Pilates
December 11th, 2009 § 1 Comment
The thing driving me to start working out again, 3 months before my orthopedic surgeon advises me to, is the fact that I now not only have a muffin top….I also have a muffin bottom. I have replaced all physical activity with eating foods that can only be found at 7-11. It’s like I’ve decided if I can’t work out and be healthy I will do anything to sabotage any healthy choices I should make. CASE AND POINT, the other night I made a salad and then proceeded to drown it in bleu cheese dressing. Mind you I hate bleu cheese dressing but apparently I hate being thin more than I hate aged cheese.
As I continue to expand – my self-esteem plummets and I hate myself more and more each day. While I have only gained 5 pounds, it feels like much more because all my muscle has turned to fat.
To make it that much harder, Paul lost 20 pounds while he was sick these past 2 weeks. Yesterday morning I was standing in front of my full length mirror cursing my expanding thighs and pregnant looking belly with Paul standing behind me in his underwear in a superhero stance saying, “Wow, look how skinny I am now babe!” If I only had known that his terrible sickness would lead to weight loss of such tremendous proportions, I would have licked everything he touched and drank out of the same cup as him.
But now I am stuck with what I have done to my body these past few months and I need to work it off. Which is how I found myself in a pilates class at Yogaworks.
So far this week I have been to two classes. Here is how they went:
Class One:
I entered the pilates room first, which was a mistake. I had no idea of matt etiquette or which direction was the front of the room. I figured placing my matt against the wall (thinking the last thing I want is my spandex ass hoisted in the air during downward dog with someone standing behind me) was the most Zen decision.
A few minutes later a man came into the room, stretched for a few minutes and then informed me my matt was wrong. I repositioned it and then watched all the skinny women wearing tight black yoga pants filter in.
The pilates instructor came into class and asked if there were any injuries among the class. I raised my hand and told her about my ACL reconstruction and contemplated going into a detailed account for why I was so out of shape. I decided against it.
10 minutes into class my arms were burning, my stomach convulsing and from my best estimation my body was physically rejecting pilates. It was shutting down and I was losing control over every muscle which were all now spasm-ing. My only thought was that if this class didn’t end in the next 10 seconds I was pretty sure the next logical thing to happen would be for me to pee myself.
Thankfully I couldn’t physically do the last 5 minutes of exercises because of my knee, so I was spared from the torture.
I hobbled to my car and cursed my body for betraying me.
Class Two:
I got to class early now knowing proper mat placement realizing prime real estate was the back of the class towards the wall where no one could judge me or see me convulsing.
Met the new teacher and contemplated apologizing in advance for the terrible job I would do in her class.
5 minutes into class my muscles again revolted against every movement. This time it felt like I was tazed and my arms literally gave out and I fell forehead first onto my mat.
I did a quick glance around to see who saw me eat it and decided that everyone was too wrapped up in their own pain to be concerned about me.
I cursed myself for being so egocentric.
Class ended. Contemplated thanking the teacher for not kicking me out of her class for being such an embarrassment. Decided against it.
Went back to work. Tried to type. Decided against it because my arms were too sore to lift.
The only thing not stopping me from giving in and committing to a lifetime of eating Cheetos in the dark and spending all my money on processed foods is that, I want these women’s bodies. All the women in my class are toned and sleek-they’re like rich Orange County gazelles. I want to be like them. To be able to throw myself into downward dog without looking at how my thigh fat fell to the front and gathered like pools of dough when I did so. I want to be in shape again and to feel good about myself. I want to do something productive with stress. But most of all I want to look good in black spandex.
Feeling Small
October 16th, 2009 § Leave a Comment
Ever since I injured my knee I have replaced physical activity with eating. I’ve become a power eater and have managed to scarf down bags of chips, pints of ice cream and full sleeves of raw cookie dough. It’s appalling to me the voracious eater I have become. Paul thinks I have a wooden leg, I think I am just stressed out and depressed with no outlet to release it. So, I have resorted to eating like a bear that is 3 days away from hibernation.
I feel huge and the only thing that makes me feel small and dainty is this awesome chair we found in Albany.
If I could have carried it on the plane I would have brought it home with me, but since all airlines charge these days for checked luggage…well, sadly the chair still resides in Albany.
