So with each day we're one day closer to great tape measuring ceremony that is Day 30. I've made peace with the fact that I (very likely) will not be able to finish the final circuit of level 3 strength at the advanced level—the muscles are willing, but the wrists poop out. Leave it to me to be held back by limp wrists.
Limp wrists aside, I do know I'm working hard because Bo-Bo tells me so. Today he watched me jump and kick and lift, lift, lift with his twitchy little eyes until I collapsed into my final ab workout—then he jumped up with more spryness than he's exhibited of late and padded over to investigate my general well being. You try doing your ab work effectively with 75 pounds of hound hovering over your chest and a cold wet nose pressed into your sweat-soaked face.
Then at the end of workout three—in a move I can only attribute to finish-line giddiness—I decided it would be cool to do the level one workout. Yeah, cool. I think the relentlessly impractical optimist deep inside me actually believed level one would be a cake walk by now. I knew I was in trouble when my arms started shaking during the first set of military push ups. When I fell from my toes to my knees during the second set, I got the giggles. Some cakewalk.
But! Initial strength circuit aside, the cardio was a breeze and the final ab workout—the bicycles—were no sweat at all when I know the first time through I was excited to graduate the level having done just one good set. Now, I was pushing through them like they were nothing. OK. Not nothing (particularly by the end). But pushing through them in a way that I'd feel comfortable modeling them for a newbie like I was 29 days ago today!
So this may be just a little more finish-line giddiness, but I'm gonna go ahead and call it: I will absolutely finish this 30-day program tomorrow**. Results will be posted. Celebrations will take place. If there was a "Jillian Michaels shredded my ass!" bumper sticker to be had, I'd so be affixing it to the back of my car.
* For those of you who shred and are wondering how I could be on my back during the final ab exercise, I've modified it. The exercise she recommended was causing shooting pains in my elbows. I decided this was a sign I was doing it seriously wrong and swapped out an exercise that has my shoulders on the ground flat and my legs bent so I look like a lowercase b or d and then crunch away.
** Barring natural disaster or power outage, of course.
Showing posts with label 30-day shred; fitness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 30-day shred; fitness. Show all posts
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Fit is Funny (Shred Day 27)
Feel the burn. No pain, no gain. Work it, work it, work it. Even Jillian has a little section during the level three workout where she dwells on the pain of exercise: "Right now, I know you want to quit; you want to stop; you want to turn this DVD off..."
Well, no I don't, and how is it helpful to plant that toxic little seed in my brain?
Is it just me or does the fitness industry seem hellbent on conveying one simple message—fitness is hard, so suck it? I mean really. Who in their right mind actually wants to suck it? So on shred day 27, I'm here to tell you three things that are fun—scratch that, funny—about fitness:
1. Pretty much everything—I just cracked up—and I mean, belly-laugh-level guffawed—over a commercial for salsa (see below). It's not just silly little commercials, either. I laugh way more easily now. It's as if exercising my heart and lungs has reminded my whole body how to open up.
2. Indecent exposure—This morning I discovered I've lost so much weight I can pull off my jeans while they're still buttoned and zipped. Is it wrong to look forward to the day they drop to the floor unassisted?
3. Sit-com-like conversations with your husband—There are few things funnier (ok, the salsa commercial below comes close) than watching a man try to commend a woman for losing weight. The following are actual compliments my husband has given me so far:
And now, without further ado, the salsa ad. Enjoy.
Well, no I don't, and how is it helpful to plant that toxic little seed in my brain?
Is it just me or does the fitness industry seem hellbent on conveying one simple message—fitness is hard, so suck it? I mean really. Who in their right mind actually wants to suck it? So on shred day 27, I'm here to tell you three things that are fun—scratch that, funny—about fitness:
1. Pretty much everything—I just cracked up—and I mean, belly-laugh-level guffawed—over a commercial for salsa (see below). It's not just silly little commercials, either. I laugh way more easily now. It's as if exercising my heart and lungs has reminded my whole body how to open up.
2. Indecent exposure—This morning I discovered I've lost so much weight I can pull off my jeans while they're still buttoned and zipped. Is it wrong to look forward to the day they drop to the floor unassisted?
