“This is the follow-up post to this one. Both were written a while ago…am currently meandering down nostalgia lane at a less than sedate pace.”
I tried out a detox routine for a day. I did it all day yesterday and let go of my precious java (the drinkable kinds not the geeky one) as per the norms of the routine. And before I get to my observations on this I want to get on my soapbox for a few sentences and just say that our bodies are precious. We literally aren’t going to get another one. Might as well take care of the one you have or at least love the taste of the grub you put into it if you aren’t going to maintain it in a manner that gets you the most mileage. Because it’s no fun to be an adult and feel like you’re compromising on things on a regular basis especially highly personal things like food. It’s just NO FUN AT ALL!
Back off the soapbox and down to reality- I can’t lose weight. I can’t diet effectively. I need a whole new infrastructure and logistics around me to exercise in a manner that I want before my body becomes fit again. I have two adorable lumps at home- husband and child. They are lazy, complacent and very loving so me trying to be a hardass falls flat more often than not. The husband can’t be bothered to find stuff-essential stuff, on a regular basis and usually forgets things if I’m not around to marshal it all into place where he can trip over it and therefore remember to take it with him on his way to work.
The child needs work because he’s a child and doesn’t know a thing about the world. Loosening the reins at this juncture means he grows up to become his father, the less than attractive aspect of him i.e., and more work for me when I’m older and menopausal. Sounds like a recipe for murder at first glance.
Anyhow, various factors get in the way of my getting into the gym, working out, walking, dancing- whatever! On a regular basis. And while none of those factors are critical, I still haven’t been able to offload them courtesy the lumps I mentioned. So the looking better, feeling better has been taking a hit consistently and my perseverance has eroded over the years. Easier to be an overweight housewife in soft track pants watching tv while I fold laundry or vacuum the couches. Not a very sad or dreary existence. It needs to be done and I’m the one who has to do it. Period.
I thought trying out a detox might “fix” the problem, as it were. Give me a little edge or boost before I start the actual process of toning, slimming, getting fitter. But I realize that I don’t feel all that different. More than anything else, the thought of actually doing something and getting off my cellulitey butt had me feeling better. Honestly, my body doesn’t feel so much lighter today than it did before. Whatever minute differences there are, are too slight for me to keep investing this kind of money (not cheap this treatment) on a regular basis.
But the fact that I tried something out has done more to release endorphins for me than a lot of stuff of late and that’s where the placebo factor comes in. I feel better without having done much to aid an existing condition of sorts. I took something akin to therapy and just the thought of it made me “feel better”.
We all need some placebos in our lives at times I guess. One less crap to flush out of our systems at the end of the day.
And what about my chubbiness aka lard? Well I’ve got a nice new playlist that makes me want to dance so I’ll get my jogging shoes on, pop the headphones in, ignore my kid and just walk. Not fast. Not slow but just walk.
You have to play with the cards you’re dealt. Mine is telling me to take a walk. And dump some dressing (low-fat) onto veggies next time rather than blitz them into a homogeneous mess of a juice that I tell myself is “helping me”. A honey-mustard piece of lettuce never hurt anyone 🙂
The saying goes like this, “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the groundand to dust you will return.
But for an overweight, brand new gym-goer it kinda goes like this-” The sweat of your brow shall drip in your eyes, burning them while you blindly stumble around thinking, “Why hast Thou forsaken me Oh Lord?!!”
But fear not…for there light at the end of the tunnel! It is damnation (in the form of box-squats, sit-ups, frog-stretches) but with relief and because God rested on the seventh day; so shall you.
P.S: This is an exercise in creative writing and being tongue-in-cheeky. No religions were harmed in the writing of this blog post so in the name of the exercise mat, the barbells and the treadmill do send slimnesss and lard-free bodies unto us.
This is a gym diary. Expect more blood, sweat (swear words) and tears than in the Spartacus series; barring the nudity *winks*
And that is the only nod to the adult humor I’ll be indulging in before I embark on my journey into discovering who is hiding under all the lard lovingly piled on in the last 7-odd years.
