Working out is working out

December 22, 2010

My current schedule, for what it’s worth and for those of you looking for a new routine. Click to embiggen.

Weights routine lifted from the Body Sculpting Bible for Women.


Wake up!

November 2, 2010

As I sat here finding myself sliding down in my chair (again), my eyelids gaining weight faster than the rest of me (oh, har!), I thought for some reason about one of my favorite movies, “Over the Hedge.”  I’m on a ‘fun’ kick recently, so I’m not all that surprised that this one popped up from the memory banks.

A few clicks later and then repeated clicks to keep going, I was chair dancing – of a variety that absolutely qualifies for aerobic activity; I will be sore later, lol.  Those in cubicle-ville probably can’t do what I just did, but if not, maybe it would be a fun one for some of you (*cough* ladies) to add to your playlists or just to dance around the house to when you feel the need.

In my case, let’s hear it for working at home, and finally, my vastly uneven basement floor finds some usefulness!

Happy Tuesday to You!

(Not for nothing here, but do y’all realize that I just added “Fun” as a category here?  Hmm.  Maybe we need a collective mental adjustment…?)


You Gotta Have Goals

October 25, 2010

So, what are your workout goals?

  1. Not being embarrassed to work out in my actual workout clothes.
  2. Not being out of breath by the time I get in place/set up/ready to work out.
  3. To actually work out?
  4. Not requiring 12 days of rest in between workouts.
  5. Not requiring a doctor’s visit, ice, heat, bandage, splint, ultrasound, or physical therapy after a workout.
  6. To whine a collective total of not more than 1 hour per workout.
  7. To actually work out more than once?
  8. To stop swearing at the television screen.
  9. To really consider the value of a swear jar before I truly commit to #8.
  10. To make this list sound at least slightly more funny than true.

I know:  It’s scary how high I’m aiming here.  I know they all warn against being unrealistic, but I wasn’t sure how to go lower and still have them count as goals!

 


Stuck Like Chuck

September 4, 2010

What? Oh, hi! *Steps off scale*

Don’t mind me; I’m just a little obsessed distracted lately, as I come up on the three-month mark of my little journey here.

The first two months were really cool – well, cool is a relative term, as I spent most of that time trying to burn off calories in the sweltering Carolina sun. But I’d call it a successful period of time, as I learned to love walking in my neighborhood, was consistent with keeping track of everything I ate and managed to lose about thirteen pounds. I cleaned out my closet and was giddy every time I fit into something I hadn’t been able to wear over the past three years. Things were going well.

And then…screeeeeach – everything came to a grinding halt.

For the past month, I’ve remained steady at some number between 147 and 149 pounds. I have a digital scale, so I’m able to obsess note every day in my weight journal what number I am that day, down to the eighth of a pound. Or tenth? I don’t know – math is not my strong suit. For the first two weeks I was alarmed, then moved onto being amused and now I’m just confused. I know logically there’s been some fat replaced by muscle action going on. Something is shifting around in there, obviously, or I wouldn’t have been able to wear a pair of size 6’s the other day (whoo, that was fun).

I’m frustrated, but I haven’t given up. No, actually quite the opposite. If anything, I’m more determined than ever to somehow find a way past this and keep moving toward my goal. I’m more confident now with food choices and exercising is so much a part of my routine I feel weird if I miss two days in a row. I know the number on the scale isn’t the total picture. But still it’s…a little upsetting to see the same numbers day after day.

I’m going to try to kick it up a notch as far as switching up my work-outs, but if anyone has any advice, any tips, any thoughts AT ALL on this plateau subject, I’d be really appreciative if you could share.

*Tiptoes down the hall in a wide circle to avoid stepping on the scale again*


So, Zumba.

August 20, 2010

I used to think I was a reasonably coordinated person. I took dance lessons from the age of five to the age of fourteen, forcryingoutloud. Plus, Bill hasn’t run screaming from me in embarrassment (believe me, he would) when we be clubbin’. So, I thought I was okay, dance-wise.

Apparently, though, it has been a VERY long time since I’ve been required to follow a beat with anything other than my bobbing head, or my tapping toe.

Enter Zumba.

Note, all of the things I’m about to say apply to the specific Zumba class that I took, and my specific opinion of said class. YMMV. It probably won’t, but it may.

For instance, it seems to be a professional requirement that Zumba instructors be dead sexy, wicked dancers, and ohmyholyfuck PERKY. With long flowing hair and loose fitting, low-cut peekaboo belly button I see you cargo pants with lots and lots of pockets. Also, hips that are triple-jointed. That do not lie.

They’re also unforgiving BITCHES. Because they don’t let you slow down, EVER. Or stop, EVER. Even if you’re going to cry, and you’re VERY UNATTRACTIVE when you cry. With the snot and the red nose and the hic-eeh. Hic-eeh.

I’m assuming there are guy Zumba instructors out there, but my particular studio only has girls.

The beat starts out in hyper-drive and continues in hyper-drive, with brief pauses for jesusfreakingCHRIST and pleaseohpleaseslowthefuckDOWN, followed by a brief interlude of IhopeIfalldownbecauseatleastI’llbeprone. I can’t jackknife my knees up and down on the upbeat, while simultaneously pumping my fists on the downbeat. I can’t do a one-two-three step with my legs, while doing a five count with my arms.

It’s like, rubbing my belly while patting my head and hopping on one foot while yelling “RUBBER BABY BUGGY BUMPERS!” at the top of my lungs. With my eyes closed.

