My Darling Clementine

They said stay at home boy, you gotta tend the farm.
Living in the city boy, is going to break your heart.
But how can you stay, when your heart says no?
How can you stop when your feet say go?
– Honky Cat, Elton John

“You ok?” The Marine was rubbing my back. “You getting up?”

“Five more minutes.” I mumbled.

Ten minutes later I wrenched myself out of bed having once again failed to get up at 6 a.m. which meant that once again, I had not eaten enough nor far enough in advance of my workout this morning.

I wolfed down two Clementine oranges on the way out the door.

Sabotage dude.

The only thing that’s felt thoroughly sabotaged this week is my heart.

I at least got to my workout in time this morning. I was five minutes late on Wednesday. I just couldn’t get going. I had a busy weekend, a working Monday then a Monday night of tax prep. Tuesday I worked, when to a launch party afterwards and then headed up to Brampton to see our accountant to pick up our tax returns. It wasn’t until after my Wednesday workout that things started getting back to normal but with my monthly visitor arriving soon it was too little too late.

Cardio on my off day yesterday was out of the question. Hell. It was all I could do to stay upright in my chair at the office. I didn’t even hit my target heart rate this morning. It was like I had nothing left. My trainer was very understanding. Debbie strikes a nice balance between pushing me, but not too much. She’s not some gun ho asshole who wants me to drop and give her twenty no matter what the cost.

Everything was hard this morning. Everything hurt.

I got to the change room, grabbed my items from my locker and when to one of the individual change rooms with a door. I do this every time because I don’t particularly want to get undressed in front of other women. This is for two reasons. One, I’m not that comfortable with my body. Two, I’m an unrepentant princess. I want my privacy dammit.

And this morning I needed it. I need five minutes of pure self indulgence. I sat down on the bench and cried.

Everything was hard this morning. Everything hurt.

I think it was Wednesday that set me off. I’d been feeling really good about my workouts. My clothes were feeling loser and I was feeling strong. I felt, of all things, “skinny”. And then I saw pictures of myself from the launch party. I’m still always shocked by this because frankly I don’t feel as fat as I look. I simply can’t make the mental connection to the person I see in the photos and the person I am in my body. I still don’t know whether this is a good or bad thing.

But it is what it is, and I can’t lie and say the pictures didn’t affect me, that I didn’t feel somewhat demoralized by the fact that I seem so far away from where I want to be. And what I find so disheartening is the sheer feeling of incompetence exercise imparts. I’ve yet to read a weight loss memoir that really talks about this, the sheer bloody, grunting difficulty of real and effectual exercise. Maybe the prospect of losing weight is so daunting that the authors don’t want to discourage anyone who may read their books.

I work really hard to be good at what I do no matter what it is. This is a strange experience. I’m working very hard, but I’m not very good. Not yet anyway. My trainer says that everyone, even the most seasoned atheletes have bad days, have weak days where their stamina just isn’t there the way it normally is. She said I did really well. She calls me her “little soldier” because she says I always give my best.

To be honest, right now I’m just focusing on showing up. I’ve been reminded the last couple of weeks of something an old boss of mine said when he was working about six years ago to get an internet channel on its feet. “If it was easy, everyone would do it.”

This isn’t easy and everyone is not at the club at 7:15 a.m. three times a week. I am. For right now, that needs to be enough.

My fives minutes were up. I used my club towel to wipe away my tears. Once I got it together I got ready and spritzed on some Chanel No. 5. If luxury has a scent, Chanel No. 5 is it. I always look forward to that first post exercise spritz. It’s my reward for working out.

I left the club, hobbled over to the coffee shop for my multigrain toast with tomato and cheddar. The radio was playing Honky Cat. Elton was singing “Oooooohhhhh change is gonna do me good.”

I have to believe that.

Workout Song Obsession: Cobrastyle, Robyn
15 min mile pace: 3.2
Jar Opening Propensity: Damn the vacuum seal to hell.

Taxes, Vampires - I Sense A Theme Emerging

"Sabotage dude! " - Ragdoll

Sabotage dude.

This has become my new mantra.

Hard day at work? Sabotage dude.

Not sure I can do that last bicep curl? Sabotage dude.

This nugget of wisdom was offered by Ragdoll as we exited from watching Twilight on Sunday. [There's no point in my reviewing it given that Ragdoll already did it here.] But as we were leaving we were talking a bit more about the "convenient" plot twists, some of which bordered on the ridiculous.

There was this one part where the main character Bella returns to her ballet school because the vampire that is after her has threatened to kill her mother. So she goes. Alone. Telling no one. Of course.

