I haven't posted on here in 2 months!!! Unacceptable!! So much to catch you guys up on.
Where to begin? Where to begin?
Well I'll fill you on a few tidbits (in 50 words or less as I have to be up in 4 hours).
1-Hit a weight plateau. I thank my birthday, long weekend in Jamaica, my birthday, 8 day cruise, and my birthday. I am incredibly loved therefore I had much celebrating. And since my loved ones know me, I had a shit ton of cheese fries. And alcohol. Bringing me to my next update.
2-Cold turkey. I have given up alcohol until further notice. Today is day 9. I feel ok about it. Booze is expensive and, thanks to texting, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I have made a shit ton of mistakes, where the next day it's like a perpetual, "Ohh maaan! Did I really do that?" Also, I have felt sluggish, unhealthy, and depressed. All bad bad side effects of alcohol. Am I giving it up forever? I don't know. Much like this journey, I won't make any definite decisions. Just one day at a time.
3-I'm tan. Sounds hilarious, but it's worth noting. I never ever get tan. And so this is all new to me. It appears, interestingly enough, that when you are tan, you appear svelter. I have had a few people tell me how thin and fabulous I look since I returned from my cruise, which is a big pile of poo. Not that I think they are lying, but I think with the right outfit and this tan, it works!
But the scale can give 2 shits about my tan. It made it clear that I have a lot of work to do.
So here I go!
I'll report back soon, y'all! So so much to tell you all!
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
As promised
Weighed in today at 169 . . .
3 pounds up.
No permanent harm. No foul. Dusting off and am going to keep trekking forward.
Stay tuned folks!
3 pounds up.
No permanent harm. No foul. Dusting off and am going to keep trekking forward.
Stay tuned folks!
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Having a life is fattening
I threw an infamous Claudia tantrum today in a meeting room near the editorial department at the office. I pulled poor unsuspecting Yoda into said room and went on a rant about how this weight loss shenanigan is NOT happening fast enough. I mean, sure. I've lost over 8 pounds in 7 weeks, but I expected a lot more. Kind of like when I lost the 60 pounds in 9 months back in 2009. I essentially lost about 2 pounds a week then. This time around, the average I am losing is 1.25 a week (but whose counting).
"You know, it's not like when you lost the weight some years ago because now you have a lot less to lose AND now you have a life. You aren't living like a monk this time around."
That hit me like a ton of bricks. Not because Yoda was wrong (because seldom is she wrong). But because she was right. Without getting into too much deets, I was not my happiest in 2009. I was recovering from some massive life changes, including a breakup, a move, and the cancellation of ER. Additionally, I was enduring terrible "Virgin Mary" hair and was attached to wife beaters and baggie jeans.
Not my finest hour.
Therefore I threw myself into working out, eating at home and having lots and lots of salads, yogurts, boca burgers, and WW brownies. It was my life goal, not because I wanted to be healthy, but because it was what got me out of bed. Seeing the numbers decrease every Wednesday gave me oxygen and purpose. Not to mention all the lovely compliments I received.
Fast forward to 4 years later, and I am WAY happier. Plumpier, but happier. I have a great gig at work, a business that is thriving, an amazing apartment in Sunnyside, wonderful friends throughout the world, and gravity hasn't quite hit the twins, despite going through a weight gain-loss. My mom is still feisty and full of life, I really have the best felines in the universe, and I have been jumping out of planes, traveling the world, and not being sucked into terrible reality TV.
All in all, a huge success.
That said, it seems that :
Having a happy life + being over 30 (because all I keep hearing is everything gets harder when you leave your 20s) = slow weight loss.
Must I sacrifice this happiness for a higher butt, tighter arms, and sleeker quads? Does having a life really mean having to be overweight? Case in point: I went to the Poconos this weekend and redefined the word "Lazy." In fact, I was in this position for 80% of the weekend:
Sans the suitcase, sans the suit. I was in my jammies and it was glorious!
And I ate Pirate Bootys and Cheese sandwiches and used fruit as garnish and to enhance my red wine. I'd say it was essential nutrition! Because, you know, I needed constant nutrition for being horizontal the entire time.
And then, there was this:
The most amazing place on Earth. The place where my love of Cheese fries is perpetuated. And where I lose all sense of caloric control and just about propose marriage to my dinner. Like I did. En route. To the Poconos. My inner fat girl sort of sounded like this:
Not my finest hour.
That said, I honestly had a great time this weekend with my friends. It was relieving and foreign and wonderful to turn "off" Claudia, who always has a deadline, client, errand, or phone call to make. This weekend, I literally only worried about brushing my teeth, showering, and . . . that's about it!
But when I got home, back to reality, I realized that I may not be happy at weighin tomorrow. In fact, I was thinking of not going (which is an essential NO-NO when traveling this weight loss journey). But my choices will be mocking me at the scale tomorrow, and it's got me thinking of reverting back to "monk" life.
Or maybe. Just maybe, I can balance both. Embrace this weight loss journey in a slower pace, yet still have some great experiences with some wonderful people, because, well, it makes this girl happy. I just have to remember to satisfy this 31 year old girl, and not the former fat girl within.
