I have new gym shoes! They came in the mail today, and I went to test them immediately. My old pair sucked – it’s a real bitch to run when your arches are cramping. I’m thrilled to be able to say the new (cheap! on sale!) pair are loaded with cushiony goodness, as well as appealing to my vanity by being cute. Yay!

Meanwhile, in the past week I discovered I was selling myself short, fitness-wise. I’ve been setting limits for myself – 45 lbs, 10 minutes, etc. And I’ve been meeting them, but not bothering to even try and surpass them.

Until I found myself reaching my self-imposed limit on the treadmill, and thinking, I’m not tired – maybe I should keep going? And so I did. And it sounds ridiculous and obvious, and HELLO AMBER HERE’S YOUR DARWIN AWARD, but REALLY. I went for longer than I thought I could. And sure, I was dripping puddles of sweat and gasping for air, but I did it.

After that earth-shattering revelation (oh, bite me), I decided it’s high time to kick my own ass. So I have been. I’ve been running harder and longer, and lifting heavier weights. There were a couple days I beat my alarm until I was positive it was broken and thought about not going at all, but I made myself go. And now I’m going every day.

More than once I’ve been on the treadmill (I have a deeply ingrained hatred of running, so much that I sometimes have to pretend I’m being chased by scary monsters to keep going) and my strength – okay, mostly my strength of WILL – has started flagging, and I find myself considering giving up. But I found something better than monsters to motivate my increasingly less-jiggly ass.

Now I just think of Demi Moore – GI Jane, anyone? I remember that movie, especially the part where she was fighting for scraps out of a barrel in the rain – and STILL managed to hang upside down and execute perfect situps. If GI Jane can be half-starved and still kick ass, I can probably run more and lift more on my diet, which is less of a diet and more of an all-you-can-eat buffet.

When I’m running and watching the clock, I want to die after about four minutes. I think of quitting. I think of GI Jane and keep going. After about seven minutes I’m resigned to my fate, unhappily. After about ten minutes I realize my body isn’t going to collapse, and I want to finish – I’m going to finish. It’s satisfying to know it. This is corny, but when I hit the fifteen minute mark I feel a thrill, a heady sense of triumph. I’ve finished. I ran flat out, for 15 whole minutes, on an incline – AFTER torturing myself on the elliptical for 20 minutes.

I know some people might roll their eyes at 15 minutes, might scoff and call my sense of accomplishment undeserved. But I’ve never done it before. Ever. Until now.

- I recently watched Shutter Island, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, and am FLUMMOXED regarding the ending. Was he crazy? Personally, I believe he was sane – or as sane as he could be, given the circumstances – and the doctors and nurses on the island conspired to drive him crazy and make him doubt himself to cover up their EVILdoings. What did you think?

- Rowdy went home, and I’m a little bit sad about it – but happy to have my sister back (I didn’t realize how much I missed her until I saw her). Happier still about the pretty, bright blue t-shirt and baseball cap I got. I LOVE cheesy, touristy gifts. HEART.

- I’ve started going to the gym every day (instead of every other) to combat my emotionally-charged eating habits. I’m still trying to eat healthier, with sporadic success. It might be my imagination, but I think my belly is shrinking a tiny bit. So the extra gym time must be helping, at least a little.

- I’ve been considering going blonde for a while now. Not just highlights, but my whole head. BLONDE. I haven’t been totally blond since I was about three, but I want to go back. I’m bored with my look – my hair, my makeup. Everything is making me fall asleep. Something has to change. I don’t think a new shade of lipstick is gonna cut it, and I’m too much of a chickenshit to get a tattoo, so…hair it is. Of course, a decision like this can’t be taken lightly, so I’m asking you guys what you think:

Should I go blonde? And don’t think I haven’t considered the jokes about my hair finally matching my personality.

Every year in the beginning of June little old men and ladies, or those with health insurance, congregate in the elementary school gymnasium at the table with the free food for the health fair.

I went for the blood drawing and the accompanying tests. The results will be mailed to me in two to three weeks, and even though I realize it isn’t the sort of test I can pass or fail, I’m really worried I’m going to get a sheet of paper with a giant F in the middle. I was told once before by my doctor that my cholesterol is “very bad” for my age – in fact, he predicted daily medication will be necessary by the time I hit my forties. GREAT.

The best part about this health fair nonsense is that while testing costs $45, my insurance company will reimburse me for all of it. Basically, I’d be an idiot not to take advantage. And I’m no idiot (well, not most of the time).

As for my health in general, I want to do a triathlon. Obviously I’m in no shape for that sort of physical exertion, and much training will be needed, but I hope to be ready by next summer. I love riding my bike and swimming, and while running could be safely listed as one of my least favorite things, it’s good for me. And I’m slowly getting better at it (very, very slowly).

