An active bank holiday this. But first, the news from the scales... 6 days as follows: 177, 177, 176, 176, 175, 175. Yes, really. It would be nice if this series could continue... And exercise: two bike rides (33 miles and 34 miles, rides 4 and 2 from the OS book for Sussex etc). One fitness test: 14.33 for 1.5 miles, 28 press-ups, 30 sit-ups and a faintly pathetic number of floor pull-ups (with a retest every month from now) and a bootcamp circuit (just getting the hang of medicineball press-ups, but only just: my arms gave out on them tonight, as did S's). And a lovely little (4-6 miles?) walk in the country. Hwsgo, despite my worries about his fitness for the bike rides, surprised me enormously by not only being fit but also dashing away from me most of the way round. Although we were both terrible hill-crawlers on the first ride, by the second ride we were improving, and Hwsgo at least seems to have his grimp sorted now. I've now threatened to go to spinning classes (static bikes) until I can catch him on a hill again. Erm, I mean at all.
Foodwise, there has been a Simon, but no picture (too tired to face either the stairs or the hunt for the digital camera). Spinach Dumplings: a mix of blanched spinach and cheese, pepped up with nutmeg and pepper then cooled, formed into balls and boiled in a pan. Hwsgo loved them, but I don't think I'd actively try to cook them again, especially if the choice was between them and Parmesan Fritters. Worth noting though is the optimal ball size: inch-wide balls cooked a little too fast leaving quite dry balls; 2.5 inches was too big, with not-quite-cooked middles; 1.5 inch balls were just right, crisp without being dry and cooked through with a good crunchy shell. Oh, and coating the balls in lots and lots of flour helped a lot too.
A cheesecake also happened. And has been left behind by Hwsgo in an attempt to even up our weight loss distribution. I'd say that I could resist, but I can't. Never have been able to resist a good home-cooked carrot cake, and am not about to start resisting now. The good side is that the cake won't last much longer. The bad side is that I will have single-forkedly eaten it.
Onwards...
Monday 25 August 2008
Tuesday 19 August 2008
Dismay
This is so unfair. I haven't eaten chips, pies, chocolate or ice-cream, I've been to the gym, I've eaten sensibly (and believe me, plain flavoured healthy crisps are so sensible they're calorifically in dark brown lace-ups), and yet I've still put on weight. 176.8 yesterday, 177.4 today. Ah well, I'm sure it's one of those glitch things.
The good news balancing this unexpected attack of the sugar-plum elephants is that I fitted into some more of my old clothes. I have a pile in the bottom of my wardrobe, of things that I like but can't fit into. Or rather, that I liked: several items have been consigned to the Oxfam pile as soon as I can see how wrong they look. But my work shirts are good though: I bought these exactly a year ago in Edinburgh, was a bit too big for them when I got them home (they're an old-fashioned size 14, i.e. somewhat smaller than the 14s of today), but today they worked, give or take a little bust button strain. So something must be going right.
And meanwhile, today's the day when the serious exercise starts: S and I have our first session with Nick the personal trainer tonight. I may have problems walking tomorrow...
The good news balancing this unexpected attack of the sugar-plum elephants is that I fitted into some more of my old clothes. I have a pile in the bottom of my wardrobe, of things that I like but can't fit into. Or rather, that I liked: several items have been consigned to the Oxfam pile as soon as I can see how wrong they look. But my work shirts are good though: I bought these exactly a year ago in Edinburgh, was a bit too big for them when I got them home (they're an old-fashioned size 14, i.e. somewhat smaller than the 14s of today), but today they worked, give or take a little bust button strain. So something must be going right.
And meanwhile, today's the day when the serious exercise starts: S and I have our first session with Nick the personal trainer tonight. I may have problems walking tomorrow...