3. Sit-com-like conversations with your husband—There are few things funnier (ok, the salsa commercial below comes close) than watching a man try to commend a woman for losing weight. The following are actual compliments my husband has given me so far:
- On my slimmer hips: "You've totally lost your shelves."
- On noticing my legs in yoga pants: "Your calves used to be ginormous."
- On the tightening of my tummy: "There's so much less monkey to love."
- On my thinned face: "I'd say you're down half a chin at least."
- On the whole package: "Look at you!" Then he turned sideways, ran his hand over his own abridged belly, and shot me the puppy dog eyes that were my cue to say: "And look at you."
And now, without further ado, the salsa ad. Enjoy.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows The Last Half (Shred Day 26)
Crossing over into the second half of my time at level three makes me think about all the other last halves I'm working on just now:
It took me a good night's sleep to figure out that last one out. Because when I came out of the dressing room and had to give back all those rejects, my newly cut shoulders were a bit slumped; I kept thinking: all that work and I'm only down two sizes??
Only my skinnier little ass.
To cheer myself up, I bought a bright pink-and-orange striped sports bra and a pair of yoga pants, that, while mostly black, have a hot pink stripe around the waist. Because though the jeans were a little out of my league right now, I know the TV lady in me (see day 25) knows how to rock workout clothes.
For me, though, color is an acquired taste. As I've been adding clothes back into my closet (and there's another last half—I'm more than halfway through my piles of don't-fits), I've noticed that I've got the kind of fixation with black that might be appropriate if I were a goth, but unfortunately that particular adolescent stage passed me right by. And yet my closet is more than half black. And most of what's not black is brown or maroon—in other words, dark, dark, dark.
There are a few bright spots—I have a white shirt here, a blue shirt there. And apparently, in one particularly Polyanna-ish fit of shopping psychosis, I deluded myself into thinking a coral shirt (that's fashion for pink, people, pink) was something I might actually want to wear. Which begs the question: do the colorful islands in my closet really count among the members of my wardrobe if I pretty much never take them off their hangers? So I bought myself a splash of color. I'm wearing it now, in fact. And while the shade is awfully cheery (note the emphasis on the word awfully), I can't help but wonder who the hell thinks a bright pink splash around your equator is a good idea. Or horizontal, bright-colored stripes across the breast, for god's sake.*
I choose to believe that my fixation with black is all about camouflage—I dress like a ninja because the dark color makes me feel less like I'm walking into every room flab first. And I've been wearing black so long it's the only color I really feel like me in (my compromise has always been black near the face and whatever I want on the bottom—with some exceptions, of course. I mean, seriously—is it me or do most women look just plain goofy in plaid?).
The point is I bought myself some color last night to commemorate my progress. Would it have been better to reward myself with something that didn't make me feel like a clown? Perhaps. But it's my keen hope that one day I'll wear color and prints happily.
Who knows? Maybe there's a "Bo-Bo Knows 30 Days in Technicolor" somewhere in my skinny-me future—I have a friend who would probably let me borrow her pink wig. For now, though, I'm just glad that I've finally moved into the last half of this healthy-me journey.
* Yes, men. Oh, ha, ha, ha!
- My weight loss—I have less to lose than I've lost
- My eating—I'm eating way less than half as much junk as I used to eat.
- My thinking—I've grown so accustomed to healthy eating that I no longer feel like I'm eating less than half as much food as I used to. It was never true, but it certainly felt that way at first. Not any more.
- My clothing size—Last night I tried on some clothes—like in an actual store—to see what was what. I could button the pants up in my dream size, but I felt a little guilty doing it—stressing the button for the true owner and all that. I could definitely button the next size up, but they were still so tight I wouldn't buy them. But the size after that, now THAT was too big to buy. Which I realize means that if I needed to buy new clothes for something important, like, right now, I'd be shit out of luck, but we're missing the point, people! The point is that the size that was too big is two sizes smaller than where I was when I started losing at the start of the summer which means I'm exactly halfway between my old shape and my goal shape.
It took me a good night's sleep to figure out that last one out. Because when I came out of the dressing room and had to give back all those rejects, my newly cut shoulders were a bit slumped; I kept thinking: all that work and I'm only down two sizes??
Only my skinnier little ass.
To cheer myself up, I bought a bright pink-and-orange striped sports bra and a pair of yoga pants, that, while mostly black, have a hot pink stripe around the waist. Because though the jeans were a little out of my league right now, I know the TV lady in me (see day 25) knows how to rock workout clothes.
