Halloween...

People. Don't ever let me fall behind again. It's incredibly tough to try and recall enough specifics to make my posts remotely enjoyable for you. Also, follow the stinking thing. Click over to the left. You'll make me feel special.

So today is a CX Works day (Wednesday, for those of you trying to keep track), the class Justin has been harping on me to come to. The one he gave me a ton of flack for missing last week. When he made me cry, remember? He didn't actually make me cry. I hope you all know that. Anyways, I see him when I enter the gym and I can't resist poking fun so I go over and say, "Guess what I'm not going to, tonight? CX Works. I want to take it easy." He buys it, because I am such a phenomenal actor. Except I can't lie for more than 2 seconds about it before I reassure him that I'm actually here for the class.

I go downstairs and change and head back up to the studio. I feel like a pro because I know exactly what equipment to grab. I find my spot and prepare for the worst. Because it's Halloween, Justin and Sarah are dressed up. Sarah looks like a referee, and Justin is the epitome of an 80's workout video. And they throw some 80's music into the mix. It truly is a magical workout experience.

Justin is on the right, Richard Simmons is on the left

Let me take this opportunity to say something that is not at all groundbreaking but it is really encouraging to a fat person who has spent the last month and a half going to the gym: You really do get stronger as you continue. I can hold planks for longer, I'm willing to try something that looks incredibly difficult, I'm able to actually push through the pain (sometimes) and I feel awesome because of it. And holy crap, my confidence in my everyday life is through the roof, now.

It really is an insane change from the days when I used to be convinced that everyone was looking at me and judging me for being out of shape. Some people were even bold enough to say something or make jokes about it. Not anymore. I stand taller, feel better about myself; it's like therapy. And I love therapy. Yes, I realize that makes me sound like a basket case, but who isn't. 

At the end of class, Justin and Sarah give the standard 'No weight training but do cardio' routine. I feel like an idiot, but I double check that swimming falls into the category of cardio, because I am head to the pool after this. So not only do a half hour of intense CX Works, but then I go down to the pool and swim a half mile. A half mile has become my standard.

After a rather uneventful swim (I won't bore you by trying to elaborate on what it's like to think you may actually drown in 3 feet of water) I allow myself a quick steam. My friend Jessi, who shares my apprehension for steam rooms would be glad to know that this too, get's better and easier to stand. It's actually become enjoyable. So stick with the steam room, Jessi. Someday you can be successful at it, like me.

As I exit, I can't help but notice some old guy who is sitting in the hot tub in the nude. Sir the fact that the hot tub is in the gym locker room doesn't make what you're doing something other than skinny dipping. You're like a high school kid only it's lame cause you're by yourself. Put some trunks on.

Core...

Grant has convinced me to go to a class called Dynamic Core. If he had told me I should go to this class not 2 months ago, I would have smacked him and told him to stop mocking me because it's mean. Now, I don't even hesitate. It helps that the class is taught by the Fabulous Kiki. 

I get to the gym cutting it a little close, but with enough time to change and find a spot in the back of the room. It's a barefoot class (honestly, every class should be a barefoot class), but everyone else has mats and tubing and plates, too. Ah, so this is an equipment class and a barefoot class. I grab one of each, as does Grant.

We start with a series of exercises that involve squats to the side and the seemingly impossible squats on tiptoes. But I have to say, as much as I'd love to punch some people in the face and storm out of this class because my muscles hurt so bad, I'm actually having a good time. I'm moving to the music and finding joy in my inability to do some of the exercises. Truth be told, I'm probably hysterical to watch. Anything with a side plank is outrageously hard and I probably look like an idiot even attempting it, but you know, if my feeble attempts amuse you, so be it. At least I'm trying.

At one point, we do a cross lunge where we take our foot back and when we stand up, we kick that foot into the air to our outstretched hand. I'm worried that I may unintentionally kill someone with my insanely muscular legs. But, I reassure myself that if it's that person's time to go, it's their time to go.