Wednesday 13 August 2008
Training dip
S and I are both in quite an interesting training dip. Over a week of going to gym and getting on with it, only getting tired during the exercise itself, and we finally got round to being tired before the exercise started. We'd both pulled long days at work yesterday, but it seemed a bit more than that (at least to me). Many years ago I worked with someone who put themselves through Canadian forces training whenever they needed to get fit quickly. Apparently they started out okay, felt like hell for the first fortnight then were okay. And in a smaller way, I think this may be happening to us (the feeling like hell bit before we're okay). It's almost a fortnight since we started, and this is usually the point at which I start to give up on the new routine. I'd always put this down to some sort of mental resistance: the point beyond which it became difficult to sustain enthusiasm, but maybe it has a simpler root. Right now we're both a bit tired, so we did a simple set, and I'm currently vegging out on the sofa, but tomorrow it starts again. Big time: we're booked into a boot camp session with an ex-marine PTI. I think I may write the number of a local taxi firm on my arm before we go, just in case we need help getting home.
Oh, and the food slipped a bit. A late night, being a bit tired: I've seen a little too much of the "Snack Time" machine in the last 24 hours. And I went to the supermarket to stock up on veg and found myself almost desperate for chocolate, sugar and white bread. But I resisted and headed the urge off with sweetcorn cobs and multipacks of low-fat crisps. So. Back on the wagon and another evening without carbohydrates or sugar, and yogurt and fruit for dessert. It's worth it, just to see the scales going down every day. Or at least, possibly more realistically, not going up.
Oh, and the food slipped a bit. A late night, being a bit tired: I've seen a little too much of the "Snack Time" machine in the last 24 hours. And I went to the supermarket to stock up on veg and found myself almost desperate for chocolate, sugar and white bread. But I resisted and headed the urge off with sweetcorn cobs and multipacks of low-fat crisps. So. Back on the wagon and another evening without carbohydrates or sugar, and yogurt and fruit for dessert. It's worth it, just to see the scales going down every day. Or at least, possibly more realistically, not going up.
Tuesday 12 August 2008
The fat lady gyms
Since my holiday (just over a week ago now) in summary: weights look something like this: 179.8, 180.0, 179.2, 178.6, 177.0, 176.4. Training looks something like this: powerplate almost every day, with 10 minutes of 10-minute miles on the treadmill, interspersed with walking or cycling every other day. Food: breakfast special k, lunchtime sandwiches, evening meat and veg, with packs of low-calorie crisps inbetween; not a single chocolate bar or sugary snack (although I do have to declare one scottish sweet). Health: fairly stable, one mild food reaction (100mph brain again) and the odd sniffle, with the powerplate situps doing an excellent job of keeping my bronchi clear (very similar effect to the percussion my parents used to keep my chest clear as a child) inbetween.
And that sorted, on to today's post. Gym etiquette with large ladies. S and I were on the powerplates last night (I think we may be becoming a feature on them...) when a rather large lady was led by a personal trainer onto a neighbouring machine. And while she was fighting some sit-ups, she glanced over and gave me that look. If you've got fit and hung around gyms for long enough, you know that look: a swirl of defiance and uncertainty, a subconscious division of the gym into me over here and you over there. If you've also got unfit and restarted training at gyms enough times, you also know that feeling: you've paid your money, you've bought your kit, you've walked through the doors, but somehow that extra layer of fat removes any sense of belonging in or to said gym, often to the point where it's easier to give up going rather than wait for the toned bodies to finish with the machines that you need. It's a sad fact that most people's mental image of female gym attenders is that they are all fit, thin, toned and that somehow they've always been that way and just need to go to the gym to top off their natural healthiness (I'll skip the other image of musclebound hulks for now). It’s up there with ‘thin people have always been thin’ and its dispiriting caveat ‘so I can’t even hope to join them’. And in that moment, with that stare, I realised that I didn’t know how to start to break down the divide. I thought about walking past and whispering “I was a size 18 two months ago” into her ear, but that seems patronising. I racked my brain for anything positive that I could do to help break the going-to-the-gym barrier down from fighting ones own body and attitude at the same time, to just fighting the fat, but there was nothing I could say or do at the time. So I just smiled and got back on with my own torture. I guess this is partly my own social inadequacy, partly my deepset belief that difficult things can become easier (not easy, note, but easier) if they’re done within a community, partly a comment on the powers of perception over reality, especially in matters social, but that moment did make me think for a while. And writing about it has helped: next time I see someone fighting themself and looking uncomfortable in the gym, I’ll smile and say ‘Hi’ before I get on with addressing my current inability to do a full wide-arm pressup properly. It takes a great deal of courage and determination for a fat person to walk into the gym: the very least that everyone else can do is acknowledge them as one of our own.