To be continued, really. I have no method to decipher which is the right way. But I intend to try the balance. The worst that can happen is that I fall, get up and keep going. Not a bad outcome, if you ask me.
I will get weighed tomorrow. Pinky swear. And I will report back.
Fair warning: it may come with a tantrum. The only way a 31 year old girl can throw one.
"You know, it's not like when you lost the weight some years ago because now you have a lot less to lose AND now you have a life. You aren't living like a monk this time around."
That hit me like a ton of bricks. Not because Yoda was wrong (because seldom is she wrong). But because she was right. Without getting into too much deets, I was not my happiest in 2009. I was recovering from some massive life changes, including a breakup, a move, and the cancellation of ER. Additionally, I was enduring terrible "Virgin Mary" hair and was attached to wife beaters and baggie jeans.
Not my finest hour.
Therefore I threw myself into working out, eating at home and having lots and lots of salads, yogurts, boca burgers, and WW brownies. It was my life goal, not because I wanted to be healthy, but because it was what got me out of bed. Seeing the numbers decrease every Wednesday gave me oxygen and purpose. Not to mention all the lovely compliments I received.
Fast forward to 4 years later, and I am WAY happier. Plumpier, but happier. I have a great gig at work, a business that is thriving, an amazing apartment in Sunnyside, wonderful friends throughout the world, and gravity hasn't quite hit the twins, despite going through a weight gain-loss. My mom is still feisty and full of life, I really have the best felines in the universe, and I have been jumping out of planes, traveling the world, and not being sucked into terrible reality TV.
All in all, a huge success.
That said, it seems that :
Having a happy life + being over 30 (because all I keep hearing is everything gets harder when you leave your 20s) = slow weight loss.
Must I sacrifice this happiness for a higher butt, tighter arms, and sleeker quads? Does having a life really mean having to be overweight? Case in point: I went to the Poconos this weekend and redefined the word "Lazy." In fact, I was in this position for 80% of the weekend:
Sans the suitcase, sans the suit. I was in my jammies and it was glorious!
And I ate Pirate Bootys and Cheese sandwiches and used fruit as garnish and to enhance my red wine. I'd say it was essential nutrition! Because, you know, I needed constant nutrition for being horizontal the entire time.
And then, there was this:
The most amazing place on Earth. The place where my love of Cheese fries is perpetuated. And where I lose all sense of caloric control and just about propose marriage to my dinner. Like I did. En route. To the Poconos. My inner fat girl sort of sounded like this:
Not my finest hour.
That said, I honestly had a great time this weekend with my friends. It was relieving and foreign and wonderful to turn "off" Claudia, who always has a deadline, client, errand, or phone call to make. This weekend, I literally only worried about brushing my teeth, showering, and . . . that's about it!
But when I got home, back to reality, I realized that I may not be happy at weighin tomorrow. In fact, I was thinking of not going (which is an essential NO-NO when traveling this weight loss journey). But my choices will be mocking me at the scale tomorrow, and it's got me thinking of reverting back to "monk" life.
Or maybe. Just maybe, I can balance both. Embrace this weight loss journey in a slower pace, yet still have some great experiences with some wonderful people, because, well, it makes this girl happy. I just have to remember to satisfy this 31 year old girl, and not the former fat girl within.
To be continued, really. I have no method to decipher which is the right way. But I intend to try the balance. The worst that can happen is that I fall, get up and keep going. Not a bad outcome, if you ask me.
I will get weighed tomorrow. Pinky swear. And I will report back.
Fair warning: it may come with a tantrum. The only way a 31 year old girl can throw one.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Crying for planks
Disclaimer: My words today may not be in usual chipper form, but it's a part of this journey that is important to share. I've been trying to be more honest during this process, as it's the only way healthy results are guaranteed. I promise to include more funnies next week. Until then, welcome to a more intimate part of me.
Last time I checked in, I was on a cloud nine of sorts, excited for what was to come!
Happy to report I'm down over 8 pounds (wheee!), about 1/3 of what I need to lose to get to goal. It feels great! I've been working my ass off to get there, and it's nice when I stand on the scale to see that all the portion control, planks, and non-alcoholic choices have all been paying off.
That said, it's been one hell of a week.
In a nut shell, I called it quits with someone I was seeing, am on the cusp of losing a very dear friend over something I have no control over, had what appeared to be a terrible sinus clusterfuck all weekend, missed an annual poker game I had really been looking forward to due to said clusterfuck, and stepped in cat vomit this morning.
I mean, come on! Could it have been any worse?
The one thing that kept me sane, besides my dear confidants and TONS of deep breathing, was exercise. I was desperately looking forward to the challenge of Refine more than ever, looking for an outlet to release all these emotions that was swirling through my insides. I wanted to hold planks longer, up my weights when possible, and exhaust my quads until the burning alone kept my legs vibrating even after I had stopped moving them. I needed a release. A release that usually involved cheese fries, and/or crying. I refused to turn to calories for solace, and somehow, I had no desire to cry this week. No desire to feel anything.