We move to some floor exercises and the poor woman in front of me accidentally hits my foot with her hand. Now, you'd think that I would have cause to be upset, but I simply feel bad because she probably was really grossed out to reach back and come into contact with my nasty sweaty foot. She had no idea that was going to happen.

At the end of class, I am nearly dying. I am so sweaty and so warm but I feel so awesome. As I'm putting my stuff together in the locker room, one of the guys who was in the class is commenting on the fact that tonight was really hard. 'Really? What hope do I have if you've been coming for a while and you're still warn out?' Honestly, people. Think about what you say in the locker room or you may cause a fat person to quit the gym.

Vomit...

Today is a rough day. Stuff just goes wrong. I don't realize I hit someone and the next thing I know, he's honking and motioning for me to pull over and telling the police I was fleeing the scene of an accident. That would be false. I didn't think there was an accident for me to flee from. Nonetheless, I get a citation for fleeing the scene and now have to appear in court. Honestly, this is stupid. If I had known I hit him, I would have stopped. And it's basically over a transfer of paint. No body damage whatsoever. I hate everything. So here's a picture of me with cake.

Aren't my coworkers the best?

I hope that this rage will filter in to my workout, tonight. I have my second session with Justin. I get to the gym around quarter of seven and change and head to that god-forsaken elliptical. Honestly, I feel like setting things on fire. But all that burns is my thighs because I suck it up and use the machine. I do it for 12 and a half minutes, two and a half over my requirement because I'm such an overachiever. Then Justin comes and finds me and we start the evenings workout.

We walk to the training room and I do the squat side-shuffle (sounds like a dance move, huh?) as a warm up. Then he takes me to the end of these long ropes. I've seen this before... I'm going to die. Basically, I'm supposed to raise and lower the ends of the ropes rapidly, so as to create a wave that travels down the length of the ropes. Justin tells me I'm going to do a set of 20, 30, and finally 40. In between these sets, I'm supposed to do a minute of squats. Kill me now.

I've tried to develop an attitude of conquering what is in front of me and not thinking about the long term, but I am ready to simply crumble into a heap of laziness at the thought of what the next 5ish minutes will hold. But I plug through, only because I have Justin telling me I'm not allowed to stop. When I finish, I think to myself, 'Wow, great workout. Good thing I'm done.' No such luck. I now have to do more squats.

Squats are my least favorite thing ever. But I told him I wanted to work on my butt, so I guess I have to do them. And boy are they painful. Then we go down the hall to the cardio room, where they also have a couple of trapeze machines. At least that's what they make me think of. Who knows what they're actually called.

I then have to do some arm thing that I can only describe as a chest clap. Like a clap in front of me with my arms stretched out, pulling on the weights as I bring my hands together. Like flying from a vertical position, if you will. Right about here, I feel like I may puke. I know someone who says it's awesome if you vomit during a workout because it means you're really pushing yourself. I am not of that opinion, right now. The last thing I want to do is puke. I am really regretting my decision to stress-eat greasy food for lunch.

I finish the flapping and do some planking, which is also really hard. I thought I knew how to do these things, but I find that I've been engaging all the wrong muscle groups and now have to re-learn how to do it correctly. Which leads to crazy sweating and fatigued arms. I can't help but feel whiny as I'm explaining this to Justin, because I'm sure it comes across as my stalling, which he totally calls me out for. Yes, occasionally I stall, but sometimes I honestly want to make sure I'm feeling it in the right place.

After the workout, he's very encouraging and wants me to think about continuing with the personal training, which I am absolutely in favor of doing. It's really helpful to have someone so closely involved to hold me accountable. 

Patience...

