Ok, so there is this food journal that you are supposed to fill out for boot camp. I completely understand that the intent is to hold you accountable for the late day carbs and fatty indulgences, but this level of tracking is just not for me.
The main issue is that I often do not eat normal meals. I am a grazer – a chronic snacker. I could live with my head in the fridge, taking one bite out of everything on a rotating basis all day long. How does one track that in a food journal? The review process would just be embarrassing. Yes, the journal is reviewed, and therefore there is no way that I am going to try to capture the full extent of munching (11 a.m. – two bites of cottage cheese, a peach, a mini dark chocolate snickers, two turkey and cheese rollups, pistachios, one bite of lasagna, crystal light and two crackers with cheese.) H*ll No!
To simplify things, I have been trying to eat on a schedule like a normal human being. This unearthed a whole new problem. Now, instead of diverse snacking, I find myself eating the same things though out the day. How many times can I log Wasa Chips (approved on the program – tastes like cardboard) before it becomes unacceptable? Should I pretend that I had grapes because it is weird to have blueberries three times in one day?
This is just too much work for me. I have never been a dieter and I have never kept a food journal. Why start now? Should I refuse and be THAT person who is not committed to the program?
You may remember that I had a funnel cake at the fair over the weekend. Did I log it? No. Why? Because when I logged my McGriddle I had to explain myself. No one should be ashamed to have ONE McGriddle. Now, 10 McGriddles may be problematic, but not one!
Slowly, I am learning not to care. When asked about the wine I drank over the weekend I just smiled. Yum. No one is going to guilt me for imbibing in cabernet, especially when red wine has been shown to contribute to cardiovascular health. With vino by my side, maybe I don’t need to suffer through mountain climbers and military style push-ups after all.
Did you know that there are more than 600 muscles in the human body? This is a fascinating fact that I Googled, after lamenting over my widespread muscle fatigue and soreness.
Boot camp – day two: I have crunched, push-uped, lifted and sprinted, and today I realized that I have not worked out this hard since high school. No wonder my body is staging a massive protest! My friend (hi Jen) is a returning veteran of the class and I use her exceptionally strong biceps as motivation, even though she is worried that she is developing super human strength.
On a lighter note – I, along with millions of other Americans, saw the most touching video on Today this morning about Christian the Lion. It literally brought tears to my eyes (I have a soft spot for animals). Here is the Barbara Walters version. Enjoy!
I have signed up for boot camp, extreme boot camp that is. My friend and I went to orientation this weekend where we had to do push ups and sit ups, run a timed mile and yield to several body measurements, a public scale and a body fat test (every girl’s dream). Now I am not intimidated by the physical torture that will ensue. What terrifies me is the 5:15 a.m. wake up call tomorrow morning. To me, squats, sprints and weights pale in comparison to the threat of an obnoxious squealing alarm (reminder – click here).
Back to the orientation – and to a minor rant. A few people gave my friend and I the old, “you don’t need to be here” commentary. Ok, yes, we appear to be fit people, but that doesn’t mean that we are as strong as we want to be, or as fit as we used to be. Hasn’t anyone ever heard of skinny fat? Perhaps I did not get the memo that outlined the need to apologize for feeling decent in a pair of stretch pants. The point is, the competition and comparisons are unnecessary. Everyone embarking on something as insane as 6 a.m. boot camp is ultimately striving for the same thing and there should be some semblance of unity that comes with a shared vision. And by vision, I am not talking about cholesterol management, blood pressure control or longevity. I am referring to the female aesthetic dream, which was best captured by my friend when filling out the goal line in her paperwork.
About face, MARCH! Wish me luck… updates are sure to follow.
On Monday I made a proud and determined proclamation to anyone that would listen. It went something like this, “My jeans are tight as hell. I am going to set my alarm and work out every morning before work. I did it before my wedding and I am going to get into the habit again.”
True to my word, every night I tucked myself into bed at a reasonable hour, set the alarm for 5:45 a.m. and waged war against insomnia in the name of physical fitness.
You probably know where I am going with this story so I won’t bore you with the details. I won’t drag out the fact that my dog was running laps around the living room as I lay motionless in bed. You don’t need to hear that my alarm snoozed every ten minutes for an hour each day. And worst of all, I won’t elaborate on how I waited patiently for the slowest elevator known to man, instead of taking the two flights of stairs to my office (clearly, the building contractor didn’t spring for an Otis).
What bothers me more than the fact that my willpower is weaker than a smoker with a pack of cigs, is that people all around me don’t seem to be having the same problem. I even have a friend that wakes up before her two year old child to make it to the gym (hi Stacey).
So right now, approximately four minutes after taking the last bite of a 3.6 ounce mini Cherry Garcia, I have decided that I despise this new lazy persona, the lack of ambition and the complete and utter apathy. In this spirit, I am officially making a new proclamation, stating aloud, “At least three times a week my heart rate will increase. Not because of freeway gridlock, work deadlines or cashier rage related to CVS’s insistence on hiring incompetent workers, but because the true me cares more about fitting into a pair of jeans than getting an extra hour of sleep.”
I am pretty confident I will be working out tomorrow. Until then, I will sit cross legged on my living room floor and chant my new mantra, “I love the eliptical machine, I love the eliptical machine, I love the eliptical machine.” Namaste.
Posted by marcypoz7 
Posted by marcypoz7 
Posted by marcypoz7 
