Memorial Day happened. And I made some awful decisions that led to a less than successful Tuesday night workout. Basically I spent most of the day on Monday eating. And I was eating things that I should not have been eating. I ate Dominos. Like a lot of Dominos. Because despite paying monthly for a gym membership, I still don't care enough to eat healthily. Not to mention I didn't even work out on Monday. I sabotaged myself. I caved in to the promise of greasy delicious pizza and let that trump my desire to be what I've never been: skinny.
Despite walking/jogging later in the evening with Liz (Best Friend Rachel's roommate) all I could think about was how I had failed and succumbed to weakness. I don't know if it's as hard for everyone else to resist as it is for me, but it seems incredibly difficult. And ridiculous. For example, if I get it in my head that I want Dominos, I find myself being incredibly sad until I actually order it. Once I place my order and know it's coming, I'm ecstatic. That is until I consume the entire pizza and a sandwich. Then I feel disgusting and awful because I'm a horrible person.
I'm a slave to food. I never learned to eat in a healthy way and I find the self discipline to learn now impossible. Did I make awful decisions on Tuesday? You bet. I had twinkies as a snack. I knew I shouldn't have, but I wanted them and why should I deny myself a temporary joy that will only lead to self loathing?
Justin adjusted the time of our training session to later than usual so I do some yoga when I get home, and then head to the gym to do my cardio workout before the training session. I downloaded a 'Couch to 5K' app because for some reason I have been enjoying jogging. It's hard and I sweat a lot. I also make a huge mistake and pick a treadmill in front of a mirror.
I do not recommend this. It's upsetting to see what my body does when I'm trying to better myself through exercise. Every time I run for a minute all I see is my bouncing mass and I get mad, frustrated, depressed, embarrassed. I did this to myself. I did it for my entire life up until this point, and even now, I'm not doing all I can. How can I simultaneously want something so much and not care enough to do it? It doesn't seem fair.
Unfortunately for Justin, my mood follows me into the personal training session. We're in the functional training room for the session and either because I'm very transparent or Justin is very good at reading people he asks me what's wrong? 'Nothing. I just want to do this.' Only a partial lie. I really do want to do this. As proved by my Saturday workout, anger can be a great motivator for me. So to start I do a minute of wall sits, thirty seconds of jumping jacks, and a minute hover. I cycle through that three or four times. I can't really remember.
Justin is his usual cheerful encouraging self, even singing about how many seconds I have left along with Flo Rida. And it does help, especially during the hovers. We move on to some presses from the floor and some step back lunges. While I'm doing the lunges Justin says 'Come on, stay with me.' For some reason this ticks me off. And apparently I make a face because Justin asks what it's for. 'I don't want to leave, just so you know.' He asks what I mean. 'I'm doing it, how the hell am I not with you?' Conversation stops at that point. I finish up the rest of the session with side hovers added to the lunges and presses.
Ultimately the thing that frustrates me is that my best isn't good enough. I thought I was doing well and for some reason, a comment that is often said during the session rubs me the wrong way. I wasn't even close to giving up but apparently looked like it. I'm pushing myself and decided that Justin's comment meant that he didn't think I was doing a good enough job. That's not what he said. He was attempting to keep me focused on the exercise and to ignore any sort of muscle exhaustion. Perfectly reasonable.
What is really going through my head is that my best isn't good enough for me. I hate that I didn't do this a long time ago. I should be better at this stuff and I'm not. My best is constantly not good enough for me and maybe that's because I secretly know it's not my best. If I had been trying my best since I started I would be significantly farther than being down only thirty five pounds. I should be down sixty or one hundred pounds. I should have to self control to say no to Dominos. I should have to drive to get out of bed each morning and exercise to change what I hate about myself. I should want to be pushing myself daily. Instead I use what I do accomplish as an excuse to make bad decisions.
My hope is that forcing myself to do that which I detest at times, will lead to me embracing the sweat. It will lead to me looking at a body that I hate and thinking about where I'm going instead of how I got to where I am. It will motivate me to not go backwards and fall into old habits. It will lead to a better life that I enjoy.
Showing posts with label treadmill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label treadmill. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Shenanigans...
Given the amount of traffic on my last post, I've decided to constantly hit you with my vulnerability. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I'm using my vulnerability as a weapon. Which makes me sound awful but all I really mean to say is that if my most popular posts are ones that I am convinced will be embarrassing and they are the ones that people appreciate the most, maybe I need to suck it up and take a few risks. We'll see how that manifests itself in the coming days.
Thursday night was a generally successful training session. At least as far as I can remember. That's the downside to waiting to post until the day after (or sometimes six days after) a session: I tend to forget what actually happened. I do remember doing my first ever real bench presses, however. So cross that off of my bucket list. Interesting that it took me eight months to work up to what I consider to be a very standard exercise to do at the gym. Maybe this is reflective of my procrastinating nature, but I can't take all the blame. Justin had sixteen sessions prior to this one to have me do some bench pressing and he chose not too. Maybe I was not mentally prepared for the challenge of bench pressing. Who knows.
I also remember that I went to CX Works again. Only this time I dragged Fit Andrew along. Thank goodness he was willing to go with me because Best Friend Rachel was not. Let me preface the following with this statement: I am proud of all the work that I have done. That statement does not make it easier to sit through a half hour class where I mentally convince myself that I can't physically do some of the things required. I'm choosing to phrase it that way because Justin is constantly telling me that the reason I can't do things like wall sits or hovers is more a result of my brain not thinking I can rather than my body actually being unable to do it.
And this is why I hate Fit Andrew, on occasion. He can basically do anything. I've come to CX Works a couple of times and while I have seen improvement, a lot of the time I'm simply collapsed in a heap on the floor rather than actually exercising. And he struts in having never taken the class before and mildly breaks a sweat on one exercise. It's not fair for me to hold that against him; he's put in the work in the past. But that doesn't make it any easier to be the person sitting next to him who can only do two leg extensions before having to take a break.
