save a bizarre ritualized assortment of things I consumed only when alone. Then I hated it more damagingly, partaking of “tiny little flaming sticks of death” on a regular basis. And then I hated it a litte more responsibly, working out 4-5 times a week and eating more healthfully than I ever had before (though that’s not saying much). But I’ve never not hated it.
At least, not until somewhere in the middle of that massage, when it occurred to me that I didn’t. For at least 3 minutes, I not only didn’t hate it, but I loved it, and wanted to take care of it, rather than beat it into submission.
And this morning, I slept for an extra 45 minutes and neglected to put sugar in my tea. I also cringed at a few photographs from the weekend.
June 29, 2010
One of us is going to Vegas this summer. Twice, actually.
It never fails that when one forges ahead and makes plans to spend a long weekend in Vegas with spectacularly wonderful company, that roughly an hour after one buys that plane ticket, one will find out that one’s pool team is, in fact…
going to the show.
Awww yeah, baby. I’ll be doing some winning with this, I think.
June 8, 2010
and maybe delivers a tiny little PSA:
1) Guess who has two thumbs and no cancer, for sure (for now)?
2) Jagerbombs are never a good idea. Especially on a Monday.
3) Playing pool (or doing pretty much anything) well is a great way to take your mind to a more positive place. Once you start handling one thing well, no matter how trivial it is, the rest of everything seems a little less daunting, somehow.
4) This does not make me any less apprehensive about the Furniture Assembly Project I have scheduled for this weekend. Regardless of the sweetgum tree’s intentions, I suspect bruising will be involved.
5) I’m stocking up on bubble bath and Viognier. These are always good things to have on hand, when bruising is anticipated.
May 10, 2010
But, I Have Managed To Convince Myself That I Should Eat Dark Chocolate Every Ninety Minutes, So How Bad Can 4 Hours Of Sleep Be, Really?
I had one of those bizarre weekends where I did not manage to sleep in nearly as late as one might think. And last night, I went to bed at 12:30, having been pretty awake up until that point waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in so that neither spasmodic “lower back pain”* nor random convulsions of my gastrocnemius muscles** would interfere with sweet, sweet slumber.
And then I woke up at 4:45, to get to the gym this morning and then drop off dry cleaning that I have to pick up at 6:00 pm today if I’m going to have anything to wear in New Orleans later this week. Because I’m going to New Orleans for work, this week***. 😀
And then I got into the office and the first email I see is a daily digest of some personal interest to me, that highlights an article about a study done on mice in which epicatechin, a flavenol ingredient in dark chocolate, significantly reduced stroke damage in mice, when administered within 90 minutes of the attack. So clearly, I should eat dark chocolate every 90 minutes, just in case I’ve unwittingly had a stroke. You probably should, too.
*oooh, look! A present from the euphemism fairy!
**So, my new running shoes have made it possible for me to run 4-5 days a week, except that my trainer really worked my legs last Wednesday, and when I went for my run on Friday, I could but hobble in pain for the last 1.75 miles. Strictly muscle pain, but boy howdy – when my calves are tired, they don’t f*ck around.
***Sure, be jealous, because I would be too. But just so you’re not too jealous, let me also mention that my new cue? The one I’ve been drooling over for forever? It’s supposed to get here TOMORROW. After I LEAVE. I don’t get back until Friday. That is entirely too long to have to go without playing with my preciousssssss.****
****Heh. That sounds really dirty. I should get 4 hours of sleep more often. Also, I think I’ve given the euphemism fairy another phrase to use!
April 27, 2010
Honestly, it really didn’t take that long. Compared to birthdays past, it was a portrait of moderation in all things, including moderation.
When Thursday is one’s birthday, and Thursday is also one’s league night, one warns one’s teams that one might not play one’s best. Which is why I’m not at all upset about losing the one match that I played. Also, there was alcohol to enfuzz my memory. And, there was cake.
Cake! For me! With my name on it! And singing! It was a total surprise.
W took me home, and promised to help me retrieve my car the next day, which I mostly spent lazing about. Mostly, that is, until I couldn’t take it any more, and went for a run in the lovely spring weather, because I fail at sloth.
It really is so much easier to keep going, once you start to see good progress. Once things start to fit better, and you can see the lines just beginning to show around your abdominal area, and you can look at the stack of jeans in your closet and daydream, instead of wincing.
And so yes – I am recovered from the weekend of birthday celebration – but I feel like I’m also recovering from the past year or so of being just a little too indulgent, just a little too much of the time. Recuperation is a process, but I honestly feel like I’m getting better after a long illness of sorts.
It will be *great* to be 100% healthy again.