August 12, 2010
Great Aspirations
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
Odds and Ends
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
Special Forces, all right
Trainer has decided to get creative. And by “get creative”, I mean “indulge his long-denied fantasy of being a drill instructor”.
Ow.
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.
*whimper*
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
A word I never use
Tranquil.
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 19, 2010
Zen? Zen. Zen what? Zen we take care of ourselves.
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.
Baby steps.
July 15, 2010
Grey suede pumps and other miscellania
Thirty dollars plus shipping, people. For the perfect grey suede stiletto? I’ll take that. Alloy – the clothes are mostly in juniors sizes, but the shoes? Fair game, by my way of thinking.
I know this might draw a little heat, but I just feel it’s necessary to point out that nine times out of ten, the drivers in Northern VA who piss me off the most? Do not have VA tags. These people stop too far from the intersection, thereby failing to trigger privileged greens AND exacerbating gridlock behind them. Where they’re going is a secret to everyone including them, apparently, as they never ever use turn signals nor seem capable of merging into the appropriate lane before making a turn across multiple lanes of traffic. They go below the speed limit on roads where passing is not permitted, and insist on backing into parking spaces despite being really terrible at it. Really, they’re just IN MY WAY. For all that people from these various places try to claim that VA is a horrible, backwards place not worth visiting, let alone living in, they sure as heck spend a lot of time driving here, and it’s pissing me off.
Why yes, my Klonopin script DID just run out. Why do you ask? I’m just going to go stare at my pretty, 4½” heeled shoes for a while.
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.
April 27, 2010
Recovered
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.
April 5, 2010
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread*..
Get yourself one of these, if you don’t have something similar already.
It’s the perfect size for a picnic for two, though you may (as I did ) opt to carry your bread separately, so the carby goodness does not get unnecessarily chilled in the tote’s main, insulated compartment.
You might also want to purchase a small, thin cutting board and a sharp knife that comes with a plastic guard or sheath.
Once you’ve done that? Treat yourself to some of your favorite things at your local deli. Place them in the tote with some ice packs, a few bottles of iced tea or lemon-flavored italian soda, perhaps some water. Then…
Go here. Search by area, by your favorite grape, or by which winery looks like it offers the best picnicking grounds. Stay for a tasting – most are in the $10 range, depending on how many you choose to sample. And when you’ve tried them all, pick up a bottle of your favorite, take it and your basket to the most picturesque part of the grounds, and revel in the gorgeous weather we’ve been having while you relax and partake.
I did this here, this weekend, and highly recommend the experience. I’ll likely go back in June, when the Vin de Sol is ready – but I was quite content with both the Viognier we had with our meal, as well as with a few others we tasted. While they do have a small selection of cheeses and charcuterie, you can definitely bring your own picnic and enjoy it at tables adjacent to the tasting room and the Chardonnay vines.
Give it a try! But leave some of the Vin de Sol for me…
*Edward Fitzgerald
November 26, 2009
Oh, yeah…
…so, in an ideal world, we’d all be conscious of our blessings all the time. But it’s hard to be conscious of your blessings when things are all pear-shaped, so it’s nice that we’ve set aside little opportunities like this to remind ourselves to focus on the good.
Family and friends, of course.
And W.
All of my people, really.
And tasty food.
And, blankets.
Cheesy music.
Nutella (of course).
You too, Karma.
Naps.
Did I mention my people?
Them again. And again.
and again.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Seeking John Galt 