10.20.17

Every time I hear eager reporters shout out “Who are you wearing?” to dolled-up celebrities attending the Oscars or some other gala event, it makes me snort. It’s as though everyone was following in the footsteps of Jame Gumb, from “Silence of the Lambs,” in his quest to make a girl suit. It sounds as though the interviewee was a cannibal tailor who was just about to name the donor of whatever skin they were wearing…

…but the fact remains that who you’re wearing does, indeed, turn out to be important, at least on the surface.

Patrons at Body Dynamics, in Falls Church, VA, almost never wear purpose-bought athletic wear. A t-shirt and sweats or shorts is the general rule; some of the ladies in my Balance Class on Thursdays at 10 are far more elegantly put together than that.

Even the staff dresses more for lunch at a nice restaurant than for working out. It’s the least intimidating gym on the planet.

But it does mean that when I show up to Balance Class in the extremely serious get-ups that my clever sister Twig found for me (Twig works out at a much more traditional establishment, where people wear form-fitting cloths that wick, or whatever else signifies garmentry purchased specifically for working out), I’m the only one in sight in something less than casual and comfortable. And if it’s my turn to provide music (Steve and I fight for the chance to DJ), I go right to the sound system and start setting that up. So new patrons have twice asked me if I’m the teacher.

Me!

I think of all that Barbara knows – of how she can cure an ache or correct a flaw by doing something seemingly unrelated to the muscle in question because Barbara knows how all the strings in the body are connected – and I am overwhelmed.

“No,” I smile; “she’ll be here in a minute.” But inside I’m shrieking, “Hell, no! Don’t look to me – I can’t do that!”

And then Barbara walks in, looking pretty and slim and confident, and I want to say to the new person, “See? THAT’S the wizard. She’s wearing a beautifully-tied scarf and pretty street shoes. I know she doesn’t LOOK like a wizard, but just wait.”

Who you wear is definitely not the point at Body Dynamics. Who you wear couldn’t matter less.

Here’s me apparently looking professorial. At 230 pounds (down 30 from 17 months ago), I’m feeling slim and very strong!

 

10.19.17

If I’m found comatose in a large drift of empty toaster strudel boxes, we’ll have the Sugar Reduction Diet to blame.

I’m on day 11 of a 7-14 day diet and I’m not sure how many more leafy greens I can consume; I fear I’m turning into an extremely carnivorous rabbit. I’ve got to figure out how to get off this thing because even though I know the four pounds (or is it six??) I’ve lost in the past 11 days is unsustainable (nobody keeps that much weight off when it’s lost so quickly, despite what supermarket tabloids tell you)…

…now that I’ve seen “230” on my scale, I really REALLY don’t want to go back up to 236.

Or 245.

Or higher.

The plump among us know how THAT goes.

So I’ve got to track Chip to his nutritionist lair, deep in the frosted glass heart of Body Dynamics, and find out how to re-introduce non-leafy green carbohydrates back into my diet without losing all the benefit I’ve found.

And YES, I think my body’s craving for sugar has very definitely lessened. My HABIT for sugar hasn’t, but I can try to control that; that feels like the will power part.

I’ve also driven past my turn four times in the last week, and have found it very challenging to add the score in Scrabble. I’m usually very spatially aware; I generally know where I am. And I can add up the word “gazebo” (oh, a honey of a point value) and add it to a running total without thinking much about it… but not this week. Is it possible sugary carbs make some mental processes run more smoothly?

Let’s see if I can figure this out… Before there were baked goods, maybe cave men didn’t have Scrabble… but they certainly had a known route to the saber tooth tiger’s den. You wouldn’t want to mistake that turn. So maybe it’s not the low sugar that has made me spatially unaware… maybe that’s just me. ENCROACHING SENILITY. And just when I’d gotten a grip on the sugar jones, too. Damn.

Still. Got to get the word from Chip, because that’s ENOUGH salad for now, thank you!

 

10.17.17

“It must be my fault.”

Maybe I never said it out loud about my weight, but I always thought it. I come from slim people, and the fact that I was “plump” or “pudgy” or what nice department stores in the 1960s and 70s horribly called “stylishly stout” had to be my fault – right?

