lose 20 lbs

Photo by fionaandneil

I had a date. Yep and yes, my partner knew all about it. He even drove me to it.

I had a date with a personal trainer. Why not. I am in the business of helping people lose weight and I have never been to a trainer myself. Seems like the thing to do. And do I did.

My trainer and I first sat down to talk about my goals (to continue to lose my now 15 pounds, maintain the weight I want to be, and be overall more in shape). Then he weighed me and did a bit of math. Basically, what he discovered is that I have a good metabolism and am a healthy eater (I wish my partner would stop telling people that I am more of a junk food alcoholic than he is – I love junk food, but I try to keep it out of the house). My body fat is high, though, somewhere around 37 percent. I need to get this number down at least ten points to be in a healthy range.

Then we set up a fitness plan that would fit my schedule. Two days a week (or three) I am to do circuit training and two or three times a week I am to work on cardio. He said this could include my power walks, biking (I have not been on a bike in 20 years), or the use of the cardio machines at the gym.

We then walked through my routine (15 reps at each station – 16 of them), tweaked weights and all that good stuff. I felt pretty darn good upon leaving.

Then it came time to actually do the routine. My partner, who has a similar routine, helped me along and was even a cheerleader. But OMG! I thought I was going to die. My shoulder hurt. My hip hurt. I was sick to my stomach and I could have slept the rest of the day.

Going back the next day to just do cardio work was a bit better, but I was still pretty exhausted when I was finally done (stationary bike, 30 minutes, 10 miles and at a low level). Pathetic, eh?

We took Saturday off and went back today. I now understand why people come to me for motivation for exercise. During the time off, I admit, I did self-hypnosis to help me continue.

Today I tested it out. I did not fight going to the gym and while there, I paid more attention to what my body was actually experiencing. Was it muscle fatigue or was it just my silly-self whining about doing some hard work (you guessed it, it was mostly the latter)? I ended up doing the whole circuit, pushing myself more than the first day, but I felt a while lot better afterwards. I was still tired, but not done for the day. And yes, I am a little sore, but not feeling particularly injured.

Plus, the scale read 142.5 this morning. That is the lowest yet.

(Tres) “descamarado”

147.5. I have been that weight all week. No change. Since losing two and half pounds the week before it was a little discouraging, but the truth is, I have done very little to change the weight. This past week was the first real week I had been able to get back into a somewhat normal routine – in other words, I was home for the whole time as opposed to popping off here or there. I think the first two and a half pounds were due to not eating on the run.

On the positive side, I sort of feel like I have a base line in which to work. I did do the self-hypnosis and that has helped. Now it is time to really get to work.

Photo by hlkljgk

Out of the warm oven came the delicacy that I have never forgotten – a delicacy that I became aware of at age five and took me from being a rather thin, stringy child, to a pudgy one. Sitting at the kitchen table with my best friend, her mother placed two flowered cake plates in front of us. Onto each of these she slid a toast point, but not just any toast point, a toast point that included melted cheese. Though it is hard for me to get past the memory, the cheese was actually a processed cheese slice that had been wrapped in plastic moments before it was laid to rest on a slice of bread and entered the stove.

It had been a terrible day. My friend had slammed my fingers in the door. She had made me feel clumsy because, as she said at the time, my fingers should not have been lounging on the door jam. My tears of pain had become tears of frustration. All the other children who lived on our street and were present had laughed.

So, her kindly mother had come to the rescue and in trying to sooth me had fed me those amazing toast points and processed cheese. I could not get enough of them, though they did begin to fill the void. Tasty bites encompassed my senses and I forgot the humiliation

During those early years, I grew apart from my best friend. I was too non-intellectual for her and her school crowd. I would come home feeling very stupid for this or that, and my Nan would feed me (never toast points and processed cheese – I never had them again, though there are times thirty years later that I still crave them). We would work through my homework with a bowl of comfort food.

This toast point memory came to me recently during a self-hypnosis session. I was struggling with a desire to eat cheese curls while I worked on a scholarly paper. Whenever I work on scholarly papers, I tend to want to eat cheese products (gorge on them is the reality). In trying to stop myself, I decided to investigate the craving using self-hypnosis and this long forgotten memory came to the surface.

Since doing this, it seems the void is gone. No longer do I feel the urge to stuff myself to fulfill what my self-esteem had lost.

There was a time when I was just about vegan. There was a time when I was catwalk thin. There was a time when my bones did not feel the weight of my choices. There was a time when Yoga practice was a daily deal.

So here I am, clothes too tight, tired most of the time, and 20 pounds heavier than I would care to admit. I can only offer excuses for this: a month of travel, extreme stress, and yielding to unhealthy habits. All not really worth the mention.

I have decided to take myself in hand and do something. To start of with, I bought a new scale, nothing fancy, just measures my weight and nothing else. I have also updated my account at Live Strong where I am going to start charting my diet, fitness and water consumption.

Today, I have made the commitment to lose 20 pounds.