Here's the problem I continually come up against: despite knowing that there is no point in comparing myself to someone who is leaps and bounds ahead of where I am in the great world of physical fitness, I do it anyways. Who is going to feel successful when comparing accomplishments against someone with a very obvious advantage. I can't even run a mile so why on earth would I compare myself to a person who runs marathons. They can do twenty six more miles than I can. No duh. Because they've trained. They didn't start out running twenty six miles. But I still get mad that I can't do that! I'm telling you, it makes no logical sense.
Fortunately or unfortunately logic doesn't really come into play at the gym. By all logic I would not want to try lifting 150 or 200 lbs just for the sake of proving I can. At the gym people do it constantly. Other animals simply get there exercise by going about living. Humans run with no purpose other than to burn calories. That is not logical by the laws of nature. There is no physical destination that we are running towards. Just the promise of a healthier body.
On Saturday, I make every attempt to start my day off as healthily as possible. This three day weekend promises to feature a lot of food and I feel the need to preemptively burn calories. I try to wake up by 7:00 to get to the gym for a class at 7:30. Not only do I wake up a mere fifteen minutes before the class starts, but by the time I get there and see that I have no clue who the teacher is, I psych myself out and can't make myself go into the studio. My trip is almost in vain except that I force myself to do some seated rows and bicep curls. A grand total of fifteen minutes of exercise when it should have been an hour.
I go home and waste some time. I still have plans to go to spin at 10:00 after I get my oil changed. I head to Jiffy Lube with what I think is enough time to get my oil changed and have time to spare, but apparently everyone and there mother (literally, there was a mother/daughter pair) wanted their oil changed. So I make it to the gym several minutes after spin starts. I am not one to enter late to anything, so I decide to just do the treadmill and then leave.
Apparently anger is a great motivator (though I'll also attribute some of it to the wonderful music of Robyn). I start off by jogging for three solid minutes. Three minutes! I take a two minute walk break and then jog for two minutes! A two minute walk break and then one minute of jogging! Then I stick to one minute increments because I'm tired. But with all of that motivation I do a mile in just over twelve minutes. Now that's an accomplishment I can be proud of.
I don't quite make two miles by the end of my walk/run because I walk for the last ten minutes of my thirty minutes. I leave the gym proud of my accomplishment, though still disappointed in the lack of success based on my intended plan for the day. Sometimes you have to roll with the punches and fit in whatever exercise you can. So there are my wise words for the day. Take it or leave it.
Thursday night was a generally successful training session. At least as far as I can remember. That's the downside to waiting to post until the day after (or sometimes six days after) a session: I tend to forget what actually happened. I do remember doing my first ever real bench presses, however. So cross that off of my bucket list. Interesting that it took me eight months to work up to what I consider to be a very standard exercise to do at the gym. Maybe this is reflective of my procrastinating nature, but I can't take all the blame. Justin had sixteen sessions prior to this one to have me do some bench pressing and he chose not too. Maybe I was not mentally prepared for the challenge of bench pressing. Who knows.
I also remember that I went to CX Works again. Only this time I dragged Fit Andrew along. Thank goodness he was willing to go with me because Best Friend Rachel was not. Let me preface the following with this statement: I am proud of all the work that I have done. That statement does not make it easier to sit through a half hour class where I mentally convince myself that I can't physically do some of the things required. I'm choosing to phrase it that way because Justin is constantly telling me that the reason I can't do things like wall sits or hovers is more a result of my brain not thinking I can rather than my body actually being unable to do it.
And this is why I hate Fit Andrew, on occasion. He can basically do anything. I've come to CX Works a couple of times and while I have seen improvement, a lot of the time I'm simply collapsed in a heap on the floor rather than actually exercising. And he struts in having never taken the class before and mildly breaks a sweat on one exercise. It's not fair for me to hold that against him; he's put in the work in the past. But that doesn't make it any easier to be the person sitting next to him who can only do two leg extensions before having to take a break.
Here's the problem I continually come up against: despite knowing that there is no point in comparing myself to someone who is leaps and bounds ahead of where I am in the great world of physical fitness, I do it anyways. Who is going to feel successful when comparing accomplishments against someone with a very obvious advantage. I can't even run a mile so why on earth would I compare myself to a person who runs marathons. They can do twenty six more miles than I can. No duh. Because they've trained. They didn't start out running twenty six miles. But I still get mad that I can't do that! I'm telling you, it makes no logical sense.
Fortunately or unfortunately logic doesn't really come into play at the gym. By all logic I would not want to try lifting 150 or 200 lbs just for the sake of proving I can. At the gym people do it constantly. Other animals simply get there exercise by going about living. Humans run with no purpose other than to burn calories. That is not logical by the laws of nature. There is no physical destination that we are running towards. Just the promise of a healthier body.
On Saturday, I make every attempt to start my day off as healthily as possible. This three day weekend promises to feature a lot of food and I feel the need to preemptively burn calories. I try to wake up by 7:00 to get to the gym for a class at 7:30. Not only do I wake up a mere fifteen minutes before the class starts, but by the time I get there and see that I have no clue who the teacher is, I psych myself out and can't make myself go into the studio. My trip is almost in vain except that I force myself to do some seated rows and bicep curls. A grand total of fifteen minutes of exercise when it should have been an hour.
I go home and waste some time. I still have plans to go to spin at 10:00 after I get my oil changed. I head to Jiffy Lube with what I think is enough time to get my oil changed and have time to spare, but apparently everyone and there mother (literally, there was a mother/daughter pair) wanted their oil changed. So I make it to the gym several minutes after spin starts. I am not one to enter late to anything, so I decide to just do the treadmill and then leave.
