Tag: Gym

This. And That.

“Good God, woman, where have you been?” he cried furiously.
A morbid lunacy overtook her.  She smiled fiercely and held up the bag.
“Shopping.  Want to see what I bought?”
– Lois McMaster Bujold

My wallet is now under permanent lock-down.  Because of going to That Show, I bought this and this (the latter for my sister-in-law’s upcoming wedding), but unfortunately not this because it did not look at all good on a less-than-five-foot woman.  I looked a frilly mess.

Pictured: the THAT in question.

Then, the other day, Venice called me (from two doors down in her flat) and said I had to come over right now.  I obligingly threw on some basketball shorts and scampered on over only to behold this
“Where did you get that?!” I screeched in excitement. 
“From that place we hate,” she triumphed.
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope.  For $87.00!”

The next step was to get J. to agree.  I pitched it as the perfect solution to this problem, which has been exacerbated since getting married as the only time I really get to see my husband is the time I used to go to the gym.  I pinky-promised my way through the usual litany of bargains (to use it everyday, not to be a little grump when he reminds me that I haven’t worked out that day, etc.) and expounded its virtues (it’s cheap, it’s nice and small – C. sized! – it’s light, and it’s portable for future moves). 

If anything else, the sheer guilt that would come from having that sitting in my house (staring at me) will motivate me to use it.  It’s easy to ignore the gym when it’s not sitting in your living room!  So, with J.’s consent, I bought it. 

I really think this could be a solution to my exercise problem.  After coming home from work in the evening to feed this guy, coupled with the desire to enjoy this, and the lack of desire to drive back to campus to deal with this, the idea that I could work out in my own home sounds pretty darn good. 

What do you think of this plan, darlings? 

**And by the way, if I start talking about buying anything else in the near future, jump me, steal and hide my wallet, and under no circumstances return it to me.

The Quickest Weight Loss Trick Ever

“Come on, you heifer!  What does not kill us makes us hotter!”
-Legally Blonde, The Musical

3316_picture_of_a_wornout_woman_on_a_treadmillAfter two months out of commission, I am back at the gym with Venice.  And I mean it this time.  Why?  Because Ven has imposed the mother of all weight loss incentives: no shopping until we hit our target weights. 

This means no new cardies, boots, hats, tights, trousers, jackets, NOTHING.  And Fall is upon us, THE season for the best and cutest of clothes.  You want to see a pair of wannabe recessionistas whip it into shape?  Dangle their credit cards in front of them while they huff and puff on a treadmill.

Adventures in Food

“Is it bad that I want Thai food for every meal of my life?”
“No, Thai is the food of the gods, although we should probably shake it up with Italian just to keep our carb quotas up.”
-Venice and C.

Not only did we take my younger brother Gio and his friend to Tucanos (amazing and amazingly expensive Brazillian food place) this weekend, J. and I also cooked up a storm in our tiny little kitchen.  After perusing some of the (millions of) cookbooks people heaped upon us for our wedding, I created a rather ambitious list of new recipes to try.  I kicked off my experiment sunday with pan seared salmon with a mango salsa topping.  And it was rather impressive, or so I think.  J. was ordered to be ultra-enthusiastic whatever the outcome so I may not have had an entirely accurate reading…

corsetWe also stocked up on cookies and banana bread so I have a new found reason to recommit to the gym.  Gym psychology is fickle.  I spent six months busting my bum five days a week, and then six days doing wedding and honeymoon stuff and poof!  My gym motivation evaporated.  Forcing myself there everyday has been a horrid, horrid chore.  Eating all my delicious (or maybe not so delicious, but if it isn’t don’t tell me!) food seems much easier than working it off!

Trojan Horse

“I can always tell which is the front end of a horse, but beyond that, my art is not above ordinary.”
-Mark Twain

A new horror!  I go to the gym everyday and there’s a girl who works the front counter there.  Since we see a lot of each other we’ve struck up a sort of friendship: I tell her the dramatic goings on of a police department, she tells me the ridiculous tales of a gym.  The other day she asked me how far off the wedding was and when I told her, “Next week,” she got a dark look on her face and said, “Stay away from horses.”

The last thing you will ever see!
The last thing you will ever see!

“Why?” I asked intrigued.
“My family keeps horses and I’ve ridden all my life.  So I was out riding a couple of weeks before my wedding and when I was taking off its tack when I was done it kicked me in the head.”
My jaw dropped.
“I was in a coma for three months,” she continued, “and had to do months of physical therapy when I woke up.  We got married after all that, though.”