I’ve decided to stop weighing myself. I’ve been hopping on the scale every morning, and if the number hasn’t dropped at least a little (my scale is digital), I feel bad. Not a good way to start the day. Instead I’m going to make a conscious effort to get in fighting shape for a triathlon. Instead of being 125 pounds, my goal is to be able to run for five miles without fantasizing about amputating my legs so I never have to do it again. Or, failing that, to run the same distance without falling over in a trembling, oxygen-sucking heap.

Have a great Wednesday! (And hey, have a steak).

It’s possible (even probable) that I’ve been backsliding a bit with this whole dieting lifestyle change thing.

It’s been a LOUSY couple of weeks, and after a few initial days of not eating at all  (you know it’s bad when I’m willing to put the fork down), I started reacting to stress the way I always do, which is to say that I’ve been eating anything edible that also happens to be within reach.

I’m still working out regularly (thank god, since gym time helps with the tension/anxiety a lot better than the cheesy fries do), but I’ve gained back a couple of pesky pounds anyway.

Of course I intend to annihilate them as soon as possible, but I keep thinking that maybe my weight loss goals are unrealistic. I weigh 145 pounds, and with the added bulk of my hair I can claim 5’3 as my height. That sounds heavy, but my goal – 125 pounds? That sounds…impossible. I’m not a tiny girl. I have the shoulders and ribcage of a football player (thank you, mother, she said sarcastically). I think I’d look like one of those bobble-head dolls at 125.

Besides (and my sister is going to have a thought bubble that says “Wuss!” when she reads this), twenty pounds seems daunting. Whereas, 10 pounds? I might be able to DO ten pounds – and still have boobs leftover!

Or maybe I should give this whole weight loss pursuit a good forgetting about. I’ve been overweight since I was fifteen, sometimes a lot and sometimes a little, but always chubby. Maybe I should make peace with it and devote my time and energy to something that isn’t about vanity.

Something like…

Yeah, okay. Maybe I’ll just shut up and go get my butt on the elliptical where it belongs.

It’s been a little over a week since I started the diet pills and the cleanse. I’ve lost three nearly insignificant pounds, most of which I suspect is water weight because of the cleanse and has nothing to do with the diet pills.

The diet pills would have been an unforgivable waste of my valuable and limited cash supply, except for one thing: they really DO decrease my appetite. Seriously. I think I’ve mentioned my deep and unwavering love of food (usually the junk kind) before, but amazingly enough I haven’t been nearly as prone to gorge on pizza and ice cream. Well, except today I made a pizza for lunch (it doesn’t count as a black mark on my diet because once a month pizza is necessary, okay?), but believe it or not I only ate two pieces before feeling full and satisfied.

I’ve continued working out regularly. I’ve even added abdominal exercises – which I think proves the extent of my dedication since I consider doing situps to be about as much fun as getting kicked repeatedly in the gut – and while I look more toned and everything appears to be tighter and higher, the number on the scale hasn’t changed much.

As for my eating habits, they’re improving (today’s pizza not withstanding). I’ve been sticking with what’s healthy and eating smaller portions.

I’m proud of myself despite my dirty, lying scale. I’ve been consistent with my changes and I can SEE the difference (especially in my butt, which looks fabulous by the way and I thought of posting a photo but then I figured I don’t have that many readers as it is, and do I really want to scare away the loyalists? NO!) and that’s good enough for now. (Okay, I lied, I probably WOULD post a butt photo but I don’t have anyone around to take one just now).

Have a great week!

You know those people who, despite having a little extra junk in the trunk or what have you, frown upon dietary aids such as pills and Slim Fast and even Jenny Craig? Because GOD KNOWS all a person really needs is common sense, the proper amount of exercise, and a reasonable diet combined with strength of will! I AM that person. Or I was, until last Friday.

Last Friday I ordered diet pills (and a cleanse). I caved. I gave up my credit card number with my head hanging. I started reading the reviews online, most of which were success stories, and I thought to myself, hey, if it works for them…why shouldn’t it work for me? I wasn’t being impulsive, not really. I’ve been sub-consciously considering this for a while now, more so lately because I have a goal weight that I want to reach in a certain amount of time, and I could use a boost.

I am now in possession of a big ass bottle of diet pills. Before you go tsk tsking me, I don’t expect a miracle. I’ve been exercising regularly, and I’ve made a truly sorry and pathetic decent attempt to change my eating habits. I’m hoping the pills will aid my weight loss, but to be honest I don’t expect them to work at all – all they really are is caffeine, right?

Have any of you ever taken anything? Did it help, or not?

They were right.

I’ve been working out steadily for a little over a month. I go to the gym at least every other day, sometimes every day. I aerobicize! I spend so much time on the godforsaken elliptical I may as well build a shrine to the damn thing. I lift weights in an acceptably girly fashion – lest I grow too many muscles (HA! as if I’m in danger of that happening) and end up looking like a scary body-builder type. I jump rope. I walk. I do housework. I admit to occasionally having hopped.

Those people with much less stomach fat than me, the ones who claim that diet is crucial, maybe even more important than exercise?…they were right. And I hate them.