I tried dieting. I tried exercise. I was miserable and every mouthful of food came with a looped tape of self-recrimination. Shouldn’t eat this (want it) shouldn’t eat this (want it) shouldn’t eat this (eating it).

So I thought it was me.

I WAS WRONG.

There was no way I could have gotten a handle on my weight or my health with the information I had. I was doomed to failure.

Now I work with Barbara at Body Dynamics in Falls Church, VA, and she doesn’t LET me do exercises I’m not ready for. She builds the muscles I’ll need before she asks me to use them. Not only do I not fail – but I don’t lose heart, either.

Barbara is slim and athletic by nature; she’ll spend this Sunday running the Marine Corps Marathon in DC because running is who she is. She’s never been fat… but somehow she knows how my body works, and she knows it better than I do. Her knowledge is changing my future.

(As are Grace and Gwynn and Chad and Chip.)

And what I realize now, after working with her and her team for over a year, is that THERE IS NO WAY I COULD HAVE DONE THIS ALONE.

Nobody can go solo – and it’s not our fault. We aren’t equipped to make the transformation. YOU HAVE TO HAVE HELP, and you can’t blame yourself.

I’m watching a pudgy, stylishly stout cocoon become a fantastic butterfly of strength and confidence and courage. I know this is a lifetime commitment, but as things get easier (and as Barbara equips me for more challenging exercises), I’m replacing self-blame with pride. This way is better!

Gorgeous rainbow butterfly digital art by Klara Acel, Fine Art America

10.16.17

I was flat on Gwynn’s massage table today, staring at ceiling tiles as her hands did their thing. (I had a flash that I knew what a Braille sign must feel like if a maestro comes along to read it.) Were we discussing just how far the obliques extend?

(It’s farther than you think; those pretty little indents over the ribs of very lean, very fit men are but the icing on the oblique cake.)

Were we discussing the effects of sugar on muscles and fascia? (Gwynn knows. Without being told, Gwynn knows. She could FEEL that I’m on the sugar reduction diet.)

Were we considering the range of motion in my hips? (If I lifted my knee to the aforementioned ceiling tiles and drew an imaginary circle, why is the 12:00 through 6:00 so smooth and curvy, but 6:00 to 9:00 feels like a straight line; same with 9:00 to 12:00?)

Well, yes, we were. All of that.

But we were also discussing how challenging it is to get enough plain old calories on the sugar reduction diet. Unless I mosey up to a massive slab of steak, it’s hard to eat so much salad and leafy greens that I even come close to the number of calories Chip wants me to be eating each day.

So Gwynn had offered me the idea of mashed cauliflower.

And that RUINED me for further discussions of obliques and hip circles and whatever other genius thing she was solving. All I could think of was buttery, creamy mounds of hot, savory, delicious mashed cauliflower. Golly – just like Mom used to make, if Mom was Gordon Ramsey.

So I went right from Body Dynamics to the grocery store. I looked up a simple recipe (the only kind I can cook). AND I MADE IT.

It’s delicious. It’s waiting for the kid (home from college) to cook up the aforementioned massive slab of steak. I’ll throw in a little sautéed onions and spinach and we shall dine like KINGS. Sugar-reducing kings.

Massage genius AND recipe tips. Body Dynamics is a full service opportunity!

“Mon petit chou-chou,” one of my very favorite endearments in French, either means “my little cream puff” or “my little cauliflower.” I am MUCH happier thinking of the cauliflower variety… and of course, that’s the only possible solution whilst adhering with great determination to the sugar reduction diet. Cream puffs begone!

 

10.14.17

She woke wreathed in guilt, she told me. She’d been dreaming that she’d baked warm, fragrant rolls and was waving them in front of me, asking repeatedly if I didn’t want some.

My dear friend Sarah reads my blog, and she’s an unusually sympathetic person; she was so distressed that she’d had such a guilt-inducing dream that she emailed me this morning to apologize. She knows my current, temporary mantra is “no grains, no dairy, no sweeteners,” and that fresh rolls are a complete derailment to my two-week plan. Hence her overwhelming guilt when she woke up.