Completely at a loss for what to say to that (“Crikey?”  “Good on ‘ya?” “Congratulations on being currently upright?”) I just mumbled, “Wow…”   She waved me off to the weight room cheerfully, “I’m sure that won’t happen to you!  See you tomorrow!”

A Freak Out In the Style of Margot

Disheartening : knowing that your fitness goals (lose about one pound every two weeks) are attainable and therefore you have absolutely no excuse not to achieve them.
Soul-destroying : working out religiously all week only to discover you have gained a pound instead of lost it.

GAH!, C. cries out to you in angst.

But, C., you say helpfully and soothingly, you know that muscle weighs more than fat and you have been sticking to your weight lifting with admirable regularity.  You spend an hour in the gym every weekday, and sometimes saturdays, and you try really hard to eat a balanced diet, you even take vitamins.  And look how flat your stomach is!  The arm flab is gone too!  Do try and have a little perspective here.  And C., you say a little more firmly and with much less patience, it is one pound.  Surely your melodramatic tendencies can be put to more effective use on another angsty problem. 

I will not be consoled!
I will not be consoled!

No!  (C. wails)  I am picking up my wedding dress on Saturday and already in a nervous panic to see what they alterations girls have done to it and now I am the size of a walrus!  And it’s not even about the wedding (C. howls, swathing herself in sackcloth)!  I know it’s just one pound.  It’s just one of those days: I’m fed up with my job, my internet keeps cutting out, and I gained a pound.  And I really…want…a brownie…!  !

You, shaking your head in disgust and turning about sharply, merely curl your lip.  C., you are being ludicrous.  Let’s talk when your sense of reality reinstates itself.

(Humbly) Ok.

Rise and Scowl

“How are you feeling?”
“Like a military academy, bits of me keep on passing out.”
-The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

I, to grossly understate it, am not a morning person.  I like to think I’m usually slyly sharp with a Katherine Hepburn-esque wit and sarcasm, but when I’m cranky I’m flat out vicious. 

I'd support a movement to have the day start at 10am
I'd support a movement to have the day start at 10am

Actually I don’t mind mornings as such, I just hate getting up.  Or rather, being woken up before I’m good and ready to do so myself.  During freshman year, Jenni and I had a friend who for some reason disdained to eat the cafeteria food graciously bestowed upon us (that was uttered with said biting sarcasm, by the way) and usually cooked her own breakfast.  Also inexplicably, although more reasonably so, Jenni had what amounted to a fully stocked kitchen under her dorm room bed complete with mixing bowls, blender, and assorted spices.  Our friend Sunny would raid this horde everyday to make herself breakfast, which I had no objection to.  But at 6:00 in the morning, which I did.  

Sunny is a naturally loud person at normal times but at that ungodly hour of the morning…let’s just say I found it a particular trial.  After about a week of trying to swallow my frustration and try go back to sleep after pots had been clanged and crockery clattered, I couldn’t take it.  Unfortunately the very next morning Sunny spaced and not only showed up earlier than usual, but accidentally flipped on the lights (at 5:30 in the bloody morning!) when she tiptoed into our dorm room and made such a ruckus under Jenni’s bedthat I erupted.
“Morning, C.,” she chirruped brightly, “Want some breakfast?  I’m…um…uh…”
“Sunny?” I murmured darkly.
Get.  Out.”
She didn’t enter our dorm room again without my permission, daylight or not, for the rest of the school year.  Apparently I bare an uncanny resemblance to a Fury at 5:30 in the morning.

exerciseMy latest bone to pick with mornings is my workout schedule.  J. and I have started working out together, but on weight lifting days the only time we can seem to manage is early mornings, other times are just too crowded at the gym.  Today was the first attempt at the new time.  I HATE it.  There were about three other girls, all with their respective boyfriends like me, who had to navigate the rows of testosterone soaked equipment with our dinky little 5 and 10 lbs weights while these Hulk-wannabes hefted my entire body weight in each arm for arm curls.  Every once and a while some guy let out a roar that sounded suspiciously like he was giving birth, and most spent an inordinate amount of time checking themselves out in the mirrors.  If I hadn’t been so cranky/clueless I’d have thought it was hilarious.  Unfortunately nothing is funny that early, not even to me.

I’m sticking with it, hating something and giving it up aren’t necessarily mutually inclusive, but I have spent the day encased in emotional ice and venom.  With aching muscles.  Watch out, I bite.