Apparently anger is a great motivator (though I'll also attribute some of it to the wonderful music of Robyn). I start off by jogging for three solid minutes. Three minutes! I take a two minute walk break and then jog for two minutes! A two minute walk break and then one minute of jogging! Then I stick to one minute increments because I'm tired. But with all of that motivation I do a mile in just over twelve minutes. Now that's an accomplishment I can be proud of.
I don't quite make two miles by the end of my walk/run because I walk for the last ten minutes of my thirty minutes. I leave the gym proud of my accomplishment, though still disappointed in the lack of success based on my intended plan for the day. Sometimes you have to roll with the punches and fit in whatever exercise you can. So there are my wise words for the day. Take it or leave it.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Anxiety...
I thought I knew what stress felt like. I've done live theatre, what could be more stressful than that? Apparently resuming personal training is. I get home from work and begin to put together my gym bag (I bought a real one!) with my workout gear and headphones and my heart rate quickens ever so slightly. I get in the car with Andrew and drive to the gym, but we get stopped by a train. My heart rate goes up a lot and I start to feel panicky. Finally, I'm walking up the stairs to the gym and I feel like I could pass out.
It's not like Justin is super mean. I have no idea why I'm crazy freaking out, today, but the idea of doing personal training is causing me to feel so anxious. Unnaturally anxious. Ke$ha doesn't even make me feel better during my warm up, which is really strange. After seven and a half minutes, I head out to find Justin and I'm having an out of body experience. So, in an effort to be honest, I let him know that I am terrified of the session, today.
His response is amazing and this is why everyone if they're anyone should come to the BAC and hire Justin. He says, "I'm not going to kick your ass on your first day back." It's only slightly encouraging, but it does enough to make me try hard for the next half hour. He has me do standing presses and wall sits (which I fail miserably at) and shoulder presses and hovers, which make me unhealthily angry. I hate you, you are so mean. Yeah, this guy who I was just saying was so incredibly nice quickly made me shift my opinion quite rapidly by having me do hovers. Hovers are awful. Clearly we as human beings are not meant to hover.
We end the session with tricep curls, which I am overly confident in my ability to perform. We start with some pitiful weight of around twelve pounds. Ridiculous. Justin admits that it could be too light. I usually do eighty. False. He one hundred percent doubts me but when I insist he puts the weight at eighty. I do not usually do eighty, I realize. Boom, blow to the ego. We bring it down to a much more manageable twentyish pounds and I do three reps of fifteen. While I do this, we map out my workout plan for the week, which includes a trip to the gym at 6AM tomorrow morning. I hate 6AM, but that's the only time I can do, tomorrow and I'm not making the same mistake as last time by not supplementing my training sessions with my own workouts.
I end my workout with a twenty minute treadmill time. Best Friend Rachel emerges from her class and I convince her to walk with me. I walk for two minutes at a leisurely pace and kick it up, in both speed and incline for the following minute, all the way to the nineteen minute mark. Then, I jog for the last minute. I jog at 6.1 miles per hour. And I live. I'm truly an inspiration to myself. I'm also truly disgusting to myself. No, really. I smell awful at this point. Thank goodness I get to go home and shower after this.
It's not like Justin is super mean. I have no idea why I'm crazy freaking out, today, but the idea of doing personal training is causing me to feel so anxious. Unnaturally anxious. Ke$ha doesn't even make me feel better during my warm up, which is really strange. After seven and a half minutes, I head out to find Justin and I'm having an out of body experience. So, in an effort to be honest, I let him know that I am terrified of the session, today.
His response is amazing and this is why everyone if they're anyone should come to the BAC and hire Justin. He says, "I'm not going to kick your ass on your first day back." It's only slightly encouraging, but it does enough to make me try hard for the next half hour. He has me do standing presses and wall sits (which I fail miserably at) and shoulder presses and hovers, which make me unhealthily angry. I hate you, you are so mean. Yeah, this guy who I was just saying was so incredibly nice quickly made me shift my opinion quite rapidly by having me do hovers. Hovers are awful. Clearly we as human beings are not meant to hover.
We end the session with tricep curls, which I am overly confident in my ability to perform. We start with some pitiful weight of around twelve pounds. Ridiculous. Justin admits that it could be too light. I usually do eighty. False. He one hundred percent doubts me but when I insist he puts the weight at eighty. I do not usually do eighty, I realize. Boom, blow to the ego. We bring it down to a much more manageable twentyish pounds and I do three reps of fifteen. While I do this, we map out my workout plan for the week, which includes a trip to the gym at 6AM tomorrow morning. I hate 6AM, but that's the only time I can do, tomorrow and I'm not making the same mistake as last time by not supplementing my training sessions with my own workouts.
I end my workout with a twenty minute treadmill time. Best Friend Rachel emerges from her class and I convince her to walk with me. I walk for two minutes at a leisurely pace and kick it up, in both speed and incline for the following minute, all the way to the nineteen minute mark. Then, I jog for the last minute. I jog at 6.1 miles per hour. And I live. I'm truly an inspiration to myself. I'm also truly disgusting to myself. No, really. I smell awful at this point. Thank goodness I get to go home and shower after this.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Circus...
You'd think after going to bed at 8:45 it would be easy to wake up after ten hours of sleep. But when my alarm goes off at 7:00, all I want is more sleep. So I reset it for 7:15 and wake up at 7:45 because awful things happen to me constantly. So I rush to pack my gym bag and walk open the front door of the club right at 8:00. No time to warm up whatsoever. Wow, what an ideal situation!