And that sorted, on to today's post. Gym etiquette with large ladies. S and I were on the powerplates last night (I think we may be becoming a feature on them...) when a rather large lady was led by a personal trainer onto a neighbouring machine. And while she was fighting some sit-ups, she glanced over and gave me that look. If you've got fit and hung around gyms for long enough, you know that look: a swirl of defiance and uncertainty, a subconscious division of the gym into me over here and you over there. If you've also got unfit and restarted training at gyms enough times, you also know that feeling: you've paid your money, you've bought your kit, you've walked through the doors, but somehow that extra layer of fat removes any sense of belonging in or to said gym, often to the point where it's easier to give up going rather than wait for the toned bodies to finish with the machines that you need. It's a sad fact that most people's mental image of female gym attenders is that they are all fit, thin, toned and that somehow they've always been that way and just need to go to the gym to top off their natural healthiness (I'll skip the other image of musclebound hulks for now). It’s up there with ‘thin people have always been thin’ and its dispiriting caveat ‘so I can’t even hope to join them’. And in that moment, with that stare, I realised that I didn’t know how to start to break down the divide. I thought about walking past and whispering “I was a size 18 two months ago” into her ear, but that seems patronising. I racked my brain for anything positive that I could do to help break the going-to-the-gym barrier down from fighting ones own body and attitude at the same time, to just fighting the fat, but there was nothing I could say or do at the time. So I just smiled and got back on with my own torture. I guess this is partly my own social inadequacy, partly my deepset belief that difficult things can become easier (not easy, note, but easier) if they’re done within a community, partly a comment on the powers of perception over reality, especially in matters social, but that moment did make me think for a while. And writing about it has helped: next time I see someone fighting themself and looking uncomfortable in the gym, I’ll smile and say ‘Hi’ before I get on with addressing my current inability to do a full wide-arm pressup properly. It takes a great deal of courage and determination for a fat person to walk into the gym: the very least that everyone else can do is acknowledge them as one of our own.
Saturday 9 August 2008
Food
Today is a risotto day. A lovely 20 minutes of typing mixed with occasionally watering (well, beering to be exact) and stirring the rice. My food habits have changed since Malta, and this is one of the first things that I've cooked alone that hasn't consisted of fresh meat/fish plus some fresh veg. Still, I'm having the risotto with a bit of smoked haddock and green leaves, so it's not quite as unhealthy as it could be.
I've also cut my coffee consumption down to 1 or 2 in the morning only (since the one night on holiday where I had a coffee late was the only one where I had problems getting to sleep) .
And taken to only eating low-calorie snacks and fruit between meals. And not eating chocolate... I ought to be losing weight, I really should, but I'm not yet. Still, I've give it a couple of weeks and see if I stop building muscle mass and start losing fat at the gym instead. And the boot camp session on Thursday should help...
Oh, and Melliha has a restaurant serving absolutely stunning rabbit risotto: the old windmill at the top of town. Lovely place, great service, and good European food.
I've also cut my coffee consumption down to 1 or 2 in the morning only (since the one night on holiday where I had a coffee late was the only one where I had problems getting to sleep) .
And taken to only eating low-calorie snacks and fruit between meals. And not eating chocolate... I ought to be losing weight, I really should, but I'm not yet. Still, I've give it a couple of weeks and see if I stop building muscle mass and start losing fat at the gym instead. And the boot camp session on Thursday should help...
Oh, and Melliha has a restaurant serving absolutely stunning rabbit risotto: the old windmill at the top of town. Lovely place, great service, and good European food.
Exercise
Well, it's been a while since I last wrote here, so I'm splitting this post into exercise-related stuff vs food-related stuff.
