By Popular Demand

I put the camera in her hand this time.

MTAE, look away!  Look away!

Hip! Hip!

I thought of this early this morning, and I’m kicking myself a little bit for not having thought of it yesterday, but better late than never!

I think we should all give three cheers to our own Crisitunity for realizing one of her huge life goals of making it to yoga teacher training.  One step along her own path, but surely a huge one.

Congratulations, C!

Hip!  Hip!  HOORAY!
Hip!  Hip!  HOORAY!
Hip!  Hip!  HOORAY!

Good Oof

After that one badass week in which I worked out four out of five weekdays (skipping only the night of my son’s Cub Scout meeting), I then got sick and then got busy and so it’s been a couple of weeks since I went back to the gym again.  But all things considered, things have still gone pretty well.  I figured out that it was time for my skinny jeans again, and this weekend I actually put said skinny jeans on, and they rocked.  It was awesome.  (I almost took a butt pic for you ladies but we didn’t get it done.  So sorry!)

So given that I was reaching a point of happiness with the way this whole weight loss thing was going, I thought that this would be a good time to switch it up again, to quit doing an hour of cardio per workout and go back to some weight training with cardio at the end.  (Which historically I rarely do – typically I have done all weights and then gone home.)  Yesterday was the day I circled on the calendar for that.

First was the dreaded weigh-in.  Not so dreaded, since the one metric I was really interested in, my belt, was already telling me “pretty good job, bud!”  But still, an important part of the motivation.  After all, seeing the number “217” on the scale back in February made me so mad that I channeled my self-loathing into a TOO-hard too-soon workout that just about led to me passing out in the weight and/or locker room.  The number “201” in late June back around when we started this here blog was much more palatable but still not where I wanted to be.  Yesterday?  189.  My goal of 175 looks a lot more reasonable from here!

Then I went into the weight-lifting.  I had promised both Dys and myself that I wouldn’t be stupid this time.  And I kept that promise, even though two intimidatingly gargantuan gentlemen were present there for a while, which is usually a blow to the ego.  Luckily, all things considered, my ego is pretty much bulletproof lately.  (More on that on my own blog later today, barring disaster.)  So here’s my workout for the day:

Dumbbell bench press:  1 set, 20 reps, 25 pound dumbbells (warm-up)
5 sets, 10 reps, 45 pound dumbbells

Deadlift:  1 set, 20 reps, just the bar (45 pounds)
5 sets, 10 reps, 135

Roman chair straight-leg lifts:  2 sets of 20, 1 set of 10

Pretty doggone light, even by my weak standards.  But the deadlifting still took a lot out of me, which was a bit of a vindication from my above-linked argument with Dys.  Despite all my cardio training over the last six months, deadlifting still just stresses your body (and your heart) in an entirely different way, and the only way to train for it is to do it.

(As a bonus, I was deadlifting at the station in front of the mirror, and I have to say that I may still be a slightly-chunky geek, but I look pretty good in mid-deadlift with all those muscles under load.)

After that, 30 minutes on the cross-trainer and a slightly stiff walk back to the car.  I spent a little time in the evening sitting on the floor stretching my noticeably tight legs out, but otherwise I felt fine.  I took some precautionary ibuprofen before going to bed, but this morning I’m okay.  A little tight through the chest and hamstrings, and mah bootay is sore, but I can sit down and reach overhead without wincing, so I’ll take it.

I may or may not lift weights again this week – I may just stick with all cardio.  But the worm has turned, and I’m going to gradually build the weight training back into my workout, and we’ll see where that scale is come the new year, eh?

Warning: Rant Ahead

Okay, so I just popped off and spewed a big fat rant on body image over on my blog.  In retrospect, that might have been better done here, because it’s perfectly appropriate for what we’re trying to do here.  All I can do at this point is link to it and beg forgiveness because it was done in the heat of the moment.

And said heat of the moment is still burning me the fuck up.

In Which I Am Mistaken For a Chick

I still haven’t worked out yet since I admitted to Laura how badly I suck; I should be able to get back on that horse next week.  But then again I’ve also been a bit sick.  And with the prominent exception of last night, I’ve been eating slightly more reasonably anyway.

This morning I put on my pants, cinched up my belt, and looked.  I was back on the last notch…the one I put in when I bought the new belt because I (wisely, as it turned out) bought it a bit bigger than I needed.

I had to back it out a notch, though.  Not because it was uncomfortable, but when I looked in the mirror it made my jeans bunch up in the waist something fierce.

It’s official:  I can now go out and buy skinny jeans.

Is this where I squee?  Okay.  SQUEEEEE!!