Isn’t that funny – and extremely kind?

It made me think that perhaps I’ve been hitting the Sugar Reduction Diet gong a little too hard of late. Really – I’m doing very well. Just tonight, while scrambling eggs and heating up a large slab of ham, I sang a little paeon of praise to the substance that makes all life better:

We love you, butter,
Oh yes, we do
We love you, butter,
And we’ll be true.
When you’re not near to us,
We’re blue.
Oh, butter – we love you.

Now, butter on fresh, homemade rolls is good, but it’s also pretty sensational for scrambled eggs and even for the caramelizing of ham.

But here’s what’s even better: As the fall weather has finally cooled, I put on a pair of slacks and discovered that they were… well, slack. There’s a fold of cloth over my hip. My HIP. That’s the biggest part of my body (well, the one I can see, anyway – cough, cough, butt) and NEVER gets any smaller.

So day six is proceeding with me in good spirits; I’m almost halfway through the two weeks and not in need of the concern that might inspire guilt-inducing dreams. My friends, all is well!

This handsome artwork, lifted from Google Images, seems to be from “Medical News Today.” Nice for the topic of dreams, nuh?

 

10.13.17

I think I figured it out – how the sugar reduction diet works.

Mind you, this is MY concept of how it works. Chip the nutritionist explained it to me, but of course it slid off my brain like I was made of Teflon. Amazing new non-stick brain; get yours now!

I’m on day five. I’m not growling at strangers, but I did look with warm, almost lustful affection at a basket of bread today at lunch with me mum. And every time I’ve been just about to stand up for whatever, I find it requires a fierce summing of energy to undertake that simple action.

“Okay. Here I go. I’m standing. Any minute now. No, really – I’m just about to stand up. Here I go.” Huge sigh; application of a force of will, aaaand… I’m standing. Phew.

I’m lethargic. Tired. Apt to look for any short-cut, or the quickest path to the next chair.

And I think it’s my body going “give me a CARB. Give me something I can burn RIGHT NOW – where’s the fast juice you used to give me? It was so good!”

Of course, what I want is for my body to set aside the magician’s flash paper and throw a square of peat on the fire. Take FOREVER to burn; provide heat and energy for hours.

That’s protein, of course, and body fat. A better, higher-quality energy source, but not as easy to access and nowhere near as much fun as a carbohydrate, with that sudden burst of energy – so addictive – and the sharp fall-off of power, requiring the next nibble. Hey, that basket of bread looks pretty good, huh?

By grimly and constantly chanting “No grains, no dairy, no sweeteners,” I have made it to the doldrums. Five days in. I wonder if that’s typical?

And I wonder how long before my body gives up begging for the quick fix and surrenders to the other options it has. I’m rooting for you, metabolism! You can do it!

Oddly, I stole the image of a fainting lady off another Word Press blog. That author didn’t offer a credit, either. One day I suspect this disregard for copyright laws may prove ill-advised.

 

 

10.12.17

A low, feral growl erupted from my throat, its only intended victim a quite innocent-looking man caught in my headlines as he loped through the crosswalk.

“That’s right,” I muttered through clenched teeth, “take your time, there, honey. No one else in this world but you. Grrr.”

Suddenly I stopped. What was WRONG with me?

Then I realized the trigger. This poor, unaware schlub was sucking what looked like a milkshake through a straw. Or maybe one of those frappuccinos that has no place in a Starbucks but omigawd, I may need another one.

It wasn’t me loathing that guy; it was the sugar monkey on my back – now morphed into a dragon. Not a pomegranate free-radical-fighting dragon; I’m talking about an “I’m coming for you, Jamie Lannister, and your wagon train of Diana Rigg’s gold” dragon.

It’s day four of the sugar reduction diet. I thought it had been going well until I found myself wondering if I could just tag the guy in the crosswalk; not hard, just enough to knock him over – and then, leaning out of the car like a rodeo trick rider, score the milkshake from his outstretched and desperate hands and keep on going.

I shook myself mentally and restored order. What was I doing? Right – grocery store. What did I need? Dishwasher tablets. A nice bottle of olive oil. Some white balsamic vinegar, the kind that doesn’t make your salad look sooty. A pint of Ben and Jerry’s, no, not that. No ice cream.