For me, though, color is an acquired taste. As I've been adding clothes back into my closet (and there's another last half—I'm more than halfway through my piles of don't-fits), I've noticed that I've got the kind of fixation with black that might be appropriate if I were a goth, but unfortunately that particular adolescent stage passed me right by. And yet my closet is more than half black. And most of what's not black is brown or maroon—in other words, dark, dark, dark.
There are a few bright spots—I have a white shirt here, a blue shirt there. And apparently, in one particularly Polyanna-ish fit of shopping psychosis, I deluded myself into thinking a coral shirt (that's fashion for pink, people, pink) was something I might actually want to wear. Which begs the question: do the colorful islands in my closet really count among the members of my wardrobe if I pretty much never take them off their hangers? So I bought myself a splash of color. I'm wearing it now, in fact. And while the shade is awfully cheery (note the emphasis on the word awfully), I can't help but wonder who the hell thinks a bright pink splash around your equator is a good idea. Or horizontal, bright-colored stripes across the breast, for god's sake.*
I choose to believe that my fixation with black is all about camouflage—I dress like a ninja because the dark color makes me feel less like I'm walking into every room flab first. And I've been wearing black so long it's the only color I really feel like me in (my compromise has always been black near the face and whatever I want on the bottom—with some exceptions, of course. I mean, seriously—is it me or do most women look just plain goofy in plaid?).
The point is I bought myself some color last night to commemorate my progress. Would it have been better to reward myself with something that didn't make me feel like a clown? Perhaps. But it's my keen hope that one day I'll wear color and prints happily.
Who knows? Maybe there's a "Bo-Bo Knows 30 Days in Technicolor" somewhere in my skinny-me future—I have a friend who would probably let me borrow her pink wig. For now, though, I'm just glad that I've finally moved into the last half of this healthy-me journey.
* Yes, men. Oh, ha, ha, ha!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows The TV Lady (Shred Day 25)
Who is that woman reflected in the shiny charcoal of the resting television? All she's got on is a purple sports bra and a pair of leggings--tight leggings at that--and yet her attention's completely focused on the computer on her lap and not the urgent need to pull a t-shirt on--quick, quick!--before anybody notices. In fact, that bra-clad TV lady just went into the kitchen for water and the kitchen in question has a big picture window on one side and twin regular windows on the other that look down on a guy who pretty much always seems to be out there training his dobermans or tinkering with the black muscle car that a nube like me can't identify from above.
Oh. Nope. Now I've done it.
Watch carefully and you'll see the miles-to-go-before-I'm-thin thinking in the frown that eclipses her face. And yup, here comes the long-sleeve t-shirt, and just like that, she's covered again. But believe me when I say that this little bauble's a case of being down but not out because if we steal a peak over her shoulder, we'll see she's writing about how amazed she is that she's reached a place in this fitness journey where every small set back (in this case a return to self consciousness despite being the only human in the living room just now) seems to be paired with an equal and opposite victory (a realization that this stretchy t-shirt stretched over a little too much to wear comfortably a few short months ago).
Chin up, TV lady. The thing about tiny victories is how the way they pile right up.
Oh. Nope. Now I've done it.
Watch carefully and you'll see the miles-to-go-before-I'm-thin thinking in the frown that eclipses her face. And yup, here comes the long-sleeve t-shirt, and just like that, she's covered again. But believe me when I say that this little bauble's a case of being down but not out because if we steal a peak over her shoulder, we'll see she's writing about how amazed she is that she's reached a place in this fitness journey where every small set back (in this case a return to self consciousness despite being the only human in the living room just now) seems to be paired with an equal and opposite victory (a realization that this stretchy t-shirt stretched over a little too much to wear comfortably a few short months ago).
Chin up, TV lady. The thing about tiny victories is how the way they pile right up.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 24
The clock beat out the shred this morning which left me with two choices:
So now I'm sweaty and wired right when I should be thinking about bed. And if the way my leg muscles shimmied and shrieked through the whole thing is any indication, I probably could have used a day off, although my inner drill sargeant says that's what day 31 is for.
Which brings me to life post shred.