So I freak out most of the day because I have my very first personal training session at the Beverly Athletic Club. Oops. I mean my anonymous gym. I am hella nervous (And no, I'm not ashamed that I used 'hella' in this post because I do what I want). The hours seem to drag as 7:00 approaches. I come home from work to a wonderful surprise. In an incredible act of kindness, I receive an early birthday present from a great friend. She has bought me my very own yoga mat. And she bought me an extra long one because I'm so tall. I can't wait to use it at Pilates on Saturday. I'm going to be the coolest person there. So let me say again, Thank You KP!

After that pleasant distraction, I clean some more because I'm incredibly antsy and I have nothing else to do. After what seems like days of waiting, I check the clock. It's only 5:45 and I have to wait another hour before I leave. Patience has never been a gift of mine, and today I am painfully aware of how not patient I am. I constantly pace through the house and fidget and squirm. Does that count as physical exertion?

I head over to the gym around 6:50 to meet my trainer at 7:00. I come in and none other than CJ is in the office. He cheerfully greets me and we have a brief conversation about my life. He is incredibly encouraging and kind and I start to feel guilty about judging him when I started at the gym. Plus, he makes reference to my blog so I'm pretty sure he's read it and I am thoroughly embarrassed. So CJ, if you're reading this, hopefully you've picked up on my sarcastic sense of humor and no that I tend to over-exaggerate. If not, I don't really know what to tell you.

I quickly change and come back upstairs to meet Justin, my trainer. I expected to have a trainer that was in good physical shape, but it's still my instant gut reaction to compare myself and feel inferior. We sit down and chat about what my goals are and I tell him the three main areas I want to work on are the Boobs, Belly, and Butt. The three B's, if you will. And you will, because I wrote them.

We talk for about half an hour and then he says we're going to go downstairs and he's going to kick my butt. Verbatim. Kill me now. We head to the cardio room first and where would he have me start but on the elliptical machine. I kind of hate you already, Justin. But at least he only makes me do five minutes and did I really think he wouldn't push me more than I would push myself? No. 

Then we go to the training room and he has me do push-ups, and side step with a band around my ankles. I can't do a real push-up to save my life, so he has me do standing push-ups, which are apparently also something I'm not incredibly good at. I alternate between those and the side steps, which are surprisingly difficult and my legs and butt really feel the burn after traveling maybe 10 yards.

After that, I get to take out my frustration by chucking a 20 pound exercise ball at the ground a total of 40 times. I'm convinced Justin miscounts at one point and I probably end up doing more like 43. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Then, I lay on my back on the floor and bridge it up to end the session. Surprisingly, I don't want to punch him in the face, but that may be because I barely have the strength to raise my arms above my waist. 

For those of you who don't know, this is 'bridge'. Minus those awful jeans.

Because we talked for the first half hour, he graciously offers to do another free half hour session next week, where he can kick my butt all over again. Why would I say no? This is what I signed up for. So I have another session to look forward to, next week. On my way home, I could cry because I have to strain to turn my steering wheel. Thanks a lot, Justin.

Inches...

I've been getting lazy with my juicing and have been eating more meals, which is depressing considering I only have a week left and should be able to suck it up and stick it out. So at work, I insist on planking for a full minute again. And I do 20 lunges for the 10 pieces of mail we get. And I do some glute squeezing just for the heck of it. Hey, every little bit helps, right?

So I get home from work and have made plans to do some cleaning in preparation for the arrival of my parents on Friday. It's some rough cleaning. There's a lot to be done. I work up a little bit of a sweat, but not enough to consider it a full workout. After cleaning, I do yoga for twenty minutes. As I continue to do it, I notice my ability has increased quite a bit. Poses that I used to struggle to hold, I don't have to worry about. Make no mistake, it's still hard, but I have more energy to commit to the difficult stuff instead of wasting it on the stuff that should be easy.

By the end, I'm good and sweaty; a feeling I've come to enjoy. I pack my gym bag (thanks Trusty Target Bag) and head to the gym for a dip in the pool. I arrive at the gym and change into my swimsuit. I decide I'm avoiding the weight room and doing lower impact things because I have a session with a personal trainer tomorrow and I'm sure to get my butt kicked.

