demise of the carbs

12/17/13
Plump to Pump
Blog #7 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp


I'm going to be starting my Hardcore Hottie Challenge on January 1. Two weeks ago I turned in my personal evaluation which was umpteen pages long and detailed my goals and present status as a bootycamper extraordinaire. Last week I received my plan from my trainer Meg. I have spent a few days figuring things out but have oodles of kinks to iron out before New Years Day so I can hit the ground running, er uh, well not running obviously. Running is out, protein is in. Shocker. Since I love running so much, Meg says one day of running per week is my choice, but if I want the big guns, my focus is nutrition and lifting and HIIT workouts. I feel like a million bucks after I run, so I will miss lacing up my purple sneaks and pounding the pavement for an hour at a time. But it's fucking cold outside, and the pavement is covered in at-the-beach-style snow which makes running not quite as fun. I think this is the longest cold snap in my recorded history, so ya, I think I'll live with just one run per week this frigid winter. Check. 

Ok, next. The protein. Jesus in heaven the protein. 155 grams per day of protein. Visions of chicken breast and deli turkey dance in my head until I throw up. I don't like to eat meat THAT much. So I've been researching all the ways I can add protein without wanting to become a vegetarian (again). My regular protein intake is around 90 grams at very most, so I've got some ground to cover. AND I have to cut back on the carbs. Oh delicious womanly carbs. I will miss you so. I have a max of 225 prescribed carbs in my plan (on workout days). Oh woe is me, that number is so sadly small. I am going to throw a little "celebration of life" for the demise of my mountains of carbs I like to scarf down every day. I'll light a candle for carbs. 

Throw an egg or cottage cheese in with every meal. Cut out my frozen Smart Ones lunches. Explore butters other than peanut. Craft my own salad dressing. Chuck the scale. The scale is the devil and, wait, what?? No weighing myself? But I just wrote a pithy blog about why I think the scale is just fine. I use it healthfully to keep my weight in check. I'm wrong?! I'm wrong. Muscle weighs more than fat blah blah blah. Yeah yeah. We will be measuring my progress weekly solely with photos and how my clothes fit. So if you liked my sneak-snap in my brassiere that my husband took last blog, you'll be disappointed from here on out. I am a terrible poser. Get the camera out and tell me to look a certain way and I freeze up. Something stupid happens and I look stupid and effortful. My daughter took over 100 pictures of us in our halloween costumes and there was one usable picture where I didn't look ridiculous and over-acted. Our costumes fucking rocked the house mind you, but me trying to act out Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction in her revived-with-syringe scene for the photograph was laughable. Or cry-able, Alan was visible irritated at many points in the kitchen photography session. 

By the way, I haven't weighed myself for 5 days, my longest stretch since I began weighing myself about 2 years ago. I'm going to try to hold off until Sunday. And maybe say fuck it on Sunday too.

scales aren't just for fish

11/30/13

Plump to Pump

 Blog #6 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp

I'm a slave to the scale.  I admit it.  And I'm ok with it.  I've considered chucking it, but shudder at the thought.  Instead, I choose to enlist a select few intimates to tell me honestly and abruptly when I am going overboard with either cutting too much fat, or with building too much muscle.  If I am going all Keira Knightly to the bones, they will tell me to cool my jets and eat some more damn food.  Additionally, if I develop muscular bulges resembling Arnie Schwartzie, they will set me straight and let me know my boobs are going the way of the cutting board.   I am crafting a strong, athletic, chiseled body.   If I must choose a body or fitness idol, I choose Jessica Ennis, the current Olympic heptathlon champion.   She's a hottie bo bottie althete of the highest order.   I want to be able to outrun any asshole trying to hurt me or steal from me and then later that day woo my main squeeze into submission in my LBD or my bikini.   In short, I want to be a sexy motherfucker.  

So I weigh myself regularly, about 4 times per week.  This helps me stay on track with my goals.  I have read all the bossy flossies that scream at me to throw my devil scale away.   I have considered their reasoning, found it sound, and kept on doing it the way that works for me.   I am an information junkie so I gather up the data from all angles and use it to make informed decisions for myself.   This was my process when I decided to lose weight.  This was my process as I make choices about what to use to fuel my body.   This is my process when I decide training plans for my running or lifting goals.  

To sum, I use my scale to stay in a five-pound range that I am happiest living in, I use my intimates to keep me feminine but badass, and I use the internet to learn about health and fitness.  Earlier today when I was getting ready to go running, I had only my sports bra and running pants and socks on so far.  My husband walked into the room, stopped short, and breathed "damn you are looking fine, Greta!" and nuzzled in for some canoodling.  The other morning I was getting ready for work and talking with Alan.   Later that day, the attached picture was texted to me, sneaky snapper.  These Great Gaspy responses from him, and the fact that I ran 3 long blocks to work at 7am when I was going to be late for a meeting and it took me all of 20 seconds to catch my breath once I got there, is all I need to know that my way is working.  I am on point for reaching my goals and I'll be using a scale as I see fit.  To get fit.