Which is when Ragdoll noted its pure ridiculousness and said that basically Bella needed to get on the phone to her vampire paramour Edward and...you know the rest. LOL

In other Zesty news, my 2007 taxes are finally done. As usual the government has been sitting on a hefty refund to us. I don't know why I have this mental block with taxes. I'm such an organized person generally speaking. It's not like it's that complicated to gather my receipts and get them to my accountant. Maybe I'm just a sub-conscious neo-con.

Workouts continue to go well. Sore, but well. I've decided that I'm not auditioning for anything for the next while and I'm just focusing my extra time and energy on fitness this winter. Things are also looking up on the job front. Is that a once again fully staffed department I see looming in the distance?

Alive and Kicking

I have to admit it. I hit the wall this morning.

The decline started yesterday. I just felt completely demoralized and frankly, over worked. My mind is a runaway train these days. Too much to do and not enough time to get it done. Every day I cut bait. Every day I settle for a substandard outcome. Right now, I simply aim for what is accomplishable. It won’t last forever. It never does. And perspective is everything. I could be in Haiti.

But ah yesterday. Yesterday was a nag. I was tired and strung out. At one point I thought a major project had gone off the rails and then a new minor one landed on my plate. There was too much pressing on my brain.

So I arrived for my work out this morning coming out of my second night of sleeping badly. I hadn’t done cardio the day before. I think it would have damn near killed me.

In the midst of trying to get everything done, I had spent the better part of yesterday morning at the dentist. I was getting evaluated for orthodontics of some kind because the hygienist at my previous check up had noticed I had ridges on the outside of my tongue. Apparently, this is typically a sign that the tongue doesn’t have enough room to sit properly and that it is pressing too hard against the sides of the teeth. The evaluation yesterday showed that not only are there are a number of issues with the structure of my jaw, and that I may also have sleep apnea.

So Monday I go back to the dentist for about an hour and a half of additional in depth tests. Then I’m back in two weeks to get the definitive recommendation on what could be done. And this means I have to do my workout with Debbie after work, which won’t be too bad.

This morning was tough but I had some great moments too. For example, I hit the treadmill and was able to get to my target heart rate much more quickly. I also noticed that my calf muscles didn’t hurt anywhere near as much. For nearly full on 15 minutes I kept up the pace.

Then we went to do weights. Today was going to be a legs and core day. After my first two sets, I suddenly felt a wave of nausea. Any strength I had just left me. Debbie stopped me and got me walking around slowly and drinking water.

“Have you been eating?”

“Yes.”

“How’s your sleep been lately?”

“Terrible.”

“Ah. Ok.”

So Debbie recalibrated my routine so it was less intense. I walked out feeling like I’d still gotten some benefit, but I was glad to be done.

Clearly I’d had enough this week, but here’s the thing. I’ve made more progress in a week than I typically would make on my own. I feel tired, but better. I feel strength starting to creep back into my bones and frankly, it's been a long time since I felt that way. I’m not necessarily interested in treating myself with kit gloves. I want to get going. I’ve had to wait too long for this.

So here’s to an easy weekend of good food, good rest, a massage and Twilight with Ragdoll on Sunday. Woot! Woot!

Weekly Progress:

Workout song obsession: Black Sweat – Prince
15 min mile pace: 3.5
Jar Opening Propensity: Easier



prince - black sweat
by eikichi

Musings

Early morning. Woke up as usual. I wish I could stop doing this. I wish I could sleep through an entire night.

Yesterday we had our first official snow fall of, well, the fall. I love the quiet of falling snow, the way it imposes itself on sound and muffles the city's harsher noises. I just really wish the snow hadn't come the day before I have to head uptown for a dentist's appointment this morning.

I'm just tired. I've spent most of this week in a fog, really tired of all the work I have to do in my current resource vacuum. I find myself in my usual holding the fort mode. Twas ever thus and frankly I'm sick of it, but in this current economy, I'm happy just to have a job.

Additionally, I had a great meeting last week. I got a referral to one of the top voice over shops in the city and the prospects are very good that I can transition my career within the next two years.

Ironically my only saving grace this week has been my workouts. Despite how tired and achy I have been, I am feeling a lot better and I like carving out that time just for me, even if I am spending most of it sweating and making my muscles beg for mercy.

Workin' It

Well he thought he was gonna die and he didn't.
And she thought she just couldn't cope and she did.
And we thought it would be so hard and it wasn't.
It wasn't easy though.

-- Kate Bush, "Walk Straight Down the Middle"

Well I had my first "offishal" workout yesterday and it went very well. I felt good afterwards, like I'd worked hard, but at the same time I wasn't ready to keel over. This morning I'm sore, but again, not too bad. Debbie my trainer is awesome. I really like her a lot and she has such a lovely spirit.