Standing Naked
July 1st, 2009 § 1 Comment
For most of my life I have been active. I would eat a full bag of candy a day but go to the gym for 2 hours 6 days a week. I took pride in my contradiction. Growing up, I watched my mom dominate the stairmaster with weights in each hand and strapped to her ankles. She was a machine and I took great pride knowing that my mom could kick any of those other workout ladies asses. Strength was attractive and I knew the importance activity played in that.
When I was 18, my roommate told me that although I wasn’t heavy – I could stand to lose a few pounds. It was in that moment that my body became the focus of my every insecurity. I would stand naked in front of the mirror and pinch my stomach fat. I would look at my ass in dressing rooms mirrors and curse every bump and pucker. I religiously wrote down every calorie I consumed in a notebook that I carried in my purse and if I ever went over 1,000 calories, I would workout extra long to be sure to undo the damage. I watched skinny girls at the gym and wondered how they looked so skinny and cute without breaking a sweat? Meanwhile I was doing countless amounts of squats with the grace and beauty of a Russian power lifter. I began to wonder if my genes were cursed because their asses looked so cute in jeans while mine just looked…wide. I worked out like a maniac, restricted calories and found great triumph when I went to bed hungry. While I was skinny, it wasn’t the body I wanted. When I looked in the mirror my ass was still flabby albeit smaller and I was unhealthy and frustrated.
12 years later, I still struggle with my body because it isn’t the body I want. Often times I become so fed up with working out because it never frees me from the body that I spend so many hours on the treadmill trying to run away from. To make matters worse, I’m in a relationship with someone who prefers Mountain Dew to water, Slim Jim’s to chicken and Frappucino’s to coffee. As a result, my jeans are tighter, I have become a huge fan of tunics and the days I feel ugly, far outweigh the days I feel mildly attractive.
Anyone who has been in a relationship will tell you that they make staying fit tough. Early morning gym trips become harder when you have someone warm to snuggle up to, eating is harder to regulate because most meals are in restaurants. Not to mention the trips to the movies — which means buckets of delicious artificial butter flavored popcorn and sometimes an even larger sized bucket – - because after all it is just $.25 more! Relationships equal more food, more wine, more desserts and less working out.
Two months ago I decided I had enough. I was tired of looking at old pictures of me and not being able to see them as anything more than a barometer of how thin I “use to be.” I decided I was going on a fitness journey and Paul could join me or not. I vowed that if he ordered a tub of popcorn, I would be satisfied with the low fat popcorn I snuck into the theatre in my purse. If he wanted to eat everything the planet had to offer on the weekends, I would be nothing more than a spectator for the event. I had to stop blaming him for my jeans not fitting and take ownership over my ever increasing circumference.
A friend told me about free exercise videos On Demand through my cable company. Mind you I had to get over my current perception of workout videos. I was a “sweat and work out until the world begins to go a little fuzzy” kind of person. To me, workout videos were Jane Fonda, make up, hairsprayed bangs and leg warmers. They were for stay at home mom’s that wanted to work out but didn’t want to break a sweat which would require a shower seeing as they were so pressed for time. I was more of a, “sweat so much that there are salt deposits left on my clothing” kind of girl. My idea of a workout was sweat, pain, grunting and all other things unladylike and left me wanting to take a nap.
But I swallowed my hesitiation and found the DVR’s of Jillian Michaels. You know that, tough as nails, no ounce of fat on me, athletic, hard nosed girl from Biggest Loser. I figured she was the closest I would come to getting a hard boot camp like workout in the comfort of my living room. I found it promising that she wasn’t wearing leg warmers and didn’t have a stitch of makeup on.
After 20 minutes this 8 mile, 5 times a week runner was on the floor begging for the sweet lord to take me. My legs were burning, my lungs were heaving and I was dripping with sweat. I was sold! A 45 minute workout with her left me feeling much like I do after 2 hours spent in the gym.
2 months after incorporating her workouts 3 times a week along with my running regimen I am tone and, more importantly, have arrived at it in a healthy way. I went bikini shopping last week stood in front of the mirror naked holding my breath as I turned to look at my butt in the full length three way mirror. While it is still not perfect – I find a tremendous amount of pride in its current state. I worked half of my ass off to get that derriere and by god, who am I not to give it the respect it deserves.