I guess Justin has some sympathy because we seem to start a little slower, today, first with some stretching and then some squats and side stepping. And then things get interesting. Apparently I'm training to be a trapeze artist because Justin pulls out these handles and anchors them to a bar about eight feet in the air. The handles themselves hang about four feet from the ground and I'm supposed to lean back and do a squat and then pull the handles to my chest. Kind of like a reverse push-up, if you will. This paired with standing on the ball and I almost have a full circus show. I'm supposed to do this for a minute, then do a minute of jumping jacks, and fifteen bicep curls.
I have to do this a total of three times and I am not in a very compliant mood because I hate having to rush things. I didn't feel prepared to come in and work out because I didn't get the time to warm up. I didn't realize how important that ritual has become for me. Plus, I feel incredibly unstable every time I'm on the trapeze (at least that's what I'm calling it) because my hands slip and I feel like at any moment I'll fall backwards and become severely injured.
I voice this concern to Justin who assures me that I will not fall and that I'll keep myself up almost solely with willpower. And you know what? I believe him. And I don't fall. I wouldn't say I particularly excel, but I made myself finish and a little seed of pride is planted.
I desperately hold on to that seed because if there's one thing I hate more than planking, its jumping jacks. Every time I jump, all I notice is my belly and boobs bouncing. It makes me mad. Even though I have the sense of accomplishment that comes with losing 35 pounds, I still have many to go. It's easy to be mad about how difficult exercises are and blame the fact that I didn't start this earlier. It's easy to think that I'll never get better at it and that this is the best I can do.
But that would be stupid because it's amazing what I've accomplished all because I was determined to do it. Plus I'm getting remeasured on Tuesday and I want to see results! At the conclusion of my session, I opt for the treadmill and sweat through twenty minutes before I'm ready to go home and collapse. But first I stop and say hi to Skinny Matt because I haven't seen him in a while. It's weird to have friends I only know through the gym. I never thought I'd be one of those people.
I guess Justin has some sympathy because we seem to start a little slower, today, first with some stretching and then some squats and side stepping. And then things get interesting. Apparently I'm training to be a trapeze artist because Justin pulls out these handles and anchors them to a bar about eight feet in the air. The handles themselves hang about four feet from the ground and I'm supposed to lean back and do a squat and then pull the handles to my chest. Kind of like a reverse push-up, if you will. This paired with standing on the ball and I almost have a full circus show. I'm supposed to do this for a minute, then do a minute of jumping jacks, and fifteen bicep curls.
I have to do this a total of three times and I am not in a very compliant mood because I hate having to rush things. I didn't feel prepared to come in and work out because I didn't get the time to warm up. I didn't realize how important that ritual has become for me. Plus, I feel incredibly unstable every time I'm on the trapeze (at least that's what I'm calling it) because my hands slip and I feel like at any moment I'll fall backwards and become severely injured.
I voice this concern to Justin who assures me that I will not fall and that I'll keep myself up almost solely with willpower. And you know what? I believe him. And I don't fall. I wouldn't say I particularly excel, but I made myself finish and a little seed of pride is planted.
I desperately hold on to that seed because if there's one thing I hate more than planking, its jumping jacks. Every time I jump, all I notice is my belly and boobs bouncing. It makes me mad. Even though I have the sense of accomplishment that comes with losing 35 pounds, I still have many to go. It's easy to be mad about how difficult exercises are and blame the fact that I didn't start this earlier. It's easy to think that I'll never get better at it and that this is the best I can do.
But that would be stupid because it's amazing what I've accomplished all because I was determined to do it. Plus I'm getting remeasured on Tuesday and I want to see results! At the conclusion of my session, I opt for the treadmill and sweat through twenty minutes before I'm ready to go home and collapse. But first I stop and say hi to Skinny Matt because I haven't seen him in a while. It's weird to have friends I only know through the gym. I never thought I'd be one of those people.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Chatter...
Now that Oscar season is officially over, my life can get back to normal and I can start really kicking the personal training in to high gear. Disappointment abounds as I load up my gym bag (still using that trusty Target bag) and head to my car for my session with Justin. I have once again failed to work out at all during the weekend. And no excuse is good enough. I simply didn't do it.
My usual elliptical machine is taken so I have to use a different one. I'm kind of excited because it's the one that is more natural with the arm motions and therefore slightly easier to stay balanced on while I'm using it. Nicki Minaj even puts a little spring in my step as I crush a half mile in eight minutes. Not awesome, but progress.
Justin is finishing up with some lady so I go to put my phone away and meet him back in the cardio room, which we immediately leave to head to the weight room. And we start with leg presses. Justin must have picked up on the fact that it's much easier for me to have the distraction of conversation to get me through things because he prompts me to give him my opinion of the Oscar winners. I'm happy that Jennifer Lawrence won but my ballot was destroyed. I only got fourteen of the twenty four categories correct. That's miserable.
During push ups we talk about the Best Picture nominees and which one I liked best (my top three were Argo, Beasts of the Southern Wild, and Silver Linings Playbook) and therefore which movies Justin should see. Clearly all of them, though Lincoln was PAINFULLY boring. I get a wonderful compliment when Justin says he needs to lower the bar because I'm getting stronger, which is alternately depressing because it reminds me that the difficulty should stay the same, even if you get better. You have to continue to make it harder otherwise you're not getting much out of it.
During squats we talk about proper squat form, which is a thing. And apparently it's a thing that I haven't really been doing right. I tend to have most of my weight forward, which is wrong. Your weight should be over your heals and your butt should be sticking way out. I have to say, it's much easier the way I used to do it, but I'll get stronger, I suppose.
Then I have to do side hovers and planks on some weird half-ball plate thing which makes me feel like I'm wicked clumsy and going to die even though I'm maybe two feet from the ground with my arms extended. It's incredibly unstable which makes me engage my core. I tell Justin all about the comedy shows that I watch on TV (there is the common theme of media in the topics) as I drip sweat everywhere and feel as though I am literally melting.