Until this afternoon.
It all began while I was half way through my second refine class for the week. I was fully aware that in my first class yesterday evening, I was having trouble keeping my usual pace, partly because my lungs were congested, partly because I was unusually lightheaded. So ok, fine. Maybe I was still under the weather, but I refused to let some pansy sinus infection hold me back from taking class. But I wasn't prepared for the limitations my body threw at me yesterday. I was so mortified, that after class, I went up to Katie, the amazing Refine instructor, and apologized for not being able to give my all.
She looked at me like I was bat shit crazy and then gave me the warmest smile. "Claudia, you were fine. I love when you take class. You work so very hard." Suddenly I felt my lower chin quiver, my throat tighten up, and my already high-pitched voice rapidly soaring to "hamster mating-call" levels.
"K thanks Katie. Bye."---I ran out of there so fast, refusing to cry at Refine. I instantly thought of one of my favorite Tom Hanks moments:
There is no crying in Refine!
Until this afternoon.
I started feeling dejavu moments all through class today, as I had to stop during lunges, planks, push ups, and jumping jacks, because spots were appearing again, and my breathing was challenging. I couldn't get oxygen in my mouth fast enough. I was beyond frustrated. I took a moment when the class continued on with side lunges, and took some water, and started to take deep breaths. We were finishing up the final set of jumping jacks when Laura announced the final component of the final circuit of the night: elbow planks. Laura, another favorite instructor of mine, is so encouraging, challenging, and thoughtful. She, just like Katie and Brynn, are the kind of instructors you WANT to work hard for, instructors you don't want to disappoint; that the idea of them catching you taking a break, modifying, or working in faulty form is beyong mortifying. They are wonderful.
Therefore, when Laura made the final direction to get into plank, I was on a mission to hold that 60 second plank with every ounce of strength that I had left. It turns out, though, that I probably had only 7 seconds of strength left. My legs gave out.
"&#*#^#$^$&#&^%$%"--Was what I mumbled, in Spanish no less, letting my frustration roll off my tongue in an aggresive haste. I took another deep breath and attempted more planking.
7 more seconds. Collapse.
My frustration was beginning to shoot through my arms and overwhelm my shoulder blades. I was pissed, but I simply could not give up.
"15 seconds, guys. Come on, you can do it. Your body is stronger than you think." Laura was not letting us give up.
I uploaded my exhausted and stubborn body into plank position and held. My core started to shake. Sweat started to drown my eyes, beads skiing down my sore biceps. A familiar failing feeling came creeping back. I was done.
"You got this, Claudia. You can do this. You are doing great. Don't. Give. Up." Laura's docile voice, with conviction, suddenly scared the option to quit out of my system. It was an option no more.
I held on.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1."
My body crawled into child's pose. And, in an odd turn of effortless events, I began to cry. Right there, in a dim studio on the Upper West Side, drenched in sweat, in child's pose. Tears came down my face. All this frustration, emotion, pent up anger, sadness, and, well, the week, flooded out of my already soaked eye sockets. Lucky for me, because I was already drenched in sweat, nobody really could notice I was sobbing like a bitch.
But I took full notice. Couldn't explain any of it at that moment. Just went with it.
On the train ride home, I thought about why I cried. I came up with a whole slew of reasons: my frustration for having to rest in between circuits, my anger at my body for being a douche (or in recovery. Whatever), the fact that a dear dear friend of mine is falling within my grasp and the idea of not having her in my life is down right tragic, the realization that people hurt others for no reason, the fact that I couldn't hold the fucking plank for 60 seconds.
Or. It could have been the cat puke.
Who knows.
What I do know is that tomorrow is a new day to keep trying. I'm grateful that I am getting healthier, that I am beginning to fit into some smaller clothes, that my booty is not quite apple-bottom, but there is definite pomegranate potential. And for this:
.JPG)
I'm also beyond grateful for Refine. Yes, it's so wonderful to flex and pose when I brush my teeth in the morning (and evening. and sometimes midday at work) so I can stare at my biceps in the mirror. But, it's also pretty amazing to be able to release all the bullshit of daily life, 3 times a week, in the form of a plank.
Last time I checked in, I was on a cloud nine of sorts, excited for what was to come!
Happy to report I'm down over 8 pounds (wheee!), about 1/3 of what I need to lose to get to goal. It feels great! I've been working my ass off to get there, and it's nice when I stand on the scale to see that all the portion control, planks, and non-alcoholic choices have all been paying off.
That said, it's been one hell of a week.
In a nut shell, I called it quits with someone I was seeing, am on the cusp of losing a very dear friend over something I have no control over, had what appeared to be a terrible sinus clusterfuck all weekend, missed an annual poker game I had really been looking forward to due to said clusterfuck, and stepped in cat vomit this morning.
I mean, come on! Could it have been any worse?
