Back with a vengance! Er, a video

Have you seen this new video? It’s a must see. Watch for the Samurai sword, and the dog trotting in at the end. What a big beautiful world it is. This makes me want to pack up and go.

Is this love? Insanity? Or a bit of both?

Please do the following, in this order.

Read this story. (You can skim after the first few graphs, just to get the idea.)

Intrigued? Watch this video.

And then read this hiliarious take on it all.

I’m the maintenance woman!

   Let’s get this over with. I came in last place in the weight loss challenge. Mortifying.

I knew I wouldn’t be in the top, because we had folks who lost a ton of weight. The guy who won lost something like 22 lbs. I knew I probably wouldn’t be in the middle either.

But LAST place???

Mortifying. I know I said that already. But it still is true!

I have lost some weight. (Picture TK. I am trying to save T-Web and everyone else the sight of my unsightly toe nails. Gotta get a mani/pedi/wax this weekened.) I’m at 180.4. I started camp at 182.2. But that’s not going to win me much of anything. On a positive note, I am cramming back into my beloved Levis. That in and of itself is somewhat of a victory.

Here’s how the last day of boot camp went.

Usually, the trainers who run camp are very discreet about the weigh ins, for obvious reasons. They set up the portable scale off to the side. They have the campers line up a good distance away so the person on the scale has some privacy. The trainers speak to each person weighing in in quiet tones. All very civilized. At least it was like this in the beginning. As each successive week went by, the whole thing got rowdier and rowdier. By Week 2, when someone would lose weight, the trainers would shout out the number of pounds lost and there’s be whooping, clapping, blah blah skinny bitch, blah blah.

You see where this is going, right?

So here’s the scene of final weigh in. They set up the weigh-in station on a concrete bench that, as luck would have it, turns out to be inches away from where I’d plopped down my yoga mat at the beginning of class. By the end of the class, it is complete chaos. The women are all clammoring to get on line, like it’s the last recess before summer break. I’m trying to keep the unruly line from stomping all over my jacket and yoga matt while I’m packing up my weights, MP3 player, etc. I’m exchanging phone numbers with some folks I’ll supposedly keep in touch with even though we all know that will never happen.

The first few women on-line have all dropped lots of weight. No surprise there. Cause if you dropped lots of weight you’d be the first woman on the weigh-in line, too, am I right? And with each weight loss there’s the whole screaming out the number of pounds lost. The clapping. The high-fiving. The hands raised in victory. The fantasy of me reaching over — BECAUSE I’M THAT CLOSE AND THIS IS ALL HAPPENING IN MY EAR — and clubbing the women with my hand weights. How does that feel. WHAM! You want to lose some more weigh? WHAM! Bet that brain matter spilling out of your proud head weighs a little somethin’ somethin.’  WHAM!

So you see where this is going, right?

You be me for a moment. There’s only one way to deal with this situation. Actually, two ways. There’s what you’d tell your kid to do. Get on the scale, take it like a woman, face reality, pat yourself on the back for all that you accomplished — i have, after all, been waking up at 4:30 a.m. each morning — and then spend some time thinking about how you might have done better.

Or, there’s my way.

And there’s no way I am getting on that scale.

I will pick up my gear, walk to the back of the 70-something women waiting on line, and spend all of one tenth of one nano second pretending that I’m actually going to go through with this. Then, I’ll look at my watch, and mutter something along the lines of. Wow! Look at the time! I have to get to work! And then head to Krispy Kreme for some sugary consolation.

So you DO see where this is going right?

I am launching my plan with perfect execution. But as I mentioned, the whole weigh-in thing is happening right at my yoga mat. And I am just about to turn on my heel and head to the back of the line when THE INSTRUCTOR SAYS: C’mon Rene, jump in right here.

Oh no, I couldn’t.

Just come on up, girl!

No, no, I don’t want to cut the line.

And with that, the women at the front of the line, fellow boot campers who I’ve bonded with over the past six weeks and I hope have since come down with some painful and obviously embarassing illness — like warts of the forehead — offer helpfully: You can cut in front of us. We’ve got plenty of time. We’re going to I-HOP after this to celebrate. Jump in.

Sigh.

I take the three steps toward the scale. It feels like three miles. I may be making this part up, but I’m pretty sure I heard someone yell: DEAD MAN WALKING.

So I weigh in. Of course, there’s no whooping. No high-fiving. There was just Shannon, looking at the scale, looking at her computer screen, doing the math, and scratching her head. More looking at the scale, looking at the computer screen, doing the math, and scratching her head. Looking at the scale, looking at the …. She must have also been trying to think of something nice to say cause then she says:

Well! You are really good at maintenance!

I can feel the women behind me — they are practically breathing on me and looking over my shoulder –all take a step backward.

Shannon continues. You work out really hard. You need to take a closer look at what you’re eating.  (You think?)

She gives me a firm handshake. And then the next women is up.

This morning cannot get any worse. But it’s about to be over. I am halfway out of the quad, almost at the steps, this is all nearly behind me, I’m already ordering the Krispy Kreme’s in my head when I hear the bellowing:

HEY. HEY. HEY. DID YOU LOSE ANY WEIGHT. (I know who this is without turning around. She has spent class laying the groundwork for us to be BFFs. Except for the part where I largely ignore her. Once again, I ignore her. Walk fast, walk fast, walk fast, Glazed Kreme Filled. Sprinkles. Original. Glazed Filled Sprinkles. RENE. HEY RENE.

A woman in the class, standing on the steps ahead of me, says ‘Hey, that woman is calling you.’

I stop. I turn around. I see her, at the end of the line, waving wildly: HEY! CONGRATS! WE DID IT! DID YOU LOSE ANY WEIGHT? 