Trainers have it rough and I'll explain why. I don't know if I could stand to be around a person who is so ridiculously sweaty and therefore smelly. I can hardly stand it myself and I just do it for half an hour. Justin has who knows how many clients and presumably all of them get sweaty and, at times, smell horrible. That is true dedication and he and all trainers should be given special gifts for putting up with the rankness of others. So should group exercise teachers. By that logic so should I, because in group classes I'm subjected to the smells other people give off. So where's my gift?
At the conclusion of the workout, I pick treadmill for my cardio. Justin tells me I did a good job tonight, which feels amazing after I spent the weekend being incredibly lazy and eating snacky foods. Same thing as last time for cardio, only I feel more adventurous so I start off jogging for my 30-second intervals. That adventurousness quickly goes away and I slow it down to a walk for the rest of my time. This is probably because I have to keep the incline up even when I'm on my 'rest' minute, though it's only at 4 instead of 7. Ladies and gentlemen, the treadmill can be a difficult workout if you let it. It just needs your permission.
My usual elliptical machine is taken so I have to use a different one. I'm kind of excited because it's the one that is more natural with the arm motions and therefore slightly easier to stay balanced on while I'm using it. Nicki Minaj even puts a little spring in my step as I crush a half mile in eight minutes. Not awesome, but progress.
Justin is finishing up with some lady so I go to put my phone away and meet him back in the cardio room, which we immediately leave to head to the weight room. And we start with leg presses. Justin must have picked up on the fact that it's much easier for me to have the distraction of conversation to get me through things because he prompts me to give him my opinion of the Oscar winners. I'm happy that Jennifer Lawrence won but my ballot was destroyed. I only got fourteen of the twenty four categories correct. That's miserable.
During push ups we talk about the Best Picture nominees and which one I liked best (my top three were Argo, Beasts of the Southern Wild, and Silver Linings Playbook) and therefore which movies Justin should see. Clearly all of them, though Lincoln was PAINFULLY boring. I get a wonderful compliment when Justin says he needs to lower the bar because I'm getting stronger, which is alternately depressing because it reminds me that the difficulty should stay the same, even if you get better. You have to continue to make it harder otherwise you're not getting much out of it.
During squats we talk about proper squat form, which is a thing. And apparently it's a thing that I haven't really been doing right. I tend to have most of my weight forward, which is wrong. Your weight should be over your heals and your butt should be sticking way out. I have to say, it's much easier the way I used to do it, but I'll get stronger, I suppose.
Then I have to do side hovers and planks on some weird half-ball plate thing which makes me feel like I'm wicked clumsy and going to die even though I'm maybe two feet from the ground with my arms extended. It's incredibly unstable which makes me engage my core. I tell Justin all about the comedy shows that I watch on TV (there is the common theme of media in the topics) as I drip sweat everywhere and feel as though I am literally melting.
Trainers have it rough and I'll explain why. I don't know if I could stand to be around a person who is so ridiculously sweaty and therefore smelly. I can hardly stand it myself and I just do it for half an hour. Justin has who knows how many clients and presumably all of them get sweaty and, at times, smell horrible. That is true dedication and he and all trainers should be given special gifts for putting up with the rankness of others. So should group exercise teachers. By that logic so should I, because in group classes I'm subjected to the smells other people give off. So where's my gift?
At the conclusion of the workout, I pick treadmill for my cardio. Justin tells me I did a good job tonight, which feels amazing after I spent the weekend being incredibly lazy and eating snacky foods. Same thing as last time for cardio, only I feel more adventurous so I start off jogging for my 30-second intervals. That adventurousness quickly goes away and I slow it down to a walk for the rest of my time. This is probably because I have to keep the incline up even when I'm on my 'rest' minute, though it's only at 4 instead of 7. Ladies and gentlemen, the treadmill can be a difficult workout if you let it. It just needs your permission.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Bear...
I may or may not have promised Justin that I would work out at 6:30 on Wednesday morning and I may or may not have actually gone to work out. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out which is actually correct by telling you that I was given a harder workout for not showing up at 6:30 like I told him I would. I agreed to it because I wasn't going to have time to go later that day with work, and I really did intend to go but I was really tired and so I slept. And exercise is one of those situations where it's not the thought that counts. If that were the case, we would all be skinny and muscular.
Justin comes over to me just shy of the ten minute mark of my warm up and practically threatens me by telling me he's gonna make me work hard after I skipped out on exercise yesterday. And that makes me scared. Thank goodness we head into the weight room because there is no way he would make me do ropes in the weight room. It's a real possibility that there would be an actual accidental death if anyone were to do the ropes.
Instead we go to the seated leg press machine. Great, we're starting with a machine that intimidates me. I guess I should be happy because I'll learn how to use it and it won't scare the crap out of me. Gotta find the positive in everything or you will go crazy. Life lessons, by Sam. Now this is an inclined or declined leg press, not the standard straight-on leg presses. I'm practically sitting on the floor and my legs are inclined almost forty-five degrees away from me. Justin has me start with forty reps on each leg with no added weight. They get to be quite strenuous by the end.
In between sets of leg presses I do my push ups. I'll say, I'm noticing improvements. I still can't do a full on push up, but I can get through my set of fifteen without having to pause. I ask Justin about any adjustments I can make when I'm doing them at home (because I don't have an adjustable bar at home) and he says that I should just come to the gym and do them. Fair point. It is only three minutes from my house.
For my last of three sets of leg presses, Justin makes me up the reps to fifty per leg instead of forty. By the end my legs are on fire. And my butt, too. One final set of push ups and onward we press to the cardio room, where I apparently am going to do the rowing machine. The rowing machine is another machine that absolutely terrifies me. Today is apparently a day of pushing me outside of my comfort zone. We'll see how I feel about it after my workout is complete.
