Halfway To Healthy Living

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Yup, you read that one correctly. It’s a halfway, half-hearted or even half-assed attempt at living healthy with yours truly. Not because I don’t care enough…hang on…I’m not entirely sure I do. Intensely care, that is. But since I drop the ball so often, I have to take a good, hard look at myself and admit it- I’m fairly MEH when it come to being healthy in a holistic manner.

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I have all the intentions in the world- walking my glutes off, with the right kind of arch-support shoes no less. Eating well…ok..I ALWAYS eat well; I just don’t always eat healthily.

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I don’t turn my up nose up at soups and salads nor do I mind smaller portions or boiled and blanched stuff as opposed to the fried, creamed and au gratined eats but at my soul am a meat’n’potatoes gal who does think of food in terms of lamb chops, BLTs and ribeyes.

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However, when I briefly do get on the healthy bandwagon I go at it fairly thoroughly. I watch the portions I eat, I eat healthier overall and I’m very diligent about keeping a track of things like using a food diary, avoiding fried stuff and go off alcohol as well. I monitor my water intake, sleep cycles, BPM and my Fitbit becomes a near constant…and then it comes to a grinding halt!

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I’m not entirely sure what to call it- an innate laziness or just a personality type who doesn’t want to work harder than is needed but I do appreciate the notion of fitness and good health beyond the theoretical part.

As a woman in her 40s and one who is still not done raising a child; it’s imperative to maintain good health because stressors keep increasing daily and good physical health greatly promotes mental health as well. And I don’t mean mental illness but increases the mental agility to take things in one’s stride, the strength of mind to decide on issues- big and small and most importantly, bounce back and look ahead.

So the faltering journey is on, yet again; dotted with toned milk and berry smoothies, grilled salmon and tons of green crunchy stuff. Music is being chosen carefully to promote more footfalls and one day soon, the yoga mat will get rolled out again and the Galactic Ameba willing, I’ll even do planks and crunches.

Of course the moment I start setting increased goals on the Fitbit my mind says

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Get Your Placebo Groove On!

“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 🙂

Ode To My Oddballs

My family is a bit kooky. And in that we’re perfectly normal I suppose. Since I don’t have a “fly-on-the-wall” access to my friends and neighbors’ homes, am assuming that their kookiness can rival and often outdo mine. Those who are painfully normal, I don’t know what to say…you are clearly the minority amongst us. I don’t know many of you so that clues you into what kind of people I belong with.

Take for example things I say to my kid quite often which others may jiggle their eyebrows at. A statement like, “Put on your pajamas and move your snake off the floor” is very probable and in fact was uttered while I was booting up the laptop.

My 8-year old coming to me and spouting the details of the Serval for durations which seem like eons to me also occur quite frequently. And suddenly phrases like “one’s life flashing before their eyes” don’t seem like such a phrase anymore…you can literally feel your hair and nails growing while the offspring drones on and on about small-big cats and suddenly segues into the Eyelash Viper ;yet another creature you had the pleasure of not knowing anything about till your flesh and blood decided you were pathetically uninformed about the creepy crawly and decided to make things right.

Recently, exactly 2 days ago, the Lord and Master (henceforth referred to as L&M) gave me a Fitbit smart watch. Am sure he was influenced by those unending ads on the telly which try to insidiously get inside your head and tell you to buy jewellery for the woman in your life. If not platinum, then diamonds and if nothing else works, go for the gold! Tis the season of bling after all!

So..Le Fitbit Watch-It monitors my heart rate (always galloping), let’s me know the optimum resting phase (so I don’t keep imitating a slug) and generally nudges me off the posterior so I can get moving in ways designed to help me. The ways I move that don’t help me much are my versions of tangos and weird jerky-dancing which I’m prone to break into as if in the throes of a partial seizure. But then again…Bollywood is in my veins and no dance is risqué enough, no dance is too weird and the more spontaneously you indulge in it, the truer you are to your people!

So this watch,which is waterproof, is helping me define new “health goals”. And yes, those would be sarcastic air quotes had I been speaking out loud. I am now suddenly very aware of not taking the stairs enough…the Fitbit reminds me that half a staircase has been climbed. How does one climb half a staircase anyhow?

I’m reminded that I haven’t had the mandatory 3000 mls of water I need to have on a daily basis along with the optimal amount of sleep I should be having. It’s all fine and dandy and maybe in time I’ll even grow into it, but as of 2 in the morning today when I felt a weird lump behind my back, went into the Princess and the Pea mode…I realized that I was sleeping with the watch on (for sleep monitoring purposes only) and the discomfort was making me thrash around, raising the “resting phase heart rate” to near-awake heart rates, steadily heading towards I’m going to be a solid beeyotch in a few hours if i don’t get some sleep” heart rate

And apropos to nothing; while I type this out the offspring is sitting next to me, still in his pajama tops-no bottoms and making hissing noises with the toy (miniature, thank the Heavens!) black cobra while he peers over my shoulders and takes dainty sips of his chocolate milk.

These are the oddities in my life. Thank goodness for that!

Now excuse me while I get my deep breathing done courtesy Fitbit…Breathe in….Breathe out.

OMMMMMMMMMMM

No Guts…No Glory

So the idea is that only if you have the guts will you feel the glory of getting rid of them and not being an official ‘rotunda’.

Sadly as women, the only time you get a pass from not being able to see your toes without bending is during pregnancy. Take that out of the mix and you have no reasons why your stomach precedes your entry wherever you go.

The idea is not to be buxom (let me tell you that’s a whole different can of worms!) or be model-thin. The former leads to few things fitting properly and the latter spells doom during strong winds and roller-coaster rides.

But one’s gut is the thing that’s possibly the hardest to get rid off. Even the clingiest kids get weaned off, literally and figuratively, before the gut melts into a plane or a plateau.

My metaphors are all over the place. Tends to happen post all that huffing and puffing in the gym.

Till the next installment of me and gut diaries…ciao!