I worked my butt off (without making any drastic changes to my diet), and I lost exactly FOUR rotten pounds. 4! That’s less than five! That’s a LOT less than 25, which is my eventual goal. I gave up junk food, mostly, and tried to cut back on pasta (some days were more successful than others). And I look pretty much the same. As it turns out, I can’t eat like an adolescent boy (don’t you think god should’ve created all metabolisms equally?) and expect results. SUCK.

I guess this means I have to change my diet. Goodbye pecan caramel rolls, hello hummus.

It’s been nearly a month since my surgery, and I finally feel well enough to stop lazing around on the couch eating potato chips and concocting elaborate fantasies about David Boreanaz watching the third season of Bones.

Yesterday I went to the gym. I did my regular workout, which includes 25 minutes on the elliptical, and I didn’t start having pain in my side until about the last ten minutes. (Do not bother to ask if I stopped, the answer will only make my loved ones roll their eyes and lecture). I lifted weights and was annoyed when it proved harder than it was a month ago. I stopped short of jumping rope, because sometimes I do have a smidge of common sense.

Every Wednesday night they have volleyball at the high school gym; usually there’s a decent crowd and it’s a lot of fun. I started going a few weeks before my gall bladder attack, and went back tonight filled with anticipation. (I seriously considered going last week but was warned that if I attempted such nonsense I would be forcibly tied and gagged – or at the very least turned away by the other players. Having a low tolerance for humiliation – weird, considering all the practice I’ve had – I opted to stay home). I thought I did pretty well, excepting the last half an hour or so, when my side started to hurt and my serves started hitting the net. Everyone played really well. We had two full teams and we were evenly matched. I had more fun tonight than I ever have before, nevermind the ache in my side.

It’s such an incredible relief to be physical again. I didn’t realize how much I was enjoying my workouts until I was ordered to sit on my backside for a whole month. Thank god that’s over.

I’m off to bed, as I agreed to wake up far too early to take care of my best friend’s infant daughter. They just found out the severe allergies she’s been suffering from are caused by dogs and cats, and her regular babysitter has a dog that sheds everywhere. I love Izzy to bits, and have zero problems taking care of her for a day. I think my weakness for the kid is completely evident considering that I’ll be rousing myself from the comfort of my bed at dawn to change diapers and chase her away from the various sharp objects littered throughout my house.

Sleep tight, everyone.

I know I’m probably boring all of you to death with my fixation on healthy eating and fitness, but it’s become very important to me lately. I’ve never been this determined to improve my health in my life. I did yoga this morning. YOGA. I enjoy yoga about as much as I enjoy root canals, but I needed the stress relief. And hey, it worked. The knots of pain in my back are gone. Not that I plan to make contorting myself into unreasonable shapes and angles a habit. (Okay, so I’m not THAT dedicated).

I’ve been thinking about food a lot lately, too. Normally when I diet I go from one extreme to the other, and when I say extreme I’m not kidding – we’re talking jelly donuts one day and lettuce the next. I quit buying boxed dinners and junk and I switch to fresh fruits and vegetables. The problem is, I eat the healthy stuff exactly like I eat the crap food – without cooking or making it into anything worthwhile.

Last night I found myself doing something I used to laugh at my friends for doing (yes, I’m a bitch). I found some recipes and made a grocery list! I planned meals for the week. I feel very optimistic about some of the dinners I want to make, although of course I plan to invite my sister and use her as a guinea pig.

I still haven’t had any significant weight loss and now I’m bloated on top of it, which is sort of discouraging, but I’m not giving up. The more I work at it, the less it becomes about a number on the scale. I feel good, and I know my body is experiencing benefits (even if I can’t see them, stupid, stubborn body!).

Oh, and you’re all invited to dinner on Saturday.

I went to my sister’s place this morning, and we did the 30 Day Shred workout together. The video was actually  good – I like Jillian Michaels. I love the psycho-babble she spouts (“what you’re feeling now is fear leaving your body”). She was very motivating; I worried if I starting slacking off she’d pop through the screen and kick my ass – or maybe that has something to do with the clips I’ve seen from The Biggest Loser?

The workout was great, so great I’m going to buy the DVD for myself. The SUCK part was actually me. Despite two solid months of steady gym time, I’m still a frail girly-girl. Don’t believe me? When Heidi and I were doing the modified, girly push-ups, she glanced my way.

Extremely Athletic Sister: “You’re supposed to suck in your stomach.”
Not-So-Little Old Me: “I am.”

Now before you go thinking my sister is evil, I should add that she isn’t really. She’s supportive and helpful. She just doesn’t believe in slacking off, and I do, which is why her ass will always be smaller than mine – a difference I try not to hold against her. I do occasionally take M&M’s over to her place in the spirit of sisterhood, and having absolutely NOTHING to do with envy.

We played volleyball last week with the adult women’s league. We’re going again tonight. Now THAT is exercise I can get into. It doesn’t feel like work, even though I pour buckets of sweat and make grunting noises and bruise my knees (so much for my kneepads). It feels like great fun, especially when my team is winning.

I can hardly wait.