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Posts Tagged ‘Fat’

Dear Miriam,

I thought we were friendly work colleagues. Why do you want to kill me? I can think of no other reason you would invite me to “Core Power Yoga.”

Core Power Yoga, aka Satan’s Clubhouse

I thought yoga was supposed to be this calming, centering, channeling-your-inner-Gandhi kind of thing.

But add the “core power” modifier, and this is some next-level madness.

I’m not sure why you go to this “sculpt” class at 6, right after the hot yoga class. That means the room is 145° at least.

But there I was, right on time, because of your invitation.

The class starts. I’m keeping up. What seems like two hours pass. I look at my watch through the waterfall cascading from my forehead.

6:16

I wish for death.

6:23

For those who don’t know what this class is like, let me describe it:

Mix the Jane Fonda workout with the calisthenics from eighth-grade gym class. Sprinkle on some Southern California namaste seasoning. Add an Imagine Dragons soundtrack. Set it on the surface of the sun.

6:32

My face is throbbing. I might pass out.

I leave the room to get air, water and the number of a medical professional.

I ask the lithe girl at the front desk how long this class lasts.

“Hmmm. Not sure if it’s 60 or 75 minutes. Let me check,” she says.

“75 minutes?!” I squeak.

“Oh it’s 60 minutes.”

Even so.

The exit was so close. Sadly, I had left the locker key in the pool of sweat near my rental mat.

6:47

I think it’s the cool-down phase. Not sure. All I know is my heart is racing like I just outran a bear.

6:51

I’m certain that I’m clinically dead.

6:54

I’m deftly performing the Patrick Star pose on my mat. I feel a slight breeze. Perhaps I’m on a gurney being rushed to the ER?

No.

The instructor is walking around the room flapping a towel.

She appears to be flapping more over me.

I’m sure it’s because she spotted my soul leaving my body.

7:00

The class is over. The instructor says, “Sorry it was hotter than usual, and the workout was more challenging than usual.”

Oh. How lucky for me.

I slither to the locker room on liquefied legs.

Time to survey the damage. Warning: graphic images (i.e., I’m hideous).

Let’s take a closer look, shall we? (Be thankful this blog doesn’t offer Smell-O-Vision.)

What’s that you say, Miriam? Show the air-conditioned, rested (i.e., sane) people at home the back? Sure.

That was Thursday. Today is Sunday, and still everything hurts. I can’t lift my arms. How can I have ribcage pain, Miriam?

I’m not sure what I did to you, but I apologize for whatever it was.

Please forgive me.

I’ll never do it again.

I also likely will never do this class again, despite the assurances from the instructor that I did “an awesome job for my first time.”

Sincerely,
Not downward dog but no thanks, dawg (aka Beth)

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Dear Santa:

Thank you so much for being so generous with our household yesterday. We’ve tried to stay off the Naughty list, but you know it’s been difficult.

Though we liked all of our gifts, I think I appreciated the coyote skull the most. Some girls might want a sable slipped under the tree, but you know this one prefers other dead animal parts.

There were a couple of things you skipped over, however, so I’d like to be proactive on my list for next year.

Beth’s Christmas List 2019:

1. Patience. I have a 14-year-old son who has worn mine out. Just bring me a little to spare for those super moody days (his, not mine).

2. Abs. I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight, but these are still nowhere to be found. Don’t tell me I can find them at the gym. You’re Santa, and you’re magical.

3. A winning lottery ticket. I’m a good person; I promise I would do plenty of good things with the money.

4. A publishing contract. I’ve got two books in the works. At least send me an agent, please.

5. One hour with Jason Momoa. A better iPhone battery life. Like I said, you’re magical. Make it so, won’t you?

Thanks in advance. I’ll do my part by remaining on the Nice side.

Believing in you,
Beth

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Dear Friends:

As you know from this post and the followup, I’m on a health kick as I slide headfirst into the holidays. (Perhaps the worst time to start a diet. Or the best, depending on your POV.)