In short, Zumba is TOUGH. And requires a Latin-esque connection to the hips that I, apparently, lack.

Did I mention the belly dancing? No? One would think, seeing as I posses QUITE the belly (goddammit), that the dancing of said belly would come naturally to me. One would be wrong. Because dancing and jiggling are two very different things. Altogether.

I would be the world champion of belly jiggling. I could teach a FRIKKIN CLASS on belly jiggling. Perkily, even. I’m qualified for that.

So, yeah. It was an entire hour of the samba, or maybe it was the rumba? The cha-cha? With grapevines and step-ball-changes and jazz boxes, plus some random spins thrown in there. The class went left, I went right. The class dipped down, I threw my hands in the air. The class trucked on in unison, I stopped eleventy-seven times to ponder, “Now, what the fuck are they doing?”. Step ball change. One two three.

And TURN! Glance at the sweating newbie standing still in the corner. Whose ponytail is soaked as if she stood under a shower head for a full five minutes. Randomly jerking her limbs in a grotesque pantomime of a seizure.

One two three. Jerk twitch fling.

I kept it together. I gamely hung in there for the full hour. I never stopped moving… I just sometimes didn’t move quite as vigorously as everyone else. Or as coordinated. Ly. And when it was over, I patted my face with my towel, swigged womanfully from my water bottle, strode out into the parking lot and to my car…

… where I collapsed in the air conditioned comfort and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. Reacquainting my lungs with their full capacity.

———-

I’ll go again. I will. Next time I’ll wear lighter shoes – my Sketchers (these) instead of my Reebok Easytones. Something that allows for movement and turns on the floor, instead of planting and sticking and doing knee damage.

I’m still going to stick to the back of the class, though. Except that they turn around and change directions so often that sometimes I end up at the FRONT of the class.

The humanity.


Penance

August 19, 2010

Since my good-feeling 5k race in mid-July, I’ve run precisely four times.  Including last night.  I have been a suckish bastard.

Now, I’ve done more exercise than that – heavy pack-mule labor at work – several 10+ mile bike rides, both with Boy (somewhat leisurely) and by myself (I pushed myself fairly hard) – climbing the 5-story stairs to the water slides last weekend over and over and over – etc.  But running?  No.  Considering that I’m trying hard to work up to a running goal, that’s not good.

But I have plenty of time.  The half-marathon that is the “end goal” isn’t until April.  I have time to be a fuckup on occasion.  But it’s not helped if I’m doing vacation-eating at the same time – which is precisely what I’ve been doing.

School has started, so I have to get myself re-focused into a different routine again.  I can’t get up and go running in the mornings anymore – the park doesn’t open until 6, and Boy needs to be up and about by 6:30.  I suppose I could get up at 5 or earlier and run around my neighborhood, but there is that slightly increased chance of getting run over or, possibly, shot as a Peeping Tom or something crazy like that.  And if the hills in the park are bad, the hills in my neighborhood are even more nutso.  I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that level of challenge quite yet.

So I’m trying to re-acclimate myself to running after work, or possibly later in the evening.  It’s too bad – early morning workouts are best for me, because I tend to be a morning person.  By afternoon, I’m already feeling kinda run down and looking for reasons to avoid working out (and with a family at home, those reasons usually aren’t hard to find).  If I stop on my way home from work, I’m prolonging my workday.  Once I get home, though, getting me to leave again and go work out or run or whatever is crazy hard.  Even if it is cooler at 8 than at 6.

Yesterday’s run was in a bad time of day for me, and yes it was probably 10 degrees hotter than I’ve been used to with my morning runs.  But that’s still no excuse for me turning in my first over-40-minute time for a 3.5 mile run since June.  The reason is that I’ve been a suckass slacker.  And that part has got to change.

I will now do penance by forcing myself not to suck.  And wow, sometimes that’s hard!


I Love You But GTFO

July 14, 2010

I’ve been enjoying working out at home with Jillian and all, but as we know variety is the spice of life (especially when you’re not eating very many spices – nevermind, that was just bad). I was looking around yesterday afternoon on the Exercise On Demand channel to see what all was there and was surprised to find a lot of cool stuff. Pretty much anything you’d want from a home work-out is right there on TV, which hello – probably should’ve paid attention to that awhile ago, but I’m here now so okay.

Brian had come home but then gone back out to go check on someone’s yard or whatever; something work-related. I was sitting there flipping through different things when it hit me: he’s not home right now. You are alone, with no eye witnesses but the dog and he doesn’t usually say anything. I didn’t know how long he was going to be gone so I quickly threw on some exercise clothes and sneakers and cranked up “Cardio Boot Camp.” I did a few other things as well, just playing around to try to get a feel for what’s there and also to try to get in an actual workout.

For about forty-five minutes I jumped around and followed whatever they were doing, trying to picture how it would be if Brian was sitting there on the couch like he normally is when I’m doing Jillian (that came out wrong but whatever). I concluded I would’ve felt super dumb. If you’ve ever seen me try to dance, you know a little where I’m coming from. Remember Elaine from Seinfeld? Yeah I wish I was that good. But the thing is, it’s FUN to incorporate a little dancing in with your cardio and I damn sure had fun doing it no matter how stupid it probably looked.

Is it silly for me to be this way? Yes. Does that make it any less real? No.

It’s okay though. From now on my sneakers will be nearby and ready to bust an impromptu move whenever the opportunity presents itself.