Now, for those of you who have never used a rowing machine before, it looks fairly easy. After my introductory lesson about how to secure myself into the machine I realize that it isn't really that complicated of a machine. This is not to say that the exercise itself is easy. It's not. I have to keep my speed up and keep track of the number of calories I have burned before I can stop with the rowing. Apparently I start off a little too energetically because I literally bounce the machine due to the force with which I propel myself backwards. That's all I need, to have to replace a rowing machine that I break.
Thankfully it doesn't break. But I remain a little wary for the rest of my time on the machine (which, in case you were wondering is however long it takes to burn 10 calories as fast as I can). That is alternated with fifteen reps of dumbbell presses. And I can't turn either of those experiences into anything witty or fun, so just create a scenario in which there's a bear in the cardio room while I do these things. I'm sure it will be fascinating and full of adventure.
Interestingly enough, there was no bear at the gym, but there was a pair of crocs. Yes, crocs. Someone chose to wear crocs because apparently they are acceptable workout footwear. No. No they are not. So don't every be tempted. The only place crocs are acceptable is at the bottom of a trash barrel.
After my rowing and my pressing, I have twenty minutes of cardio that I have to do. Justin gives me the choice between cross trainer and treadmill and so I pick treadmill, because practically all I do is the elliptical nowadays. Remember how I said it was a day of living outside my comfort zone? True to that declaration, I have to mess with the incline of my treadmill. To increase the incline to stare fear in the face and say "please let me live." Can the thing even incline while I'm on it? I DON"T KNOW! I've never tried it before!
I liken this treadmill experience to playing Russian roulette. My workout consists of a minute of comfortable pace on level ground with thirty seconds of increased speed and incline so that I really have to work. Every time I hit that incline button and that speed up button it's like pulling the trigger of a gun. Will I die or will I live? Only destiny knows the answer. Clearly the answer is I live. I even get so bold that for my last thirty seconds of pushing, I jog.I never thought I would be jogging on a tread mill but here I am doing it with Ke$ha cheering me on all the way. It's exhilarating and I've never felt more alive.
I've also never felt more like I want to die. My body is sore and tired and all I want to do is curl up and go to bed. But first I must go up those awful stairs, get my protein shake and then go home. Best friend Rachel stops by with cookies because she's apparently determined to ruin any semblance of a healthy diet I had for today. Oh well. Occasionally you have to treat yourself. There's another wise saying for today. And yes, I totally did borrow from Parks and Recreation. Deal with it.
Justin comes over to me just shy of the ten minute mark of my warm up and practically threatens me by telling me he's gonna make me work hard after I skipped out on exercise yesterday. And that makes me scared. Thank goodness we head into the weight room because there is no way he would make me do ropes in the weight room. It's a real possibility that there would be an actual accidental death if anyone were to do the ropes.
Instead we go to the seated leg press machine. Great, we're starting with a machine that intimidates me. I guess I should be happy because I'll learn how to use it and it won't scare the crap out of me. Gotta find the positive in everything or you will go crazy. Life lessons, by Sam. Now this is an inclined or declined leg press, not the standard straight-on leg presses. I'm practically sitting on the floor and my legs are inclined almost forty-five degrees away from me. Justin has me start with forty reps on each leg with no added weight. They get to be quite strenuous by the end.
In between sets of leg presses I do my push ups. I'll say, I'm noticing improvements. I still can't do a full on push up, but I can get through my set of fifteen without having to pause. I ask Justin about any adjustments I can make when I'm doing them at home (because I don't have an adjustable bar at home) and he says that I should just come to the gym and do them. Fair point. It is only three minutes from my house.
For my last of three sets of leg presses, Justin makes me up the reps to fifty per leg instead of forty. By the end my legs are on fire. And my butt, too. One final set of push ups and onward we press to the cardio room, where I apparently am going to do the rowing machine. The rowing machine is another machine that absolutely terrifies me. Today is apparently a day of pushing me outside of my comfort zone. We'll see how I feel about it after my workout is complete.
Now, for those of you who have never used a rowing machine before, it looks fairly easy. After my introductory lesson about how to secure myself into the machine I realize that it isn't really that complicated of a machine. This is not to say that the exercise itself is easy. It's not. I have to keep my speed up and keep track of the number of calories I have burned before I can stop with the rowing. Apparently I start off a little too energetically because I literally bounce the machine due to the force with which I propel myself backwards. That's all I need, to have to replace a rowing machine that I break.
Thankfully it doesn't break. But I remain a little wary for the rest of my time on the machine (which, in case you were wondering is however long it takes to burn 10 calories as fast as I can). That is alternated with fifteen reps of dumbbell presses. And I can't turn either of those experiences into anything witty or fun, so just create a scenario in which there's a bear in the cardio room while I do these things. I'm sure it will be fascinating and full of adventure.
Interestingly enough, there was no bear at the gym, but there was a pair of crocs. Yes, crocs. Someone chose to wear crocs because apparently they are acceptable workout footwear. No. No they are not. So don't every be tempted. The only place crocs are acceptable is at the bottom of a trash barrel.
After my rowing and my pressing, I have twenty minutes of cardio that I have to do. Justin gives me the choice between cross trainer and treadmill and so I pick treadmill, because practically all I do is the elliptical nowadays. Remember how I said it was a day of living outside my comfort zone? True to that declaration, I have to mess with the incline of my treadmill. To increase the incline to stare fear in the face and say "please let me live." Can the thing even incline while I'm on it? I DON"T KNOW! I've never tried it before!
I liken this treadmill experience to playing Russian roulette. My workout consists of a minute of comfortable pace on level ground with thirty seconds of increased speed and incline so that I really have to work. Every time I hit that incline button and that speed up button it's like pulling the trigger of a gun. Will I die or will I live? Only destiny knows the answer. Clearly the answer is I live. I even get so bold that for my last thirty seconds of pushing, I jog.I never thought I would be jogging on a tread mill but here I am doing it with Ke$ha cheering me on all the way. It's exhilarating and I've never felt more alive.