A couple people have asked me what happens after day 30. I've given it a lot of thought, and I honestly don't know. I understand the science that insists that strength training boosts weight loss. But I can't help but feel that shredding when I've got 30 pounds to go to get to my goal is like putting on a party dress and never leaving the condo. Seriously, what's the point?
Yes, I know. The science. But doesn't the science also say that the fastest way to boost fat burning is to boost cardio? My instinct says to keep the walking up, but swap the 30-day shred for 30 days of jogging-- there are only so many minutes a girl can exercise in a month.
I do know this: I'm keeping the 30-day blogging format, though I'm thinking November needs a new theme. Some kind of Thanksgivng tie-in? Or maybe love letters to my favorite goof pop songs? The possibilities are endless. You know. In a 30-day kind of way.
- break the streak or
- shred after a 12-hour day.
So now I'm sweaty and wired right when I should be thinking about bed. And if the way my leg muscles shimmied and shrieked through the whole thing is any indication, I probably could have used a day off, although my inner drill sargeant says that's what day 31 is for.
Which brings me to life post shred.
A couple people have asked me what happens after day 30. I've given it a lot of thought, and I honestly don't know. I understand the science that insists that strength training boosts weight loss. But I can't help but feel that shredding when I've got 30 pounds to go to get to my goal is like putting on a party dress and never leaving the condo. Seriously, what's the point?
Yes, I know. The science. But doesn't the science also say that the fastest way to boost fat burning is to boost cardio? My instinct says to keep the walking up, but swap the 30-day shred for 30 days of jogging-- there are only so many minutes a girl can exercise in a month.
I do know this: I'm keeping the 30-day blogging format, though I'm thinking November needs a new theme. Some kind of Thanksgivng tie-in? Or maybe love letters to my favorite goof pop songs? The possibilities are endless. You know. In a 30-day kind of way.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 23
I have just five things to say at the end of a very long day:
- Despite my dismay that level three has turned shred into a torture chamber of vigorous jump, jump, jumping, I hauled my slightly more muscular ass out of bed and pushed through.
- I'm holding out hope that by day 30 the torturous nature of this level will just feel like a healthy bouncing workout.
- My muscles remain as broken as they were yesterday. Maybe more so.
- I suspect that the Coca-Cola company has reintroduced cocaine to the Coke classic recipe. Yes, it's true. Today I had my first soda since May 31. In my defense I was in a caffeine panic because traffic patterns prevented me from getting my fix not once, but twice today. So at the first sign of the kind of ice-pick headache that ended with me puking in my car last week, I panicked and darted into a Shaw's for a 20-oz bottle of Coke. I thought about going with a Diet Coke because of my current commitment to a low carb diet, but given how few migraines I've had in the two years since I gave up my once legendary Diet Coke habit, I figured that refined sugar was a lesser evil than that gnarly naughty nutrasweet. But back to the cocaine. Maybe it was the fact that my husband and I are experimenting with a return to South Beach phase one this week so the only carbs I've had have been dairy, legumes, and vegetables, but drinking that coke felt like mainlining sugar. I had bought the bottle with the idea that I'd only drink what I needed to keep the caffeine beastie at bay--I can stop at anytime. But then there I was, halfway through the bottle, feeling better, and eyeballing the rest when I did what any good soda junkie should do: at the next available red light, I popped open my car door and splattered what remained of the crack water across a tiny stretch of Watertown pavement.
- There's a good possibility that I have a bit of a caffeine problem.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 22
So yesterday I was all, "isn't this a cake walk"; today I just want the cake.
My muscles are so fatigued that when Jillian told me to jump, my brain said, "yes ma'am," but my muscles were all like, "that's easy for you to say."
Now I know that behind every wall-o-fatigue is the world's tiniest masons, laying the brick in the new addition to my muscle mass. But what the head knows is a far cry from what the body feels, and this old body is pooped.
Pooped! Pooped! Pooped!
I blame the nano. Oh yes. Mike brought on Christmas a couple months early* disguised as a skinny purple nano and a Nike attachment thinger** to measure mileage. The idea is to inspire me to jog more happily, and maybe if I start tackling the long walks I keep imagining I'll use it for audio books. But while I'm shredding, jogging is right out. It's all I can do to manage a medium-length, 40-ish-minute walk with Bo every morning.