Despite the calculated complaining I’ve been doing on this blog, it’s been OK. Mostly OK. All but three times OK (an alumni event at a brewery, happy hour where beer cheese soup was present, and an Uno death match with friends last weekend during which chips and dip sat within a foot of me for HOURS).

My willpower is strong. When I decide to do something, I do it. I told you: I’m Tracy Flick.

Besides my crazy diet, I’ve made other changes:

  1. I’m taking the “Lyft Ditch Your Car” challenge this month. I already walk to work regularly, so it will be fine.
  2. I’m drinking so much water every day — well over the 64 ounces recommended — that I spend much of the day in and traveling to/from the loo.
  3. I’m not drinking any alcoholic beverages. (Oh don’t be THAT surprised.)
  4. I now have a standing desk at work.

Standing desk

These are all the rage in offices lately. I love mine. Added bonus: If you put on some music, you find yourself moving much more while standing.

Except I have a cautionary tale: Earlier this week, I listened to Big Freedia, “3rd Ward Bounce.”

Big Freedia: 3rd Ward Bounce

If you are familiar at all with Big Freedia, you will know the dance moves that go with bounce music.

They are not appropriate for work.

They are probably not appropriate for me any time at my age (29 <cough> forever).

I was definitely moving around a little more than usual at my desk, though. I was a little worried someone would walk in and think I was having a seizure.

But my iWatch approved.

And for those interested in my progress, there’s about 12 pounds less of me to love. (My big personality is still intact, though.)

I’m keeping this up until the last weekend in October, at least (i.e., the last weekend for Oktoberfest).

Wish me luck,
Beth

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Dear Bread, Cheese, Beer and Wine:

I miss you. So much. But I can’t have you in my life at the moment. It’s not you. It’s me. (Well, it actually is you, but it’s my choice not to be with you.)

Dominic got some seasoned fries smothered in bright yellow nacho cheese sauce at the ballpark Sunday, and I had to go sit somewhere else.

An email promoting the annual Great Atlanta Beer Fest nearly moved me to tears.

Last night I dreamed about chicken nuggets.

Y’all, I don’t even eat chicken nuggets when I CAN eat chicken nuggets.

My “fat coach” told me the cravings would go away.

My “fat coach” lied.*

My “fat coach” and I are now on a break.

It’s a dark period. The equivalent of Goya’s “Black Paintings.”

I hope to see you in November. The scale will let me know.

Love you; miss you,
Beth

* That’s probably too harsh. I’m sure she really thought they would. We’re not really on a break. She’s giving me space. I really need nachos.

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Dear Kim:

Thank you for introducing me to the [name redacted] diet system. Like you, I am a busy Type A woman who loves rules. Packaged food helps as I often don’t have time to go get something to eat. And I hate the gym.

I listened to you for two reasons:

1. You lost 28 pounds in two months.
2. You said the food was delicious.

I’ve been on the system for four days. I have thoughts. Of course.

1. I know why you lost so much weight. This is about a 1,000-calorie-or-fewer-per-day plan.
2. The food is not delicious, Kim. Everything I’ve tried has the same flavor and texture. I feel like I’m eating dog food. (And now I’m concerned about the state of your taste buds, Kim.)
3. I do not want a personal coach/cheering section. This is why I don’t do CrossFit.

The coach part is the hardest. The system wouldn’t let me purchase the meal kit until I selected a coach. My coach has PLENTY of energy. She has contacted me via text, Facebook and phone at least three times a day since I signed up. Read that again. Kim. She calls me. You know how I feel about that. She’s very aggressive assertive interested in making sure I feel supported.

This is just one text she sent. A TEXT!

I can’t be too cranky: She really is making sure I have all the tools I need. She is more enthusiastic than I am about me hitting my target. And I guess I need that push.

Anyway, I’m drinking more water, eating less and walking more. I’ve already lost six pounds. Mostly water weight, I’m sure. But I’ll take it.

So thanks, Kim: You and your defective taste buds have given me the push I need.

Love and kibble kisses,
The slimmer version of Beth

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