I've also never felt more like I want to die. My body is sore and tired and all I want to do is curl up and go to bed. But first I must go up those awful stairs, get my protein shake and then go home. Best friend Rachel stops by with cookies because she's apparently determined to ruin any semblance of a healthy diet I had for today. Oh well. Occasionally you have to treat yourself. There's another wise saying for today. And yes, I totally did borrow from Parks and Recreation. Deal with it.
Monday, September 17, 2012
iPod...
Today I go to the gym a little later than I intend because there is another important lesson I have learned: It is incredibly important to have a comfortable pair of shoes when I'm at the gym. I've been squeezing into a pair of Adidas running shoes that I've had since my junior year of high school and they've given me wonderful insight into the practice of binding feet. I decide it's time to get some new shoes. So I drive down to Nordstrom Rack, which seems to be the only place that sells shoes the size of most clown cars, and pick out literally one of the most comfortable pair of shoes I have ever worn. Those of you who are interested, they are the Asics Nimbus 13.
Then, I go over to Target and re-purchase my hot pink head phones, because I need them.
Upon entering the gym, I take my gym bag down to the locker room. That's right, ladies and gentleman, I finally got a gym bag. True, my gym bag is a reusable Target bag that I purchased about 4 years ago, but it's my pride and joy so keep it to yourself. The gym is a little more crowded, today, so I decide to head to one of the available treadmills. Now, as a fat person, I hate being right next to someone while I'm on any piece of equipment and today I have a person on either side of me.
Because they are so close, I can clearly see the speed with which they're running and how long they have been on the treadmill. I'm planning on walking because I'm convinced I will not survive an attempt to jog on a treadmill, and I'm only planning on doing it for 25 minutes. The woman to my left has been on for 30 minutes, and she shows no signs of stopping. And yes, women can do anything men can do, but it's incredibly de-masculinating to be beaten by a woman in feats of physical strength and endurance unless she's a body builder.
I make it through the treadmill and then do legs. As usual, I look incredibly non-graceful as I straddle the hip whatever thing. This time, I have to raise my leg to get it over one of the arms and I end up looking like a figure skater who is failing and almost fall out of the seat. Thank goodness there is a personal trainer working with a client not 4 feet from me and they both see the whole thing.
Then, I decide to work on whatever the backside of my thigh is called. This exercise is incredibly embarrassing because it involves laying down on my stomach. So while I sweat and struggle, it looks like I'm taking a nap. And who knows, my butt could be hanging out while I am blissfully unaware. But not really blissfully. More like painfully. Thank goodness that's the last thing I have to do before I leave, but not before responding to a woman who says goodbye to someone other than me.
Upon entering the gym, I take my gym bag down to the locker room. That's right, ladies and gentleman, I finally got a gym bag. True, my gym bag is a reusable Target bag that I purchased about 4 years ago, but it's my pride and joy so keep it to yourself. The gym is a little more crowded, today, so I decide to head to one of the available treadmills. Now, as a fat person, I hate being right next to someone while I'm on any piece of equipment and today I have a person on either side of me.
Because they are so close, I can clearly see the speed with which they're running and how long they have been on the treadmill. I'm planning on walking because I'm convinced I will not survive an attempt to jog on a treadmill, and I'm only planning on doing it for 25 minutes. The woman to my left has been on for 30 minutes, and she shows no signs of stopping. And yes, women can do anything men can do, but it's incredibly de-masculinating to be beaten by a woman in feats of physical strength and endurance unless she's a body builder.
I make it through the treadmill and then do legs. As usual, I look incredibly non-graceful as I straddle the hip whatever thing. This time, I have to raise my leg to get it over one of the arms and I end up looking like a figure skater who is failing and almost fall out of the seat. Thank goodness there is a personal trainer working with a client not 4 feet from me and they both see the whole thing.
Then, I decide to work on whatever the backside of my thigh is called. This exercise is incredibly embarrassing because it involves laying down on my stomach. So while I sweat and struggle, it looks like I'm taking a nap. And who knows, my butt could be hanging out while I am blissfully unaware. But not really blissfully. More like painfully. Thank goodness that's the last thing I have to do before I leave, but not before responding to a woman who says goodbye to someone other than me.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Lessons...
I really need a gym bag, because I keep a) forgetting to bring things to the gym and b) keep losing things when I leave the gym. The other day at Target I buy a pair of really awesome hot pink ear-bud head phone because why shouldn't you be a little flashy at the gym? I lose them two days later. Or someone steals them. But I'm pretty sure I just lose them.
In an embarrassing turn of events, I neglect to wash my gym clothes and have to come up with an alternative work-out outfit. I find a pair of shorts that I really only use to sleep in and an old t-shirt to wear, but I basically end up looking like a hot dog because the shorts are red and the shirt is yellow. And now a hot dog sounds delicious and all I can think about is eating one. No hot dogs. Just gym.
I get to the gym after watching The X-Factor and put my stuff in the locker room when I realize that I have once again forgotten my towel. I don't think it's going to be a big deal because my plan is to stick to the weight room today.
Upon entering the weight room, I notice that it is much more crowded than usual. Instead of one lone person, there are now 5-6 beefy guys that look like they've been going to the gym since they were able to walk. And one of them has brought some ditsy looking woman who doesn't touch a single piece of equipment. Apparently you need arm candy even at the gym.
I try to ignore everyone as I work my arms and shoulders until I'm good and sore, but another variable comes into play that I didn't expect. Before I left for the gym, I had a little ice cream to celebrate my successes of the week. And by a little, I mean more than I should have had, and I am now feeling it. For those of you who might be curious, I can now say with complete confidence that you do not want to be lifting weight while you feel queasy.