On this, my first nano morning, that walk was all about the tunes. And not just any tunes. My collection of 29*** of the bounciest goof pop songs known to my ears. Goof pop is my name for those silly songs that people can’t understand why I love except that they make me smile like a loon and want to dance, or in this case, walk about 14 percent faster than normal with a giant here-comes- the-escapee grin on my face.
You think I've exaggerated how much these simple beats make me bust my hump? Even Bo noticed it. My new pace forced him to power walk beside me for so long that he kept looking up at me with that tongue-lolling expression that can only be translated into "what is she on?" And during the portion of the walk where Bo frolics on the beach while I sprint like hell to keep up with him? I may have sprinted so long he actually stopped frolicking.
Yeah. My unresponsive muscles during the shred today were soooo the nano's fault.
*And no, smart ass, I did not write 200 new pages or lose 14.8 pounds in the past two days (see day 20)
**Yeah, I know. Real technical.
***A sample from today's shuffled selections (I dare you to sit still while you listen):
"Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran
"The Ballad of John and Yoko" by the Beatles
"Flowers in the Window" by Tonic
"Waterloo" by Abba
"Keep the Customer Satisfied" By Simon and Garfunkel
My muscles are so fatigued that when Jillian told me to jump, my brain said, "yes ma'am," but my muscles were all like, "that's easy for you to say."
Now I know that behind every wall-o-fatigue is the world's tiniest masons, laying the brick in the new addition to my muscle mass. But what the head knows is a far cry from what the body feels, and this old body is pooped.
Pooped! Pooped! Pooped!
I blame the nano. Oh yes. Mike brought on Christmas a couple months early* disguised as a skinny purple nano and a Nike attachment thinger** to measure mileage. The idea is to inspire me to jog more happily, and maybe if I start tackling the long walks I keep imagining I'll use it for audio books. But while I'm shredding, jogging is right out. It's all I can do to manage a medium-length, 40-ish-minute walk with Bo every morning.
On this, my first nano morning, that walk was all about the tunes. And not just any tunes. My collection of 29*** of the bounciest goof pop songs known to my ears. Goof pop is my name for those silly songs that people can’t understand why I love except that they make me smile like a loon and want to dance, or in this case, walk about 14 percent faster than normal with a giant here-comes- the-escapee grin on my face.
You think I've exaggerated how much these simple beats make me bust my hump? Even Bo noticed it. My new pace forced him to power walk beside me for so long that he kept looking up at me with that tongue-lolling expression that can only be translated into "what is she on?" And during the portion of the walk where Bo frolics on the beach while I sprint like hell to keep up with him? I may have sprinted so long he actually stopped frolicking.
Yeah. My unresponsive muscles during the shred today were soooo the nano's fault.
*And no, smart ass, I did not write 200 new pages or lose 14.8 pounds in the past two days (see day 20)
**Yeah, I know. Real technical.
***A sample from today's shuffled selections (I dare you to sit still while you listen):
"Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran
"The Ballad of John and Yoko" by the Beatles
"Flowers in the Window" by Tonic
"Waterloo" by Abba
"Keep the Customer Satisfied" By Simon and Garfunkel
Bo-Bo Knows 30 Days With the Shred
On October 2 I decided to do the 30-day shred and blog about it. Here are the links to the whole journey on one page:
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 1
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 2
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 2 - Addendum
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 3
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Is Dangerous! (Day 4)
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 5
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 6
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 7
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 8
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 9
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 10
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 11--Level Two!
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 12
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 1
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 2
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 2 - Addendum
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 3
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Is Dangerous! (Day 4)
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 5
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 6
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 7
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 8
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 9
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 10
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 11--Level Two!
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 12
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 13
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 15
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 17
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 18
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 19
Bo-Bo Knows Shrinkage (Shred Day 20)
Bo-Bo Knows The Twilight Zone (Day 21)
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 22
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 23
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 24
Bo-Bo Knows The TV Lady (Shred Day 25)
Bo-Bo Knows The Last Half (Shred Day 26)
Bo-Bo Knows Fit is Funny (Shred Day 27)
Bo-Bo Knows The Shredded Mind (Shred Day 28)
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 29
Bo-Bo Knows The End (Shred Day 30)
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows The Twilight Zone (Day 21)
During my first first level three workout, I kept wondering one thing: Where the hell is Rod Serling?
