Hello groovy people.
"Well, f*ck me!" is what I said when I got on the scales this week. I know, I really should learn to watch my language. But the bastard scales said I had gained ONE KILO. A whole kilo? I could not believe that.
Sure it had been my birthday, and we ate out, but I really didn’t have anything that bad. I skipped the garlic bread, which is delicious but fatty as hell. I had this veal dish for my main and it wasn’t bad. For desert I shared a slice of orange & poppyseed cake, and it did not have any icing, and I also ignored the creamy and stuff accompanying it. I had two glasses of red.
Not too bad, I thought. But still I gained a kilo! I have nothing to blame it on, not even near That Time of the Month.
My sister thinks that the weigh-lady weighed me wrong the week before, when she said I’d lost 2.2 kilos. At the time I thought, "I know I’ve lost a big chunk here, but seems she didn’t move the slide thingy down far enough for it to be two whole kilos." Coz if you look at those old-fashioned scales, two kilos is quite a distance, and I am sure it didn’t move that far. It happened awfully quick.
I am cranky because that week I neglected to check the reading for myself. I usually do because she’s new at the weighing and she’s made mistakes with me before that would have gone unnoticed had I not been watching with an eagle eye. But last week I was in a great hurry and didn’t look and now I am half convinced that I probably only lost ONE kilo last week, and this week would I would have stayed the same or had a tiny loss. I just don’t see how I could gain a KILO in a week.
Either way, there’s nothing I can do about it. The scales say I weigh 116.4kg and this means I have 6.4 kilos to lose in the next 8 weeks. I am terrified that I won’t get there now.
Funny how last week I felt FOXY as hell when the scales were going yay, but after Monday I was in the foulest of moods and gawked at myself in the mirror for ages, convinced that I had gained and my stomach looked bigger in that week.
See, the scales are evil.
But guess what, screw the scales! I just cannot let that get me down. I still have 8 weeks to go. I just need to be really, really careful about what I eat. For example, my new flatmate is Italian and keeps cooking the most lovely authentic dishes, but I can’t keep eating! She made spinach and ricotta lasagne last night, which would be really healthy if she made it with low-fat ricotta and stuff like my sister and I did. But no, she put heaps of olive oil in the tomato sauce, and in between each layer she rips off big chunks of mozarella so when it cooks you get nice melty bits. And THEN there’s parmesan galore.
I had two big pieces of it. It was too hard to resist. So shoot me.
It is very hard, this new living arrangement. It was easier with just my sis and I. But now there’s new roomie and she cooks so much good stuff and her boyfriend comes over and they eat chocolate while watching the TV and make fresh bread and it’s all so so so tempting. I am being strong but SHIT it’s so hard.
. . .
Anyway enough of the negatives, I have to dwell on the GOOD things I’ve done this past week. Saturday I went to Body Combat! Wah! How bloody complicated it was! All this fancy footwork and elaborate punching and kicking and screaming. If you need an outlet for your stress, I highly recommend it. I muddled along at my own less than stellar pace, but I think I did pretty well. It was almost like dancing, I loved the music and the relentless pace. The next day my muscles were protesting. In particular the ones across my back that I never knew existed before, from all the hooks and uppercuts. My sister kept saying, "I don’t believe we actually got off our arses and went to the class!". After a year at the gym we are finally just really going for it.
Then on Monday night we did Body Pump. Weights to music. Oh good lord. I couldn’t believe how intense it was. It was like I’d only been scratching the surface with the weights routine I’d been doing before. This was something else. Everything they say about free weights being better for you than weights machines is TRUE OH TRUE. All these little muscles that you never knew you had start to tingle. Ahh.
The instructor is just one of those crazy balls of energy that make you want to keep going. It was wonderful. Then she said, "Okay, the next track is the squat track." A whole track of pure squatting? That’s like four minutes! Oh I was so naive. But it was true, it was the whole damn track. When I put the bar down at the end of it I turned to my sister and we said "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" simultaneously. My legs were like jelly.
We also did a track for each shoulders, biceps, triceps, back, and lunges… arrrgh I almost died on the lunge track. We didn’t change from one leg to the other until after the first chorus. I was mentally screaming "Hellooooo! I am dying here! What about the other leg!". When we finally changed legs the exercised one felt like jelly. Ooh.
We finished off with some abs, and I knew then that this class was a hundred times more beneficial than pissfarting around on my own out in the main gym, because my abs were feeling it, baby! With my "normal" routine, I never felt it half so much.
So two new classes, two hours in the gym that did more for me than 4-5 visits on my own. They pack everything into that hour, it’s so much more efficient than standing around waiting for a treadmill or for some idiot to hurry up with a weights machine. Plus with the classes, you just have to keep going. There’s no standing around scratching your butt or whining about being too tired to go on. You just have to get in there and do it.
So a couple of positive things did come out of that week. Hurrah.
I am slowing getting through an enourmous pile of emails so please bear with me. I am also attempting to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November. See the NaNoWriMo site if you’re not familiar with the concept.
Am I insane? Possibly.
Okay. Back to work. Have a good day, everyone.