It’s creeping into my subconscious. SUGAR, MAN. Just a little taste.

Teeth gritted, I headed to my dinner at Cava. Good ‘n healthy… but wait. ARE LENTILS GRAINS? They’re delicious, so they must be a grain. I want them (bad), so I guess I can’t have them.

In fact, I put together a salad so nasty (and dressed it with simple oil and vinegar) that there it sits, uneaten, mocking me. NOW what will I do for dinner? How will I get my 2-6 minimum ounces of protein NOW?

Great big sugar monkey fangs are sunk into the back of my neck – which is EXCELLENT. The cravings have begun; now I only need to go a few more days resisting ALL grains and ALL dairy and ALL sweeteners and… uh… then something good will happen. Can’t quite remember what at the moment, but in Chip we trust.

Probably smart to give me a bit of a wide berth for a few days.

Mm. Milkshake…

10.11.17

Here’s how one smallish monkey can level a corn field:

“Ooh, corn! I love corn! I’ll take that ear! Wait – there’s another one!! Fortunately, I have another hand. O Great Monkey God – another ear of corn! But my hands are full… no problem. I’ll drop whatever is in this hand and GET THAT CORN. Holy Simian Overlord – there’s another one!”

In this way, ONE monkey can destroy months of work.

I think I have a monkey mentality.

I can hold two things and ONLY two things. I was working with Grace today at Body Dynamics. By furling my brow in fierce concentration, I can (1) zip up my abdominal muscles (the zipper begins at the base of the neck, goes down the spine, around to the front via the Cape of Good Hope, and up to the belly) and also (2) envision my obliques as angel’s wings descending from my ribs and being flexed and rolled down and in. But I cannot add in (3) keeping my shoulders wide and down, and as for (4) use the glutes to raise the hips and (5) keep my knees straight from where they’re holding tough above my feet, poised on a large exercise ball – forget it. I have to drop one ear of corn to pick up the next one.

My theory is that sooner or later, at least one or more of those actions will have to become instinctive. In the meantime, I am lost if Grace isn’t standing next to me reminding me of what I’ve forgotten – which is everything.

Grace and Barbara have been (as usual) discussing how they’re going to unite to wake up and strengthen muscles I didn’t even know I had. Barbara explained to Grace that I have very little flexibility or strength in my thoracic spine (wait – is that the mid-back? The bra line part?). They’re conspiring to do for my back what Barbara has done for my belly (and which Grace is now refining.) (I THINK I can flex my transverse abdominus on demand. Maybe not, but I FEEL like that’s what I’m doing.)

But it’s going to take a while because – as noted – I apparently cannot multitask. I can dualtask. Like a monkey.

But like a monkey, I am DETERMINED to get that corn!

 

Oct. 10, 2017

Them young’uns don’t know how good they got it, she grumbled. I remember when I, too, stood up out of bed in the morning and felt FINE.

Now when I stand up, it’s time to take a little inventory.

How’s the back? Good? Excellent. Take a few steps – knees complaining? Ankles feel like they’re carved from a solid, inflexible block of wood? Do I hobble just for a few feet or for more than a few? Does going down the stairs involve both arms braced to either side to ensure the joints don’t have to reach TOO far all at once?

The warm-up phase of the day can be MOST informational!

Since I’ve been working out with Barbara, my most chronic problem (knee pain on the stairs) has vanished, and now I hobble for a step or two but it fades quickly each morning.

But THIS morning I inventoried a wicked pull in my back on the right side. Of course my first thought was – KIDNEY INFECTION. I’M DYING. You know; like you do.

But I went to see Barbara and she had me run through my “HEP.” (Home Exercise Program. I’ve done it for five evenings in a row! So if I was doing something wrong, I was REALLY doing something wrong.)

It was the bridging part that caused me to wince. “Youp! Not doing THAT again!”

