Apr
3
April 3, 2007
I see by my own handy web journal that I’ve been doing this dieting business for a little over a month now. I’ve also been dutifully exercising for nearly the same amount of time. My result to date as measured in actual pounds lost is fairly depressing—there has been annoyingly little progress on the scale. I weighed 139 this morning. AGAIN.
The good news is that my body has changed quite a bit. I can fit into all kinds of clothes that I haven’t worn in, well, years. It’s like having a brand new wardrobe! One that’s admittedly a little on the stale side of the fashion spectrum, but ask me how much I care about that. I shop at Goodwill, for crying out loud.
I bought a couple pairs of pants at Old Navy on Sunday, and I was eye-blinkingly pleased to find that a size 8 now fits perfectly. (Well, except for that one pair of jeans that I couldn’t even tug up past my knees, what the fuck, why must there be those anomalous styles that are sized using no discernible logic whatsoever? It’s like they exist specifically to make you hurl yourself to the dressing room floor and bray like a wounded donkey.) And here’s another dieting milestone: my belt is too big on its normal setting! I now wear it cinched one notch (a good-sized gap, maybe an inch and a quarter?) tighter, can I GET a hallelujah.
A couple weeks ago I just sort of stopped counting Weight Watchers points because I felt the initial process of analyzing everything I ate had served its purpose; I had figured out a rotating menu of meals and snacks that fit within the whole WW spectrum and I was sick of obsessively entering data into that slow-ass web tracker. I don’t know if I’d see different (faster?) results if I were adhering to the points-counting, maybe I’ll go back to it if I feel like I haven’t seen any progress for a while.
I think the biggest challenge so far has been letting go of the notion that losing lots of pounds is a requirement for getting in shape. It’s obvious to me now that I can make significant changes to my body without dropping a significant amount of weight (shout-out to Turbo Jam and its muscle-building, fat-burning workouts!) and yet every time I step on the scale I feel a little pang of discouragement. I know I should really ditch the scale altogether or at least squirrel it away in some unused closet for a while, but I can’t help myself.
I’ve also been doing the Inhale yoga workouts nearly every night, and I’m really liking how that’s going. When I first started I could only angle down a little bit while doing the butterfly stretch, and now I can put my goddamn forehead on the ground. Also, I can’t be completely sure about this but there seems to be some muscle in my ass now. Did you know the ass can contain muscle? I had no idea.
Those Inhale shows are a good workout but they’re a little annoying because 1) the host is kind of a dork, and 2) they seem to have paid for the copyrights on all of 5 songs, so they recycle the same music over and over and over. I’ve heard “Shy Guy” so many times I can actually tell you what the lyrics are:
But I don’t want somebody
Who’s loving everybody
I need a shy guy
He’s the kinda guy
Who’ll only be mine!
I don’t want to know this song that well, nor do I want to be intimately familiar with the smooth stylings of Marvin Gaye or Barrington Levy. So if you have a good yoga DVD to recommend, please do so. It would be nice to have some other home-yoga options, preferably without the easy listening soundtrack.
JB asked me what my end goal was for the dieting, and I said that I wasn’t sure but I hoped I would know when I got there. I had thought it would be tied to a number (125-130 lbs), but I’m less sure about that now. I can see where improvements can still be made (hi, saggy belly! WZZZZUP) and I like the feeling of getting stronger and healthier. My plan is to keep on with what I’ve been doing (although there’s a worrisome period coming up next weekend where we’ll be visiting JB’s family and all my familiar routines will be gone aaiiieee) and see what happens. If I’m not knocked up by summertime, then by god I want to be rocking a hot swimsuit. Maybe even a TWO PIECE.
