Ass-Kickin' and Name-Takin':The Further Adventures Thereof

If you're a recent comer to this blog, this is my series of ongoing updates I'm sharing with readers regarding my continuing struggles to lose weight. This winter I've lost 35 pounds as of the last time I weighed myself, around 10 days or so ago, since the start of this year. The weight-loss journey affects everything in my life as I've had to spent 6-8 hours a week working out, which I've done all on my own -- no gyms, no classes, no trainers, no dietitian, nada. The food has been a journey of educating myself, and slowly reinventing what "eating" means to me. I've not belonged to anything like Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, or any other organization. My goal, ultimately, is to lose 100 pounds.

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Well, it's almost time for the insufferable broke-ass shopping trip. Wahoo! What fun! Practicing total restraint, glaring at the people buying tasty expensive single-use meals like pizza and treats like chocolate. (Snicker.)

Ahh, the fun of it all. I keep reminding myself that greener pastures are ahead, and this is just my present. My "present" doesn't linger long, if this year's any example. Phases come and go something fierce. So too will this.

In the meantime, I'm looking for simple pleasures where I can find them. Like, last night I finally saw the Von Bondies in concert, who I've really liked since '04's Pawn Shoppe Heart album, and who've never performed in Vancouver before. It was a power-hour of rock as it was the early show and the band got the boot by 10, but... still. I got the funk out and it felt great, as always.

Somewhere during their set, I became conscious of how thin I was feeling. My pants fit better than they ever had, my abs felt tight, I had the energy to dance through the whole gig. It was awesome. My thighs and calves burned like a bitch when I climbed the four flights of stairs to my apartment at the end of the night, but I felt great about it. To feel thinner, stronger, tighter, toner than ever, and on a dance floor with beautiful people... is a beautiful thing.

So, I'm sitting around the house, kicking it back after a big plate of blueberry pancakes and my homemade blueberry-brown sugar syrup, way too much coffee, and the remnants of last night's burgerfest barbecue with the boys, thinking about how this afternoon's hording of foodstuffs at the Superstore is really an opportunity to organize my weight-loss potential for the next two broke-ass weeks as I prepare protein-packed bean-and-veggie dishes that'll get me through at least this next week with filling healthy food that's low in fat.

Because one cannot live on blueberry pancakes and burgers alone, sadly. (But I do get to have another burger tonight and don't think my belly's not smiling up at me with giddy glee. Diet? Fuck diet! It's about informed choices, baby. My burger will come with a big Greek salad and a whole-wheat bun, with minimal toppings.)

I haven't weighed myself in a week, and I'm not sure I plan to today or tomorrow, either. I don't care. I've exercised (albeit somewhat lightly) every day for eight days, I've been eating really well, burgers and pancakes not counting, and behaving in general. So, y'know, I expect good things, but because my routine has changed a lot with recent injuries, I'm not checking up on myself. Who's kidding who? Weight loss is a fragile journey that's filled with too much beating-up on oneself. It's so easy to kick your ass for all your failings, but sometimes life beats up on you a little, too, and throwing anything else onto that mix is just unnecessary.

Since life threw me curveballs with injuries of late, I'm taking my battle to a new height. This week is the dreaded return of what began my whole weight-loss journey but I turfed at Christmas: the moratorium on butter. Ooh. Sigh. I'm one of those people who loves the taste of butter. And I've been behaving badly with it. It's a security blanket or something stupid like that, but hey. I've got a tablespoon left, then, whoop, there it went. Time to behave something fierce now.

But when I first ixnayed the utterbay, I lost 18 pounds in about a month or so. (Gained most of it back at Christmas when I was given THREE massive food baskets. Thanks, that's always ideal for a food-addicted dieter. Caramel popcorn? Cheese? Sure! I'll take two!) Butter finds its way into most things I make, so omitting it from my home entirely is a huge step, particularly when I know it's really my only bad weakness right now; and it spurs me on to eat too much bread, too. Nixing the butter means nixing half the bread, too.

Without butter and its constant parade of excess it inspires gone from my home, I can keep enjoying the occasional burger. :)

My weight loss has gone in cycles, it would seem. Every six weeks or eight weeks, I lose 10-12 pounds, but I have a few weeks where the weight maintains or only adjusts by a pound. Then I have a good week with 3 or 4 pounds. Up and down, but with consistency. While eating butter and cheese, mind you.

Hey, I've turned a couple of friends onto yoga now, officially, too! A married couple I number amongst my best friends subscribed to myyogaonline.com after I was needling him to get her a subscription as a gift right around Mother's day. Now they're doing Pilates at night together and he's quite stoked about its potential in his routine now, and she's loving it. He's the guy who always made me feel like a loser for being fat and lazy since he was always cycling 100 kms a week for work, eating well. (As a friend, he's been nothing other than patient and supportive and would never have tried to make me feel bad, that was all me.)

Now I'm the one cycling 100 clicks a week and inspiring him to work out. What a weird reversal of roles. (Well, I was cycling 100 clicks a week. Pulled back for the hand. This week's been walking, highrise stair-climbing, dancing, and yoga.)

But, for now, I'm not worried about the weight itself. When my hand became an issue last week, I had to pull back and re-evaluate everything for a few days. I couldn't cook, since even holding a knife to chop and prepare food, or cleaning up, was out of the question, so my diet went off the hook for a few days, eating stupid things like cereal and pizza for the lack of prep required. But I got back on track quickly, and while I suspect I've lost weight, any drastic change in one's routine can create unexpected results. I don't want to fuck with my mojo right now. I want to keep believing I've been doing the best I can. I'll weigh myself when my mood is prepared for anything. :)

Don't knock it, man. If I keep myself thinking I might be a hair's width from failure, I try harder. Not weighing myself sometimes provides great motivation. When half the battle is in the head, any edge can help.

And, about the hand: I've been around the block with injuries enough to have learned that, sometimes, the pain of a recent injury can linger, causing us to overprotect it for all the wrong reasons. Sometimes it's advisable to get a really good, but cautious exercise session in to chase away remnants of the pain. Yesterday I did that, with a little cycling and bathtub cleaning to test out the gimpy hand. Today? Better than it's been in weeks. I'll cycle just another short little ride today, baby-test it again, and maybe this week I can try another gruelling day out on it if it passes the 24-hour test after today. Wicked.

That, in a nutshell, is all you need to know about my recent adventures in ass-kicking and name-taking. To be continued. :)