So, exercise. I've been on holiday - a diving, eating, beer-drinking (apparently compulsorary for divers) sort of a holiday. All 3 of us desperados wanted to get fitter and thinner during the trip, so we went out running together on the first day - a lovely 7am run round the streets before the Maltese sun was too hot (at about 7:45) to do much more than walk. And it was a great run, a good start to a one-week running program, but it interfered badly with the diving. Let's just say that getting overheated before diving lends oneself to things like screaming "get me out of here" and damaging one's instructor using only handily-available diving gear mixed with local wildlife (he was very good about it, and I know that sea-urchins hurt). So the morning run was banned after the first day, and exercise was limited to diving twice a day, carrying dive gear to the water (138 steps down - and up - in one case) and back, and walking round interesting places. All I can say is that diving in warm waters is amazing. I felt so utterly priviledged to be in amongst the wildlife in its own environment, and have memories (like finding myself in the middle of a huge school of fish who swam with me as though I was one of their own, or sitting out on the terrace at 6am, and less-good memories of fireworms threatening to attack me. Not seriously, though) that will last a lifetime. Anyways, between that and the cheap/ plentiful/ good Maltese cooking, I came back heavier than I went away, but I think a little fitter and with slightly stronger leg muscles.
Since then, S has decided to help her training prospects by booking us into a set of personal trainer sessions. He's on holiday too at the moment, so we have just over a week to get fit enough to show a convincing fitness test result and survive the start of his training (few things more worrying than a trainer's evil grin). We've been on the power plates most days this week: I haven't seen any weight loss (despite eating sensibly), but I do seem a bit more toned, and I'm definitely a bit fitter and stronger: today, I ran comfortable 10-minute miles where normally I would struggle to finish them. And I walked to work yesterday: 50 minutes, which at 3 mph is roughly 2.5 miles: a perfect distance for a daily training run. Cycling back from the gym hurt a bit though: the powerplate sessions are very leg-heavy, which is great for their shape but no so good if I'm trying to use them for something afterwards. Anyways, onwards. Current weight is 178.6, so quite a bit of work to do on that, but fitness first, then fat...
So, exercise. I've been on holiday - a diving, eating, beer-drinking (apparently compulsorary for divers) sort of a holiday. All 3 of us desperados wanted to get fitter and thinner during the trip, so we went out running together on the first day - a lovely 7am run round the streets before the Maltese sun was too hot (at about 7:45) to do much more than walk. And it was a great run, a good start to a one-week running program, but it interfered badly with the diving. Let's just say that getting overheated before diving lends oneself to things like screaming "get me out of here" and damaging one's instructor using only handily-available diving gear mixed with local wildlife (he was very good about it, and I know that sea-urchins hurt). So the morning run was banned after the first day, and exercise was limited to diving twice a day, carrying dive gear to the water (138 steps down - and up - in one case) and back, and walking round interesting places. All I can say is that diving in warm waters is amazing. I felt so utterly priviledged to be in amongst the wildlife in its own environment, and have memories (like finding myself in the middle of a huge school of fish who swam with me as though I was one of their own, or sitting out on the terrace at 6am, and less-good memories of fireworms threatening to attack me. Not seriously, though) that will last a lifetime. Anyways, between that and the cheap/ plentiful/ good Maltese cooking, I came back heavier than I went away, but I think a little fitter and with slightly stronger leg muscles.
Since then, S has decided to help her training prospects by booking us into a set of personal trainer sessions. He's on holiday too at the moment, so we have just over a week to get fit enough to show a convincing fitness test result and survive the start of his training (few things more worrying than a trainer's evil grin). We've been on the power plates most days this week: I haven't seen any weight loss (despite eating sensibly), but I do seem a bit more toned, and I'm definitely a bit fitter and stronger: today, I ran comfortable 10-minute miles where normally I would struggle to finish them. And I walked to work yesterday: 50 minutes, which at 3 mph is roughly 2.5 miles: a perfect distance for a daily training run. Cycling back from the gym hurt a bit though: the powerplate sessions are very leg-heavy, which is great for their shape but no so good if I'm trying to use them for something afterwards. Anyways, onwards. Current weight is 178.6, so quite a bit of work to do on that, but fitness first, then fat...
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