Mar
31
March 31, 2007
This morning I tossed a couch pillow directly onto my screaming son’s face (before anyone fires up their righteous-indignation engines all vroom vroom vroom CAPS LOCK, please focus on the word tossed, which I am using—accurately!—instead of words like threw with all of the strength god gave me or fired from the smoking muzzle of a powerful pillow-shooting bazooka), and oh, it was a beautiful sight, let me tell you: the pillow arching gracefully through the air before descending towards Riley, who was tantruming his way in a slithering backward ooze out of his chair and towards the floor, screeching all the while; the immensely satisfying moment of collision as the pillow landed smack dab in the middle of his open mouth, the comical ploomp! sound it made, the way it briefly muffled his howling before he angrily whipped it aside and redoubled his efforts to vocally melt off our faces like that guy in Raiders of the Lost Ark.
As I learned in Riley’s pediatrician appointment yesterday, the boy is teething in a spectacular fashion—he’s got a bunch of teeth all coming in at the same time. I’m not sure how many, but based on a quick glimpse into his protesting mouth and his general attitude, I’d say it’s probably about, oh, eleventy thousand. Give or take a few hundred. In double rows, like a shark.
Based on my own tragic experiences with teeth (braces! headgear! extractions! medieval torture-esque palatal expansion device! Pavlovian pointy metal tongue-redirection barb!) and now seeing the screaming, drooling damage they do to small children, I can’t imagine why we as a species haven’t evolved to the point where our gums seal over completely and synthetic teeth are simply inserted and removed as necessary.
Is there a place where you can cast your Darwinian vote? If so I would also like to request a giant pair of leathery wings and perhaps a twitchy, temperament-broadcasting tail. And long porn-girl hair and big old Angelina Jolie lips. Evolutionary result:
My name would be PTEROHOTCHYX and I would fly all over the city lashing criminals with my tail and breaking the hearts of men.
(Note genetically perfect hooters; slightly misrepresented by my inability to draw non-whomperjawed nipples.)
Um, I seem to have gotten sidetracked. What were we—oh yeah, teeth. So teething sucks, but at least there’s somewhat of an explanation for Riley’s cantankerous behavior. Not that my sympathy and understanding for the matter precludes any pillow-tossings on my part, mind you.
Despite the incoming Missiles of Calcified Doom and the eternally gray and mossy weather (spring? any time now, baby) we’ve managed to have a fairly productive weekend so far. I rooted through my entire wardrobe and in a ruthless hour or so filled several bags of clothing for Goodwill. If it was marginally-to-completely ugly, it went in the bag. If it was ill-fitting but not in a way that left me hope for dieting or offered a potential short stint as pre-maternity-wear, it went in the bag. If it needed to be ironed before every single wearing, it went in the bag. If it clung to my thighs like an oily, desperate lover, it went in the bag. And if I hadn’t worn it in years, no matter what special, gooey place it held in my heart, it went in the goddamn bag.
My closet is a much happier place now, having shed its most sorrowful occupants. I should really do this more often.
JB tackled our vegetable garden, ripping out the box he’d built just a couple years ago. It was made from pressure-treated wood, which apparently is sort of creepily toxic; not only that but the soil was absolutely riddled with rat holes. He pulled out everything and put in metal containers, despite my agitated mutterings about how I liked the poison wood because it was so woody and wahhhh, metal. I turned my back for a few minutes and when next I looked he had created this:
So apparently I need to shut up and let the man do his thing, because this is awesome. Look at the little path he made, how cute is that? (Trivia: the rock slabs are from a couple years ago when we salvaged some detritus from the side of the road in Oregon after a truck carrying a load of granite had plummeted off to one side, thankfully not injuring anyone. Uh, we think.) This afternoon I planted cauliflower, lettuce, and strawberries, and even if everything is eventually eaten by birds/rats/wandering Sasquatch it sure makes me happy to look out there and see it.
Lastly, a few more random images from the weekend thus far:
Desperate times call for desperate measures. If the Playboy can’t de-tantrum the boy, maybe some head-pants will?
Dog would like to touch you with her cold, wet nose. COME CLOSER.
The boy fits nicely in this galvanized metal container. Say, I wonder if we put it on top of him, minimizing his shrill cries and corralling him to a five-foot radius . . . nah. (Maybe?)
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