The one thing that kept me sane, besides my dear confidants and TONS of deep breathing, was exercise. I was desperately looking forward to the challenge of Refine more than ever, looking for an outlet to release all these emotions that was swirling through my insides. I wanted to hold planks longer, up my weights when possible, and exhaust my quads until the burning alone kept my legs vibrating even after I had stopped moving them. I needed a release. A release that usually involved cheese fries, and/or crying. I refused to turn to calories for solace, and somehow, I had no desire to cry this week. No desire to feel anything.
Until this afternoon.
It all began while I was half way through my second refine class for the week. I was fully aware that in my first class yesterday evening, I was having trouble keeping my usual pace, partly because my lungs were congested, partly because I was unusually lightheaded. So ok, fine. Maybe I was still under the weather, but I refused to let some pansy sinus infection hold me back from taking class. But I wasn't prepared for the limitations my body threw at me yesterday. I was so mortified, that after class, I went up to Katie, the amazing Refine instructor, and apologized for not being able to give my all.
She looked at me like I was bat shit crazy and then gave me the warmest smile. "Claudia, you were fine. I love when you take class. You work so very hard." Suddenly I felt my lower chin quiver, my throat tighten up, and my already high-pitched voice rapidly soaring to "hamster mating-call" levels.
"K thanks Katie. Bye."---I ran out of there so fast, refusing to cry at Refine. I instantly thought of one of my favorite Tom Hanks moments:
There is no crying in Refine!
Until this afternoon.
I started feeling dejavu moments all through class today, as I had to stop during lunges, planks, push ups, and jumping jacks, because spots were appearing again, and my breathing was challenging. I couldn't get oxygen in my mouth fast enough. I was beyond frustrated. I took a moment when the class continued on with side lunges, and took some water, and started to take deep breaths. We were finishing up the final set of jumping jacks when Laura announced the final component of the final circuit of the night: elbow planks. Laura, another favorite instructor of mine, is so encouraging, challenging, and thoughtful. She, just like Katie and Brynn, are the kind of instructors you WANT to work hard for, instructors you don't want to disappoint; that the idea of them catching you taking a break, modifying, or working in faulty form is beyong mortifying. They are wonderful.
Therefore, when Laura made the final direction to get into plank, I was on a mission to hold that 60 second plank with every ounce of strength that I had left. It turns out, though, that I probably had only 7 seconds of strength left. My legs gave out.
"&#*#^#$^$&#&^%$%"--Was what I mumbled, in Spanish no less, letting my frustration roll off my tongue in an aggresive haste. I took another deep breath and attempted more planking.
7 more seconds. Collapse.
My frustration was beginning to shoot through my arms and overwhelm my shoulder blades. I was pissed, but I simply could not give up.
"15 seconds, guys. Come on, you can do it. Your body is stronger than you think." Laura was not letting us give up.
I uploaded my exhausted and stubborn body into plank position and held. My core started to shake. Sweat started to drown my eyes, beads skiing down my sore biceps. A familiar failing feeling came creeping back. I was done.
"You got this, Claudia. You can do this. You are doing great. Don't. Give. Up." Laura's docile voice, with conviction, suddenly scared the option to quit out of my system. It was an option no more.
I held on.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1."
My body crawled into child's pose. And, in an odd turn of effortless events, I began to cry. Right there, in a dim studio on the Upper West Side, drenched in sweat, in child's pose. Tears came down my face. All this frustration, emotion, pent up anger, sadness, and, well, the week, flooded out of my already soaked eye sockets. Lucky for me, because I was already drenched in sweat, nobody really could notice I was sobbing like a bitch.
But I took full notice. Couldn't explain any of it at that moment. Just went with it.
On the train ride home, I thought about why I cried. I came up with a whole slew of reasons: my frustration for having to rest in between circuits, my anger at my body for being a douche (or in recovery. Whatever), the fact that a dear dear friend of mine is falling within my grasp and the idea of not having her in my life is down right tragic, the realization that people hurt others for no reason, the fact that I couldn't hold the fucking plank for 60 seconds.
Or. It could have been the cat puke.
Who knows.
What I do know is that tomorrow is a new day to keep trying. I'm grateful that I am getting healthier, that I am beginning to fit into some smaller clothes, that my booty is not quite apple-bottom, but there is definite pomegranate potential. And for this:
.JPG)
I'm also beyond grateful for Refine. Yes, it's so wonderful to flex and pose when I brush my teeth in the morning (and evening. and sometimes midday at work) so I can stare at my biceps in the mirror. But, it's also pretty amazing to be able to release all the bullshit of daily life, 3 times a week, in the form of a plank.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Weigh-in day, Oh how I loathe thee . . . Well, maybe.
So today was weigh-in day. And I knew I wasn't going to see what I wanted at that scale for a few reasons. Firstly, I checked my personal scale earlier in the morning and I let out a great big "Carajo" when I saw a number that I was not expecting, which one should never do before 6am (both weigh-in and curse). Secondly, I am in the midst of a week when it's no fun to be a lady. The baby-making machinery is being fine-tuned, if you know what I mean. And, historically, I have always put on 5-7 pounds during this week due to water retention and yadda-yadda-yadda. Which usually means the weigh-in following this week will be quite satisfying.