In an embarrassing turn of events, I neglect to wash my gym clothes and have to come up with an alternative work-out outfit. I find a pair of shorts that I really only use to sleep in and an old t-shirt to wear, but I basically end up looking like a hot dog because the shorts are red and the shirt is yellow. And now a hot dog sounds delicious and all I can think about is eating one. No hot dogs. Just gym.
I get to the gym after watching The X-Factor and put my stuff in the locker room when I realize that I have once again forgotten my towel. I don't think it's going to be a big deal because my plan is to stick to the weight room today.
Upon entering the weight room, I notice that it is much more crowded than usual. Instead of one lone person, there are now 5-6 beefy guys that look like they've been going to the gym since they were able to walk. And one of them has brought some ditsy looking woman who doesn't touch a single piece of equipment. Apparently you need arm candy even at the gym.
I try to ignore everyone as I work my arms and shoulders until I'm good and sore, but another variable comes into play that I didn't expect. Before I left for the gym, I had a little ice cream to celebrate my successes of the week. And by a little, I mean more than I should have had, and I am now feeling it. For those of you who might be curious, I can now say with complete confidence that you do not want to be lifting weight while you feel queasy.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Intimidation...
There are two things in the world that intimidate me: movie stars and treadmills. And I only encounter one on a regular basis. I go to the gym yesterday and decide like an idiot that I'm going to use a treadmill. As I walk over someone calls out my name. I turn and it's my apparently new best friend CJ. I get your tactic, CJ. Greet the new guy, make him feel welcome so he gets off his lazy butt and keeps coming back. Apparently, CJ cares more about my health than I do. Keep it to yourself, CJ.
Picking a treadmill doesn't sound hard, but when there's a row of about 15 of them it suddenly seems like a huge decision. Do I pick one close to other people and potentially seem creepy? Do I pick one as far away from others and seem snobbish? I have no idea. So I pick one in the middle and try not to feel badly about my decision.
As I start up the treadmill, I realize I do not know treadmill etiquette. I have no idea if I should start it and slowly increase my speed, or raise the speed before I step on, and I am for sure not touching that incline button. I'm terrified I'm going to fall flat on my face and all I'm doing is walking. Something I do EVERY DAY. Leave it to a piece of gym equipment to make you feel inadequate while doing something as trivial as walking. I find my groove after about five minutes, but not without the constant fear of what will happen if I look away from my feet, or the foreboding end of the treadmill that could be millimeters from my feet; I really have no idea.
About 8 minutes in, I'm overcome with an urge to dance as 'Club Can't Handle Me', the genius Flo Rida and David Guetta collaboration from last year, plays on my ipod. Seriously, who doesn't want to break it down when this song comes on? Evidently, not only can the Club not handle me, but neither can the treadmill. Trying to bounce to a beat with your upper body while your feet are walking at a completely different tempo is insanely difficult and I lose my balance and have to brace myself on the supports. Mental note, don't dance on the treadmill.
After 25 minutes and about a gallon of sweat, my time on the treadmill has come to an end. Post-treadmill, I feel like I'm gliding across the floor, which feels kind of cool. Then, on to the weight room for leg day. Now, I've never been in labor before, but I'm fairly certain that working my inner thighs on the machine that forces your legs apart in the most provocative of ways comes pretty close to what it feels like to lie in a hospital bed awaiting the emergence of an infant from your nether region. Praise be to Jehovah this gym is practically a ghost town.
Several more machines and two sore legs later, I begin the arduous climb up the set of stairs that you have to use in order to exit the gym. Clever design, gym architect, but I would literally push you down these stairs if you were here right now. Not only do I have to conquer those stairs, but I have to ascend the two flights of stairs to get to my apartment. What did I learn today? Stairs suck.
Picking a treadmill doesn't sound hard, but when there's a row of about 15 of them it suddenly seems like a huge decision. Do I pick one close to other people and potentially seem creepy? Do I pick one as far away from others and seem snobbish? I have no idea. So I pick one in the middle and try not to feel badly about my decision.
As I start up the treadmill, I realize I do not know treadmill etiquette. I have no idea if I should start it and slowly increase my speed, or raise the speed before I step on, and I am for sure not touching that incline button. I'm terrified I'm going to fall flat on my face and all I'm doing is walking. Something I do EVERY DAY. Leave it to a piece of gym equipment to make you feel inadequate while doing something as trivial as walking. I find my groove after about five minutes, but not without the constant fear of what will happen if I look away from my feet, or the foreboding end of the treadmill that could be millimeters from my feet; I really have no idea.
About 8 minutes in, I'm overcome with an urge to dance as 'Club Can't Handle Me', the genius Flo Rida and David Guetta collaboration from last year, plays on my ipod. Seriously, who doesn't want to break it down when this song comes on? Evidently, not only can the Club not handle me, but neither can the treadmill. Trying to bounce to a beat with your upper body while your feet are walking at a completely different tempo is insanely difficult and I lose my balance and have to brace myself on the supports. Mental note, don't dance on the treadmill.
After 25 minutes and about a gallon of sweat, my time on the treadmill has come to an end. Post-treadmill, I feel like I'm gliding across the floor, which feels kind of cool. Then, on to the weight room for leg day. Now, I've never been in labor before, but I'm fairly certain that working my inner thighs on the machine that forces your legs apart in the most provocative of ways comes pretty close to what it feels like to lie in a hospital bed awaiting the emergence of an infant from your nether region. Praise be to Jehovah this gym is practically a ghost town.
Several more machines and two sore legs later, I begin the arduous climb up the set of stairs that you have to use in order to exit the gym. Clever design, gym architect, but I would literally push you down these stairs if you were here right now. Not only do I have to conquer those stairs, but I have to ascend the two flights of stairs to get to my apartment. What did I learn today? Stairs suck.
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