Because level three was hard, sure. A challenge, yeah. But I was through the first half before I realized I wasn't doing the modifications. Didn't need the modifications. And while I had to stop the walking push ups several times, that had nothing to do with strength and everything to do with figuring out if the breakdancing I was doing was the right move (it wasn't). And yeah, I took the mods on the rockstar jumps, but that was about coordination, too--I figure I can't exactly complete the 30-day circuit with a broken face. And that last ab thing, well, I felt nothing which pretty much makes it a one hundred percent probability I was doing it wrong.
But on balance, the workout was OK. Doable. So doable, in fact, I could hear Serling's deep and dulcet voice over the tacky workout music:
* with apologies to Rod Serling
Because level three was hard, sure. A challenge, yeah. But I was through the first half before I realized I wasn't doing the modifications. Didn't need the modifications. And while I had to stop the walking push ups several times, that had nothing to do with strength and everything to do with figuring out if the breakdancing I was doing was the right move (it wasn't). And yeah, I took the mods on the rockstar jumps, but that was about coordination, too--I figure I can't exactly complete the 30-day circuit with a broken face. And that last ab thing, well, I felt nothing which pretty much makes it a one hundred percent probability I was doing it wrong.
But on balance, the workout was OK. Doable. So doable, in fact, I could hear Serling's deep and dulcet voice over the tacky workout music:
You unlock this door with the key of determination. Beyond it is another dimension: a dimension of strength, a dimension of endurance, a dimension of will. You're moving into a land of satiety without deprivation; exercise without pain. You've just crossed over into:
The Fitness Zone.*
* with apologies to Rod Serling
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 19
What' s my coordination prognosis if--despite swinging an imaginary rope--I struggle to accurately execute double-jumps?
The trouble is I'm trying so desperately to swing my arms in tandem that I forget to breathe and my neck starts aching from the tension. So I compromise. I allow myself to swing just the one time as long as I jump as high as Jillian does. And really, this is safer for everyone involved. Wouldn't want to maim Bo-Bo with an invisible whip, would I?
Bo would thank me for my kind consideration, but he's busy licking the paw I tried to flatten during our walk this morning. Nothing like the yelp of an innocent first thing to remind me just how many pounds I'm still packing.
The trouble is I'm trying so desperately to swing my arms in tandem that I forget to breathe and my neck starts aching from the tension. So I compromise. I allow myself to swing just the one time as long as I jump as high as Jillian does. And really, this is safer for everyone involved. Wouldn't want to maim Bo-Bo with an invisible whip, would I?
Bo would thank me for my kind consideration, but he's busy licking the paw I tried to flatten during our walk this morning. Nothing like the yelp of an innocent first thing to remind me just how many pounds I'm still packing.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 16
Better late than never. And it was almost never today. So instead of turning off the DVD and congratulating myself for pouring salt on the devil slug*, I decided to preview level three.
Big mistake.
Even bigger mistake? Deciding to get onto the floor and try out a move I have little confidence in my ability to pull off. Jillian was in a plank pose, but instead of having her hands on the floor, she had them curled around dumbbells. The movement was deceptively simple: Lift one of your arms into a row. So there I was, up on my toes, hands curled around weights, staring at the floor and willing my arm to lift. Lift! Jedi Cathy says liiiiifft. Please?
My muscles have been more responsive in full-on pins and needle mode.
New goal: move from staring at the floor and laughing at home completely my weak body is failing my willing mind to successfully mastering these torturous things. At least once.
*In actual fairness, I had a killer migraine last night and was in a post-migraine fog most of today--think of the fog as an earthquake's aftershock.
Big mistake.
Even bigger mistake? Deciding to get onto the floor and try out a move I have little confidence in my ability to pull off. Jillian was in a plank pose, but instead of having her hands on the floor, she had them curled around dumbbells. The movement was deceptively simple: Lift one of your arms into a row. So there I was, up on my toes, hands curled around weights, staring at the floor and willing my arm to lift. Lift! Jedi Cathy says liiiiifft. Please?
My muscles have been more responsive in full-on pins and needle mode.
New goal: move from staring at the floor and laughing at home completely my weak body is failing my willing mind to successfully mastering these torturous things. At least once.