How do I know it’s been that exact amount of time? Well despite not being svelte back in the early 2000s either, my life underwent a paradigm shift in 2009. Mommyhood..cue the trumpets and drum roll.
My sleep cycles, metabolism and adrenaline levels went haywire and then they seemed to have plateaud at a point which is neither good or desirable for an almost-37 year old with an active husband and grade schooler.
A therapist I had interned with many aeons ago said I had all the makings of a myopic-personality. It was fed through my inherited myopic vision and it kept me from being able to envision the future realistically with all the curves in the roads.
I thought it was quite a big load of bull and carefully earmarked it as the kind of ambivalent and vacuous utterings I would have to make if I ever became a registered psychotherapist.
At 36+ am neither-a psycho or a therapist. But what I am is a person who hasn’t been careful enough with her health although I have enough sense to know that bacon, grits and sirloin burgers well done with home fries need quite a bit of legwork to not settle around the hips and torso. And am vertically-challenged into the bargain as well.
Definitely not a good half decade of eating and physical health decisions.
But realizations only takes you so far if you lounge around munching on low-fat chips or celery with dip and still aren’t doing anything to push yourself out of inertia.
So for my 37th year am attempting to give myself the gift of good and sustainable health.
I will attempt for more self-control and endurance and not try so hard to resemble a pear. Or a pineapple. Or a tomato.
Damn! Am hungry again!!
The biggest irk about “healthy living” is when it’s forced down your throat by someone who thinks they (meaning the rest of the family) ought to change their eating habits.
Recently Red went on a road trip with a childhood friend who has embraced healthier options in his life vis-a-vis his eating habits. This individual didn’t wake up one day and find a roll of fat around his waist and decided to go the Atkins way but thoroughly researched everything there is to find out there online and made changes right from the cooking oil to the stuff that finally winds up in his stomach.
Red was impressed. I wasn’t. It’s very easy for someone who doesn’t manage the kitchen to waltz in one day and ask for top-bottom changes in what we eat, what it’s made in and how it’s going to be made; and not lift a finger in the process. And the person asking for the said changes is slightly finicky about his grub to begin with.
But housewives being the modern-day Atlas, the brunt of doing the research fell on me, as was wont. Keeping all preconceived notions aside of what passes for good cooking traditionally I hit the Internet and started looking for credible sources (meaning I looked beyond Wikipedia) and I was surprised to find that Red and consequently his friend weren’t wrong. Canola oil, rice bran oil and many of the “lighter oils” I had known about earlier and thought were good for the heart and the overall health of a person, were actually not all that great. I found this and this to be helpful in understanding the matter at hand.
Still, I find that new findings crop up every now and then and there are still things which may end up being matters of long-term debates viz microwave cooking- impending health hazards vs. unsubstantiated myths. And now suddenly making these kind of changes is a bit tough. And we do it because no one wants arteries clogging up at 35. But more still because if there’s the slightest possibility of any of the findings being accurate then we owe it to ourselves to read a significant amount of literature backing pros and cons of the issue and then taking a call.
But in the meanwhile it gets me a bit testy to have Red looking over my shoulder of signs of improvement of “healthiness” in our eating patterns.
Very tough to be a meat and potatoes kind of person AND a midnight snacker in this day and age I must say,
Since I blog about most things, why sweep this particular issue under the carpet? Why indeed! So here goes-
I’ve been trying to find a space for myself (metaphorically) where I can relax and also burn some calories and maybe rid myself of the lard that’s been lovingly accumulated over the years. But more than becoming less-lardy I really want to destress.
One of the advantages of living in a gated community is that there are always vendors who are open to coming almost up to our doorstep and market their services. One such angel of mercy comes in from Artistic Yoga and I found that it spoke to me. Not eloquently or at length but it spoke to me. There’s something about being able to see the break of dawn right in front of you while you grunt and sweat and try to cajole unused muscles (aka my whole body) to bend and stretch and all the while hearing- DON’T FORGET TO BREATH!!
The cool morning air was in my face, the sweat was dripping into little plinks on the floor and I was in the zone. Twilight methinks but I was in the zone. I forgot home and hearth and tried to just go with the bends and turns that will one day help me turn into a human pretzel. Or not.
