New beginnings and the walk of shame January 7, 2008
So, for new beginnings, one of my good friends had a baby today. Cute little bugger, provided that he’s not mine, and I can therefore hand him back the moment he starts to squirm/fuss/cry or start opening and closing his mouth in that manner that signifies there is nothing I can do for him. It’s not that I’m totally anti-child, I’m just far too immature and selfish to have a child of my own in the near conceivable future, and not too proud to admit it. But the whole thing got me thinking, how come chubby babies are cute, but not chubby adults? I mean, he’s got rolls, I’ve got rolls, how come his are cute and mine aren’t? This is a horrible act of discrimination against the adult human race. We have to fight this. Who’s with me?! No one? Yeah, you’re right, rolls on adults really aren’t cute.
So, further on in my quest to lose said rolls. I weighed myself this morning for the first time since last week- and I’m down 2 pounds to 194. Pardon the happy dance. We’re moving in the right direction. And atleast half a pound of that is “real” weight, due to my vigorous shoveling efforts. 
Speaking of shoveling- my driveway has remained clear and it appears that a subtle truce has been formed with the plow drivers of Tahoe. The supposed third storm hasn’t hit yet- I’m not sure if it will or not. Nevertheless, I have a nice deck covered in 4 or more feet of snow to attack sometime this week should I feel the need to flex my powerful muscles.
Today’s food was good, really good. For lunch I had a mini whole wheat bagel with some cream cheese and a light yogurt. I snacked (Wait! Not allow myself to become so ravenously hungry that I indiscriminately eat everything in front of me? What a concept!) on an orange and a cheesestick before lunch. I was supposed to have my salad and butternut squash soup for lunch, but I really wasn’t feeling it. I had a massive craving for pasta. I knew that forcing myself to eat the soup as planned would only accomplish 2 things: 1. I’d still be hungry later, or atleast endure the rest of the day with unbearable cravings that, would, eventually, lead to my nutritional demise. 2. I’d resent my soup, and harbor ill- feelings towards it. Perhaps, I will even dislike it’s taste, being as it’s so new, and yet, so forced.
So, I had pasta for lunch. The local Italian place has a wonderful lunch special in which they serve reasonable and proper portions. I had a small salad with carrots, cucumbers, lowfat cottage cheese, some croutons (mmmm… croutons…) and a little bit of ranch. I had one ricotta and spinach stuffed manicotti (just one! just the right amount) and 2 slices of baguette with just an eensy eensy bit of butter. Now, they gave me four slices. And I wanted all four, oh man, did I want all four. But, I was full, and, really, I didn’t need all of them. Besides, I REALLY wanted to keep my calories in range today, so that I could prove to myself that I could eat out and eat what I liked, provided I did so with some semblance of restraint.
For dinner, I got home and fixed myself a nice healthy dinner. I had salmon done up in a little bit of lemon juice, soy sauce, and just a teensy bit of brown sugar. I mixed up some quinoa (which, by the way, is one of my new favorite foods. It’s a complete protein, full of vitamins, and tastes less healthy than brown rice) with a little bit of fresh chopped cilantro. Lastly, I steamed some broccoli and threw on just a little bit of lemon zest. To top it all off, I even served it in proper portion sizes- with 3 oz of salmon, 1/3-1/2 cup quinoa, and half a plate full of broccoli. When I finished, I was full, but not stuffed or bloated. Progress!
And now… for the walk of shame. See, in Tahoe, you have two choices for gym membership. Option A is the small time, comfortable, local gym. Comfortable, but small. Very small. And very, very crowded. Like, your hour-long workout only includes 10 minutes of actual working out, and the rest of the time is spent waiting for a machine. Option B is real life Globo gym- where Hans and Mitzy are waiting to show you exactly how unfit and unworthy you are. Now enter hidden option C- the community college. The CC has an open hours gym class where you average a certain number of hours a week and get to use the facilities for the steal of a deal of 26 dollars a quarter for the most involved class. Score!
So, in the spring of this year, I signed up. It seemed easy enough- you attend an hour long orientation, develop a program, and log your hours. Well, I was, um, just a little overambitious. I signed up for the six hour a week class. Which would have been more possible, had I not imbibed in Margarita Mondays, Rum Runner Fridays, sleep-in Saturdays, been too lazy to get up… etc. And so I failed gym class. So I tried again this fall. Which meant round 2 in the always-painful orientation. Well, my other classes and work were taking up enough time that I was bound to fail again. So I dropped it. Well tonight was my round three walk of shame by attending orientation for the third time. Now, you’re probably thinking “orientation can’t be that bad” Oh no, it is. An hour of having the syllabus read to you and going over the most mundane rules of engagement you can imagine. Oh, and then let’s top that off with a three minute discussion of why we shouldn’t drink the cleaner they use to wipe down the equipment. Yeah, that’s how I spent my evening. And to make the whole experience even more humiliating- once you pass a gym class there once, you never have to attend hell, I mean, orientation, again. Which I’m reminded of everytime I walk in there, tail between my legs. But, I did it. Which means I’m now set up to pump some iron, or something. And I’m now, contractually, an indentured servant to the tune of 6 hours a week. Which I will complete under pain of detah, or having to wear a paper bag over my head everytime I get within 2 miles of the college.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get my bath in yesterday. I just wasn’t feeling it. But, I still had a cup of tea in bed and read a magazine before going to sleep, nice and relaxed. And isn’t that the goal anyway?