At one point I was doing my second round of bicep curls and she said "Well. Looks like I've got a little soldier on my hands here." Heh!

The only drawback is that I currently look like this in my workout gear:

Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays

"The road will be long. The climb will be steep." - President Elect Barack Obama

"My ass will be throbbing." - Zesty

Buy up stocks in Epsom salts companies y'all. This week I did something I had always wanted to do. I hired a personal trainer.

For the next seven months I'll be working out regularly with "Debbie", three times a week the first eight weeks, twice a week the remaining weeks after that with another cycle through the program and another bought of 3 and 2 times a week intervals.

My muscles hurt just thinking about it.

But here's the thing; I'm not getting any younger and despite not wanting to spend my thirties overweight, that's exactly what has happened so far. I seemed to have conquered my weight as an issue in my life by my late twenties, but looking back now, I see that wasn't the case really. I still had some fundamental health problems and just wasn't dealing with other things as constructively as I could have.

Collapsing when I was 28 and not getting back to work for over a year didn't help either. It's been a long slog back the last decade, but now that both my iron and vitamin D levels are in the low normal range, I've been feeling a lot better generally. I've still been feeling worn down with work, but there's a minor consolation in feeling tired because your pace is ballistic, versus just being tired, period. It's occurred to me lately how much better I could be handling all of this if I were more fit.

My physicality is still the one remaining "issue" in my life. I'm tired of having a body I can't count on, and given that I don't have any major chronic ailments to contend with, there's no reason I should feel that way. The only person holding me back is me.

And I suppose that's what I'm ready to deal with. Yes, I've had compelling deficiencies to deal with [most of my life if you ask me. My doctor thinks I just have a body that doesn't uptake iron or most other nutrients "well"], but the time has now come to move forward. Despite all the grand ambitions I've ever had for myself, there is still a part of me that thinks I can't.

That's what I really need to deal with. It's a difficult thing for me to admit, but the results speak for themselves. Despite how competent and intelligent I am in most other areas of my life, my body says otherwise and I need to reckon with the choices that have got me to this point. It isn't all my fault, but I'm not blameless either.

When I first looked into personal training, my inner critic inevitably started chatting. All the reasons not to do it were mentally indexed and readily available. But there was another part of me that was stronger this time, another voice I rarely hear, a part of myself saying this is not who you are. You can change this. You need to change this.

When I met with "Linda" one of the head trainers at my club, she put me through some testing and asked me about my goals.

Goals seemed a bit redundant after the BMI machine spat out a reciept saying I was 44% body fat.

44. That is the number that cancer, heart attacks, stroke, arthritis and diabetes are made of. It's the number assigned to never being able to wear clothes I like or feeling good in a bathing suit.

"What about running a 5K?"

"What?"

Linda looked me in the eye. "Well you just said you'd always wanted to run. Why don't we make running a 5K by next summer one of your goals?"

I must have had the same look my cats have when I've placed a substandard brand of wet food before them.

"A 5K. By next summer."

"Sure." Linda replied. "It's totally doable. It isn't some pipe dream." She wrote it down on my list of goals, then paused. "Is there some other goal you'd like to attain?"

A voice that was not mine said "I want to take hip hop dance classes."

"Yup. What else." Linda kept writing.

The voice continued

"I want to look hot."
"I want to sleep right through the night." and in my head it just kept going.

I want to garden early mornings in the summer before work. I want to take flamenco dance classes too. Screw the 5K. I want to run a marathon. I want to learn how to surf. I want to hike the Southern Upland Way in Scotland. "

I walked out of the club on Monday floating. Everything seemed possible, but there was the not so minor consideration of cost. The Marine and I talked, and we decided we could do it, but by Wednesday morning, I'd spent a sleepless Tuesday night worrying about it. It just seemed a bridge too far.

I sent Linda an email. Then I lamented with Ragdoll on G-chat. [Thanks for that chicka.]

Then Linda sent an email back. The club has a policy of always planning to goals initially, but there were some other options. Would I meet with her again?

So I did, and I walked out of the club Thursday night having signed on for a package that was workable and completely affordable. It means I have a Level 1 trainer instead of a Level 4, but Linda will be supervising my program and more importantly I can get started now.

Debbie called me yesterday to get things set up. For the next eight weeks at 7:15 am, I'll be training with her Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

"Where should I meet you." I asked, "At the front?"

"Sure." Debbie replied. "I'm a tall black girl about 5'7" with short hair."

"Cool." I said. "I'm a short chubby white girl about 5"4' with brown hair."

Debbie laughed. "Oh Zesty," she said "I like you already."

The Holidays Are Coming

OH. MAH. GUH.