But it’s a start and one I hope I can keep to. The instructor was kind…he sees more out of shape housewives than he lets on but am sure in a day or two he’ll turn into a drill sergeant too and we’ll be doing the yoga version of Yo Grunt and Sir! Yes! Sir while I try to channel in the energies of the cosmos and clear my head 5 days a week. The instructor did ask me about my goals and any illnesses, problems that I had, any particular strengths I thought I had et al. Now if there was an award for exercising the tongue muscles I’d win that one hands down pat!
Watch this space for more posts on aches, pains and discovery of new muscles.
I recently decided to go the Groupon way and the first (and only purchase) I made was for salon services.
It was very convenient to purchase and I finally got the opportunity to avail it today. Truth be told it HAD to be today since it was going to expire tomorrow but yeah..that’s how we roll in this family. We are ‘last-minuters’ but that’s another blog post for another day.
Anyhow, this place I landed in (which shall be unnamed) is a branch of a well-known national chain which advertises regularly in the major national dailies about their weight-loss, wellness and overall cosmetology services. The services I had opted for were for a facial and hair wash/cut/blow dry.
Am guessing not-so-pleasantly-plump people like myself are looked upon with a lot of eagerness since there’s more money to be made off us. The manager of the center took me into her room while the staff was preparing for the facial and laid a lot of jazz on me starting right from getting me to lose my hard-won lard to skin polishing, peeling, microdermabrasion, and livening up my hair!
I was beginning to feel like Frankenstein’s monster who needed new parts tacked on. Of course she counted against the fact that my excess lard just causes “well-meaning” advice about my appearance to bounce off entirely. Especially well meaning advise that comes with a price tag that’s as much as the EMIs on the new house.
This lady tried everything! I mean everything. She said look good for you husband, increase your confidence, boost your self-esteem and become a stronger woman. I guess seeing me sans make-up and in track pants made her think I was a dumpy housewife who needed “encouragement”.
But long story short I finally wrangled my way out of her lair and got the stuff done that I’d gone for and was pretty happy with the transformation of the hair at least-
But that lady was like a snake oil salesman with the extra luggage she was carrying around herself and trying to make me feel like I was a behemoth!
I’ll try it the old fashioned way…huffing and puffing and climbing stairs and sweating unfashionably till I lose the lard.
If it doesn’t work I know Mrs.Frankenstein’s always there to take me apart 🙂
We live on the 7th floor and there are perfectly good stairs leading to wherever you want to go in the building. *shudders* at the thought of trekking down all the way when there are perfectly good elevators in place too!
But with gravity having more influence on the body day by day I decided to grin and bear it and be a (wo)man about it! I wasn’t going to chicken out…even after I counted the last stair at 110.
Now for some people that many stairs are no biggie. And for people used to running after hyperactive kids that kind of stamina required might be in abundance. Not me. I’ve had strength to lift things and use heft but unless I really work at it doing anything at a stretch really tires me out. Probably why am rather squishy all over rather than just have that kind of solid fat that some people seem to possess.
But endurance and a healthy BMI notwithstanding I wanted to do things differently in this new place. And as soon as I made that resolution it came back and kicked me in the teeth.
Apart from the seemingly unending boxes, laundry and whatnot, the only thing getting exercise these days are my arms from pushing MLM on the swings. Had I kept up that pace I’d ended up looking like Popeye very soon!
So I’ve decided that since 30 is the new 20 and all that jazz..I need to tap into my mojo yet again and get going. It’s like birthing a baby. No…scratch that! NOTHING is like birthing a baby. That is, was and always will be EXCRUCIATING! Epidural my left butt cheek! But that’s another post for another day.
I did the whole going up and coming down bit and did a few rounds of the entire compound as well and while it didn’t put my heart in overdrive my leg muscles were switching like they’d been given a wee bit of the Taser love.
But it’s a start and I plan to be not panting and wheezing like a broken down jalopy by the end of the month.
Of course if I conk off before that one day it’ll definitely say ‘Death By Stairs’ as my epitaph!
All morbidity aside this makes me look forward to tomorrow’s walk-