Do you know bridging? It’s one of these ridiculously simple movements that’s taken me months to be able to do to Barbara’s satisfaction. Lie on your back, knees up and feet flat on the floor. Tilt your pelvis up. (This, by the way, was where I was failing. Took FOREVER to figure out how to do that and build the muscles that made it possible.) Now lift your hips up – don’t let your pelvis tip down again. Use your butt muscles to push up, not your thighs. Hold for a bit… then SLOWLY lower your hips. Rinse and repeat until Barbara is satisfied.

But not today. Even before I lifted, the pelvic tilt caused me to yip.

I looked to Barbara, trustingly.

“Your ribs are way up. Tuck them down. No, more. More. They’re still up.”

Finally Barbara had me pressing my spine into the mat like I was a hydraulic press, trying to crush vertebrae. MAN, I had that mat imprinted! My obliques, over my ribs, were glowing like coals on a chilly evening; I had the SWEET gym burn going on in my core.

Sure enough, my back hurt less. So we did quasi-bridges (no pelvic tilt) until my back loosened up enough to do them right; then we did the real ones for a while more. By the end, no wincing. No pain. Barbara is a genius.

Then I went to stretch class with Chad where I realized what I’d done to cause the back problem in the first place. I’ve been doing my HEP and then straddling the foam roller while I watched Rachel Maddow each evening, trying to stretch out my adductor magnus (which goes right up the inside of your thigh from knee to deep in the groin; it looks a little ugly-pornography to be rolling it out, but I’m determined to loosen the muscle in my left leg, which is taut enough for a tightrope act).

And as soon as we started that stretch in Chad’s class, my back got angry all over again.

Oh. Duh. I was doing it to myself; all that time almost on my belly with a foam roller hiking my leg and hip to the left was crushing the will to survive in the muscles on the right side of my back.

Maybe take a few days off the adductor magnus stretch. (Although I DO love that name – adductor magnus. Definitely a Danish soldier in a high-collar uniform; very upright and starchy and brass-buttony, with a tremendous blond mustache and a belligerent attitude. He could USE a little stretching… but not for a few days!)

There’s no larger point here. I’m just thinking about how all these things are connected.

Grumpy Grandpa Simpson picture provided (without permission; thank you, Google images) as an illustration of how old I am for a few seconds when first getting out of bed in the morning.

Oct. 9, 2017

Epiphanies never seem to happen like in Renaissance paintings or Cecil B. DeMille movies, where clouds part and shafts of light beam down upon the astonished recipient, bringing enlightenment along with a nice shot of vitamin D for all that thirsty skin to absorb.

No, my epiphanies involve me staring slack-jawed at Chip (Body Dynamics nutritionist) when he hits me with truth bombs. He had two for me today.

The one he said he was reluctant to share with most clients is “When you aim for the stars in your fitness/nutrition plan, the only one who believes that’s going to happen is you.”

This whapped me upside the head because I ALWAYS believe I can make sweeping, grand changes, turning away forevermore from every bad habit. And of course, I fail. Always have. That’s why Chip’s philosophy is: We start SMALL – we make incremental changes. Get a little success under your belt before you try to revise something else.

The second epiphany was when he said “It takes about two weeks to make a new habit; it takes about two days to break it again.”

Whaaaaat??! Say that again!

Yes, he said calmly. You can work for two weeks to create a good habit. You can blow it in two days. So don’t be surprised, don’t assume something that lasts for two weeks will last forever, and don’t beat yourself up when it happens to you. Keep trying. It’s worth it.

To complete his use of the number two, Chip says since I’ve been making my incremental changes for the last four to six months, I’m ready for a new project. He’s assigned me a two-week “sugar control diet” – a temporary diet (and I’m quoting now) “designed to help recalibrate the body’s sugar control mechanism. It will increase your energy and vitality if followed closely. It is not a healthy diet for all times, but it is beneficial for you during a trial period. Most people will lose cravings for unhealthy foods within 1 to 2 weeks.”

So, okay. If it takes two weeks to set a new habit, I’ll take the Sugar Control Diet as my two-week challenge (starting Wednesday – exactly two weeks before I see Chip again) and use my two epiphanies to inform my attempt.

Could it be possible that my craving for sweet foods can be dialed back?? I’m skeptical. Chip says yes. We’ll see!