Really? Who does this? Who yells crap like this? By the way, this is a woman who has PLENTY of weight to lose, and should just freaking know better.

I’m not going to yell. I make that international — or is it Italian? — symbol for so-so, where you kinda flip your hand back and forth. I turn around, and leave.

 

I survived boot camp and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt

Picture of the T-shirt is TK. But boot camp is over! I survived. I hated it in the beginning. Warmed up to it in the middle. And by the end, when the Stockholm Syndrome finally kicked it, I loved it.

I’m considering signing up again — it’s one week off, and then another four week session.

What was so great about it all?

First off, I like handing it all over to someone else. The trainers tell you what to do, when to do it, etc. Nice to just zone out and go through the motions. It got me back to running again. I absolutely loved bleacher day. And then there was this cool three-point workout that we did. Basically a seemingly endless loop about the triangle shaped quad. The trainers would call out an exercise — like squats, or deadlifts, bicep curls, etc. and we’d either run, walk or lunge to each corner and do those exercises. Then, after the first loop, we’d get another exercise to do. And so on and so on and so on…..

Sounds monotonous, but time flies when you’re gasping for air.

I also feel like camp strips me of a lot of excuses. You can get a great workout anywhere. You don’t need a gym, you don’t need equipment. Supposedly, the standard try-out for a chef is scrambled eggs. If they can cook such a simple dish to perfection, then they’re ready for the majors. In the same way, the true test of a personal trainer is to take someone into an empty room and give them a great workout. I really think camp taught me how to do that. I’m like an Israeli soldier, who can kill someone using only a hangnail.

Actually, I’m not sure any of the above is true. But there you go.

Tonight we find out the results of the weight loss challenge. I know I’m not in the money — there’s an annoying Aussie woman who worked out next to me AND TALKED ENDLESSLY THE ENTIRE FREAKING TIME. She lost a total of 18 lbs.

Considering that I’ve lost, like, a thimble’s worth of fat, I think she’d ahead of me.

A comment! A comment! A comment!

Thanks T-Web!

Just one of the many reasons I married him!

One of the ultra cool things about boot camp was the nutritional guidance. A registered dietician, Lauren Squire, came out to talk to us on consecutive weeks. A lot of it was basic: Eat less junk food, exercise more.

But there were some good nuggets in there. Such as the counterintuitive concept of eating more — as in six small meals a day — to lose weight. (It helps keep your metabolism running, BUT more importantly taks the edge off hunger. Making it less likely that I’ll be driven to Fritos.) Another great tool was a matrix that helps you figure out a minimum number of calories you should consume each day. You do a bunch of mathematical computations involving current weight, height, and activity level, and it gives you a ball park figure.

You don’t want to go too far below that figure — it will just make your body hold on to its fat that much more. So the trick is not going too high above that figure. Long story longer: I bring this packet of info home, and leave it on the kichen table. Later that morning, I get this e-mail from my hubby with the following subject line:

Subject: calorie spreadsheet

This morning I turned the Calorie Goal worksheet from
your Boot Camp into a spreadsheet.

Why?  Because I could.

Yep. Some people read magazines in their spare time, others watch TV. My husband puts together spreadsheets for the fun of it! So no more math. You just plug in a few personal figures, and it spits out your minimum calorie count. I am stressing this because if you are trying to lose weight you need to eat more than that amount, and because I am happy to pass along my matrix if you’d like to try it. I’ll try to figure out how to post a spreadsheet to the blog. In the meantime, let me know if you are interested and I will e-mail it to you.

I’m supposed to aim for between 1800 and 2000 calories a day.

   

Whoa! That is one fast snail!

 

 

 

I woke up this morning, stepped outside to get the paper….and was nearly run down by a snail. Slight exaggeration. But truly the first thing that caught my eye was how quickly this snail was ripping across the pavement. Like a French chef was running after it with a cup of melted butter and one of those little frou frou forks. This must be the snail that all the other snail hate. They’re like: Ooooo. you think you’re so fast. You think you’re better than the rest of us. You think you’re so cool, just because you’re so fast….. 

Project RunWeigh: Week 6 looms…..

It’s killing me to write this, so I am just going to write it and get it over with. This is Week Six of boot camp, and I officially weigh .6 lbs MORE than when I started. Granted. It could be a lot more.

But still!!!

I think all this exercise is causing me to eat more. Yes, that’s it. Exercise is bad for my waistline.  

Pride goeth before the dog food

You know you’re old when you’re offended by someone calling you ma’am. As in, “Ma’am, would you like help to your car today?”

So, I’m at the vet. I end up parked a block away. I’m buying 30 lb. bags of dog food for the chowhounds — three bags in all. After I’m all paid up, the pimply-faced kid behind the counter asks The Question.

“Ma’am, would you like help with those?”

I looked that whipper snapper right in the eye, hoisted my support hose up around my neck and shook my cane at him. For good measure, I gave him a death stare over my bi-focals. “I do not need any help, thank you, young man.” (I didn’t actually say that, but I thought it.)

I was going to carry the bags myself. I figured it would be added exercise. I figured it would be like an extra work-out. I thought it would be motivational. I want to lose 40 lbs., so I’d be able to really feel the toll of 30 extra pounds. And I’d do it three times. And I did. No problem. I shuttled those bags to the car and was mighty proud of it.

I woke up the next day and felt like I’d been body slammed by Helga. I have been laid up all week, and barely made camp. My back has been spasming. I’ve been eating Advil like they’re Lifesaves. (They are.)

Cardio, cardio and more cardio….

I am heading to the gym, for my second cardio workout of the day…..if don’t start showing some progress soon, I’m going to throw in the towel, take up residence on the couch and live according to my very own food pyramid.

The four basic food groups? Kreme-filled Krispy Kremes, chili cheese Fritos, double piña coladas and porterhouse steaks.