I do a total of 30 lengths of the pool, which I don't think is even half a mile. I can't help but feel sad and pathetic, like the plants that are placed throughout the pool area. My arms burn and my legs burn and I think I may not have the strength to lift my head out of the water each and every time I submerge myself. At the conclusion of my swim, I once again thank the powers that be that I was the only person in the pool because the last thing I need is to feel like someone is watching me. 

Honestly, could a living thing look more depressed?

I do go into the steam room, again. This time I have the power to set the timer myself. I settle on 6 minutes, thinking I'll perform better when there is an ultimate and finite goal. I go inside and sit down and feel pretty bad-ass as the steam starts to full the room. 'This vapor form of water ain't got nothin' on me,' I think to myself in the most humble of internal narratives. I last a good while, too. I'm not sure at what point things head south, but I am suddenly aware of needing to constantly blink and I can't decide if I can't see because of the steam or if it's because I'm going to pass out. I decide to play it safe and leave. As I exit, I glance at the timer. I was 30 seconds away from my goal. So close.

I have noticed some physical change since this whole journey began. I have more space in the legs of my jeans. What a coworker once described as skinny jeans are fairly baggy in the leg. I have actual shoulder muscles and notice a difference between flexing and not flexing. I'm really glad I started this and I'm really excited to finish it. Plus, wouldn't it be kind of awesome if at the end of my journey I decided to become a personal trainer?

Burn...

I have to admit, I'm really enjoying this whole 'working out' thing. I am constantly and consistently forcing my coworkers to adhere to our Office Wellness program, and I get excited when I get to take 30 seconds to do planking. Today is no different, though Megan and I decide we'll be bold and plank for a full minute. Unfortunately, 45 seconds in to our planking, a customer stops in and ruins everything. So we do a 45 second plank and then a 30 second plank.

When I get home from work, Fit Andrew and I finish Resident Evil and then I start my yoga for the day. The yoga mat really does help. It gives me traction when I enter some of the more difficult poses. The planking at work is having an effect on my home yoga sessions because I can do the full 9 count plank without lowering to my knees like I used to have to do.

After the completion of my regular 20 minute workout, I decide to be a little adventurous and try the 12 minute 'Red Hot Core' workout. It's only an extra 12 minutes and I'm feeling super fit, so I tell myself this will be fine. Not the case. It's like Pilates day all over again. These exercises are ridiculous and make me realize that I do not have a whole lot of core strength.

One of the workouts I'm supposed to do is to lay on my back and alternate leg extensions. It is at this exact moment that I fully understand what it means to "work muscles I didn't even know I had". I feel the burn right under my sternum and it is quite the burn.

I'm even sweatier than usual after finishing the extra workout, but I still feel really awesome. I shower and after reflecting for 2 minutes on how much it sucks to shower and still be sweating when you're done, I clean for the rest of the night.

Forty...

Today I take part in my first ever group exercise class: Pilates. After showering and working up the nerve to drive to the gym, I stand outside the studio and shake because I am so nervous. People are going to see me trying to do the exact same thing as them and the class won't be able to happen because everyone will be laughing at my feeble attempts to raise my feet over my head.

My thoughts are intensely more cynical because I am watching the end of another group exercise class in which people are doing some crazy muscular workouts. I want to cry because I feel so bad for these people and I know I'm going to be in that same position in a matter of moments. I am slightly encouraged because my coworker who has experience in pilates is here and tells me that they tend to have the lights off during the class. Praise be to Jehovah.

The class before mine finally ends, almost 10 minutes of pure torture late. I walk in to the studio, grab a mat (Ew. It's used. Who knows if this has ever been cleaned) and hide in the back of the room. Most of the other people in the class have brought their own mats and I see that all of them are stretching before the class begins. A pre-workout workout, I guess. So I cave to the pressures of the rest of the students and stretch out my sore muscles.