That said, I still approached the scale today with a pout on my face. I felt as though I had reverted to my five year old, pig-tailed self, when I was denied a Baby Alive.
Swap baby alive for a scale, and, well, you have a travesty.
I arrived to the meeting at 1:30pm, almost not showing up. At this point, I was tantrumming for a variety of reasons, one of which had to do with the earlier "Carajo, I gained weight" moment in my bedroom. I ultimately made my self go, despite wanting to hide behind the piles of work that were thrown at me just as I entered the office.
Indubitably, I, in fact, man-ed up and made my merry way to the meeting.
Before approaching the scale, I managed to take off as much clothes as possible without fully embarrassing the other members in the meeting. I mean, they came for weight loss guidance, not a free show. Additionally, I attend what is known as a WeightWatchers "At-Work" meeting, where WW goes to your place of employment and hosts a meeting there. It's been a God-send for me, and I adore my leader, Barbara. That said, I have to also be aware that I am still at my place of employment and therefore showing up to weigh-in wearing a wife beater and boy shorts may not fly. So you gotta be creative.
Because of the so-called snow storm that was suppose to invade the city today, I wore jeans, which is a weigh-in No-no! However, the last time I wore a very light springy skirt on a windy, snowy weigh-in day, I flashed most of Midtown Manhattan. So, I thought since I "knew" it was going to be a gain, who cares what I wear?
Apparently I did.
I dragged my hormonal bratty ass to the scale after proceeding to remove as much clothing that I could, all hair pieces (the one bobby pin), and jewelery (my work i.d.).
As I stood up on the evil complacent-looking apparatus, I kept telling myself, "It's ok. You know the drill. It's ok. Next week will be better. Early morning boxing sessions, Refine classes, and saying no to cheesy bread is ALL worth it."
And there it was, folks. An outcome that floored me.
I maintained.
No loss. But no gain. Which leads me to believe that next week, I will have a pretty fantastic loss!
Unless I chose to celebrate by giving in to my hormonal cravings of warm pizza and brownies. Not at the same time, though. Well, I don't think. . .
Can you believe this image exists in a google image search?!?!? There's hundreds of these!! And you guys think I'M crazy!
Well, rest assured I did not celebrate by indulging in the above. I decided on a great salad, a latte, and some strawberries. Then I went to Refine, which was pretty kick ass! I out-did myself, which included full form push-ups, lots of arm work, ab work with a kettle ball, and lunges. Lots and lots of lunges. I even received a Twitter shout out from the Brynn, instructor extraordinaire and creator of the Refine Method, telling me how much stronger I was getting, which made this closeted brown-noser feel mighty giddy.
So I feel good at this moment!
Are my clothes looser? Yes!
Is my collarbone resurrecting? Absolutely!
Have I been caught checking out my butt in the restroom at work? Sadly, more than once.
All good signs I am on the right track!
Here's to next week, folks!
That said, I still approached the scale today with a pout on my face. I felt as though I had reverted to my five year old, pig-tailed self, when I was denied a Baby Alive.
Swap baby alive for a scale, and, well, you have a travesty.
I arrived to the meeting at 1:30pm, almost not showing up. At this point, I was tantrumming for a variety of reasons, one of which had to do with the earlier "Carajo, I gained weight" moment in my bedroom. I ultimately made my self go, despite wanting to hide behind the piles of work that were thrown at me just as I entered the office.
Indubitably, I, in fact, man-ed up and made my merry way to the meeting.
Before approaching the scale, I managed to take off as much clothes as possible without fully embarrassing the other members in the meeting. I mean, they came for weight loss guidance, not a free show. Additionally, I attend what is known as a WeightWatchers "At-Work" meeting, where WW goes to your place of employment and hosts a meeting there. It's been a God-send for me, and I adore my leader, Barbara. That said, I have to also be aware that I am still at my place of employment and therefore showing up to weigh-in wearing a wife beater and boy shorts may not fly. So you gotta be creative.
Because of the so-called snow storm that was suppose to invade the city today, I wore jeans, which is a weigh-in No-no! However, the last time I wore a very light springy skirt on a windy, snowy weigh-in day, I flashed most of Midtown Manhattan. So, I thought since I "knew" it was going to be a gain, who cares what I wear?
Apparently I did.
I dragged my hormonal bratty ass to the scale after proceeding to remove as much clothing that I could, all hair pieces (the one bobby pin), and jewelery (my work i.d.).
As I stood up on the evil complacent-looking apparatus, I kept telling myself, "It's ok. You know the drill. It's ok. Next week will be better. Early morning boxing sessions, Refine classes, and saying no to cheesy bread is ALL worth it."
And there it was, folks. An outcome that floored me.
I maintained.
No loss. But no gain. Which leads me to believe that next week, I will have a pretty fantastic loss!
Unless I chose to celebrate by giving in to my hormonal cravings of warm pizza and brownies. Not at the same time, though. Well, I don't think. . .