*In actual fairness, I had a killer migraine last night and was in a post-migraine fog most of today--think of the fog as an earthquake's aftershock.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 15
Today marks the halfway point of these 30-day shred shenanigans. I'd do cartwheels to celebrate, but I'm running on E. And that's E as in empty--not energetic or enthusiastic or ebullient. It's not even E as in Elcik.
Less than five hours sleep last night. I expected to crumble, and I did. But not until the last three seconds of the last ab exercise. Literally. When Jillian said "last three" my arms actually collapsed. Ever see footage of a building crumbling during an earthquake? Sub my arms and you've got the picture. I took utter collapse as a sign to quit a few seconds early, and yeah, I actually have considered that mutinous arms may be the work of the devil slug (see day 14), but when the arms mutiny, you listen. Particularly when not listening could end up breaking my nose.
On the uptick, I did get through the final cardio section without a break. I was still rocking one exercise advanced and one beginner, but maybe in a few days I'll blow through it all on the advanced. Maybe in a few days.
Less than five hours sleep last night. I expected to crumble, and I did. But not until the last three seconds of the last ab exercise. Literally. When Jillian said "last three" my arms actually collapsed. Ever see footage of a building crumbling during an earthquake? Sub my arms and you've got the picture. I took utter collapse as a sign to quit a few seconds early, and yeah, I actually have considered that mutinous arms may be the work of the devil slug (see day 14), but when the arms mutiny, you listen. Particularly when not listening could end up breaking my nose.
On the uptick, I did get through the final cardio section without a break. I was still rocking one exercise advanced and one beginner, but maybe in a few days I'll blow through it all on the advanced. Maybe in a few days.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 14
I almost bagged out this morning. On my walk with Bo, my mind ran through the workout ahead today in light of the sad little workout behind me yesterday, and the thought of doing plank anything kicked my bargaining brain into high gear:
Devil Slug: You know they say you're supposed to rest for a day between workouts.
Action Angel : Who's this they you keep talking about? Besides. this is a 30-day program.
Devil Slug: But 29 days out of 30 is still an A+.
Action Angel: But you'll feel better if you workout. You always do.
Devil Slug: You feel better when you buy yourself cake from Party Favors, too. You so love their coconutty yellow cake with butter cream frosting...
Action Angel: Out, out damn demon! You know the Cadillac of cakes is for birthdays ONLY!
Devil Slug(at home now): Wait. You're changing into your workout clothes? Why are you changing into your workout clothes? Hey, wait! Stop! Look at your knees! No more knee dough! You totally deserve a break.
Action Angel: Holy shit! I really don't have any more fat on my knees. All the more motivation to work out!
Devil Slug: Or all the more motivation to pull out the box of really small clothes under the bed and see what fits.
Action Angel: Holy shit! I can zip up my interview suit. That's, like, a size ten!
Devil Slug:It's so break time!
Action Angel: Screw you, buddy! I'm keeping on keeping on.
And so the angel won again. She's happy to report that today was way easier than yesterday, though she still can't quite make it through the final circuit.
Devil Slug:Maybe if you'd listened to me you might have--
Action Angel: Oh, shut up. There's always tomorrow.
Devil Slug: You know they say you're supposed to rest for a day between workouts.
Action Angel : Who's this they you keep talking about? Besides. this is a 30-day program.
Devil Slug: But 29 days out of 30 is still an A+.
Action Angel: But you'll feel better if you workout. You always do.
Devil Slug: You feel better when you buy yourself cake from Party Favors, too. You so love their coconutty yellow cake with butter cream frosting...
Action Angel: Out, out damn demon! You know the Cadillac of cakes is for birthdays ONLY!
Devil Slug(at home now): Wait. You're changing into your workout clothes? Why are you changing into your workout clothes? Hey, wait! Stop! Look at your knees! No more knee dough! You totally deserve a break.
Action Angel: Holy shit! I really don't have any more fat on my knees. All the more motivation to work out!
Devil Slug: Or all the more motivation to pull out the box of really small clothes under the bed and see what fits.
Action Angel: Holy shit! I can zip up my interview suit. That's, like, a size ten!
Devil Slug:It's so break time!
Action Angel: Screw you, buddy! I'm keeping on keeping on.
And so the angel won again. She's happy to report that today was way easier than yesterday, though she still can't quite make it through the final circuit.