The instructor fiddles with her iPod and shuts off the fans before she finally begins the class. She's playing the most god-awful elevator music versions of top 40 hits from probably 5 years ago. She gives a brief introduction and we start. 3 minutes later, I want to quit, and all I've been doing is sitting upright on a mat and pointing my toes. And this is supposed to be a 45 minute class. Ever since I joined this gym, I have had more near death experiences than I care to think about, and today, it looks like, will be no different.

I kind of always assumed Pilates was more of a workout for women, and the composition of the class would suggest the same. I am the only male in the room, and a majority of the women, save for 3, are over the age of forty. And apparently all of them are in much better shape than I am. This is one of the HARDEST workouts I've ever had to do. So much of it focuses on core strength. The instructor asks us to lay on our backs, swing our feet up over our heads, and bring our legs down in wide circles. No. No lady instructor, I will not be doing that. I will try, but I know I will fail.

Stop that. Stop it right now.

This woman is doing things that, in my opinion, defy both the laws of physics and of biology. I had no idea a body could do things like that, and I watched women's gymnastics during the Olympics. It's incredibly impressive, but I'm only halfway through and my muscles start to ache. I just keep pushing, taking breaks when I need them.

We end the class in 'first position,' and I can only assume that means the Pilates version of ballet first position, but I really have no idea. I dry off with my towel and contemplate offering to mop the floor where I was stationed because I'm sure it's disgusting over there. I put my mat away and the instructor tells me 'Good job.' 'Thanks,' I mutter in reply. I decide she's very impressed that I kept going, even though she was probably very aware that I was having a hard time and she wanted to encourage me.

I go home and take my second shower of the day before noon, and spend the rest of the day attempting to recover. If I'm feeling up to it, I'll go again next Saturday.

Crumbs...

So today I go on a moving job. My first ever moving job. This may sound odd because I work at a moving company, but I normally do office work, scheduling and in home estimates. Not today. Today, I go to a woman's house and help lift patio furniture and move it from her decks into her garage. Now, I had no idea patio furniture could be heavy and it mostly wasn't, but she has two umbrella stands that are really tough to move. It makes sense when I consider that these stands are the only things preventing the umbrellas from blowing into the ocean. Side note: this woman has a gorgeous view of the ocean. Even on a day that is as crappy as this one. Aside from that, everything goes fine. 

By the end of the move, I am soaking wet. The problem is, it rains for most of the day and I can't tell if I'm just covered in rain or covered in sweat. The wetness under my breasts lets me know that it is, in fact, mostly from sweating. But I get a tip from the lady so that makes it all worth it. That, and I consider this exercise because of how much I perspired. Maybe I should volunteer for moving jobs more often.

My evening workout is pushed up because I have friends coming over for a scary movie marathon, so I do yoga as soon as I get home from work. This is one of my favorite ways to workout not only because I can do it in the comfort and privacy of my own living room, but because it's the workout where I can see the most apparent change. I've become much more flexible and my endurance is getting better every day.

But it's also the workout where I sweat the most and where I'm the most aware of how sweaty I am. I constantly have to lay on my back and wet back against dry carpet is not a good feeling. Plus I always end the workout with crumbs on my back because, despite having a perfectly wonderful kitchen table, my roommates and I all seem to prefer eating on the couch in front of the TV. 

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Determination...

So I get home from work and after watching the series premiere of Modern Family and throwing my workout clothes into the washing machine, I decide to do yoga. Now, in the last few weeks of doing yoga, I've never been able to complete the workout without having to rest at some point during most of the exercises. Today, however, I complete the whole video without giving up on a motion once. Bam. I gotta say, I feel pretty awesome when I'm finished. But it instantly goes away because I realize I have left a lovely sweat spot on the carpet and I instantly become discouraged knowing that I'll have to clean that up, later.