Can you believe this image exists in a google image search?!?!? There's hundreds of these!! And you guys think I'M crazy!
Well, rest assured I did not celebrate by indulging in the above. I decided on a great salad, a latte, and some strawberries. Then I went to Refine, which was pretty kick ass! I out-did myself, which included full form push-ups, lots of arm work, ab work with a kettle ball, and lunges. Lots and lots of lunges. I even received a Twitter shout out from the Brynn, instructor extraordinaire and creator of the Refine Method, telling me how much stronger I was getting, which made this closeted brown-noser feel mighty giddy.
So I feel good at this moment!
Are my clothes looser? Yes!
Is my collarbone resurrecting? Absolutely!
Have I been caught checking out my butt in the restroom at work? Sadly, more than once.
All good signs I am on the right track!
Here's to next week, folks!
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Refining my lifestyle, one plank at a time . . .
So much has happened since my last post. I went from whining about being plump to doing something about it. Don't get me wrong. I still managed to whine some, but that habit went away mighty fast after I began my humbling journey as a Refine Method-Head.
The Refine Method. A sure-fire reminder that your body can do much more than your couchy-potato-y, cheese-fry seduced, self-entitled-"why me" mind thinks it can. I slowly realized this after I began doing push-ups (and non of that lady-like modified kind), burpees (which sounds a LOT friendlier than what they actually are I might add), and lunges with kettle balls (not to be confused with kettle chips, which can easily happen. Just sayin.).
Who the hell was I? I went from this:
to this:
I mean, not as gracefully as the aforementioned, but definitely much more elegant than Chubbo.
I signed up for Refine when I realized I needed a kick in the nuts when it came to working out. My longtime concern with, not only exercise, but life in general, is that I get bored very easily. This becomes an issue when I go to the gym and all the machines look Cuisinart complicated and Magic Bullet boring. There is no variety, no change up. One method, one result. I mean, the result is fabulous! Who doesn't love good guacamole from the magic bullet? Or in this case, a great butt lift from running on a treadmill? But the process is soooooooo snoozy. I've totally had the urge to do this, I am ashamed to say:
Since my attention span does this frequently:
So I would often set myself up for failure by purchasing these gym memberships and enjoying the visa bill appearance that stupid fee made every month as I paid my bills from the very couch that my ass was expanding on.
It wasn't until Yoda came to me and told me about her new fitness discovery. For those of you new to this blog, let me remind you about Yoda. She is my fitness guru, my core when it comes to fitness, health, and simply goodness. She is stern with me when I need it, as she HATES whining:
She is compassionate with me, as she understands the numbing sensation that comes after a Refine class:
She is honest with me, as she knows how important it is to stay on track and not to fall into old habits:
She has taught me how to handle my haters:
She continues to remind me of the force behind success:
And before every refine class, she sooths my anxiety and self-doubt with a mantra similar to this:
Point blank--She is the best! My Yoda!
Anyway, Yoda had been raving about The Refine Method for a few months, trying to convince me to try it. I was apprehensive because I thought it would be too intense for my recovering back. It had only been over a year since the surgery and the daily immobile activity on my couch seemed to be MUCH more restorative than any kind of exercise.
Finally, I hit a wall around the time I posted my last blog. I was fed up with the scale, the return of my back pudge, and the constant unfufilled goals I was encountering every Monday morning when I realized a week had gone by and my fitness level was at BUPCUS.
So, with the help of Yoda, and my lovely assistant (a definite Yoda in the making), I decided to join the Refine Challenge, a 3 month initiative that required upping your Refine Class goal every 4 weeks. Being the badass that I am, I decided to sign up for a total of 30 classes in 12 weeks, 8 in the first month, 10 in the second, and 12 in the third. I was terrified, but ready. It couldn't be worse than the dread I started feeling getting dressed in the morning because my clothes were suffocated my limbs. Or the sadness I felt because I would be out of breath after climbing up the subway stairs. Sadness and hyperventilation.
No, this wasn't the same Claudia who wore a 2 piece on a vacation not too long ago. The same Claudia who wore a size 4 and who could double cross her legs. The same Claudia who would do push-ups at home because she was stressed, or who would get a crazy pleasure out of doing tricep dips.
Therefore ANY terror I had was crushed by good ole, "Anything is better than this" thoughts. And Yoda. She's got a way of making any crisis seem doable, tolerable, and accomplishable.
So I started, 4 weeks ago. Countless burpees, push-ups, kettle ball lunges, snow angels (don't be fooled. There is no season greeting that comes with that exercise). Sprints, jumpin jacks, squat-and-reaches. Planks, planks, and more planks. And my body is definitely changing. Not to mention my mind. I wouldn't have been able to define any of the above a month ago.
I'm down 5 pounds. 8 classes completed, and the limbs aren't as suffocated in the morning any more. Like Yoda said, I will not lose the 20lbs. in a month, as it took a lot longer to put that on, but best be sure by the end of this challenge I will be better. I won't define what "better" will be. Not now. Let's just see where this journey goes.
Until then:
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I will SLAY 30 classes!
