Mission Success.

WILL. BE. MINE.

I am done. Done with my own excuses. Success begins now.

I am on a mission of failure

So this was supposed to be it. The time that I finally got my shit together and really stopped eating like a fool and actually lost weight. I made it the title of my blog! I have a statement! I am supposed to lose 30 pounds by my 30th Birthday. And I haven't lost any. Not one. Or I have, maybe one or two, and then I promptly gained them back. I'm teetering on the edge of 200 pounds. That's fucking scary. And it seems like such a long way back to where I was just a few years ago. When I moved out to LA, I weighed about 175. That's how I still think of myself, and yet I'm getting further from there, like every month.

So what now?

My mom and sister and I are going to Key West for my 30th Birthday. It's hot there. I will likely have to wear a bathing suit. I want to like the way I look in it.

My online food diary:

Breakfast:

Coffee, 16 oz with 2 packets raw sugar and 1/2 &1/2
Oatmeal - one packet with 6 walnut halves, chopped.

Detox Week!

Last week I ate no meat, dairy or sugar or white flour and consumed no alcohol for FIVE WHOLE DAYS! Well, almost. I broke the detox at 7ish on Friday at husband's work Xmas party. It did feel pretty good, though. Healthy, but kinda difficult. I'm a cream and sugar in my coffee kinda gal. I love cheese. Focusing on bringing lots of fruits, veggies and whole grains into my diet was good. I made quinoa for the first time. It was pretty tasty, like couscous only with a distinct nuttiness. I had sauteed spinach for the first time in ages, I'd forgotten how much I love it. I think I had more veggies in the last week than in the last month. And a lot of soy, which reminded me how I survived seven years as a vegetarian.
Then the weekend came. Why can I not be trusted around baked goods? Why do I follow something less than ideally healthy with more less than ideally healthy food? Do i just need to follow the sort of strict eating plan I concocted last week? It honestly felt good. I allowed myself to be a little hungry. I didn't focus on chocolate of sugary stuff because I wasn't going to eat it. I wan't allowed. Could I do that for a longer time? Could I do that forever? Would it be worth it? Why am I asking so many questions to the empty empty interwebs? I know who I should be asking. Me.

Hip-hop pottomus

Photo by Sabrina Campagna via FlickrLast night, I went with a friend to a long-discussed hip hop class. At a real-live dance studio. With real dancers. It was a blast. I haven't danced on a regular basis since high school, when my career in musicals was cut short by the director's unfortunate choice of "My Fair Lady" as my senior-year musical. I had campaigned for "Grease," having wanted to play Rizzo forevah. Nary a jazz hand since.
Although the dancers last night were almost all - ok maybe all - better and smoother and hip-hoppier than I am, it was great to move my body like that. To allow it to have some attitude, and a little sexiness. It felt great to sweat unconsciously, because I was just trying to keep up, to learn the next move.
I was, however, extremely body-conscious. I was in a room full of people who take dance pretty seriously, and their bodies show it. They were thin, strong, beautiful. I felt rather huge and clumsy in comparison. Granted, even at the thinnest I would ever want to be, I'd still be way bigger than most of those girls, and several of the guys. I'm 5'9", built like I should be pushing a plow through a giant field of wheat. So whatever. I know that, and mostly it's ok. I just miss the feeling of being at home in my body. I almost never do. Right now, it just feels like too much.
The teacher last night was great. Complimentary without being schmaltzy, with enviable moves and attitude. I can't wait to go back to her class, which I'll definitely do soon. Until then, I'll practice my pop and um...little groove.

Pedal perfection

I am inordinately fond of riding my bicycle. It's my favorite form of transportation, and makes me feel strong and capable when I'm flying across the ground under my own power. Last year I commuted to work on my bike a lot, twelve miles and one huge hill each way, and I loved it. Then my office moved away from its bucolic setting and into the big town, and I don't get to do that anymore. It's too far. But sometimes I ride through the hills near home, all the way to the bus that takes me to work. It's about an hour's ride, and that's what I did yesterday morning. It was so nice, an hour of sunshine and breeze and jelly legs and lost breath, and I LOVED IT! I'm officially adding it to the routine.
Here's the routine:
2 days a week, at the gym strength, abs, cardio circuit loosely based on the Jillian Michaels 30-day Shred thing.
One day run or bike or other cardio.
Throw in some yoga here and there.

Gymerrific

Or gym horrific? I've been around ze gyms for much of my adult life. I was an 11 pm regular in college, working out alongside the other night owls. I was the assistant manager of a huge Gold's Gym where my duties really involved no more than having my own set o' keys and operation of the smoothie station and protein drinks. I worked in the sad underground gyms of the corporate fitness world, where workers would come to me on their lunch hour or four (hey, it was a government office building) and I'd whip them into shape. So I'm no stranger to the ins and outs of the somewhat strange world of fitness facilities.
Fast forward to now, I'm living in California where it would be a right crime to stuff yourself into one of these places for most of the year. The weather is balmy, and the outdoor activities to immerse oneself in are endless. However, now that it's getting dark out at precisely 5:23 in the evening, and me having a slight and sometimes not-so-slight pain in my knee problem, I've headed in. But I cancelled my gym membership in the spring and was never too impressed with the facility to start, so I've taken advantage of the fact that I am a military wife and using the gym at the big Coast Guard training center near my work. It's a nice little gym, with clean locker rooms and good equipment. BUT. There is something disconcerting about it. I can't quite put my finger on it...
Oh wait, yes I can. The vast majority of those whom I sweat and breathe heavily and curse when I drop a weight on my toe around are all about 19 years old and quite assuredly male. I am a hen in roosterville. So my comfort level is, well, stretched. And I'm self-conscious. Not a ton, but some. I told a friend of mine and she said she would be horrified and likely never return.
So what's the perfect gym? And how do others influence your gym experience?

Woe is the weekend, wee is today!

So this last weekend was a bit of a disaster. My man was home, we went over to friends' places, where I had not much control over what I ate, and didn't do my part in controlling how much I ate. Oatmeal cookies and garlic bread were involved. Yipes. This is one of my central issues. How do I function in a world that is so full of scary food situations? How do I plan? How do I dodge the traps and pitfalls? How do I say no to cheese fondue on one of the civically happiest nights of my life?

On a positive note, I am doing well in the exercise department. I've been going to the gym and doing some weights and interval things - jumping rope, jumping jacks, etc. I also signed up for a month at a Bikram yoga and took my first class on Saturday. It's not my first yoga class, but I was shocked at how different it felt than any other type of exercise/torture I've ever gone through. It was a challenge. It was sweaty and overwhelming, but I'm looking forward to getting to another class.

I weighed myself, and am down a pound from the week before. But that week I was up two pounds from the week before that. Eh?