But I won't be doing that right now because I am a sweaty mess and I need to rest. I toss my washed clothes into the dryer and realize, with much dismay, that I have sent my hot pink earbuds through the wash. But I test them out and they appear to still be working. Now I have to waste time while my clothes dry. I decide to browse the interweb for for a while and read up on some great butt exercises that I can do at home without the use of machines. I then go to get my workout clothes out of the dryer. Unfortunately my normal workout shirt has stuck itself to the wall of the washing machine and has not made it into the dryer. So basically, I sat around for nothing.

I grab a different shirt, throw on my shorts and head to the gym, because a wet shirt isn't going to stop me, today. I feel too awesome. I get on the bike when I get to the gym because I'm feeling adventurous. 25 minutes and a full bike dance routine to Want U Back by Cher Lloyd later, I head to the weight room for a day of legs. I use the calf machine, because I now know how. I'd love to give someone a tutorial if they'd like to come to the gym with me, sometime.

Then, I go to the glute machine, which is especially difficult, today. Maybe because I literally have no clue what my starting weight should be when I use a machine. They should have guidelines printed on the machine. Like, is it awesome that I can do 115 pounds on the triceps machine or is that below average. And what should I start with when I do bench presses to ensure I don't die when I try to lift it? When I'm done on the glute machine, some old guy comes up and asks what the machine is for. It's totes awkward to talk to an old guy about a machine that works your butt. 

I do a few more exercises and when I get up to grab a cloth to wipe down the machine, old guy swoops in and starts to use it. Enjoy that, old guy. You're sitting in my butt sweat.

In case you were worried that I was too attractive while at the gym...

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Swim...

So I get to the gym today and decide to start in the weight room. There is a woman in the weight room, today. The first woman I've ever seen in the weight room, minus that gentleman's eye candy from last week. This one is actually on machines. In fact, on the calf raise machine, which I could not, for the life of me, figure out. Add that to the list of things that have made me feel stupid since I joined the gym.

I'm intimidated away from working on legs, and decide to do more curls with my dinky 15 pound weights. The sad thing is I feel like I'm working really hard to do 3 sets of 10 reps with these things and this guy standing three feet away is doing curls with 40 pound weights and I swear he's been going steady for about 2 minutes. I'm tempted to throw a five pound weight at him, but I resist because I don't think I'd be able to get it that far after my 30 total reps. 

I also do some tricep workouts and work my back. Then, I decide to do some calves, but I'm not using a machine to do it. I just stand and raise up on to my tiptoes and back down again. Like a very rudimentary ballet. Except I guarantee you I do not look graceful as I do this. I almost fall on my face a minimum of 8 times.

Once I'm done with that, I head back to the locker room because tonight is the night I venture into the pool. The gym keeps touting their saltwater pool and I kind of feel obligated to try it out. Now, as a fat person who is male, I avoid taking my shirt off at all costs. I wore t-shirts in the pool as a kid and claimed it was because I didn't want to get sunburned. False. I didn't want to be arrested for indecent exposure.

Thankfully, every time I go to the gym at night, the pool is empty. Doubly good, because I slip and fall as I go down the steps into the pool and nearly drown. Talk about embarrassing. I decide to start by swimming simple freestyle laps. After the first two, my speed decreases tremendously. Holy crap. I had no idea I was this out of shape. I imagine I must look pretty comical; as uncoordinated as ever. I'm glad there's no life guard on duty because it would be embarrassing a) to drown in a pool that is 4 1/2 feet deep, at most, and b) to explain that I am in fact not drowning, I'm just swimming. 

I then do some laps with the pool noodles, using just my legs. It's the most intense leg workout I've experienced and I am as exhausted as ever when I finish. Then I swim on my back using just my arms for a couple laps, to really work them. When I'm done, I'm exhausted. I take a quick shower and head home, happy to not have to exert anymore energy.