Wish me luck, guys! Stay tuned!
The Refine Method. A sure-fire reminder that your body can do much more than your couchy-potato-y, cheese-fry seduced, self-entitled-"why me" mind thinks it can. I slowly realized this after I began doing push-ups (and non of that lady-like modified kind), burpees (which sounds a LOT friendlier than what they actually are I might add), and lunges with kettle balls (not to be confused with kettle chips, which can easily happen. Just sayin.).
Who the hell was I? I went from this:
to this:
I mean, not as gracefully as the aforementioned, but definitely much more elegant than Chubbo.
I signed up for Refine when I realized I needed a kick in the nuts when it came to working out. My longtime concern with, not only exercise, but life in general, is that I get bored very easily. This becomes an issue when I go to the gym and all the machines look Cuisinart complicated and Magic Bullet boring. There is no variety, no change up. One method, one result. I mean, the result is fabulous! Who doesn't love good guacamole from the magic bullet? Or in this case, a great butt lift from running on a treadmill? But the process is soooooooo snoozy. I've totally had the urge to do this, I am ashamed to say:
Since my attention span does this frequently:
So I would often set myself up for failure by purchasing these gym memberships and enjoying the visa bill appearance that stupid fee made every month as I paid my bills from the very couch that my ass was expanding on.
It wasn't until Yoda came to me and told me about her new fitness discovery. For those of you new to this blog, let me remind you about Yoda. She is my fitness guru, my core when it comes to fitness, health, and simply goodness. She is stern with me when I need it, as she HATES whining:
She is compassionate with me, as she understands the numbing sensation that comes after a Refine class:
She is honest with me, as she knows how important it is to stay on track and not to fall into old habits:
She has taught me how to handle my haters:
And before every refine class, she sooths my anxiety and self-doubt with a mantra similar to this:
Point blank--She is the best! My Yoda!
Anyway, Yoda had been raving about The Refine Method for a few months, trying to convince me to try it. I was apprehensive because I thought it would be too intense for my recovering back. It had only been over a year since the surgery and the daily immobile activity on my couch seemed to be MUCH more restorative than any kind of exercise.
Finally, I hit a wall around the time I posted my last blog. I was fed up with the scale, the return of my back pudge, and the constant unfufilled goals I was encountering every Monday morning when I realized a week had gone by and my fitness level was at BUPCUS.
So, with the help of Yoda, and my lovely assistant (a definite Yoda in the making), I decided to join the Refine Challenge, a 3 month initiative that required upping your Refine Class goal every 4 weeks. Being the badass that I am, I decided to sign up for a total of 30 classes in 12 weeks, 8 in the first month, 10 in the second, and 12 in the third. I was terrified, but ready. It couldn't be worse than the dread I started feeling getting dressed in the morning because my clothes were suffocated my limbs. Or the sadness I felt because I would be out of breath after climbing up the subway stairs. Sadness and hyperventilation.
No, this wasn't the same Claudia who wore a 2 piece on a vacation not too long ago. The same Claudia who wore a size 4 and who could double cross her legs. The same Claudia who would do push-ups at home because she was stressed, or who would get a crazy pleasure out of doing tricep dips.
Therefore ANY terror I had was crushed by good ole, "Anything is better than this" thoughts. And Yoda. She's got a way of making any crisis seem doable, tolerable, and accomplishable.
So I started, 4 weeks ago. Countless burpees, push-ups, kettle ball lunges, snow angels (don't be fooled. There is no season greeting that comes with that exercise). Sprints, jumpin jacks, squat-and-reaches. Planks, planks, and more planks. And my body is definitely changing. Not to mention my mind. I wouldn't have been able to define any of the above a month ago.
I'm down 5 pounds. 8 classes completed, and the limbs aren't as suffocated in the morning any more. Like Yoda said, I will not lose the 20lbs. in a month, as it took a lot longer to put that on, but best be sure by the end of this challenge I will be better. I won't define what "better" will be. Not now. Let's just see where this journey goes.
Until then:
Wish me luck, guys! Stay tuned!
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Enough with the WAH!
I am jumping on the official bandwagon, folks. The one where everybody is recommitting and blogging about it, being that it's the new year and all. It's kinda the best bandwagon out there (definitely better than the Yankee fan one). The true test, though, is how many stay on the bloody thing.
I can't type here and say confidantly that I will see this journey through. Truth is, I don't know. The last year and a half has been a year where I fell out of love with being healthy and fit. I did the off again, on again relationship with my tracker. I neglected eTools consistently, and I cheated on water with Coke Zero.
Essentially, I sucked as a girlfriend, metaphorically speaking of course.
So now what? Well, I've been inspired by so many out there who are brave enough to share their story via blogging, and raw enough to speak the truth. I've also stumbled upon some writings I did when I was losing weight in 2009. I was completely in love with losing weight. I gather it's similar to reading the soulful love letters written by your then highschool sweetheart (now husband) 20 years later as he sits across from you at the dinner table scratching his arm pits and oozing in pride as he belches the chinese take out he just inhaled. Could the romantic and dashing writer behind these letters be in fact the same person who is facing you? Only, instead of the husband, it's me, in the mirror, looking back at a very perplexed and horrified girl.
