Saturday, April 28, 2007

When burritos attack.

Thursday night was all about nutrition. Tanya, the owner of Recess Fitness, gave a presentation called "Attack of the 2,000 Calorie Burrito" about hidden calories in our food.

See, the screwed up thing about me is that my calories aren't hiding from me. There isn't an errant oil-soaked crouton cowering underneath my healthy mound of field greens, or a furtive bacon bit that's made its way to the wrong side of my broiled chicken breast. My calories stand up on my plate, waving their little arms feverishly, screaming, "Hey!! Check me OUT!!! How AWESOME does this cheese look on me?!? Party with me!"

Since my big ol' weight loss 6 years ago, I can gauge pretty easily how many calories and fat calories there are in most foods. I just choose to ignore that information and dig in. Lately, I've been eating as if I'm bulking up for the big weightlifting competition or my role as Al Capone in the new all-female version of The Untouchables. (Who says men get to corner the market on gratuitous violence?)
I'm attempting to change that now, and Tanya's class was a nice primer and reminder. This is Tanya, by the way:

Tanya Barham:
She's really peppy, loves to exercise, and is as pretty as all get-out.
Why don't we hate her? It's a mystery.

Oh, and this was Tanya's dinner:

Yes, as a matter of fact, it IS a burger.
You got somethin' to say about it? Huh, punk?

Tanya can have a burger for dinner because Tanya's relationship with food is actually a healthy one. Eating this burger won't make Tanya kick her self-esteem repeatedly in the nuts (didn't realize your self-esteem had nuts? Well, you learn something new every day) because she knows how to budget her daily caloric intake and she's an exercisin' fool. So back off, Judgy McGee.

It's all about balance. And as soon as my boobs look like boobs and not like I'm smuggling midgets in my bra, I'll have balance, too.

Friday, April 27, 2007


Why is this mime upset?
I'm gonna go with, "Because she's a mime."
But she could've also just done Bikram.

Tuesday night was yoga. The first time I was introduced to yoga was in college, but it was by a movement instructor whose first love was mime, so you can imagine it wasn't the most accurate representation of the discipline.

"And now, let's move from downward facing dog to...a dog trapped in a box! I want to hear your silent barks with my eyes!!"


The second time I was introduced to yoga, it was Bikram. My friend Allison—who claims to like me but must still be harboring some animosity towards me for something—introduced me to it. When she explained that it was yoga, but in a room heated to 105 degrees with 50% humidity, I immediately agreed. Because, really, the only thing better than exercise is exercise combined with ungodly heat.

No, I didn't immediately agree. I immediately told her, in the nicest possible way that a) she should, perhaps, think about screwing off and b) she was nuts. And she was, indeed, sort of obsessed at the time. She'd just discovered it and she'd get this beatific grin on her face whenever she talked about what it had done for her body and her life.

But I knew it wouldn't do the same thing for me. I lived in Texas for two years and I got out because summers there pissed me off. I'm not walking into a yoga studio to experience Austin in August again.

But then she was so persistent that I did.

And it wasn't as hellish as I thought, but it was hellish. An hour and a half, the same moves every time. Balancing poses, lengthening poses, poses for core strength...poses that, it turns out, are actually rather pleasant when done in a room with a NORMAL FREAKIN' TEMPERATURE.

So the thing is, I actually like regular yoga. It's relaxing. It feels good for you without feeling like you're getting what you deserve for eating that last ho ho.

The only pose that makes me sad is the plow, where you lay on the floor and whip your legs over the top of your head. In this pose, I'm face-to-face with my belly. Face-to-face with the monster I've created by treating my body really poorly for the past three years. These are the moments one might regret that last bite of that thing you didn't really enjoy eating at all, but figured what the hell? I'm bored, chewing's fun, and it's not like I'm going to be face-to-face with the consequences of my actions any time soon. When are we EVER face-to-face with our bellies?


Damn you, plow!! Damn. You. To. Heck.

Monday, April 23, 2007

I hate my cousin Randy.

So I learned something about myself this Saturday at Dunaway Park. I am a gigantic wuss. I have NO upper body strength and if you are going to mug or attack me, wait for me to be in the prone, push up position because seriously, I will be totally unable to do anything to protect myself or harm you in any way. Doing Burpies gave me that same feeling I had when my older cousin Randy used to grab my arm and hit me with it while asking me, "Why ya hittin' yerself Marie? Why??". Granted, I was able to land a pretty good shot in his baby maker and take off (I got leg strength a plenty) but that will only last so long because you gotta sleep sometime. I hated my cousin Randy.

But I digress. Sure, I'm still sore from Saturday but I will get better and stronger at this. As God as my witness. I. Will. Get. stronger...

Friday, April 20, 2007

Does typing count?

So yesterday I learned that 20 minutes of cardio (NON STOP) will start putting exit ports in my fat cells...I know, but that's what the lady said! Needless to say I left class last night, went to eat dinner with Court (sushi is very healthy unless you get the kind from the cheap places and pick up parasites then, not so much. But then I'm thinking with a parasite you could lose some weight really fast...aaannnyway) I have to confess the only thing I did after class for 20 minutes straight was email. But I'm a fast typer. The only problems is all of my typing looked like this:

HJey mom,
did yhou get the last semilmas that I sent you?

Yeah. I'm going to walk to work today. That'll be 20 minutes easy. Unless I get stopped again by that weird guy on the corner of Broadway and Burnside. I think he thinks I'm his wife because he keeps telling me to "get the kids out of the street". Ok, I'm going.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Has anyone seen my ass lately?

Oh, yeah...everyone has seen my ass lately. Because it's grown to epic proportions. Please see evidence below.

Fig. 1: The state of New Hampshire.

Fig. 2: My ass.

Please note the startling similarity in width.

That, combined with the phone call I got recently from a Lewis and Clark scholar who wanted permission to embark on an expedition of the less-traveled areas of my ass, seemed reason enough to do something.

So Kate Sokoloff, one of Live Wire's producers, my friend Marie and I have decided to enroll in Recess Fitness' Boot Camp. Sound appealing? Well, "boot camp" doesn't exactly scream FUN, but the "recess" part sure does. Remember recess? Remember when you would run after a kickball or a Nerf ball or Sarah Peters because she just smacked you and screamed "You're IT!"?

Well, thankfully Sarah won't be there (she always smelled like burnt plastic...why?), and we won't be engaging in impromptu games of tag with random strangers lest we be brought up on assault charges, but the idea of recess will be in full effect.

Boot camp is essentially a series of workouts (two a week) that will utilize lots of different techniques (yoga, pilates, etc.) plus one night a week for nutrition.

The whole thing lasts for two months, and I'll be documenting my progress right here. Because my health means everything to you, doesn't it? I thought so.

So, let the healthy...things and stuff begin!!

Let's hope by the end of it, we'll be in a Rhode Island situation. Or, at the very least, Massachusetts. I've always liked the shape of Massachusetts.