Devil Slug:Maybe if you'd listened to me you might have--
Action Angel: Oh, shut up. There's always tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 13
A brief interlude to prove that I'm not exagerrating about how hard this all is:
This morning I called my husband into the room to check out my form, offer me tips. Not a smart move. You see, I failed to take into account how brainwashed he's been by this doorstop of a fitness book he ordered--something like the "Men's Health Bible?" He looked from my walking plank push up to the one the three women on screen were demonstrating and then back to mine.
Then he said: "I guess you're doing it like they are, but their form isn't right either."
If I had the breath to do it, the primal scream aimed at him would have shook houses a town over.
Always a glutton for punishment, I called him in to be my eyes on another plank pose a few minutes later. The verdict?
"Passable."
Later, during a move that had me panting, he poked his head back in and in a voice that can only be described as one he ripped off from the monster truck commercials (think: Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! ) and said: "Feel the buuuuurn!"
The aforementioned panting preventing me from voicing a witty comeback, but I shot him a look that caused him to back out of the room, saying: "Nooooot int he mood."
He boomeranged back into the room again a few minutes after that, just as I'd finished the last round of cardio and collapsed into the final ab pose, panting. He offered the following not so constructive criticism:
"Well, you look like you're going to die."
Thank you guru Mike. Thanks a lot.
This morning I called my husband into the room to check out my form, offer me tips. Not a smart move. You see, I failed to take into account how brainwashed he's been by this doorstop of a fitness book he ordered--something like the "Men's Health Bible?" He looked from my walking plank push up to the one the three women on screen were demonstrating and then back to mine.
Then he said: "I guess you're doing it like they are, but their form isn't right either."
If I had the breath to do it, the primal scream aimed at him would have shook houses a town over.
Always a glutton for punishment, I called him in to be my eyes on another plank pose a few minutes later. The verdict?
"Passable."
Later, during a move that had me panting, he poked his head back in and in a voice that can only be described as one he ripped off from the monster truck commercials (think: Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! ) and said: "Feel the buuuuurn!"
The aforementioned panting preventing me from voicing a witty comeback, but I shot him a look that caused him to back out of the room, saying: "Nooooot int he mood."
He boomeranged back into the room again a few minutes after that, just as I'd finished the last round of cardio and collapsed into the final ab pose, panting. He offered the following not so constructive criticism:
"Well, you look like you're going to die."
Thank you guru Mike. Thanks a lot.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 12
How tough am I? Despite projectile vomiting in my driveway last night (I almost didn't even make it that far), I still did shred level 2 this morning. To be fair, I think the vomiting was due to an unchecked lack-of-caffeine headache--not a flu. And after a 10.5 hour sleep, I was feeling great, so I ate something, took the dog on a walk, and when the DVD cover caught my eye, I said: why the hell not?
As it turns out, why the hell not has nothing to do with vomiting and everything to do with Jillian Michaels being a crazy lady. The amount of cardio she asks me to do while supporting my entire body weight on my arms is just short of torturous, and am I really getting the right benefit when the plank ab twisted things set my arms on fire and do nada for the tummy region? I think it goes without saying that I'm taking advantage of Jillian's very generous offer to stop and catch my breath for five seconds. Sometimes two to three times in the same stupid exercise. My goal for level one was one measly set of military pushups. My goals for level two are a bit loftier:
As it turns out, why the hell not has nothing to do with vomiting and everything to do with Jillian Michaels being a crazy lady. The amount of cardio she asks me to do while supporting my entire body weight on my arms is just short of torturous, and am I really getting the right benefit when the plank ab twisted things set my arms on fire and do nada for the tummy region? I think it goes without saying that I'm taking advantage of Jillian's very generous offer to stop and catch my breath for five seconds. Sometimes two to three times in the same stupid exercise. My goal for level one was one measly set of military pushups. My goals for level two are a bit loftier:
- Not dying.
- Keeping up.
- Finishing strong. At least once.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 11--Level Two!
I have just three things to say about level two:
- Owwwww!
- I did as much as I could by alternating between the advance moves and the beginner modifications.
- I could have done way more plank jacks* if a certain furry someone hadn't chosen that exact moment to mosey on over and give me a what-the-hairy-heck-are-you-doin'-mom sniff.
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