The analogy may not be so pleasant but you get the drift. I don't recognize the voice within these writings. But one thing is very apparent. I just gotta stop whining! I feel like the last year and a half has been non stop wah wah wah! I've bitched and hollered as my clothes have gotten tighter. I've thrown tantrums and resented the scale as the number has gone up. I've cried and embraced depression when I RSVP no to a social life because I don't feel so hot.
So 2013's motto: Enough with the wah!!
And to be as candid as possible. Ugh. Here goes:
On Thursday, 1/3/13, I went to a Weight Watcher meeting and weighed in. I saw something I hadn't seen in 4 years. A weight I swore I would never see again, unless I got knocked up.
174 lbs.
(I've deleted and re-written the above paragraph 5 times, with doubts, shame and fears about sharing my weight gain. It's kind of funny. Somewhere in my mind I'm convinced that if I change the wording, rearranding the sentence, and maybe throw in a pun, that the above reality will be more tolerable and not as scary. There aren't any words in the English language that makes that number ok).
So here I sit trying to figure out the next step. Do I want to write an inspirational closing that would give any rom com heroine the motivation to take on her challenges, all the while inspiring the audience to applaud her? Do I want to spell out a game plan, complete with bullet points, highlighted index cards, and laminated action plans? Will I proclaim that 2013 is my year to shine and that there is no failure in life?
Nope. None of the above.
I'm simply going to pubish this post. And check in every week with a weigh-in. And bring the WAH WAH WAH down to a tolerable level. Listen, whining is essential, but when it becomes the wall you hide behind to wallow in your frustrations (as I so elegantly have done), then it's time to reassess. WAHs are ok, until they affect the other "W"s in your life: your weight, your will, your world.
Dedicated to all of you guys who are the amazing soulful writers that make this journey just a little bit easier. Suzi Storm, Curvy Fit Girl, the every so charming Sheryl Yvette, and many many more! Thank you for inspiring and for blogging about it! You have no idea how your words move mountains.
I can't type here and say confidantly that I will see this journey through. Truth is, I don't know. The last year and a half has been a year where I fell out of love with being healthy and fit. I did the off again, on again relationship with my tracker. I neglected eTools consistently, and I cheated on water with Coke Zero.
Essentially, I sucked as a girlfriend, metaphorically speaking of course.
So now what? Well, I've been inspired by so many out there who are brave enough to share their story via blogging, and raw enough to speak the truth. I've also stumbled upon some writings I did when I was losing weight in 2009. I was completely in love with losing weight. I gather it's similar to reading the soulful love letters written by your then highschool sweetheart (now husband) 20 years later as he sits across from you at the dinner table scratching his arm pits and oozing in pride as he belches the chinese take out he just inhaled. Could the romantic and dashing writer behind these letters be in fact the same person who is facing you? Only, instead of the husband, it's me, in the mirror, looking back at a very perplexed and horrified girl.
The analogy may not be so pleasant but you get the drift. I don't recognize the voice within these writings. But one thing is very apparent. I just gotta stop whining! I feel like the last year and a half has been non stop wah wah wah! I've bitched and hollered as my clothes have gotten tighter. I've thrown tantrums and resented the scale as the number has gone up. I've cried and embraced depression when I RSVP no to a social life because I don't feel so hot.
So 2013's motto: Enough with the wah!!
And to be as candid as possible. Ugh. Here goes:
On Thursday, 1/3/13, I went to a Weight Watcher meeting and weighed in. I saw something I hadn't seen in 4 years. A weight I swore I would never see again, unless I got knocked up.
174 lbs.
(I've deleted and re-written the above paragraph 5 times, with doubts, shame and fears about sharing my weight gain. It's kind of funny. Somewhere in my mind I'm convinced that if I change the wording, rearranding the sentence, and maybe throw in a pun, that the above reality will be more tolerable and not as scary. There aren't any words in the English language that makes that number ok).
So here I sit trying to figure out the next step. Do I want to write an inspirational closing that would give any rom com heroine the motivation to take on her challenges, all the while inspiring the audience to applaud her? Do I want to spell out a game plan, complete with bullet points, highlighted index cards, and laminated action plans? Will I proclaim that 2013 is my year to shine and that there is no failure in life?
Nope. None of the above.
I'm simply going to pubish this post. And check in every week with a weigh-in. And bring the WAH WAH WAH down to a tolerable level. Listen, whining is essential, but when it becomes the wall you hide behind to wallow in your frustrations (as I so elegantly have done), then it's time to reassess. WAHs are ok, until they affect the other "W"s in your life: your weight, your will, your world.
Dedicated to all of you guys who are the amazing soulful writers that make this journey just a little bit easier. Suzi Storm, Curvy Fit Girl, the every so charming Sheryl Yvette, and many many more! Thank you for inspiring and for blogging about it! You have no idea how your words move mountains.
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