When I walked into the gym nearly 2 years ago, I had one goal: to be the weight I was when I got married 7 years ago. And honestly, I know me: I would have never walked into a gym if I hadn’t become Fatty me. I wanted to look like I did those many years ago. And it wasn’t a “lose weight to be healthy” issue, it was “I want to look amazing” issue. Don’t worry- I’m still shallow. I still want to look amazing. BUT as I worked out, I realized my goals have advanced (well, changed):
1. Fit into my old clothes. I realized weight is not what matters MOST to me anymore. Of course it matters- when my pounds on the scale stay the same I kind of freak out and mutter curse words. But even if I’m losing fat, I’m gaining muscle, and sometimes the two cancel themselves out and curse me with the same old poundage. My measurements are changing, and how I carry my weight is changing. And as I make my changes, I can wear my old clothing. And getting back to my smallest pants size is a goal. Because even if I don’t change weight, I am losing inches and building muscles of steel.
2. I wanna be ripped. Anywhere that has muscle, I want it to be hard as a rock. If a man (who isn’t my husband) smacks me on the butt, I want him to break his hand. I want to be able to listen to men brag about how buff they are, walk over, flex my muscles, and emasculate them all. I want to be able to make my chest muscles “dance”. I want to be able to use my massive, muscular legs to kick down doors. I don’t want to ever say “that’s too heavy for me to carry”– and have it be a Chihuahua.
3. I want to advance in every class I take, every challenge I take on. I want to add more weight when I take Body Pump, I want to perfect my form in Body Combat, I want to be able to do all 8 billion push ups on my toes in class. I want to be able to increase resistance, run longer, faster, harder. I want to know that if I’m being chased by a lion (tiger, bear, ninja, zombie) I can out run all my friends.
4. I want to be healthy. I want to know my changes have improved my life. That I get healthier with each advance I make. And if I can gain the body (and face) of a 23 year old me for the rest of my life? SO WORTH IT!
Sometimes diet, exercise, and life changes don’t reflect on the scale. As infuriating as that can be, other changes are taking place. Sometimes creating a new, awesome you takes more than pounds. It can take drive, stubbornness, and an amazing blog to inspire yourself, and others.
Being that today is my birthday (yeay being old and cranky- instead of young and cranky!) I thought this would be a great time to write about cake. I love cake. Anyone who says they don’t love cake is a dirty liar. Cake is awesome. BUT- keep an eye on what’s in that cake.
Cake mixes, cookie mixes, quick mix together stuff is great. It makes life easier, and there are great brands out there without a lot of crap in it. ALWAYS look at the ingredient list. Almost all mixes- quick and easy store bought stuff- has partially hydrogenated oils in it. Now, thanks to advertising and fitness/nutrition gurus everyone knows that trans fat is bad. But why? Why is it so bad? For once, I won’t say “because I said so, and this is my blog”. I’ll actually break it down for you in a basic, small word summary.
Trans fats don’t exist in the real world. Because the body hates to waste anything (thanks a lot body, way to keep all that fat packed on me for “survival” during a “famine”), it stores it. Since it has nowhere else to store it- it puts it in your arteries. That’s the prefect place for it because I wasn’t using those anyway. And so when you eat enough of it, it coats those arteries until there’s no room for the blood to reach the heart. Just so you know- that’s a bad thing. Don’t do that.
So if you want a cake mix, or a cookie, or anything made in a store- go for it. But look at what’s in it. Trans fat= NO. Don’t do it. Now, I’m no hippie. If you want to eat non-organic cake smothered in beef pate deep fried in high fructose corn syrup- go for it. Just don’t add trans fat to it because THAT is what will kill you. Well, that and eating too much deep fried sugared beef. But I guess that’s a whole different blog.
I have a heart. I know it doesn’t seem like it because I’m a mean spirited spawn of evil who sees no good in anyone and just blurts out horrible things while making up elaborate plots for revenge. I’m just kidding- none of that is true. I’m awesome and I have an awesome heart. Know how I know? I have a heart rate monitor.
I love my monitor. It tells me how many calories I burn. It tracks how hard I’m working, and it gives me a percentage based on my age, weight, and gender. And it lets me know “holy crap, your heart is going crazy, you are going to die, SLOW DOWN!!!!” Well, not really- But it would be awesome if it had the Star Trek “this ship is going to blow up” alarm when my heart rate gets too high. But these goals all in good time I guess. New app for my phone perhaps?
I wanted a heart rate monitor that gave me calories burned and had a chest strap because I know those are more effective at reading the heart rate. I bought the Reebok Dual Heart Rate Monitor from target- and I wear it 4-6 days a week. It takes a beating and keeps going- we have a lot in common my monitor and I.
My heart keeps me alive. It keeps beating even when I’m not paying attention to it- or when I decide I want to eat deep fried Twinkies covered in sugared lard. And my heart rate monitor tells me I’ve worked hard, and my heart is still in top shape. And after working hard, how is an appropriate reward NOT deep fried Twinkies covered in sugared lard???
Picture a class where people are barely functioning after the first ten minutes, where each new move seems like a new form of torture, and where half the people walk out after a half hour- and then promptly drop dead in the lobby. No, I’m just kidding, no one dropped dead in the lobby. At […]
I think everyone hits a wall. But this is a blog about my walls. My big, giant, weight loss stopping walls. I hate walls. Well, not the walls that keep my dog from running away, or keep thieves from breaking into my house, or a wall that keeps people in prison because I don’t want […]